From the Vault: Sailboat

By Eilene Lyon

My first venture on any sailing vessel was a Windjammer cruise in the British Virgin Islands in 1986. I’d dreamed of sailing ever since reading the book Dove by Robin Lee Graham, the true story of a 16-year-old boy sailing solo around the world. His journey began in California in 1965, and he completed it in 1970, bringing home the pregnant wife he met and married along the way.

The year after The Putterer and I married, I saw a boat for sale along the highway near home. It was a 1973 Catalina 22 (two feet shorter than Graham’s boat) and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I contacted Buzz, the seller. He was an avid sailor and evangelical about getting others into the sport. He bought boats and brought them to Durango to fix up and sell. I confess he hooked me but good. Yes, I paid far too much for my dream-come-true.

Wait a minute…sailing in the Rocky Mountains? I know, perhaps not the brightest idea. The best place around here to sail is at Navajo Reservoir, a good 50-minute drive away. Buzz took us out on the lake to give me a lesson before I committed myself.

After buying, we first took the Catalina to a closer reservoir and put it out on a buoy. The boat trailer needed serious work, which we did ourselves. Vallecito Reservoir is small and ringed by mountains. There’s no such thing as a consistent wind. Sailing in the mountains is not for the novice or faint-of-heart. We learned the hard way.

On our second sail, as we were about to tie up to the buoy, a microburst—a 35-mph gust—hit the boat broadside just after we’d taken down the mainsail. The sail blew back up the mast and then heeled the boat to starboard until the top of the mast nearly hit the water. The man working the marina was sure we would either pitch-pole or turtle. Either would be a very bad thing!

The Putterer leapt over the port side, gripped the gunwale and stood on the exposed keel, serving as ballast. The microburst passed as suddenly as it had arrived. I simply held onto the rudder in stunned silence through the entire episode. No damage done except to our nerves.

After finishing the trailer, we stored the boat near Navajo, on land. When we sailed, we had to haul it about a mile and use the boat ramp. We sailed the north part of the lake, and used a small outboard motor to get in and out of the marina. Then when done, the fun of loading the boat back on the trailer.

We had some issues with the motor from time to time. I spent a fair amount of money adding useful accessories and repairing things I had not noticed before the purchase. I had the canvas covers resewn, added a “caterpillar” to hold the mainsail when furled, repaired and polished the gel coat, and painted portions of the topside to improve the looks and traction.

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We also took a sailing course to learn all the nautical ins and outs to get certified. Knots and terminology were key items. The hardest knot to master was the bowline. And you learn there are no “ropes” on a boat. Everything that looks like a rope has a special name: sheet, downhaul, outhaul, painter, etc.

My final season of sailing at Navajo, I rented a slip at the marina at season’s end: October 2008. There were few people out on the lake and the marina office closed early. We went for a late afternoon sail. As the sun began to set, we headed for the docks. The wind dropped to nothing. The motor would not start. It got darker.

There was no one at the marina to respond to radio calls. Any tiny breeze that came by, we manually held the sail open to catch it. I swear we were trying to blow into the damn thing! Slowly, slowly the boat inched toward the marina.

As I maneuvered around the breakwater, the last light faded. The boat moved slower than a stoned clam. But in my final feat and proudest moment of my sailing days, I steered that boat right into the slip, and went home.

Feature image: My Catalina 22 shortly after purchase, mast down for transport.