On Sailing, a Passage -- by Alex Ranieri

Sailing a little boat is by no means relaxing, at least not in the sense of luxuriating in having nothing to do. I confess I like it the better for that. In fact my favorite conditions for sailing are when a fine strong wind is blowing, and there are small waves with which to contend. In these conditions I must devote my whole attention and strength to wrangling the boat, and I return from spending an hour or two in this manner refreshed with life.

On our last sail, we came across a speedboat who had anchored, and was simply enjoying the sun. Now, to be sure, this is a different kind of enjoyment, and far be it from me to quarrel with my fellow man over his particular variety; but for myself, speedboating holds no charm. One is either careening across the water as though it were any other expressway, or stood stock still, sunning oneself in just the same way as may be done on any other beach. In other words, the illusion of land is brought onto the water.

This seems to me a dangerous fiction. Man does not belong on the water, however much he enjoys it; and a sailing jaunt makes this at once and amply clear. The sailor must balance these two quarreling facts—that he does not belong on the water, and that he wants to be there—with physical and intellectual precision. To the speedboater the water is his playground; the sailor, by contrast, understands at bottom that he takes his life in his hands every time he leaves shore.

Now, given these two options—with the speedboat, to luxuriate in my seeming dominance over the natural order of things, and with the sailboat, to experience first-hand the humbling realization that any dominance is illusive and transitory—why would the second bring me more delight?

The truth is, I can articulate no logical reason. All I can say is that when I hop off a speedboat, I feel exactly the same as I did before setting off; when I hop off a sailboat, I exhilarate.