I’ve never sailed around the world, or even down the East Coast, but I’ll never forget the first time I made it across the vast body of water we call Long Island Sound. Sure, we covered fewer than 40 miles the entire trip, but that didn’t matter to me. Up until that point, most of my sailing experiences took place rather close to home, within a few miles of the Connecticut shoreline where I grew up.
My dad has an incredible passion for sailing, and he gave me an amazing gift by passing that torch down. Within a year of him acquiring our 31-foot Hunter, I was hooked on the sport. It didn’t take long for me to grow fascinated with the way you can control your speed by trimming the sails and the complex rigging that made the magic happen. With several decades of experience under the belt around his life vest, he has a knack for making it look easy. I dreamed of being the sailor behind the helm, one hand on the jib sheet, as we cruised through the waters I’ll always call home.
Prior to this family weekend getaway, we had only motored across the Sound. Each summer when the designated days rolled around, it always seemed like the wind didn’t want to cooperate and help us across. But, on this particular journey, both sails were hoisted and the engine was off. Without the outboard’s rumble in the background, I suddenly felt something different as I looked out into the distance.
Although the shadow of Long Island is almost always visible, I imagined that watery roads were all I could see from the deck. Standing on the bow, I let the waves crash onto my feet as I squinted into the sun. Each time Impulse bobbed, nodding toward the horizon ahead, I fell deeper in love with the sea.
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