Not an April Fools’ Joke: Print Is Alive, and so Is Latitude 38

Faced with another grueling deadline, a meager paycheck, a few angry readers and no time to sail or live the life we write about, I considered ending it all as a Latitude editor. Despondent, I walked to a bridge and peered over the side into the abyss … and pulled out my phone to look for new jobs. Maybe I could be a truck driver? I’ll try my hand at coding, or go to school to be a dental assistant. Just please, God, don’t make me edit another issue of Latitude 38. Looking out on an empty, sailboat-less Bay, I wondered, “Who are we doing this for?” This is the most common thing I hear when I tell people that I work at Latitude (and this is true): “Latitude 38? I used to read that all the time.”

What would the world look like if there had never been Latitude 38 magazine? Would it be a dystopia of sailing-less-ness?

For the past six April Fools’ Days, Latitude has written headlines that are both absurd and in the realm of probability — think of them as worst-case scenarios emanating from the current body politic. “State Proposes a Ban on Sailing” read one headline; “State Will Impose High-Impact Waterfront Development” read another. They were fun, clickbaity, shock-value stories to write that reliably garnered alarmed comments.

Ha ha, April Fools. Got you. Aren’t we sooo hilarious?

Following the semi-logical extension of real-world policy to its dystopian-for-recreational-sailing conclusion, we reasoned that waterfront development, well-meaning but ultimately draconian environmental laws, local governments’ lack of understanding about recreational sailing and marine businesses, and yes, the persistent declining participation in the sport and lifestyle would ultimately lead to the disappearance of sailing as we know it.

But sailing as we knew it — what we call the Golden Era in the ’70s and ’80s when a large percentage of middle-class families had 25- to 35-ft racers and/or cruisers — has been long gone for decades. It’s not just the lifestyle, but the middle class as well. The future of the sport or lifestyle is uncertain.

To be fair, though, the future always is.

We recognize that we don’t get to control it, nor are we entitled to lament and wax nostalgic about the good old days. The future is what you make of it, right? Our influence in these matters has, however, always felt a little thin, and propelling Latitude into the future has always felt like a puzzle.

But we enjoy the challenge, and above all, we love the community.

We’ve never satirized the challenges facing print media on April 1. I was tempted to write the headline: Latitude To Halt Printing Indefinitely, but that idea was wisely discouraged. Besides, no one wants to hear us bitch about how hard our jobs are or how unwise our career choices have been.

With that said, how would you have reacted, dear reader, if you had read that headline? What does Latitude mean to you? Where does it fit into your life?

When Latitude 38 was founded by Richard Spindler 47 years ago (to the month!), the sailing world was ripe for the picking, as was the publishing world. We were in that Golden Era (well, I was two years old), and the sailing world seemed to need an iconoclast, someone to raise their middle finger to the powers that be, especially the nascent state authority. (That’s you, BCDC.)

It wasn’t just Spindler’s searing prose and humor, and it wasn’t just the pages showing beautiful humans — mostly women, but a few men — in the buff. It was the media landscape. Latitude was a diamond in the rough — people lined up to get new issues on delivery days. Today, there are more diamonds (well, cubic zirconias) than rough. There are at least 10 Facebook sailing groups for every one page of our magazine. Everyone’s bandwidth is taxed. The media supply is infinite, while demand is lost to the infinity of the internet.

Sometimes — but not often — we get slightly indignant emails from readers who are upset that we didn’t cover an event. Do people think that we have a full-time correspondent driving around to the many (many, many) regattas, seminars, visiting boats, and award ceremonies that take place each and every week, year ’round, not just here in the Bay Area, but all along the West Coast, including SoCal, MidCal, Oregon, Washington, Alaska, Mexico and Hawaii? Do people expect us to be at each and every event, but also expect the magazine to be free?

Even in its heyday, Latitude 38 was a contributor-driven publication. We counted on people to send us photos and a handful of words. We would work our editorial magic, and presto, you would be in the magazine. We can only hope people realize that this is still the editorial model. If you’re part of a sailing Facebook group or other social network, we hope that you’ll consider keeping us in the loop.

Standing on the bridge, I put away my phone. No, I do want to be a Latitude editor, which is to say that I want to be part of this community. Everyone who works here wants this glorious art project to succeed, to resonate, to reach an audience, and to connect you, dear sailors, with one another. We want to connect you to the wonders of nature and the joy of sailing. We want the magazine in your bathrooms and heads and living rooms and saloons. Once you’ve read it, we want you to tear up the mag for boat maintenance (“It’s great for keeping oil off the deck when I service my winches,” said one reader), to start a bonfire on the beach, or — God forbid — if you run out of toilet paper … well, you know what to do.

You can support Latitude 38’s commitment to West Coast sailors and sailing news when you click here.