{"id":3131,"date":"2022-08-20T00:19:20","date_gmt":"2022-08-20T00:19:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/?p=3131"},"modified":"2022-09-10T06:20:27","modified_gmt":"2022-09-10T06:20:27","slug":"rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jboatssouthwest.com\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\/","title":{"rendered":"Rekindling a Love of Adventure Sailing a J\/70"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"J\/70<\/a>(Annapolis, MD)- During a crash course in sailing a\u00a0J\/70<\/a>\u00a0class sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, one writer throws caution to the wind and rekindles her faith in new adventures. Here is Lauren Matison’s awesome article from CONDE NAST TRAVELER magazine…<\/p>\n

“I\u2019m in the sailing capital of America on a 22-foot\u00a0J\/70<\/a>\u00a0called the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d when I learn that helming a boat going 11 knots will blow you right out of your comfort zone.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone ready to jibe?\u201d, I manage to squeak.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cReady!\u201d says the newbie crew, before moving across the boat. I stand up and do the tiller tango: glide sideways, duck under the boom, steer towards the next mark on the horizon, and don\u2019t hit the deck. At one point, the sail catches a puff of wind, and some salty words like \u201cHoly Helly Hansen!\u201d fly out as I steady the tiller, which I surprisingly love operating.\u00a0<\/p>\n

As the\u00a0J\/70<\/a>\u00a0surfs downwind, the bright red spinnaker sail with its fearsome cartoon mouse cuts a striking figure against the blue ombr\u00e9 sky. The estuary around us pulses with nautical enthusiasts: an older couple out for a day sail, a fleet of toy-sized 420s practicing race starts, sightseers on the Schooner Woodwind, a man and his dog in an inflatable dinghy. It\u2019s just a regular Wednesday afternoon in Annapolis, Maryland.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m here to spend two days becoming a sailor in the Chesapeake Bay, where regattas have been held since 1910. I navigate around the maritime traffic and turn us towards the city\u2019s outer green banks that beckon with big waterfront homes and slivers of sand. Kristen Berry of Gale Force Sailing talks about how to see gusts approaching and interpret wind by the fluttering telltale strings on the sails. We\u2019re about to jibe again when a United States Naval Academy training boat appears on our port side, leaving waves and \u201cWhoas!\u201d in its wake.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I sense the hours are going by as I read the wind and alternate roles, completely dialed in and carefree like the osprey cruising alongside us. Mostly, I love holding that tiller and the empowering jolt that comes with it. I soon discover it\u2019s also fun handling the main sheet, the line that controls the position of the sail; I can use it to get the boat to catch more wind and heel on its side, a wild off-kilter feeling.<\/p>\n

In a fleeting moment, I realize that I haven\u2019t thought about my usual anxieties\u2014my daughter\u2019s belly aches, climate change, the next freelance writing gig\u2014since I left dry land. I learn that this is part of the whole experience: \u201cThere aren\u2019t too many other activities that combine the physical and the cerebral the way that sailing does,\u201d says Berry, who teaches first-year students at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, as well as underserved New York City kids through the Hudson Community Sailing school. \u201cIt\u2019s something that you are fully present in; it\u2019s hard to find that elsewhere these days.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

I begin to see sailing in a new light\u2014as a transformative sport, a paean to adventure. I confide to my shipmates that I, ever the gung-ho helmsman, had barely made it on the trip. Earlier that morning, aboard the Amtrak train from New York to Annapolis, I was a nervous wreck, all bouncing knees and cracking knuckles. I was thinking about an incident years ago, on a sailboat in San Francisco, when I had a panic attack because a tangled line caused the boat to heel suddenly on its side. (If only I\u2019d had lessons back then.) Suffice it to say, that close call left me terrified of capsizing and I hadn\u2019t been on a sailboat since\u2014not when we visited my in-laws in Florida and not when a local guide in Norway offered to take me on a sail around the Lofoten Islands.<\/p>\n

But life works in mysterious ways. When my family moved from Brooklyn to a lake house in Connecticut 10 months ago, my six-year-old son couldn\u2019t wait to explore the water, which happens to get the perfect amount of wind for learning to sail. With unpacked boxes still lining the hallway, I bought a beater Optimist dinghy on Craigslist for $200. Shortly after that, I booked a train ticket to Annapolis. I partially hoped to overcome the fears I might otherwise pass on to my two young kids; but also, as a burnt-out parent, I saw this experience as a great excuse for a solo kid-free escape\u2014something I hadn\u2019t had in four years.<\/p>\n

In Annapolis, after long hours on the water, I wander around the city in my Helly Hansen jacket with that out-of-body bobbing sensation beginner sailors get back on land. I\u2019m homesick for the sailboat, the adrenaline rush, the lapping of waves against the hull. I miss the ease of offline mode, gripping the tiller instead of my phone, concerned only with matters of the wind. I prefer the sailor version of me\u2014free-spirited, clear-headed, energized by the pursuit of a new skill, however daunting\u2014not the mercurial lapsed adventurer, drained from two years of raising kids and working through a pandemic without a real break.<\/p>\n

I walk along the brick sidewalks and smile at fellow sunburnt sailors like we\u2019ve been up to something together. A narrow lane next to the Iron Rooster, a popular brunch spot, leads to the colorful front doors on Pinkney Street and exquisite 18th-century buildings named Shiplap House and Hammond-Harwood House. Tucked away in Old Fox Books is Brown Mustache Coffee, where a Brooklynite-turned-Annapolitan barista makes a superb latte and talks up her new hometown. I tell her I wish I had more time to catch concerts at Rams Head Tavern and eat grilled scallops with fermented fish peppers at Preserve.
