The Perfect Sail

Porter Bay, NY

44 13.84 N 073 1.04 W

OK, the other day I chickened out on telling how great it really was. Partly it was because of an embarrassment of riches. Also partly is was because of an embarrassment of superlatives. You see, I learned a long time ago that good writing was made better by eliminating superlatives. I learned to review my writing and to strike every other superlative. For important things, I would go back and strike half the remaining superlatives. Last Thursday, it was so nice that nothing came to my head but superlatives, and that paralyzed my writing hand.  OK, here goes:

Picture this scene. It was Thursday. The wind was blowing 10-20 from the West. Since Lake Champlain runs north-south, a rare westerly wind is ideal for going places in a sailboat. We left the perfect shelter of east-facing Sloop Cove around 0800. As soon as we got away from the island a bit, I could see all the whitecaps. We were in for a nice day.

We both needed jackets. It was cool in the morning; about 60 degrees. The wind was also cool. That sure felt good after the hot hot days we've suffered this summer.

Up went the mainsail. The wind was stiff. I elected to use the smaller staysail instead of the larger yankee jib. With the larger sail we would have been overpowered. The combination of main and staysail was just right. Tarwathie flew down the lake at 6.5 knots with the wind on her beam.

Whoops, the wind stopped abruptly. I was thinking about taking down the sails and motoring. Before I could, the wind came back. It was like that the whole day. Strong winds, moderate winds, no winds; abrupt changes came every few minutes. However, the westerly direction of the winds didn't change.  What it did do was to make us adjust our course and sails constantly.  We had to use our best sailing skill and had to stay on our toes the whole time.

We had the option of going to Burlington, about 12 miles or to Vergennes, about 30 miles. It didn't take time to eliminate Burlington.

Burlington's exposed shoreline on the west side of the lake would have been too bumpy to anchor on a day like this. Besides, why would we choose a 12 mile trip when we could go 30 miles instead.

Libby and I swapped places every 30 minutes or so. Each of us felt guilty standing at the helm. We felt like we were hogging all the fun. Strangely, even in such nice conditions we are in the habit of one person at the helm and one below. We almost never sail far with two in the cockpit.

There wasn't much traffic.  Only about six other boats sharing this 200 square mile part of the lake.  

Soon we were south of Burlington in the broadest part of the lake. Then, the weather had changed enough that all haze and most clouds evaporated, leaving spectacular views of the mountains on both sides. Clear air, free of haze is unusual, and the mid line of the broadest part of the lake affords the best vantage point to view the mountains. To the East we could see Mount Mansfield, Camel's Hump and Mount Abrahms, To the west we could see almost all the peaks in the Adirondacks. I can't identify most of them. However, I did recognize Whiteface Mountain (1980 Winter Olympics) and Mount Marcy. Marcy is the highest peak in the Adirondacks. It is 150 miles away, way over near Marcy, NY and Lock 20 where we recently visited John's family. The tip of Marcy's peak is barely visible from one spot in the middle of the lake.  

I kept wanting to take a series of pictures to form a panorama to share with you on this blog.  I've learned however, that such photos are almost always disappointing.   Better to forget the camera and focus on the grandness of the moment.   

Well, we covered those 30 miles in about 5 glorious hours. What a sail. What a perfect sail. Boy am I glad that I lost the argument about putting the mast up. A day like that is enough to justify the entire trip up here from the Florida Keys and any expense. A perfect sail is priceless.  So far, every sailing expedition to Lake Champlain going way all the way back to 1977, has provided me with at least one perfect sail.  One perfect sail per year is enough to rekindle the soul and spirit of any man.