Opinion

I first went to New Zealand in 2006. I was 20 years old and setting off on my first long journey away from home, bound for Brisbane, Australia, for a semester of college at the University of Queensland.

One beautiful August evening last summer we were sailing to meet friends in the Canadian Gulf Islands when the wind died. The tidal current just happened to be at peak ebb on Boundary Pass, so we furled the sails and fired up the engine.

In the Northeast the arrival of spring brings much anticipated preparations for the start of the sailing season. In my case, this includes trailering Windseeker south to Island Heights in New Jersey where I have a yard commission the boat.

Like most sailors, I have accumulated a wide range of boat-related clothing over the years. And also—like most sailors, I suspect—I still possess almost all of it.

I love this time of year. In Wisconsin, April is when people prep boats to go back in the water. It has been a long, hard winter of reliving last year’s races at the bar, reading magazine stories about other people sailing in warmer weather, visiting ocean racing websites and yearning. And now it’s time for the northern sailor’s rite of spring: getting ready to launch.

If I’m racing, I sail to win. If I’m cruising, I sail to relax. The sailing bug bit me 20 years ago, and I’ve never recovered.

“Would you like to sail one?” asked Dale Denning one Saturday back in 1980, as Peg and I stood admiring some gorgeous little sailing dinghies sitting by the side of the road.

They say every cruiser turns into a racer when there’s another boat in the vicinity. I’m not so sure that’s true.

About four hours after our departure, approximately 27 miles from Fort Pierce, when we were well into the Stream, we heard a thump somewhere forward on the hull.

During the “treasures of the bilge” segment of the cruisers’ radio net in Bocos del Toro, Panama, someone named Felix offered a metal sextant for sale. Two minutes later I was racing out to his handsome ketch Boisterous.