Beer and snacks at Forward Brewing a new brewery in Eastport Maryland<\/p>\n

At the Museum of Historic Annapolis, I learn that this city was the nation\u2019s first peace-time capital in 1783 and that, in January 1784, up the road at the Maryland State House, the U.S. Congress ratified the Treaty of Paris, formally recognizing America\u2019s sovereignty and ending the Revolutionary War. There are moving stories of prominent Black residents like John Maynard, whose home from 1847 still stands at 163 Duke of Gloucester St, and I want to linger over every exhibit covering the following 175 years of historical events\u2014 but I\u2019m due back at the marina.<\/p>\n

Passing the Annapolis City Dock, I spy the legendary 58-foot ocean racing yacht \u201cMaiden\u201d in a temporary slip; the first all-female crew to sail around the world did so on this boat, but nobody\u2019s home for an autograph. I meet Berry and our two other crew members to watch Annapolis Yacht Club’s Wednesday night race from a motor boat. We zip up the bay to get close to the action, slowing at one point to see three generations of a family tacking beautifully on a\u00a0J\/105<\/a>. Berry pushes the throttle and I am thoroughly drenched from the spray, but too enthralled by the race to care.<\/p>\n

What I\u2019ve missed isn\u2019t being out on the water; it\u2019s being out in the world on my own again, connecting with different people in a new place, testing my limits, and nurturing a deep restlessness that\u2019s as vital as a rudder. These past two years, I\u2019d forgotten how many solo adventures right my ship. After the last few long trips trekking through Patagonia and Peru, I returned home with relaxed shoulders and renewed resilience.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust imagine that the only things you have to help you sail are the natural things around you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That afternoon, when the boat heeled and I was pumping my fists in the air instead of panicking, I felt that familiar dramatic shift when you allow yourself to be vulnerable, admit to ignorance, and are open to change. Learning to sail in America\u2019s sailing capital is to be under its spell; I am caught up in the dream of a life spent floating between sea and sky. As we zoom across the bay to observe spinnakers launching, I\u2019m surprised that this is the first time I\u2019m learning a new sport in the place where its culture is so celebrated.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m thinking I\u2019ll need to change into some dry clothes when I\u2019m told we\u2019re going to be following sailors to their favorite watering holes, starting with \u201clevel four\u201d painkillers at Pusser\u2019s and Boatyard Bar lagers with beer-battered fish tacos. Somewhere around glass three, or maybe four, my ears begin ringing with Berry\u2019s kernels of sailing wisdom from earlier that day: \u201cHuman nature wants us to keep pulling.\u201d \u201cEase out, slow down.\u201d \u201cOnce you\u2019re empowered to know what you should be doing, then experiment.\u201d \u201cWhen often in doubt, rarely in error.\u201d At the time, he was responding to questions about sailing. But hours later, it hits more like solid life advice.<\/p>\n

On our last night, the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d group takes a water taxi across the harbor to Eastport\u2019s new nano-brewery, Forward Brewing, to drink K\u00f6lsch-style pints of Annapolis Boat Yard and plunge crostini into a smoked catfish spread. Down the block at Davis\u2019 Pub, we settle into a picnic table with glasses of Sancerre and crab dip pretzels, looking like a bunch of sloshed and satisfied sailors.<\/p>\n

Riding home on the train, I know that my next solo getaway won\u2019t be long from now. I also know that on the lake this summer, the thing I\u2019ll be passing on to my kids is a sailor\u2019s high.”\u00a0 Thanks for this\u00a0contribution from CONDE-NAST TRAVELER<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(Annapolis, MD)- During a crash course in sailing a\u00a0J\/70\u00a0class sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, one writer throws caution to the wind and rekindles her faith in new adventures. Here is Lauren Matison’s awesome article from CONDE NAST TRAVELER magazine…
\n“I\u2019m in the sailing capital of America on a 22-foot\u00a0J\/70\u00a0called the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d when I learn that helming a boat going 11 knots will blow you right out of your comfort zone.
