A guest post:

If you stand inside Amelia and look out toward the sunset, it almost feels as if you are underwater looking upward. Something about the way sunlight is interrupted by flocks of other masts mimics the effect of light streaming through a mid-summer pool, as you sit at the bottom, holding your breath.

When we began getting her ready to sail, I scrubbed her hull clean with a brush while the skipper checked the engine, batteries, and whatever those lights at the front and back are called. I think they should be called “the back light and the front light.” Finally, with a clean hull and a fit vessel we motored toward open water. Before Sunday, I’d never driven a boat or seen the bay bridge from below. As we aimed our sails for Angel Island the wind picked up and tipped the boat harshly. The skipper had repeatedly warned me that this was normal. The preparation made me no less worried that Amelia might want to go snorkeling rather than sailing. By the time we entered the cove at Angel Island (and negotiated with a power-boat who tried to steal our slip) we had gone from summer to winter and back again.Although little water had gotten into the bilge, the transmission had begun leaking a bit of oil. Amazingly, boat engines look quite a lot like the diesel engine of my step-father’s truck. While parked we discussed the basics of the engine, had a snack on the island and then began motoring back out to sea.

We were disappointedly stuck in doldrums for a few minutes on our way out. But as is the way with weather, we weren’t disappointed for long. A few gusts hit us and then we were ripped into an hour of waves and 20 knot wind. Amelia kept us safe with the kind but stern direction of her skipper. He also reminded me, repeatedly, that she wouldn’t flip over. Merely crossing back under the bridge ended that adventure and we sailed softly back to berth.