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BRICK 104 adventurous and constantly occupied with safety. How they have a desire for leisure and peace of mind as they prepare for the possibility for fouls, storms, and other disasters. Buying a boat to fulfill a longing for calm waters and smooth sailing is somewhat oxymoronic. With the time, expense, and expertise required, there’s as much pain involved as pleasure. For cruisers, a trip of a weekend or several weeks necessitates outfitting the boat until it resembles a floating hardware store and medic station, charting a course to anchorages and moorings, and countless other preparations, such as getting fuel for the outboard motor, checking the holding tanks, and stocking food and water. I’m impressed when cruisers return with limbs and faculties intact and without having murdered each other after spending a prolonged time in close quarters. Hearing about the sleep deprivation and trials of each trip, I feel as baffled and awed as when listening to stories about people who climb rock faces and mountains. Doubtless the views, the wildlife, and the silence are worth the effort. Racers who sign themselves up for casual weeknight club races or regattas also pour in time and energy for insubstantial rewards. Skippers who are set on racing must recruit, train, and retain crew—an act of coordination similar to staffing a small business. They learn rules of right-of-way and regulations for protest and redress, and note the weather and wind conditions. They also encounter risks on the racecourse, where crews attempt to force their competitors over the line early. Races and regattas rarely offer a cash prize, and winning boats can only claim bragging rights. After the race, they might offer to tow the very boat they nearly ran afoul of. Primarily, my time on a boat is spent racing. It was simply the most convenient way to enjoy sailing on a regular basis. It’s a fine balance to have enough, but not too much, competitive spirit. You should want to cross the finish line first, but not be so cutthroat as to put your crew or boat in danger or to keep from enjoying a beer with skippers who didn’t give you room at a mark rounding. Taking things too seriously—whether holding grudges or dwelling too long on mistakes—takes the fun out of a race, the spirit of affectionate heckling and wry complaining. Since talking back and chirping are already part of my personality, I’ve had no issues with those identifications. After twelve seasons as a crew member, I’ve sailed in rainstorms and sauna-like summer humidity. I’ve sanded hulls, rigged dinghies, and steered boats under heavy gusts and on light air days. I’ve raced in Toronto Harbour and in Lake Ontario, from Ashbridges Bay to Port Credit, and helmed the boat to Niagara-on-the-Lake. I’ve woken up to the sound of shrouds tinkling and sailed in the evenings to watch fireworks. I’ve jumped from the bows of boats anchored off Ward’s Island Beach and have climbed centreboards to right a capsized dinghy. I’ve pushed fifteen-foot Albacores and Quests while wading into lake water and have cast off on bigger-keel boats like J/30s, Viking 33s, and J/35s. It’s not a question of whether or not sailing has become a part of my identity but of how much and how deeply. Recently I took a day to head down to Ward’s Island Beach with some non-sailing friends. Even though I wouldn’t be on a boat that day, I took note of the wind direction, steadily pushing clouds from
page 107
PHOEBE WANG 105 a southwesterly direction. “It’s supposed to rain,” my friend said as we boarded the QCYC tender with tickets I’d bought years before. “No, I think the wind’ll push the clouds over the lake,” I said. From the beach, I watched thirty-foot sailboats heeling in what looked like at least eight to ten knots. As it wasn’t whitecap conditions, on the Beaufort scale it would be termed a gentle to moderate breeze, perfect conditions for lake sailing. I was happy just swimming in the warm July water, yet as I looked out across the horizon I could almost hear the sails crackle. Sailing has not only made me more aware of wind and weather conditions in a region I didn’t grow up in, but it has also spread its influence to how I pack my bag for work, how I dress, and how I move through the world. It can be tricky to locate wind direction, and when you do, the wind could still push you off course. It takes constant adjustments, experience, and luck to reach your destination. You may see other boats going faster or pointing better, but others’ performance makes no difference to your own. Afterwards, in a safe port, eager to describe your setbacks and successes to others who were watching your progress, you’ll find yourself in possession of a uniquely tragic, harrowing, and astounding story, a story with its own uncommon language.

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BRICK

104

adventurous and constantly occupied with safety. How they have a desire for leisure and peace of mind as they prepare for the possibility for fouls, storms, and other disasters. Buying a boat to fulfill a longing for calm waters and smooth sailing is somewhat oxymoronic. With the time, expense, and expertise required, there’s as much pain involved as pleasure. For cruisers, a trip of a weekend or several weeks necessitates outfitting the boat until it resembles a floating hardware store and medic station, charting a course to anchorages and moorings, and countless other preparations, such as getting fuel for the outboard motor, checking the holding tanks, and stocking food and water. I’m impressed when cruisers return with limbs and faculties intact and without having murdered each other after spending a prolonged time in close quarters. Hearing about the sleep deprivation and trials of each trip, I feel as baffled and awed as when listening to stories about people who climb rock faces and mountains. Doubtless the views, the wildlife, and the silence are worth the effort.

Racers who sign themselves up for casual weeknight club races or regattas also pour in time and energy for insubstantial rewards. Skippers who are set on racing must recruit, train, and retain crew—an act of coordination similar to staffing a small business. They learn rules of right-of-way and regulations for protest and redress, and note the weather and wind conditions. They also encounter risks on the racecourse, where crews attempt to force their competitors over the line early. Races and regattas rarely offer a cash prize, and winning boats can only claim bragging rights. After the race, they might offer to tow the very boat they nearly ran afoul of.

Primarily, my time on a boat is spent racing. It was simply the most convenient way to enjoy sailing on a regular basis. It’s a fine balance to have enough, but not too much, competitive spirit. You should want to cross the finish line first, but not be so cutthroat as to put your crew or boat in danger or to keep from enjoying a beer with skippers who didn’t give you room at a mark rounding. Taking things too seriously—whether holding grudges or dwelling too long on mistakes—takes the fun out of a race, the spirit of affectionate heckling and wry complaining. Since talking back and chirping are already part of my personality, I’ve had no issues with those identifications.

After twelve seasons as a crew member, I’ve sailed in rainstorms and sauna-like summer humidity. I’ve sanded hulls, rigged dinghies, and steered boats under heavy gusts and on light air days. I’ve raced in Toronto Harbour and in Lake Ontario, from Ashbridges Bay to Port Credit, and helmed the boat to Niagara-on-the-Lake. I’ve woken up to the sound of shrouds tinkling and sailed in the evenings to watch fireworks. I’ve jumped from the bows of boats anchored off Ward’s Island Beach and have climbed centreboards to right a capsized dinghy. I’ve pushed fifteen-foot Albacores and Quests while wading into lake water and have cast off on bigger-keel boats like J/30s, Viking 33s, and J/35s. It’s not a question of whether or not sailing has become a part of my identity but of how much and how deeply.

Recently I took a day to head down to Ward’s Island Beach with some non-sailing friends. Even though I wouldn’t be on a boat that day, I took note of the wind direction, steadily pushing clouds from

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