15 Ft. Tasar ready to rock and roll for someone else. When I met hubby I learned very quickly of his passion for the sea. On the water since he was a young boy his eyes lit up when he talked of his sailing pursuits. Our first official date was a sail at the Lunenburg Yacht Club. I'd only been on the water once before, barely a teenager, sneaking around with a friend, hanging out with a couple of boys from Mader's Cove that took us out in a small speed boat. It was exhilarating to say the least but scary without a life jacket as I couldn't swim worth a plug nickel, but the boy was drop dead cute, and well worth a lung full of water.
I can't recall who had crushes on whom but I do know the gorgeous Paul spent more time goggling my school chum Cheryl, so I guess that answers the question, although I was secretly wishing I was the object of his affections. But truthfully, it was difficult concentrating on the boy/girl sexual tension when I was scared poopless, worried my dad would find out I was on the water, a fate worse than drowning. The dangers of water had been grilled into me since the first time I waddled in a diaper to the shoreline on a beach. Most babies say the word "dadda" first but my first d word was "drown"! If my father knew I was anywhere near open water, especially without a life jacket, he would have clutched his chest and died of a coronary on the spot. Getting caught would have meant a twenty year grounding so at full throttle, as we pounded over the waves, rearranging internal organs and hanging on for dear life, the fear of dying equaled the fear of getting caught so the hairy ride offered little in the way of pleasure.
But, that small speed boat experience was tame compared to hubby's 16 foot Tasar, a high tech racing sloop built for speed even in light winds. Hubby could coax a high octane response out of this small craft with a mere pull on a sheet and hand on the tiller. He had sailing super powers, reading the wind that I couldn't see, finding the smallest of gusts to fill the sail. The boat was an extension of his person, reacting as easily as lifting his arm and he commanded and controlled her with hair trigger responses, whizzing by navigational marks and moorings in a blur. He shaved so close to tied boats I screamed and braced myself for the crash, hoping I'd live to see my son again but he would veer off last second all the while smiling at my lack of sea faring sophistication.
He only fooled me a handful of times before I began to relax and enjoy the experience, knowing I was in capable hands and he was extremely safety conscious so I was wearing a life jacket. What could happen except get wet? Although I feared falling in and getting my hair wet, soaking down all those well placed curls I worked so hard to produce and would have made me look like a drowned rat, not to mention the running mascara....not exactly the look I hoped to bait this water fish with. But there was no chance of an unexpected dip in the brink, he was masterful and impressive, and I fell in "deep like" of him that afternoon. We went out several times after that and each time got a bit easier and I was a little more enthralled with the sea and its adventurous offerings.
The speed of the boat was impressive. It caught the wind like a catchers mitt and moved along the water at titillating speeds. We hiked out over the side and just when you thought for sure the boat would topple and we'd be going for an afternoon swim, a slight adjustment to the sail and we would be upright and becalmed. The sparkling, sun kissed surface of the water reminded me of millions of diamonds and of course, that appealed to the crow in me. Yes, my first taste of sailing was a delicious meal and one I looked forward to whenever time allowed.
In the early eighties, hubby and the Tasar placed first in several regattas at the Calgary Yacht Club before moving to the east coast. He likes the performance and quick response of her handling and the fact that it sails closer to the eye of the wind than any other boat designed. (Don't quite know what that means, and his explanation left me still in the water). He's held on to her all these years so it's bittersweet to let her go. A boat should live its destiny not be land lubbed; she's no longer enjoyed and takes up too much space in the new garage. We need to make room for other boats that don't float, derelicts that need endless hours of work to bring them back to their glory days. Hubby is a tinkerer of water craft. Right now he is working on a Thistle Class sloop bringing her back to her spit polished beginnings. A larger boat that will accommodate two adults and the four pups for family jaunts across the harbour and around the outer islands.
I don't have sailing in my blood, I'm more of a fair weather, weekend kind of enthusiast. My idea of being on the water involves a fridge full of food, a flushing toilet and working shower in the head, a stove in the galley, and a double bed in the berth....all the comforts of home. My dream boat is a Nonsuch 30 or 33 and there will be one in my future as sure as I am sitting here. I spend hours on the net looking for the one! I'll know her when I see her. It will be love at first sight. She's on my dream board on the fridge. One of those want items you ask the universe to to connect you with. It isn't feasible to have her just yet, but in a few years when hubby retires and is home full time, she will be moored in front of our house and I will gaze upon her beamy lines and dream of weekends away.
A Nonsuch is a one sail, sailboat, easy to handle for one person because hubby knows I won't be hands on deck when we skim over the water....Ill be down below napping, cradled in the haul like a babe in a bassinet. Sailing has a strange effect on me. I've thought about it enough to conclude that I might be reminded of being in the womb, the motion of my mother walking and the gurgling of her belly. I'm soothed on the water and napping below deck would be therapeutic mentally as I relax like I can't do on land. Ten minutes out and I'm nodding blissfully as the boat rocks gently up and down like a cork in a bathtub. The motion has never made me feel sick, I'll bet I could be deep at sea and not feel queasy in rough weather. I love my stomach flipping and flopping. The handful of times I drank too much (one glass of wine) and felt ill, I never got sick because I would lay there and go with it until I felt like I was floating on a cloud. Fighting the retching in the gut is what makes you sick...just lay there and ride the waves of nausea, it's an amazing ride. Truthfully!
I've been up in small airplanes a few times and the stomach knotted up and I began to feel sick, but I remembered my days on the water and I just let it go and rode with the turbulence and the feeling of dread went away. Throwing up in the bubble cockpit of an Ultralight plane is not an option!
