The harmonics of a sweet sail

Among the experiences in this world that defy description or even comprehension, the feel of a sailboat when sailing well is high among them. We can all conjure a quick list of the things that we know, but would struggle to articulate. Certainly love, or even deep pain. You know it because you have felt it, or you don't.

This reminds me of one of my favorite Robert Frost poems where he says simply:
"We dance around in a ring and suppose,
The Secret sits in the middle and knows."

This "knowing", which I would argue is not intellectual in nature, not manifestly articulate, is beautiful and ineffable.

But somewhat like using a filter on a telescope to look at the sun, I will attempt to throw a few words around the edges of the feeling and see if a sort of impressionist image can take shape that at least suggests the true thing.

Amy and I went for a Mother's Day sail this weekend and were excited to have some wind for our journey north to Roche Harbor. Friday Harbor often has a spot of wind, but for unknown reasons it will die once you leave the harbor and turn north or south. For this reason Amy was advising me to not raise the sail until we saw what was happening outside, and the weight of our experience made me relent. But the wind remained and so up went the canvas and off went the motor. Every boat I have sailed has a different helm and feel and sweet spot, but the groove feels the same. For Aeolus, that spot requires wind of 15 knots or more. We had 15-20 knots of wind from the WNW and were heading NW. Skies were typical of spring, with cotton ball clouds and sun enough to warm your bones.

Aeolus on south side of Jones Island, her home away from home

We were on a close reach to beam reach on our way up San Juan Channel. The sails were trimmed, using the main and genoa, the engine was silent, the prop was in reverse to prevent spinning, the batteries were turned to house with nothing on but the GPS, with no radio or even VHF noise to disturb the peace. In short, there was no sound not originating from the movement of the boat through the water and wind.

Heeling over, leaning, edging, to that point on Aeolus where she feels like she has her shoulder in the water, and quite comfortably, like you lean against a wall to talk to someone, relaxed. The sails taught. No flapping or creases, no inefficiencies, telltales back. Wings. Like rigid wings.

The helm light, and in dynamic tension between you and the water. The round wheel of the helm in your hand, turned slightly against the push of the water trying to straighten her, and turn the boat up to weather helm. The rudder dragging through while thousands of tons of water push against it, communicating whatever mood the water contains, transferring that through the rudder up the shaft to the gears and cables and to the wheel I hold in my hand so lightly. In this way I am feeling the slightest movement of the rudder, and the water, and the play between them.

The wind approaches my face at the same angle it approaches the mast and sails. There is more on the left, and a bit of vacuum on the right. My head makes a poor sail, and contributes nothing to our forward speed, but the feel of the wind on my face tells me how to adjust the sails, and in this way the wind on my head does much to affect our speed. Another translation.

The angle of the boat, the sails taught and full, the feel of the helm and water below, the hush of sound and the flush of wind on my face. Somewhere in there, and more than the parts, is a feeling of everything being in harmony.

Harmonic. Resonant. These words most often come to mind. There is an unmistakable vibration to it all, a subtle inaudible vibration. A resonance that matches something in our bodies, or something less material in ourselves. The sum of all the parts is this harmonic resonance: where we humans feel like the wings of the sails, in perfect balance.

We sailed like this up to Spieden, and then played a while around Flattop before heading into Roche. I could explain how great the rest of the weekend was, and how much we enjoyed the leisure of a fine night and a fine dinner. How much getting away for a weekend felt like an eternity, and how deeply we settled into a place of peaceful contentment. That is all true, but this is a sailing blog, and the feeling we had while sailing to Roche Harbor made the weekend as much as anything we did on land.