A Gift From Polson Bay

 The first time I ever sailed the boat I now call my own was on Polson Bay. And in two years I've never been back. But today marked my return. It's not that I haven't tried to sail in Polson. Far from it. But at the height of summer the dock is full of ski boats, fishing boats and PWC's. All of them want to get in and out as quickly as they can and it's nothing but motorized mayhem. Not the type of environment that cares about the needs of a fourteen foot boat powered by wind. The winds in the bay can be feast or famine and the chop builds up quickly. All of these factors make it a very challenging place to launch and sail a small boat.
 Quite recently I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. The flare up that led to my diagnosis seems to be fading but I was left with a real fear about my future as a solo sailor.Would I have the strength to sail alone? It's true that the amount of work it takes to get a sailboat on the water increases by the waterline foot but there is still plenty of work in a fourteen foot boat. And just yesterday attempting to the boat ready for sailing left me feeling utterly fatigued after only a few hours of doing things very slowly. What would happen on the ramp?
 Even as these thoughts were swirling around in my head I woke up and finished setting up the boat. It was today or May. The weather here in Western Montana is turning fall as if a switch has been thrown. It's going to go downhill for sailing very, very quickly. Looking at the forecast today was the only day with hope. How much hope? Tomorrow we have a wind advisory. Fresh breeze with gale force gusts. And then rain.
 The drive north wasn't bad. My destination was Big Arm. I had promised to stay in the bay and that was fine with me. I could go and give imaginary broadsides to my buddy Kirk's marina and call it a day.  I just needed a quick sail to finish the season. Deep down I was wondering if I could even manage that much. As I crested the hill and Flathead Lake spread out before me I wondered if maybe I could save half an hour and just go sailing in Polson.
 The signs were not good. The flags hung limp and the water glassy as I drove along the waterfront. I was resigned to the gas usage when just before the turn off to the Polson marina I saw an advertisement flag fluttering in the wind. I made a very quick left, found a spot and parked.
 The water was perfect. Just a touch of wind and no activity at the dock save for fisherman on the pier. I could still drive to Big Arm but why waste such a rare day? You don't. Not when you have your health and a boat.
 I took longer then usual to set up and launch. This was on purpose. With no timeline and not yet understanding my limits it seemed prudent. The dock at Polson is very much the same as at Georgetown. A huge gap between ramp and dock. I have no idea why they do this. At Big Arm it's a straight shot. At Dayton it is too. And the public dock there that ranks as one of the worst docks I've sailed off of. A gentleman on the pier was kind enough to take my bow line so I could get the truck parked once again. The sails were bent, the rudder attached, lines cast off and with the jib doing most of the work we sailed off the pier.
 There is something that amazes people when a sailboat leaves I've found. There is no roar of a motor and thrashing prop. Kids young and old stop what they are doing and marvel that the boat moves at all. And when your audience is used to powerboats it's a bit of smug satisfaction that accompanies the action of departing under sail alone. With the skipper whistling a sea chanty, a jaunty yachting cap on his head and tiller in hand Esmerelda and I headed for deeper water.
 The wind was light. Almost no wind but enough to make obvious way. I've often driven through Polson and wondered what the waterfront looks like from the water. Well I found out.

Looks just like the backside of a resort.

 I've been doing a lot of reading lately on sailboats. Mainly books of an instructional bent and I wanted to sail close hauled as much as I could. The appeal being that once my sails are set I have less to worry and fuss with. So I sailed from close hauled tack to close hauled tack. I worked on passing the rudder behind my back to keep facing forward. Keeping an eye on my telltales and sails and putting it all together. And I thought. A lot. About what sailing in the future could be like. Where I wanted to go. And time and time again about how time on the water beats a day at the office. And that helped.
 No matter what in the moment, right then I was sailing. My boat. By myself. And only the setting sun directing my actions. The sense of confidence and freedom given me was almost euphoric. I always feel good when I'm sailing but this time it was different. I had something to prove to myself and I proved it in good fashion. The worry and doubt went way replaced by focus and learned skill. I set mini goals of location and angle and carried out my own shouted orders. Had I the time and the wind I have no doubt I could have gone anywhere. And that alone was more then worth it.
 But eventually the sun, so much lower these days, beckoned me home. So I did something that while obvious was a new action to me. Well off the the breakwater I lowered my sails an motored in. And I make no excuses. Could I have sailed in and docked? I have no doubt I could, I've done it before. But the factors that dictate my actions lead to this decision. And I'm okay with that. I don't need to be the super uber sailor all the time. Nor should I be. I have my electric motor for a reason.
 I tied up at the far pier, pulled the sails off and made ready to get the boat out of the water. As I was doing this the rumble of an American V8, the sound of Godzilla gargling with marbles, entered my consciousness. The craft making this noise is what I can only call achingly gorgeous. She must have been twenty feet long, twin cockpits and cut through the water like a destroyer. I stood in awe in silent tribute of this wonderful craft. And I know without a doubt this was a motorboat with a soul.

Built in 1997 and powered by a 454 big block.

 So what did I learn on this trip? I learned that the present is where I am and to take things one day at a time. That dock designers in Montana have issues. That having a second line to tie a boat is a really handy thing. That sometimes even with the best of intentions you still get wet. And that your limitations are only found and explored through action. Whether of body and or mind. I'm so glad that the day before gale force winds Flathead gave me a gentle day on the water. As if to remind me that perfection can come when we least expect it and when it does show up to sit back and take it all in. Oh, and that in the right light or even the wrong light I have a very, very beautiful boat. And a wonderful companion on this new and continuing journey.

 

Sometimes you just get wet.