I cast my eye upon her. I felt a stir in my loins. This fifty four foot sailing yacht sure was sleek. Sleek and panther like .. much like myself.
Skipper Dave had parted with $1.4 million Canadian in order to procure her. She was now his slave.
Skipper Dave , Johnny O , Harry , Larry and the Duke. It doesn't get much better than this.
We cheerfully provisioned her in San Francisco and readied her for the Northward slog up one of the most treacherous coasts on earth... from California to Canada via Oregon and Washington state. We feared for the early summer Northerlies into which we must sail. The other door to hell were the South Westerlies that whipped hard againts the Columbia River outflow. These , hopefully had retreated for the year only to awaken next fall to stare down the south bound mariners.
We cast off on a sunny day and purred along at eight knots out from Oakland into San Francisco Bay , navigating by the GPS moving map with all bouys clearly marked. A few points off the port bow towered the Golden Gate bridge under which we must steam. And steam we did right into a hornet's nest ... fifty racing sailboats hard tacking to weather with no mind for a transitting ocean bound yacht. With deft manipulation of the helm I stroked her through this nest only to be pounded by steep , short white cappers through which she plunged with her fine bow as she carried most of her beam aft in a saucy fashion.
She trembled with excitement as I plunged her.