All rigged up and no place to go

The varnish hardened on the mast, the new rudder and yoke mounted on the transom, the bumps and bruises on the hull repaired, the sails, sheets and halyards rigged; Onawind Blue sat in the garden, pleasing as ever to the eye.

Food and cooking equipment in the fore locker, the wine skin in the stern, anchor, drogues, spare line, bucket and bailer, fenders, oars, lifejacket and cushion, all the necessary items for a good day’s sail stashed and stowed away. But this rarely achieved state of optimum readiness and the resulting expectation and excitement coincided almost to the minute with an ugly shift in the weather and dark clouds wiped four days of benign weather from the sky bringing thick, heavy wind from the southwest. I stood on the beach and debated launching into the growing swell. It would be wet, it would be cold but what the hell, everything was ready and I had all day before me. I’d rowed but I hadn’t sailed for months. In five minutes I could be afloat.

I turned away from the sea, went home, put the kettle on.