\n\u201cEveryone ready to jibe?\u201d, I manage to squeak.\u00a0
\n\u201cReady!\u201d says the newbie crew, before moving across the boat. I stand up and do the tiller tango: glide sideways, duck under the boom, steer towards the next mark on the horizon, and don\u2019t hit the deck. At one point, the sail catches a puff of wind, and some salty words like \u201cHoly Helly Hansen!\u201d fly out as I steady the tiller, which I surprisingly love operating.\u00a0
\nAs the\u00a0J\/70\u00a0surfs downwind, the bright red spinnaker sail with its fearsome cartoon mouse cuts a striking figure against the blue ombr\u00e9 sky. The estuary around us pulses with nautical enthusiasts: an older couple out for a day sail, a fleet of toy-sized 420s practicing race starts, sightseers on the Schooner Woodwind, a man and his dog in an inflatable dinghy. It\u2019s just a regular Wednesday afternoon in Annapolis, Maryland.
\nI\u2019m here to spend two days becoming a sailor in the Chesapeake Bay, where regattas have been held since 1910. I navigate around the maritime traffic and turn us towards the city\u2019s outer green banks that beckon with big waterfront homes and slivers of sand. Kristen Berry of Gale Force Sailing talks about how to see gusts approaching and interpret wind by the fluttering telltale strings on the sails. We\u2019re about to jibe again when a United States Naval Academy training boat appears on our port side, leaving waves and \u201cWhoas!\u201d in its wake.\u00a0
\nI sense the hours are going by as I read the wind and alternate roles, completely dialed in and carefree like the osprey cruising alongside us. Mostly, I love holding that tiller and the empowering jolt that comes with it. I soon discover it\u2019s also fun handling the main sheet, the line that controls the position of the sail; I can use it to get the boat to catch more wind and heel on its side, a wild off-kilter feeling.
\nIn a fleeting moment, I realize that I haven\u2019t thought about my usual anxieties\u2014my daughter\u2019s belly aches, climate change, the next freelance writing gig\u2014since I left dry land. I learn that this is part of the whole experience: \u201cThere aren\u2019t too many other activities that combine the physical and the cerebral the way that sailing does,\u201d says Berry, who teaches first-year students at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, as well as underserved New York City kids through the Hudson Community Sailing school. \u201cIt\u2019s something that you are fully present in; it\u2019s hard to find that elsewhere these days.\u201d\u00a0
\nI begin to see sailing in a new light\u2014as a transformative sport, a paean to adventure. I confide to my shipmates that I, ever the gung-ho helmsman, had barely made it on the trip. Earlier that morning, aboard the Amtrak train from New York to Annapolis, I was a nervous wreck, all bouncing knees and cracking knuckles. I was thinking about an incident years ago, on a sailboat in San Francisco, when I had a panic attack because a tangled line caused the boat to heel suddenly on its side. (If only I\u2019d had lessons back then.) Suffice it to say, that close call left me terrified of capsizing and I hadn\u2019t been on a sailboat since\u2014not when we visited my in-laws in Florida and not when a local guide in Norway offered to take me on a sail around the Lofoten Islands.
\nBut life works in mysterious ways. When my family moved from Brooklyn to a lake house in Connecticut 10 months ago, my six-year-old son couldn\u2019t wait to explore the water, which happens to get the perfect amount of wind for learning to sail. With unpacked boxes still lining the hallway, I bought a beater Optimist dinghy on Craigslist for $200. Shortly after that, I booked a train ticket to Annapolis. I partially hoped to overcome the fears I might otherwise pass on to my two young kids; but also, as a burnt-out parent, I saw this experience as a great excuse for a solo kid-free escape\u2014something I hadn\u2019t had in four years.
\nIn Annapolis, after long hours on the water, I wander around the city in my Helly Hansen jacket with that out-of-body bobbing sensation beginner sailors get back on land. I\u2019m homesick for the sailboat, the adrenaline rush, the lapping of waves against the hull. I miss the ease of offline mode, gripping the tiller instead of my phone, concerned only with matters of the wind. I prefer the sailor version of me\u2014free-spirited, clear-headed, energized by the pursuit of a new skill, however daunting\u2014not the mercurial lapsed adventurer, drained from two years of raising kids and working through a pandemic without a real break.
