Not Sailing

By George Bollenbacher

When grown men get new toys, they are comfortable for a while just playing, but sooner or later the competitive urge takes over. Not too long after getting a set of clubs, the average golfer starts asking for mulligans, worrying about his handicap, and putting for a few dollars on the eighteenth green. The same is true with sloops, as far as I can tell.

So, over this past winter I got ready to do some racing this season. I signed up with the local racing organization, and paid my fee to get my PHRF rating. I got a list of the open regattas throughout the mid-Hudson region. I recruited a crew of two experienced sailors and ordered matching shirts, so we would at least look competent, even if we finished at the back of the pack.

I also began to educate myself on the intricacies of sailboat racing. I got several videos, featuring such experts as Gary Jobson, and viewed them over and over, until their concepts were mentally ingrained, if not at my fingertips. I read books on racing. I tuned up the boat over the winter, rigging the backstay tensioner that was there but not functional and greasing the jib furler. I bought a whisker pole to improve those downwind legs. I even looked into buying a used spinnaker, but decided that would have to wait for at least a season. By the time the boat was launched in May, I was really ready to race.

Except for one thing. Twenty-five years of recreational running had left my knees more than a little the worse for wear. My orthopedist and I tried to treat them with injections, therapy, and pills for about six months, but we finally decided that my left knee had to be replaced, and the sooner the better. The date of the surgery? June 2, 2009!

The normal recovery from a total knee replacement is about 5 weeks using a cane, and about 6 months until the knee is completely recovered. My case was a little more complicated than that, since the insertion of all the prosthetics cracked my tibia, if only slightly. That meant six weeks on crutches, initially with no weight on the leg, and eventually with a partial use. It looked like the whole summer would be a washout.

Initially, all I could think about, besides getting back to work, was getting back to sailing. The mental picture of Greyhound sitting quietly at her expensive marina berth while all the other boats were gliding in and out was more than a little maddening. And, because her berth is on a floating dock, I couldn’t even visit her on crutches. All I had was her picture on my laptop to keep me going.

I was partly mollified by the fact that in the eastern US this June was one of the wettest, coolest, most inhospitable Junes on record. When I finally made it down to the marina, I encountered boatowner after boatowner complaining that they hadn’t been able to get out on the water. Even sitting under the bimini consuming prodigious amounts of adult beverages apparently got old after a while. They were reduced to working on their boats to keep from going bonkers. What a bummer!

In fact, I did manage to do some work on Greyhound myself. Using my cane to get to the boat (in violation of medical advice) I was able to remove the knot in my main downhaul, so I didn’t look like I was permanently reefed all the time, and install a ring buoy and hangar on the pushpit rail. I pumped out the keel sump, which had filled up from all the rain, and realigned my boom. I was not sailing, of course, but boat work may be the next best thing. It will make the sailing that much better when I can finally do it.