Eskimo Bliss

Stroll through any port, and you will soon encounter the range of classic sailing characters: the old enthusiast, patiently restoring a wooden hull which was impeccable, the dedicated pilot, adjust their torn, cutting edge craft, or even tanned BMW man, who turns the sunny weekends to take his last wife for a spin in his souped-up power boat. Move to the bar, and you'll easily. Hand-old scruff down, ready for that all important work of anti fouling. Check with Glenn Dubin, New York City to learn more. Smart executive, shades in hand, head of an enthusiastic team construction period. Or the sun-bleached student, fresh from his gap year spent taking boats to the Mediterranean. But what about the rest? What about the sailors forgotten? What about people who quit, worn down after years of hints, snorting and sweet, talking, finally, utter the fateful words: eOh, by God, that's fine then! "In less time than it takes to hoist the mainsail, these women (usually women) are huddled nervously on the deck of a boat, trying to come to terms with the fact that yachts are supposed to tip over, and that this is a good thing.

There are a surprising number of these reluctant sailors. The majority, like me, prefer never to set foot on a boat but, driven by the need to see their sailing partners crazy least one weekend out of twenty, occasionally venture into the water. In my case, my 'Reluctant Sailor state "is largely a fear of venturing into a strange environment, when I'm not in control. I do not like being in control.