\nI walk along the brick sidewalks and smile at fellow sunburnt sailors like we\u2019ve been up to something together. A narrow lane next to the Iron Rooster, a popular brunch spot, leads to the colorful front doors on Pinkney Street and exquisite 18th-century buildings named Shiplap House and Hammond-Harwood House. Tucked away in Old Fox Books is Brown Mustache Coffee, where a Brooklynite-turned-Annapolitan barista makes a superb latte and talks up her new hometown. I tell her I wish I had more time to catch concerts at Rams Head Tavern and eat grilled scallops with fermented fish peppers at Preserve.Beer and snacks at Forward Brewing a new brewery in Eastport Maryland
\nAt the Museum of Historic Annapolis, I learn that this city was the nation\u2019s first peace-time capital in 1783 and that, in January 1784, up the road at the Maryland State House, the U.S. Congress ratified the Treaty of Paris, formally recognizing America\u2019s sovereignty and ending the Revolutionary War. There are moving stories of prominent Black residents like John Maynard, whose home from 1847 still stands at 163 Duke of Gloucester St, and I want to linger over every exhibit covering the following 175 years of historical events\u2014 but I\u2019m due back at the marina.
\nPassing the Annapolis City Dock, I spy the legendary 58-foot ocean racing yacht \u201cMaiden\u201d in a temporary slip; the first all-female crew to sail around the world did so on this boat, but nobody\u2019s home for an autograph. I meet Berry and our two other crew members to watch Annapolis Yacht Club’s Wednesday night race from a motor boat. We zip up the bay to get close to the action, slowing at one point to see three generations of a family tacking beautifully on a\u00a0J\/105. Berry pushes the throttle and I am thoroughly drenched from the spray, but too enthralled by the race to care.
\nWhat I\u2019ve missed isn\u2019t being out on the water; it\u2019s being out in the world on my own again, connecting with different people in a new place, testing my limits, and nurturing a deep restlessness that\u2019s as vital as a rudder. These past two years, I\u2019d forgotten how many solo adventures right my ship. After the last few long trips trekking through Patagonia and Peru, I returned home with relaxed shoulders and renewed resilience.
\n\u201cJust imagine that the only things you have to help you sail are the natural things around you.\u201d
\nThat afternoon, when the boat heeled and I was pumping my fists in the air instead of panicking, I felt that familiar dramatic shift when you allow yourself to be vulnerable, admit to ignorance, and are open to change. Learning to sail in America\u2019s sailing capital is to be under its spell; I am caught up in the dream of a life spent floating between sea and sky. As we zoom across the bay to observe spinnakers launching, I\u2019m surprised that this is the first time I\u2019m learning a new sport in the place where its culture is so celebrated.
\nI\u2019m thinking I\u2019ll need to change into some dry clothes when I\u2019m told we\u2019re going to be following sailors to their favorite watering holes, starting with \u201clevel four\u201d painkillers at Pusser\u2019s and Boatyard Bar lagers with beer-battered fish tacos. Somewhere around glass three, or maybe four, my ears begin ringing with Berry\u2019s kernels of sailing wisdom from earlier that day: \u201cHuman nature wants us to keep pulling.\u201d \u201cEase out, slow down.\u201d \u201cOnce you\u2019re empowered to know what you should be doing, then experiment.\u201d \u201cWhen often in doubt, rarely in error.\u201d At the time, he was responding to questions about sailing. But hours later, it hits more like solid life advice.
\nOn our last night, the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d group takes a water taxi across the harbor to Eastport\u2019s new nano-brewery, Forward Brewing, to drink K\u00f6lsch-style pints of Annapolis Boat Yard and plunge crostini into a smoked catfish spread. Down the block at Davis\u2019 Pub, we settle into a picnic table with glasses of Sancerre and crab dip pretzels, looking like a bunch of sloshed and satisfied sailors.
