Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

I've taken innumerable people sailing but few fully share my deep love of the sport. After having had a boat for seven years, I'm still amazed that anyone would not want to go sailing when I extend an invite. What other plans could trump being pushed around the Bay by the naked power of nature?

But I don't fault them for it. Everyone can't love what I love and there's no changing that.

Today was an auspicious end to my summer sailing season: wind, 8-12 knots, giving a quick boost up to Thomas Point Lighthouse (built in 1885), a 12-pack of icy Pabst Blue Ribbon between friends, and an endless dome of blue sky touched up with cottony clouds.

Soon I'm heading abroad for weeks and won't be able to get onto the water 'til the leaves are goldish and crisp and I'll need a fleece and long pants when I'm at the teak tiller.

This summer I was able to sail once every ten days, which should be enough medicine to get me through half the winter; for the other half, a warm fireplace and Famous Grouse scotch will have to do.