So we've listed her on Kijiji and it will be sad to see her go....but all things have their day, and we will always have the pictures as a bridge to the memories. Getting older sucks, all the fun stuff is left behind in a fading contrail until it disappears forever. But come on down Nonsuch, we will make new memories, a cottage on the water with standing head room and all the amenities a spoiled princess could ask for and a place our four pups can romp and roam. Yes, bigger is better in all things....
I can't recall who had crushes on whom but I do know the gorgeous Paul spent more time goggling my school chum Cheryl, so I guess that answers the question, although I was secretly wishing I was the object of his affections. But truthfully, it was difficult concentrating on the boy/girl sexual tension when I was scared poopless, worried my dad would find out I was on the water, a fate worse than drowning. The dangers of water had been grilled into me since the first time I waddled in a diaper to the shoreline on a beach. Most babies say the word "dadda" first but my first d word was "drown"! If my father knew I was anywhere near open water, especially without a life jacket, he would have clutched his chest and died of a coronary on the spot. Getting caught would have meant a twenty year grounding so at full throttle, as we pounded over the waves, rearranging internal organs and hanging on for dear life, the fear of dying equaled the fear of getting caught so the hairy ride offered little in the way of pleasure.
But, that small speed boat experience was tame compared to hubby's 16 foot Tasar, a high tech racing sloop built for speed even in light winds. Hubby could coax a high octane response out of this small craft with a mere pull on a sheet and hand on the tiller. He had sailing super powers, reading the wind that I couldn't see, finding the smallest of gusts to fill the sail. The boat was an extension of his person, reacting as easily as lifting his arm and he commanded and controlled her with hair trigger responses, whizzing by navigational marks and moorings in a blur. He shaved so close to tied boats I screamed and braced myself for the crash, hoping I'd live to see my son again but he would veer off last second all the while smiling at my lack of sea faring sophistication.
He only fooled me a handful of times before I began to relax and enjoy the experience, knowing I was in capable hands and he was extremely safety conscious so I was wearing a life jacket. What could happen except get wet? Although I feared falling in and getting my hair wet, soaking down all those well placed curls I worked so hard to produce and would have made me look like a drowned rat, not to mention the running mascara....not exactly the look I hoped to bait this water fish with. But there was no chance of an unexpected dip in the brink, he was masterful and impressive, and I fell in "deep like" of him that afternoon. We went out several times after that and each time got a bit easier and I was a little more enthralled with the sea and its adventurous offerings.
The speed of the boat was impressive. It caught the wind like a catchers mitt and moved along the water at titillating speeds. We hiked out over the side and just when you thought for sure the boat would topple and we'd be going for an afternoon swim, a slight adjustment to the sail and we would be upright and becalmed. The sparkling, sun kissed surface of the water reminded me of millions of diamonds and of course, that appealed to the crow in me. Yes, my first taste of sailing was a delicious meal and one I looked forward to whenever time allowed.
In the early eighties, hubby and the Tasar placed first in several regattas at the Calgary Yacht Club before moving to the east coast. He likes the performance and quick response of her handling and the fact that it sails closer to the eye of the wind than any other boat designed. (Don't quite know what that means, and his explanation left me still in the water). He's held on to her all these years so it's bittersweet to let her go. A boat should live its destiny not be land lubbed; she's no longer enjoyed and takes up too much space in the new garage. We need to make room for other boats that don't float, derelicts that need endless hours of work to bring them back to their glory days. Hubby is a tinkerer of water craft. Right now he is working on a Thistle Class sloop bringing her back to her spit polished beginnings. A larger boat that will accommodate two adults and the four pups for family jaunts across the harbour and around the outer islands.
I don't have sailing in my blood, I'm more of a fair weather, weekend kind of enthusiast. My idea of being on the water involves a fridge full of food, a flushing toilet and working shower in the head, a stove in the galley, and a double bed in the berth....all the comforts of home. My dream boat is a Nonsuch 30 or 33 and there will be one in my future as sure as I am sitting here. I spend hours on the net looking for the one! I'll know her when I see her. It will be love at first sight. She's on my dream board on the fridge. One of those want items you ask the universe to to connect you with. It isn't feasible to have her just yet, but in a few years when hubby retires and is home full time, she will be moored in front of our house and I will gaze upon her beamy lines and dream of weekends away.
A Nonsuch is a one sail, sailboat, easy to handle for one person because hubby knows I won't be hands on deck when we skim over the water....Ill be down below napping, cradled in the haul like a babe in a bassinet. Sailing has a strange effect on me. I've thought about it enough to conclude that I might be reminded of being in the womb, the motion of my mother walking and the gurgling of her belly. I'm soothed on the water and napping below deck would be therapeutic mentally as I relax like I can't do on land. Ten minutes out and I'm nodding blissfully as the boat rocks gently up and down like a cork in a bathtub. The motion has never made me feel sick, I'll bet I could be deep at sea and not feel queasy in rough weather. I love my stomach flipping and flopping. The handful of times I drank too much (one glass of wine) and felt ill, I never got sick because I would lay there and go with it until I felt like I was floating on a cloud. Fighting the retching in the gut is what makes you sick...just lay there and ride the waves of nausea, it's an amazing ride. Truthfully!
I've been up in small airplanes a few times and the stomach knotted up and I began to feel sick, but I remembered my days on the water and I just let it go and rode with the turbulence and the feeling of dread went away. Throwing up in the bubble cockpit of an Ultralight plane is not an option!
So we've listed her on Kijiji and it will be sad to see her go....but all things have their day, and we will always have the pictures as a bridge to the memories. Getting older sucks, all the fun stuff is left behind in a fading contrail until it disappears forever. But come on down Nonsuch, we will make new memories, a cottage on the water with standing head room and all the amenities a spoiled princess could ask for and a place our four pups can romp and roam. Yes, bigger is better in all things....
RSS Feed