\nRiding home on the train, I know that my next solo getaway won\u2019t be long from now. I also know that on the lake this summer, the thing I\u2019ll be passing on to my kids is a sailor\u2019s high.”\u00a0 Thanks for this\u00a0contribution from CONDE-NAST TRAVELER.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":3094,"comment_status":"close","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","_kadence_starter_templates_imported_post":false,"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3131","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-jboats_news_reviews"],"yoast_head":"\nRekindling a Love of Adventure Sailing a J\/70 - JBoats Southwest<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/jboats.com\/2022-blog\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Rekindling a Love of Adventure Sailing a J\/70 - JBoats Southwest\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"(Annapolis, MD)- During a crash course in sailing a\u00a0J\/70\u00a0class sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, one writer throws caution to the wind and rekindles her faith in new adventures. Here is Lauren Matison's awesome article from CONDE NAST TRAVELER magazine... "I\u2019m in the sailing capital of America on a 22-foot\u00a0J\/70\u00a0called the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d when I learn that helming a boat going 11 knots will blow you right out of your comfort zone. \u201cEveryone ready to jibe?\u201d, I manage to squeak.\u00a0 \u201cReady!\u201d says the newbie crew, before moving across the boat. I stand up and do the tiller tango: glide sideways, duck under the boom, steer towards the next mark on the horizon, and don\u2019t hit the deck. At one point, the sail catches a puff of wind, and some salty words like \u201cHoly Helly Hansen!\u201d fly out as I steady the tiller, which I surprisingly love operating.\u00a0 As the\u00a0J\/70\u00a0surfs downwind, the bright red spinnaker sail with its fearsome cartoon mouse cuts a striking figure against the blue ombr\u00e9 sky. The estuary around us pulses with nautical enthusiasts: an older couple out for a day sail, a fleet of toy-sized 420s practicing race starts, sightseers on the Schooner Woodwind, a man and his dog in an inflatable dinghy. It\u2019s just a regular Wednesday afternoon in Annapolis, Maryland. I\u2019m here to spend two days becoming a sailor in the Chesapeake Bay, where regattas have been held since 1910. I navigate around the maritime traffic and turn us towards the city\u2019s outer green banks that beckon with big waterfront homes and slivers of sand. Kristen Berry of Gale Force Sailing talks about how to see gusts approaching and interpret wind by the fluttering telltale strings on the sails. We\u2019re about to jibe again when a United States Naval Academy training boat appears on our port side, leaving waves and \u201cWhoas!\u201d in its wake.\u00a0 I sense the hours are going by as I read the wind and alternate roles, completely dialed in and carefree like the osprey cruising alongside us. Mostly, I love holding that tiller and the empowering jolt that comes with it. I soon discover it\u2019s also fun handling the main sheet, the line that controls the position of the sail; I can use it to get the boat to catch more wind and heel on its side, a wild off-kilter feeling. In a fleeting moment, I realize that I haven\u2019t thought about my usual anxieties\u2014my daughter\u2019s belly aches, climate change, the next freelance writing gig\u2014since I left dry land. I learn that this is part of the whole experience: \u201cThere aren\u2019t too many other activities that combine the physical and the cerebral the way that sailing does,\u201d says Berry, who teaches first-year students at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, as well as underserved New York City kids through the Hudson Community Sailing school. \u201cIt\u2019s something that you are fully present in; it\u2019s hard to find that elsewhere these days.\u201d\u00a0 I begin to see sailing in a new light\u2014as a transformative sport, a paean to adventure. I confide to my shipmates that I, ever the gung-ho helmsman, had barely made it on the trip. Earlier that morning, aboard the Amtrak train from New York to Annapolis, I was a nervous wreck, all bouncing knees and cracking knuckles. I was thinking about an incident years ago, on a sailboat in San Francisco, when I had a panic attack because a tangled line caused the boat to heel suddenly on its side. (If only I\u2019d had lessons back then.) Suffice it to say, that close call left me terrified of capsizing and I hadn\u2019t been on a sailboat since\u2014not when we visited my in-laws in Florida and not when a local guide in Norway offered to take me on a sail around the Lofoten Islands. But life works in mysterious ways. When my family moved from Brooklyn to a lake house in Connecticut 10 months ago, my six-year-old son couldn\u2019t wait to explore the water, which happens to get the perfect amount of wind for learning to sail. With unpacked boxes still lining the hallway, I bought a beater Optimist dinghy on Craigslist for $200. Shortly after that, I booked a train ticket to Annapolis. I partially hoped to overcome the fears I might otherwise pass on to my two young kids; but also, as a burnt-out parent, I saw this experience as a great excuse for a solo kid-free escape\u2014something I hadn\u2019t had in four years. In Annapolis, after long hours on the water, I wander around the city in my Helly Hansen jacket with that out-of-body bobbing sensation beginner sailors get back on land. I\u2019m homesick for the sailboat, the adrenaline rush, the lapping of