A local nautical legend describes a man who set sail from Haifa to Cyprus without maps, before the era of GPS navigation. How did he know where to go? According to legend, he had an elementary school atlas on his navigation table, and 20-plus hours after leaving Kishon Bay, he dropped anchor in the port of Larnaca.

It is hard to believe anyone marked a course on a tiny continental map with the help of parallel rules, a compass and a pencil. One wonders what he said when contacted by radio to report his precise location, as required by law. But tradition forbids spoiling salty yarns, and a veteran sailor could find his way to Cyprus despite challenging conditions.

The navigation taught in sailing courses is called "shore-based navigation." As budding sailors, you also learn seamanship, mechanics and instrument navigation. At the end of this course, you take a Transportation Ministry exam, and finally, a practical course.

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Mentioning the practical course evokes nostalgic longing for the "Shoshi Crew" - two enthusiastic, decisive women, led by the red-headed Shoshi, and an easygoing man. We stubbornly plowed the sea, practiced, upchucked, got angry and laughed. The rookie trio was courageously guided by Marina, a young graduate of the Technion architecture department who set sail the day she graduated and has remained at sea ever since. (Marina now leads a competitive women-only crew.)

The courses were led by legendary instructor Eitan Nike, who closed his school Azimuth a few years ago to engage in other maritime activities. His comments echo every time a sail is raised or an anchor is set: "The sea is a dangerous place. Never put yourself in a situation you do not know how to get out of."

You replay your instructor's hand motions when you replace the filter in your bilge pump, and remember his calm voice reminding you to check the lines that measure sail tension. Eitan's most important advice refers to the motion of the sails, but defines a worldview: "Always remain on the brink of waving." And pay attention. One must always pay attention - the sea is unpredictable, the wind is uncooperative and sailboats are heavy, laden with ropes, instruments, pumps and vital small details. All instructors teach diligence, patience and humility.

Before you complete the course, when you have your own parallel rules and every lighthouse, islet and shoal in the English Channel is as familiar as the back of your hand (as required in the navigation exam), you will undoubtedly sail to Cyprus at least once. This is an integral part of every local club and school's attempt to provide you with "sea time" to hone your skills and upgrade your skipper's certification to an international sailing license. In the 24-hour journey to Israel's closest island, you will be exposed to the real taste of the sea.

Unlike the guy in the legend, you will have nautical maps, a GPS navigation system and state-of-the-art satellite instruments that broadcast the exact location of your boat.

An hour after you arrive at your boat, coast guard officials inspect your passport and ask you to sign exit permits. Then the motor is turned on. Slowly, while again examining the boat and its surroundings, the anchor is raised and the ropes, electrical cords and pipes that connect the boat to the dock are gathered. Then, the journey begins.

First you are sailing among many other boats, but the farther you get from shore, the more the blue spreads before you, vast and empty. In the middle of the sea, the skipper kills the motor. Then you hear only the echo of the wind whistling in the taut sails, and the noise of water sliced by a sharp bow. Do not be alarmed when the boat tips on its side. Sailboats do not easily capsize. Catch some rays (take a hat and sunscreen), eat a light meal, drink lots of beer and let the wonderful silence of sailing help you forget everything. Hours pass quickly, but also seem endless. The colors above the sea change and coalesce, and the sun sinks into the water. Then the moon rises, and the stars light the expansive darkness. Suddenly, the boat is gliding on an inky sea. Perhaps the moon will illuminate a strip of white. Perhaps glimmering fish will leap in your wake.

At dawn, you arrive at Larnaca. Its square buildings slowly reveal themselves in the gray light, and you excitedly climb up to the deck to plan your anchorage. You have time to finish thick, grainy coffee at Stavros' restaurant before port authority registration procedures are complete. When the table moves and the cement floor rocks, you know you have completed your first maritime immersion.

Use remaining time to hike the Trodos Mountains and eat trout caught in cool rivers. Pick ripe cherries in summer, touch remnants of snow in spring, and at night, return to sleep in your mobile home, the boat. After two or three days, start to organize for the trip home. There, you will be surprised to find that your bed rocks to the rhythm of the waves. The next day, you return to school with maps, parallel rules and compass in hand. You passionately recall how you retched till your bowels were empty, but it wasn't that bad; how you almost caught a gigantic tuna that finally escaped; and how you almost scratched another boat's bow while anchoring, but came out okay.

You will search the Internet for practice exams, surf nautical sites, and from now on, your heart will belong to the sea. Next spring, when the swallows arrive to build their nests in Larnaca, you will also return.