Sailing: Muscle Memory

The Flying Scot is not the sexiest sailboat on the pond.

Kelly and Heidi make this boat look goooood.

It's no Bugatti Chiron –– not even one made of Legos.

It doesn't foil. It doesn't require crash helmets. It doesn't use more than a skosh of carbon fiber.

Like Mma Ramotswe, the Scot is built along traditional lines. Even those who love the boat sometimes call it a Flying Sidewalk or a Flying Squat.

​It's a one-design class that has only slowly evolved over the past 60 years.

​It's stout and sturdy, and it does –– I admit –– encourage me to burst into song...

One particular song more than any other.

Still, the boat is perfect for us right now.

The Scuppernong is a two-person affair, it's relatively cheap (some of our sailing friends in other types of boat pay more for one sail than we have for boat, trailer, and a tank of gas for the Winnebago!). And most importantly for people who like to compete: it has a strong, competitive fleet of sailors.

Between the Florida District series, the North American Championships, and the other events we try not to miss like the Midwinters and Wife-Husbands, we end up racing the Scot around 25 days each year. Weather permitting of course.  

We got our first Flying Scot (The Mighty Majestic, #4925) in 2007, Eleven years later makes it 275 days of racing –– plus maybe an additional 50 days of practice sailing, where we gather together with some friends and we all try to go faster and polish our boat-handling skills. 

That's over a calendar YEAR's worth of sailing in a bit over a decade.  

That's a lot of jibes. That's a ton of tacks, a megaton of mid-line starts, zillions of billowing acres of spinnaker going up and down again, and enough cranks on that tiny winch to lift a cinderblock to the moon. Muscle memory.