While being mildly entertained reading a novel titled “North of Havana,” one of Randy Wayne White’s water-based Florida capers, I bumped into this profound observation by the author: “It’s o

Didn’t you cut it a little close to Point Loma?” my friend Jon said on the phone the other day.   “What are you talking about?” I said. “I’m looking at the course you laid out to cl

When the coronavirus started taking over the dry-land world, I started planning my escape. It would be on sailboat, of course.     The First Mate and I would depart these troubled sho

Memories of post-race parties run together, but one stands out, not just for the fun being had (fun was definitely had) but for the shocking dockside news that awaited the unknowing fleet. After thre

I never could get the hang of birdwatching, which is all about seeing and identifying avians and making copious notes about the sightings in something called a life list. I did once manage to rec

It had never occurred to me, until this pandemic put everyone into self-imposed exile, that sailing is a magnificently and spectacularly solitary endeavor. I now realize that many of my best memories

I came across an old photograph the other day and was carried away by a wave of nostalgia. It was a photo of a person engaged in spinnaker flying. I don’t mean flying a spinnaker, as in settin

Sailing boasts unmatched power to make quick comrades from nemeses. For example, when climate change provocateur Greta Thunberg chose to sail across the Atlantic Ocean instead of flying, sailing soci

I remember my distress when I was introduced to Old Devil Hull Speed. I was just getting into offshore racing, working at being a semi-competent bowman, and I was gung-ho for speed. I read every

Iwent sailing with an old friend recently on his 38-foot racer-cruiser that shall remain nameless because what I’m about to say has nothing to do with the boat, which was quite fun to sail.  B

Folks who enter the rustic confines of our family’s beach cottage are greeted by a small display of sailing heirlooms including a color photograph of me at a barely-adult age along with two older, m

It was a quarter of a century ago but it seems like yesterday. We were 50 miles into a 120-mile overnight passage bound north by northeast. Our homeport lights had fallen below the horizon  so o

Why do people climb a dangerous mountain? That’s easy. We know the answer because George Mallory gave it to us in three words in 1923, one year before his life ended on Mount Everest. Why do peopl

To be a real sailor is more than knowing your knots and how to trim sails for the conditions. It’s also looking the part. Just as Boy Scouts have merit badges, so too do sailors have their status sy

I read car magazines with interest and envy.  Interest because, as a semi-reformed sports car buff, my clutch-foot still twitches when I read about high-performance automobiles.  Envy

Footage of the foiling IMOCA 60s is sci-fi. And I’m not just talking about the sailing shots.  Watching the new Apivia emerge from its shed is like seeing a stealth fighter jet for the first t

Among the hundreds of thousands of words I’ve written in pursuit of my calling as an ink-stained wretch, I can’t think of any combination of them that has achieved the status of a deathless phrase

I admit it: I belong to way too many yacht clubs. I realize this, but it seems to be a chronic issue, like keeping every copy of the New York Times for 30 years or creating huge balls of string.