When I bought my Columbia 29, in March 2004, I knew zilch about sailing. The boat was in Long Beach, and my soon-to-be home port was Morro Bay, 200 miles away, and the infamous Point Conception was between us. This presented a logistical problem! I'd spent 10 days aboard a tall ship many years ago; and I've been kitesurfing quite a bit; but as for the theory, practice, and terminology of small sailboats, I knew nothing. But I was determined to live aboard a sailboat.
Why? First of all, I wanted to boycott the concept of rent - I despise giving landlords my money - but also, I'm an ocean fanatic, and Morro Bay's ideallic glassy estuary is like a cold water paradise. Smooth like a mirror, nestled between mudflats and sand dunes, under the watchful eye of Morro Rock rising 300 feet high, the bay moves with the ebb and flood of the 6 foot tides, morphing constantly and transfixing my dreamy mind.
I felt a calling, a beckoning from the sailer within, who longed for the infinite horizons and the romance of a black storm. Few times I'd been aboard a sailboat; but I'd always felt a certain familiarity, a warm recognition like I'd once been a sailer, or had always dreamed of being one, and sometimes I'd get tears of emotion in my eyes. I knew that sailing was part of my future.
I began my search for a sailboat. On Ebay, of all places, I found an incredible deal. Just $2000 for a 29ft Columbia Defender. According to the owner, it was fully operational with engine, rigging, sails, and a bombproof 1964 fiberglass hull. No other deal I found came even close. The only problem was that it was in Long Beach. I told the owner I'd love to buy his boat, but I didn't actually know how to sail.
I never would have expected it, but John turned out to be a bit crazy- the good kind of crazy - which was to my advantage. During our conversation, he suddenly said, "You know what? I could use a little adventure. I'll sail her to Santa Barbara with you, teach you how to sail, and you can take it from there."
"Uh, you think I can sail her from Santa Barbara to Morro Bay on my own?" I was skeptical.
"Sure!"
I wasn't convinced about that, but I was definitely pumped up on the boat. If the owner volunteered to sail 100 miles with me, it couldn't be that bad! Three weeks before that, I was walking along the beach, and met a girl called Sarah who had just finished her diploma at San Fransisco's Marine Institute; we had connected instantly and exhanged phone numbers. I hadn't talked to her since, but I called her out-of-the-blue, and asked her if she'd like to go on an adventure. Sarah's incredibly smart and handy, but she shares a characteristic of mine: an under-developed sense of self-preservation. All in the name of fun, of course.
"I know a lot about navigation and big stinky diesel engines, but I don't know much about sailing." She hesitated for a minute. Then, seeing that my own lack of knowledge wasn't keeping me from doing it, she stepped up to the plate. "You said this guy John would teach us? Alright let's do it."
There was no way I could back out now. Two strangers were volunteering their time for a risky venture: sailing in winter with a sketchy boat and an inexperienced crew. If they thought it was possible, how could I back down? It was the beginning of an epic effort to bring a sailboat into my life.
the Raza