waves against the hull. I miss the ease of offline mode, gripping the tiller instead of my phone, concerned only with matters of the wind. I prefer the sailor version of me\u2014free-spirited, clear-headed, energized by the pursuit of a new skill, however daunting\u2014not the mercurial lapsed adventurer, drained from two years of raising kids and working through a pandemic without a real break. I walk along the brick sidewalks and smile at fellow sunburnt sailors like we\u2019ve been up to something together. A narrow lane next to the Iron Rooster, a popular brunch spot, leads to the colorful front doors on Pinkney Street and exquisite 18th-century buildings named Shiplap House and Hammond-Harwood House. Tucked away in Old Fox Books is Brown Mustache Coffee, where a Brooklynite-turned-Annapolitan barista makes a superb latte and talks up her new hometown. I tell her I wish I had more time to catch concerts at Rams Head Tavern and eat grilled scallops with fermented fish peppers at Preserve.Beer and snacks at Forward Brewing a new brewery in Eastport Maryland At the Museum of Historic Annapolis, I learn that this city was the nation\u2019s first peace-time capital in 1783 and that, in January 1784, up the road at the Maryland State House, the U.S. Congress ratified the Treaty of Paris, formally recognizing America\u2019s sovereignty and ending the Revolutionary War. There are moving stories of prominent Black residents like John Maynard, whose home from 1847 still stands at 163 Duke of Gloucester St, and I want to linger over every exhibit covering the following 175 years of historical events\u2014 but I\u2019m due back at the marina. Passing the Annapolis City Dock, I spy the legendary 58-foot ocean racing yacht \u201cMaiden\u201d in a temporary slip; the first all-female crew to sail around the world did so on this boat, but nobody\u2019s home for an autograph. I meet Berry and our two other crew members to watch Annapolis Yacht Club's Wednesday night race from a motor boat. We zip up the bay to get close to the action, slowing at one point to see three generations of a family tacking beautifully on a\u00a0J\/105. Berry pushes the throttle and I am thoroughly drenched from the spray, but too enthralled by the race to care. What I\u2019ve missed isn\u2019t being out on the water; it\u2019s being out in the world on my own again, connecting with different people in a new place, testing my limits, and nurturing a deep restlessness that\u2019s as vital as a rudder. These past two years, I\u2019d forgotten how many solo adventures right my ship. After the last few long trips trekking through Patagonia and Peru, I returned home with relaxed shoulders and renewed resilience. \u201cJust imagine that the only things you have to help you sail are the natural things around you.\u201d That afternoon, when the boat heeled and I was pumping my fists in the air instead of panicking, I felt that familiar dramatic shift when you allow yourself to be vulnerable, admit to ignorance, and are open to change. Learning to sail in America\u2019s sailing capital is to be under its spell; I am caught up in the dream of a life spent floating between sea and sky. As we zoom across the bay to observe spinnakers launching, I\u2019m surprised that this is the first time I\u2019m learning a new sport in the place where its culture is so celebrated. I\u2019m thinking I\u2019ll need to change into some dry clothes when I\u2019m told we\u2019re going to be following sailors to their favorite watering holes, starting with \u201clevel four\u201d painkillers at Pusser\u2019s and Boatyard Bar lagers with beer-battered fish tacos. Somewhere around glass three, or maybe four, my ears begin ringing with Berry\u2019s kernels of sailing wisdom from earlier that day: \u201cHuman nature wants us to keep pulling.\u201d \u201cEase out, slow down.\u201d \u201cOnce you\u2019re empowered to know what you should be doing, then experiment.\u201d \u201cWhen often in doubt, rarely in error.\u201d At the time, he was responding to questions about sailing. But hours later, it hits more like solid life advice. On our last night, the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d group takes a water taxi across the harbor to Eastport\u2019s new nano-brewery, Forward Brewing, to drink K\u00f6lsch-style pints of Annapolis Boat Yard and plunge crostini into a smoked catfish spread. Down the block at Davis\u2019 Pub, we settle into a picnic table with glasses of Sancerre and crab dip pretzels, looking like a bunch of sloshed and satisfied sailors. Riding home on the train, I know that my next solo getaway won\u2019t be long from now. I also know that on the lake this summer, the thing I\u2019ll be passing on to my kids is a sailor\u2019s high."\u00a0 Thanks for this\u00a0contribution from CONDE-NAST TRAVELER.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/jboatssouthwest.com\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"JBoats Southwest\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2022-08-20T00:19:20+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2022-09-10T06:20:27+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/08\/4bca0919-d85c-6bce-54b3-fd438e9e3211.