Last update - 00:00 25/12/2006
From Tel Aviv to Herzliya and back
You will devote 10 months to your studies of seafaring, and you will take four theory exams. Don?t be insulted if you fail at least once. These exams are multiple choice tests ?(which, for some reason, Israelis call ?American exams??), fraught with complicated and confusing quick questions. Don?t worry, you can retake the test two weeks later.
Most examinees fear the shore navigation test. This writer was sorry when the course ended, and would have been prepared to be tested on navigation her whole life - on the condition they wouldn't stick her with hallucinatory descriptions of two red lights sailing in the dark toward three vertically arranged white lights. The questions to answer here, of course, regard who would cede the right of way to whom and why (there are rigid ocean traffic laws that are important not only to learn thoroughly, but also to internalize; more to come on this later).
In any case, in the end, everyone is examined on everything. The impatient and those who feel that the whole business is not for them drop out, and the stubborn succeed in passing all the tests, including a first aid course.
You will also pass a practical exam. After a time, you will probably not remember much of it, but you will always be able to boast, with false modesty, about how the examiner made you carry out all sorts of maneuvers for which you hadn't managed to prepare (just let someone try to prove otherwise) and how, despite everything, you evinced confidence and knowledge and passed.
Mariners' tall tales
During the first years, you will rejoice in the amazement that accompanies your stories about how you were asked to cast an anchor ("an anchor? In a test? I've never heard of that. Wow"), or to stop long side, with the side of the boat to the quay, and fasten the mooring lines and swiftly undo them ("so, did you manage? And that guy who was tested with you, could he help you? You did it alone? Wow"). Suddenly, without noticing it, you will find you passed the test - at least as a teller of mariners' tall tales.
Ultimately, you will calm down. After a few days, you will be able to turn over the certificate that will be issued to you by the small craft department at the Transportation Ministry. Laminate it and make yourself a few photocopies. By law, you have to carry it with you on a boat when you go out to sea in Israel and in some foreign countries.
But where will you sail now? If you have the money to buy a new or used yacht (from $40,000 for an old one, to sky's the limit), you are fortunate. If not, the sea is open for reasonable sums. Wait a while before crossing the ocean. At this stage, it is possible to join friends who do have a yacht (not as guests but as active crew) and you can sign up to be a member of one of the sailing clubs.
For about NIS 500 a month you can sail with your friends and family in the club's boats and take part in members' outings, club evenings and instruction sessions. There are many subjects that are not included in the test, and it is worth studying some with the help of an experienced instructor. Sails and their intricacies, Mediterranean anchorages, sailing in a storm, various approaches to the quay, the use of ropes, night sailing and more. Who are we kidding? Behind all these studies hides real fun, which begins the moment you take your shoes off and climb on deck.
The sea beats the cafe
From the marina where your club is located you will sail out into the open sea and back - a voyage of three hours. Though you will not be allowed to sail on your own to another marina, who cares? On Friday or Saturday morning, when most of your friends are trying to find an empty chair in a crowded cafe filled with exhaust fumes in the center of town, you, in a slow and leisurely way will be gathering the ropes that moor the club's boat to the quay, and in a careful, well thought out motion, you will ascertain where your prow is and where your stern is, and where the other boats are (and most importantly, where the wind is) and set out for the great blue expanse. You will leave the marina, hoist the mainsail and then the jib, still the motor and thus, in the wonderful silence, plowing the waves, your hair and shirt blowing in the wind, you will enjoy your first, intoxicating hours of seagoing freedom.
It is also possible to sail at the club with crew members who are all new skippers like you, or to join a competitive crew. Competitions are another story: They involve practices that aren't easy, sporting discipline and a permanent position on the boat; and as for the competitions themselves, some of them are quite demanding. Competitive sailing includes launches, turns and energetic reversals, tilts that don't resemble anything in ordinary sailing (sometimes the boat slips at angles such that the only possible place to sit, which is also essential for the boat's balance, is right on the rail, with your whole body hanging out), hairline evasions of collisions with other boats, shouts of the coaches and tremendous tensions and speeds that are contrary, at least ostensibly, to the serene image of sailing.
It is worth trying. Those for whom adrenaline, challenges and teamwork combine with sport and social activity will be so elated that they will not feel the blows, the bruises and the muscle pains - and will return. Those who prefer just a slow and easy sail, with a can of beer in hand, will arrange for leisure sails: in the morning, with a swim and a light meal, or towards the evening with twinkling lights marking the shore.
O skippers, awaken. Have you turned on the navigation lights? Very good. Now start lowering the sails and inform the person on duty at the club that in five minutes you will come in. He will wait for you on the quay, help you tie up and make critical comments or give praise, depending on how you sailed in to the anchorage. Here, now you've learned something else. To brake slowly. To still the motor. To close windows. To swab the deck. To hook up to the shore electricity and to bid farewell to the boat. Until next time.
Next time: No one is perfect (except for the captain). On the division of labor on a boat.