A surveyor had pointed out the need to replace a failing exhaust hose on Second Star, the 1993 Sabre 362 I’d just bought. Complying with that recommendation had consumed my day. At first the work progressed as I’d hoped, both ends of the hose were easily accessible and within a few minutes I’d disconnected the hose and clipped the wire ties securing it. But then the battle began, with me losing at several attempts to remove the hose.
“Hey, Dave, I finished Whisper’s survey yesterday. Did you notice the rudder?” Well, of course I noticed the rudder. I won’t claim to have a surveyor’s eye, but I know enough to make sure the rudder turns smoothly and the bearings are tight.
“Yes, Shawn, I checked the bearings, looked fine to me.”
“Did you notice the crack on the trailing edge?”
“The broker didn’t notice it either.”
September. A month possessed of an uncertain identity. Today a reminder of summer, tomorrow hints of winter chill and damp are ushered on its shoulders. The whims of September make planning a challenge. With a warm southerly wind on a September Saturday, sailing is the order of the day. With a winter chill thoughts turn to staying warm and sailing southern waters. It was fitting that I headed to Buffalo, on a gray drizzly day.
There is a time and place where a dream is born. Sometimes it is a small and fleeting place, one that escapes into memory and curiosity. Such was the case with this dream. The dream in its generic form is one that is shared by many; sail away to distant lands, azure waters, white sands, and sun filled skies. Magazine photos of sailboats at anchor, beating across tropic seas have an allure unto themselves.