JUNE 16, 2021 – Over the weekend I was visiting with my sister and brother-in-law while sitting in front of the family cabin. Our perch atop the pine-guarded bank that rises sharply from the north shore of the lake afforded a wide-angle view of the water, shimmering from sun and wind.
Suddenly the wind changed direction. That surprising development prompted a story I told about sailing with Mother . . .
The sky was clear and a southerly wind blew—perfect for beating across the lake, I thought, then turning around and running back to home port. Mother was game. From her earliest days, she loved the sea. She’d married a landlubber, and my sailboat was her passage to the past, albeit on inland freshwater without tide or swells.
Well into our voyage, all went according to plan. Then without warning the wind died. I looked astern and in consternation saw a long bank of very black storm clouds over the northern shore. In July, storms never approach from the north.
“What in the world?” I said, oblivious to the effect on my 75-year-old mother.
Gusts now blew from the north. Instead of running back to port as planned, I faced the prospect of tacking into a rising blow in front of the advancing storm. Between wind and clouds, I realized we couldn’t make it home before fury struck. Lightning flashed over the shoreline.
I expected Mother to worry—she could get excessively anxious about things—but she stayed utterly calm. I took her cue.
“Mother,” I said, “I don’t think we should try to beat our way back. Let’s reach west and aim for [my in-laws’] cabin. I think we can make it.”
“Agreed,” Mother said, as if we were sipping tea on the porch. “You’re the skipper, so I’ll follow you.”
“Let out the sails a bit,” I said. Mother quickly uncleated the sheets as I pulled on the tiller to head downwind. In short order we were flying on a beam reach aimed for safe harbor.
The wind rose, as did the waves. More lightning, more thunder but closer now. “Go, go, go!” I shouted at the boat. Mother kept her eyes on our adjusted destination. Lightning flashed, followed seconds later by Ka-BOOM! . . . She’s led a good life, I thought . . . but everyone’s gonna be madder ’n hell at me for her untimely demise.
I did my best to work the boat along. We made excellent time. My in-laws’ dock came into view, as did lights inside their cabin—the storm had turned the day dark.
Rain pelted us—heavy drops at first, then a steady shower. “Let out the sails,” I shouted. A few seconds later we were in the shallows. I turned the bow into the wind, jumped overboard and grabbed the painter.
Mother stepped onto the dock just as the deluge hit. “Go! I’ll tie up,” I yelled.
Safely drenched, we had our story.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
