My first “student” of the week aboard our Friendship sloop EASTWARD was George, a pleasant, enthusiastic young man who had been sailing on other people’s boats and was eager to learn. He paid attention to the direction of the wind and the luff of the mainsail and soon got the feel of the wheel.
Sam mounted the wheel box with the look of one who was used to taking charge. When I told him to turn a little away from the wind, he choked the wheel spokes with an iron grip and turned a full turn to port.
“Too much, Sam. Ease her back to starboard, gently.” EASTWARD swung sharply to starboard, three sheets in the wind and stopped, outraged at being treated so. I took the wheel and got her calmed down and sailing quietly on the starboard tack again.
“Now, Sam,” I said slowly, “hands on the wheel, but don’t turn it.” I put my hands over his and gradually overcame the tension so he was able to steer a reasonably straight and steady course. He still oversteered but not so much. He still held on to the idea that he was going to tell the boat what to do. He would need an hour, a day, or a week to feel the responsive relationships of boat, wind, and water.
Edith started out as if she were steering a motor boat.
“Where are we going? What shall I head for?”
“For now, head for that cottage with the red roof.” The sail was full, the wind abeam, and we sailed along gently.
“Why don’t we pull in the sail and catch more wind?”
“We’re catching all there is.” Clearly, she had no idea of how the sails worked. “Edith, you will notice that the sail near the mast is more baggy and flattens out as it nears the stern. This shape is what drives the boat. Now, point your finger to where the wind is coming from.
She did.
“When the wind comes to the boat, it bellies out the sail and slides back along it. The wind that comes in the other side of the mast has farther to go to get around the back of the sail so it has to go faster. When air has to go faster, it exerts less pressure. So there is less pressure on the back of the sail and more pressure on the front and that is driving the boat ahead.”
She seemed confused. I persevered.
“The curve of the sail is like the curve on the top of an airplane wing. Just as the air rushing over the airplane wing lifts the airplane, so the wind going over the sail ‘lifts’ the boat ahead. Do you get it?”
She didn’t.
Try another tack. “Now point to the wind again. Good. Now turn the wheel a little toward the wind and watch the sail close to the mast. This is luffing. See the curve of the sail collapse and begin to flutter? That curve drives the boat. The curve has collapsed. We’re slowing down. We aren’t going anywhere. No one is having any fun…
“Before we stop dead in the water, turn the wheel away from the wind – gently. The sail fills again. The curve comes back. We are going fine. But we will never get by that red buoy over there and there is a rock right under it, so steer just a little nearer the wind. Not much. Just so the sail is beginning to think about luffing.” I left Edith to herself for a while to get the feel of wind and sail. This teaching technique is called “beneficent neglect”.
Our next student said to call her “Buffy” and Buffy talked a steady stream about how thrilling it was to be on a real sailboat on the real ocean and it was the high point … I had a job to break through.
Our last was Mary, who had said little and had been listening intently. She was a shy young lady, said she had never been on a sailboat before, was reluctant to take the wheel and was happy to leave it to others. I talked her into it, but I did not pay her enough attention at first as I was busy showing George how to tie a bowline. When I turned back to Mary, I found her sailing the boat with a steady hand right along the edge of the wind and loving it.
“You can’t tell me you never sailed a boat before!”
“No, I never have, but I am a commercial airline pilot.”