Sails are just like wings

The wind can make 'em sing

Songs of life, songs of hope

Songs to keep your dreams afloat

-Guy Clark, Boats to Build

It seems like ages since I’d been out on the water, when in reality it’s only been a couple of weeks. I won’t elaborate on the reasons, just suffice it to say that the ahhh, pressure of this phony baloney administrators job coupled with other circumstance have directed my attentions in a less predictable and somewhat darker meander….

On Friday I went to the Dolphin Cove Oyster Bar with the commander, Kim and Jupiter Jeff and his girlfriend, Amy to maybe try and forget stuff for at least an evening, knock back a few cold ones, have some oysters out there on the very terminus of land overlooking the Brazos Santiago Pass.  As it turns out, it was all I could do to sip a couple of cold Lone Stars and eat a dozen sweet oysters.

Could changes be looming for Olivia’s master?

We whiled away several hours talking of destinations south.

Jeff’s girlfriend, Amy is an intrepid traveler, having visited beau coups exotic destinations, and it was a tonic to reignite my own recently hammered wanderlust. A warm breeze blew over the channel as we sat outside under the soft colored lights, listening to reggae music, the blackness of the Pass occasionally punctuated by an outbound shrimper, halogen decklights illuminating rigging and the ribbon of the bow wake.

Jeff informs us that he is going to work on Jupiter’s hull on Saturday, after having finally gotten her engine running again. Vague plans are formulated for taking out Renaissance the next morning, and we tell him we’ll see him out there mañana.

I actually spent the night aboard ‘Div as there were more than enough people occupying the “home port” house Friday evening. Anytime the monsterinlaw shows up, there’s more than enough people, and I generally flee to the sanctity and safety of the boat.

Ever hear someone refer to a storm that’s “meaner n’ a mother in law?”…..but we won’t go there….

So anyway, the commander rousts me up from my semi comatose state Saturday morning saying that he wants to get underway by 1130. I got up, moseyed over to Costa del Mar and ordered up the Saturday morning usual – chilequiles con dos huevos, coffee and a big glass of ice water to douse the incendiary salsa. With breakfast finished, I headed over to ‘Div and picked up the Penn six-ought, the beef stick and the tackle box anticipating doing a little trolling under sail.

It’s that time of the year.

Plenty of water this weekend, there’s been some activity in the Gulf and it’s the usual higher-than-average spring tide period too, so I actually had to hand the stuff up to Eric the Red who was making a first trip with Renaissance. The day promised to be a banner fall sailing day. Winds were from the south at around 10-15 (in the bay), and the skies were clear.

Motoring to the pass, the commander hoisted up full sail, Renaissance heeled nicely to starboard, and we were slicing toward the open Gulf, past crowds of fisherman angling for early run redfish to the end of the jetties, where birds were working and boats were bobbing, all in piscatorial pursuit. Fall is upon us in full swing, and huge schools of bait are balled up everywhere, showering the surface in silvery rains as large predators blast the edges, gorging themselves before the winter cold fronts begin to push in.

Offshore, the winds seemed to moderate as we slipped into a comfortable three to four knot reach as I put the big Russell-lure over the side and we trolled east towards the sea buoy. About mid way there, the tip dips down, and line strips off of the reel with that crackling sound that tells you it’s a big one for sure.  I grab the rod as the commander turns into the wind to slow us down, but eventually the fish gets under the hull and saws the line off. Fish one, fishermen zero……

Tying on a different lure, we resume our course offshore in the green water, heading past the sea buoy. The hotels, condos and other assorted eyesores on the Island begin to fade in the distance, and we can no longer see the entrance to the Brazos Santiago Pass. The beer is cold, the talk good.

I am, for the first time in many days, at peace.

As always, and too soon, the commander gives the order to turn around, head back to port, and so we reposition the sails and head in on a broad reach. South of us, Night Magic under full sail, wing on wing is heading inbound as well. Cruising down the pass, we turn along the channel, past Dolphin Cove and Childrens beach just as the last St. Pauli Girl is finished.

We had not seen Jupiter anywhere, so the commander called Jeff and he tells him that when he came aboard this morning there was three feet of water in the cabin. Apparently the stuffing box (as well as probably owing to the fact that his prop was an encrusted ball of marine science project) , after having not been exercised in so long decided to begin leaking heavily …..

Near the old causeway, we find the shallow shoal and go aground, finally having to start up the engine and pivot around the keel, as the three of us hang our collective weights off of the port rail, breaking free into deeper water as Night Magic slides by, still under full sail.

We tie up without incident, making vague plans to take ‘Div out next. It’s my turn.

It's my turn.