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"574\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"564\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Stuart Johnstone\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Stuart Johnstone\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"8 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/jboats.com\/2022-blog\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Stuart Johnstone\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/#\/schema\/person\/77bcb7a5f0ec0fa3acd43f83ef11755a\"},\"headline\":\"Rekindling a Love of Adventure Sailing a J\/70\",\"datePublished\":\"2022-08-20T00:19:20+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2022-09-10T06:20:27+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\/\"},\"wordCount\":1628,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/jboats.com\/2022-blog\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/jboatssouthwest.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/08\/4bca0919-d85c-6bce-54b3-fd438e9e3211.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"J\/Boats News & Reviews\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\/\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/jboats.com\/2022-blog\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\",\"name\":\"Rekindling a Love of Adventure Sailing a J\/70 - 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JBoats Southwest","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"http:\/\/jboats.com\/2022-blog\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Rekindling a Love of Adventure Sailing a J\/70 - JBoats Southwest","og_description":"(Annapolis, MD)- During a crash course in sailing a\u00a0J\/70\u00a0class sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, one writer throws caution to the wind and rekindles her faith in new adventures. Here is Lauren Matison's awesome article from CONDE NAST TRAVELER magazine... \"I\u2019m in the sailing capital of America on a 22-foot\u00a0J\/70\u00a0called the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d when I learn that helming a boat going 11 knots will blow you right out of your comfort zone. \u201cEveryone ready to jibe?\u201d, I manage to squeak.\u00a0 \u201cReady!\u201d says the newbie crew, before moving across the boat. I stand up and do the tiller tango: glide sideways, duck under the boom, steer towards the next mark on the horizon, and don\u2019t hit the deck. At one point, the sail catches a puff of wind, and some salty words like \u201cHoly Helly Hansen!\u201d fly out as I steady the tiller, which I surprisingly love operating.\u00a0 As the\u00a0J\/70\u00a0surfs downwind, the bright red spinnaker sail with its fearsome cartoon mouse cuts a striking figure against the blue ombr\u00e9 sky. The estuary around us pulses with nautical enthusiasts: an older couple out for a day sail, a fleet of toy-sized 420s practicing race starts, sightseers on the Schooner Woodwind, a man and his dog in an inflatable dinghy. It\u2019s just a regular Wednesday afternoon in Annapolis, Maryland. I\u2019m here to spend two days becoming a sailor in the Chesapeake Bay, where regattas have been held since 1910. I navigate around the maritime traffic and turn us towards the city\u2019s outer green banks that beckon with big waterfront homes and slivers of sand. Kristen Berry of Gale Force Sailing talks about how to see gusts approaching and interpret wind by the fluttering telltale strings on the sails. We\u2019re about to jibe again when a United States Naval Academy training boat appears on our port side, leaving waves and \u201cWhoas!\u201d in its wake.\u00a0 I sense the hours are going by as I read the wind and alternate roles, completely dialed in and carefree like the osprey cruising alongside us. Mostly, I love holding that tiller and the empowering jolt that comes with it. I soon discover it\u2019s also fun handling the main sheet, the line that controls the position of the sail; I can use it to get the boat to catch more wind and heel on its side, a wild off-kilter feeling. In a fleeting moment, I realize that I haven\u2019t thought about my usual anxieties\u2014my daughter\u2019s belly aches, climate change, the next freelance writing gig\u2014since I left dry land. I learn that this is part of the whole experience: \u201cThere aren\u2019t too many other activities that combine the physical and the cerebral the way that sailing does,\u201d says Berry, who teaches first-year students at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, as well as underserved New York City kids through the Hudson Community Sailing school. \u201cIt\u2019s something that you are fully present in; it\u2019s hard to find that elsewhere these days.\u201d\u00a0 I begin to see sailing in a new light\u2014as a transformative sport, a paean to adventure. I confide to my shipmates that I, ever the gung-ho helmsman, had barely made it on the trip. Earlier that morning, aboard the Amtrak train from New York to Annapolis, I was a nervous wreck, all bouncing knees and cracking knuckles. I was thinking about an incident years ago, on a sailboat in San Francisco, when I had a panic attack because a tangled line caused the boat to heel suddenly on its side. (If only I\u2019d had lessons back then.) Suffice it to say, that close call left me terrified of capsizing and I hadn\u2019t been on a sailboat since\u2014not when we visited my in-laws in Florida and not when a local guide in Norway offered to take me on a sail around the Lofoten Islands. But life works in mysterious ways. When my family moved from Brooklyn to a lake house in Connecticut 10 months ago, my six-year-old son couldn\u2019t wait to explore the water, which happens to get the perfect amount of wind for learning to sail. With unpacked boxes still lining the hallway, I bought a beater Optimist dinghy on Craigslist for $200. Shortly after that, I booked a train ticket to Annapolis. I partially hoped to overcome the fears I might otherwise pass on to my two young kids; but also, as a burnt-out parent, I saw this experience as a great excuse for a solo kid-free escape\u2014something