Sailing the mighty Lake Cowan

There are certain things you never expect to be able to do in southwestern Ohio. One of them would be skiing, which is why I've still never been, even though there are "slopes" not too far away. Another would be surfing or mountaineering or real backpacking, for reasons too obvious to write. And if I had written this post two weeks ago, I probably would have included sailing on that list.

But last Sunday Taylor, Mark and I were invited to do just that at Cowan Lake with the Cowan Lake Sailing Association. If it was windy enough, we were told, we could probably find a spot on one of the boats as extra weight to "ride the rails." (Just one out of a handful of sailing terms that we would pick up from our day on the water).

So we made it to the lake around 1 o'clock as directed, to secure a spot on a boat for the two races of the day. The weather was perfect: a sunny sky pocked with cloud tufts and a consistent wind that almost guaranteed we would be needed. We pulled into the sailing association's private lot, where the outdoor clubhouse sits overlooking the water, and were greeted by Bob and Terri Thobaben, the avid sailors who invited us. There was room enough for two extra on the Thobaben's Highlander and a third person would pair up with two other young sailors, Brian and Colin, both mechanical engineers from Cincinnati. Mark and Taylor went with the Thobabens, and I went in the other boat.

Without much instruction, we got the boats from the dock and made our way out to the middle of the lake, where a circle of fifteen or more sailors were getting "in line" for the race. I learned very quickly that certain terms, which otherwise had no context for me, were connected to simple, quick actions. For instance, "tack," or when the direction of the sail is shifted to change the direction of the boat, really means "duck," because the mast is about to swing from one side of the boat to the other, and your head is just an obstacle along its path. Luckily I was alert enough to figure that out ahead of time, and any time Brian yelled "tack!" my head was well between my knees.

But the races were a blast. The maze of ropes and pulleys and locks at first seemed impossible to understand. The way you throw your weight from one side of the boat to the other, to counteract a strong gail threatening to capsize your boat, was nerve wracking at first, but eventually it was exhilarating. Hanging yourself off the side of the rail and using only your feet wrapped around a rope in the bottom of the boat for leverage-- that was difficult to get used to. But it all became natural after a half an hour or so.

I happened to be riding up front, so any water that splashed into the boat typically drenched me first. But the sun dried us out within minutes, so the splash from the lake eventually became welcomed. I was just glad I had the foresight to double-wrap my phone in two Ziploc bags. Next time, it's staying in the car.

After the race, we docked and secured the boats and walked back to the clubhouse for a beer and some food with the Thobaben's and the rest of the sailing club, which that day probably numbered 25 or 30 members. As it turns out, the CLSA is one of the best sailing associations in the country, and it's literally five miles away from where I grew up. I never would have guessed. Supposedly, the former president of the U.S. Sailing Assocation is among its members, and several others are ranked nationally in their sailing class.

All three of us were buzzing after our impromptu day on the water, and we're all looking forward to that next windy Sunday, when our dead weight can be of use again. Next time, I'll bring a camera, and some more sturdy Ziploc bags.