Had we heeded the forecaster’s gloomy wind warnings, we would not have started the race, but 20 sailboats slipped over the line at 18:30 and inched up the 21-mile course. An hour—and two tedious miles—later, a red sun set leaving a starless sky. Two hours and barely four miles in, the fog came down like a black velour lining a coffin. Wet. Dark. Deadly.

 Ten years ago we had an Excel-jockey crewmember; a numbers whiz-kid so proficient with a spreadsheet that he’s since left sailing for a high-powered banking gig.

I’ve been diagnosed with OCD, or Outboard Cheapskate Disorder. It’s a malady that owners of sportboats seem predisposed to. The symptoms are clear. 

Sailing ranks among country churches, Amish barns and potlucks as institutions substantially built and shaped by volunteers. Their work is all around us and it is mighty impressive. 

When steam came to transport, commercial sailing was decimated, and what was left was the recreational kind. I’m hoping the second coming of steam won’t be as bad for sailing. 

When we reached the man in the water and made eye contact, it was clear to the entire crew that we would only have one chance and a few minutes at rescue. He was still treading water and aware of his

There are competing philosophies at sailing schools. Some teach almost exclusively through racing, while others reject racing altogether. Only a few straddle a racing middle ground. Advocates on eithe

Sail faster and better by taking your trimming technique beyond 'sheet it and cleat it'