I hadn\u2019t had in four years. In Annapolis, after long hours on the water, I wander around the city in my Helly Hansen jacket with that out-of-body bobbing sensation beginner sailors get back on land. I\u2019m homesick for the sailboat, the adrenaline rush, the lapping of waves against the hull. I miss the ease of offline mode, gripping the tiller instead of my phone, concerned only with matters of the wind. I prefer the sailor version of me\u2014free-spirited, clear-headed, energized by the pursuit of a new skill, however daunting\u2014not the mercurial lapsed adventurer, drained from two years of raising kids and working through a pandemic without a real break. I walk along the brick sidewalks and smile at fellow sunburnt sailors like we\u2019ve been up to something together. A narrow lane next to the Iron Rooster, a popular brunch spot, leads to the colorful front doors on Pinkney Street and exquisite 18th-century buildings named Shiplap House and Hammond-Harwood House. Tucked away in Old Fox Books is Brown Mustache Coffee, where a Brooklynite-turned-Annapolitan barista makes a superb latte and talks up her new hometown. I tell her I wish I had more time to catch concerts at Rams Head Tavern and eat grilled scallops with fermented fish peppers at Preserve.Beer and snacks at Forward Brewing a new brewery in Eastport Maryland At the Museum of Historic Annapolis, I learn that this city was the nation\u2019s first peace-time capital in 1783 and that, in January 1784, up the road at the Maryland State House, the U.S. Congress ratified the Treaty of Paris, formally recognizing America\u2019s sovereignty and ending the Revolutionary War. There are moving stories of prominent Black residents like John Maynard, whose home from 1847 still stands at 163 Duke of Gloucester St, and I want to linger over every exhibit covering the following 175 years of historical events\u2014 but I\u2019m due back at the marina. Passing the Annapolis City Dock, I spy the legendary 58-foot ocean racing yacht \u201cMaiden\u201d in a temporary slip; the first all-female crew to sail around the world did so on this boat, but nobody\u2019s home for an autograph. I meet Berry and our two other crew members to watch Annapolis Yacht Club's Wednesday night race from a motor boat. We zip up the bay to get close to the action, slowing at one point to see three generations of a family tacking beautifully on a\u00a0J\/105. Berry pushes the throttle and I am thoroughly drenched from the spray, but too enthralled by the race to care. What I\u2019ve missed isn\u2019t being out on the water; it\u2019s being out in the world on my own again, connecting with different people in a new place, testing my limits, and nurturing a deep restlessness that\u2019s as vital as a rudder. These past two years, I\u2019d forgotten how many solo adventures right my ship. After the last few long trips trekking through Patagonia and Peru, I returned home with relaxed shoulders and renewed resilience. \u201cJust imagine that the only things you have to help you sail are the natural things around you.\u201d That afternoon, when the boat heeled and I was pumping my fists in the air instead of panicking, I felt that familiar dramatic shift when you allow yourself to be vulnerable, admit to ignorance, and are open to change. Learning to sail in America\u2019s sailing capital is to be under its spell; I am caught up in the dream of a life spent floating between sea and sky. As we zoom across the bay to observe spinnakers launching, I\u2019m surprised that this is the first time I\u2019m learning a new sport in the place where its culture is so celebrated. I\u2019m thinking I\u2019ll need to change into some dry clothes when I\u2019m told we\u2019re going to be following sailors to their favorite watering holes, starting with \u201clevel four\u201d painkillers at Pusser\u2019s and Boatyard Bar lagers with beer-battered fish tacos. Somewhere around glass three, or maybe four, my ears begin ringing with Berry\u2019s kernels of sailing wisdom from earlier that day: \u201cHuman nature wants us to keep pulling.\u201d \u201cEase out, slow down.\u201d \u201cOnce you\u2019re empowered to know what you should be doing, then experiment.\u201d \u201cWhen often in doubt, rarely in error.\u201d At the time, he was responding to questions about sailing. But hours later, it hits more like solid life advice. On our last night, the \u201cDanger Mouse\u201d group takes a water taxi across the harbor to Eastport\u2019s new nano-brewery, Forward Brewing, to drink K\u00f6lsch-style pints of Annapolis Boat Yard and plunge crostini into a smoked catfish spread. Down the block at Davis\u2019 Pub, we settle into a picnic table with glasses of Sancerre and crab dip pretzels, looking like a bunch of sloshed and satisfied sailors. Riding home on the train, I know that my next solo getaway won\u2019t be long from now. I also know that on the lake this summer, the thing I\u2019ll be passing on to my kids is a sailor\u2019s high.\"\u00a0 Thanks for this\u00a0contribution from CONDE-NAST TRAVELER.","og_url":"https:\/\/jboatssouthwest.com\/rekindling-a-love-of-adventure-sailing-a-j-70\/","og_site_name":"JBoats Southwest","article_published_time":"2022-08-20T00:19:20+00:00","article_modified_time":"2022-09-10T06:20:27+00:00","og_image":[{"width":574,"height":564,"url":"https:\/\/southwest.jboats.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/08\/4bca0919-d85c-6bce-54b3-fd438e9e3211.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Stuart Johnstone","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Stuart Johnstone","Est. reading time":"8 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