As the Crow Flies — A Tale From Up High on San Francisco Bay
O’Neil Dillon, the captain and owner of the pristine Ericson 38 Lagniappe (meaning, in New Orleans, something given as a bonus or extra gift), decided that the upcoming season demanded a larger genoa. He chose to make the exchange just before departing on a trip to Angel Island. With 67 years of sailing on the Bay behind him, it seemed unlikely that any decision he made would require more from me than attention.
As we hoisted the bigger genoa, the job became increasingly difficult until a screeching sound halted everything. O’Neil raised his binoculars and diagnosed a wrap at the pulley located at the very top of the mast. He began barking directions, convinced that he would be the one going up the mast in a bosun’s chair.
That day we were a crew of four: Dick, Peter, O’Neil and me. Being the youngest of the group by a few decades, I volunteered to go up. Reluctantly, O’Neil accepted. They hoisted me using the mainsail halyard.
I started gaining altitude, feeling every turn of the winch in my rump. My distance from the deck increased, soon exceeding a third of the mast height. My heart began to race, and my limbs felt cold. A few months earlier, I had frozen in fear halfway across a pedestrian suspension bridge in the Swiss Alps.
As I rose, I silently counted what was keeping me alive. The equipment was in excellent condition. The three men hoisting me had a combined 150 years of sailing experience. Two of them were retired medical doctors. Still, as I reached two-thirds of the way up, my legs clamped against the mast; only the fear of embarrassment prevented me from asking to be lowered.
Then, suddenly, a bird with its wings fully extended flew past, just a few yards away. Had it been moving any slower, I might have made eye contact. The interruption broke my mental spiral, and I turned my attention to my breath, the air moving into and out of my belly.
The view from up there was completely unobstructed. I noticed more birds tracing paths in the distance, San Francisco’s skyline stretched along the horizon, the Golden Gate Bridge faint behind it all. I looked up. I was only an arm’s length from the pulley where the halyard was jammed. I could clearly see the problem. Reaching up, I pulled the halyard free, releasing it from its entanglement.
With the halyard freed, we sailed on to Angel Island, the hull displacing water with a steady, rhythmic sound, the new genoa full of wind. The repair had taken less than half an hour, yet the climb stayed with me long after my feet were back on deck. I had gone up expecting a technical fix. What I carried down instead was the quiet knowledge that breath can take you farther up than you can imagine, and beyond. .
This story’s author, Oscar Luna, began sailing over 20 years ago on lakes Union and Washington, WA, as well as in the open waters of Seattle and Puget Sound. “After moving to the San Francisco Bay Area I met a few boat owners through the Berkeley Rotary Club, where we all belong, and I have been sailing with them for more than a decade,” he tells us.
Oscar learned to sail with the University of Washington’s sailing club and says, “My first sailing boat at that club was a Laser.”
Although he doesn’t own a sailboat, and isn’t a member of a yacht club, he has a good amount of sailing experience through cruising across a wide range of locations. “On the California coast, I have sailed to Drake’s Bay, Monterey Bay, Bodega Bay, Tomales Bay and the Delta. I have also sailed in Puget Sound up in Seattle, the Sea of Cortez, and Reykjavik, Iceland.”
It goes to show that you don’t need to own a boat or join a club to get your sailing fix. (Though if you do want a boat of your own, check out what’s on offer in Classy Classifieds.)