Summer sailing in the San Francisco Bay is, pardon my French, a shite show. All the suspected romanticism and anticipated peace is blown away by 30 naught April winds and washed away by ice cold spray like backsplash on the Charles River in Boston… in the middle of January. It will leave you drenched in sweat and sea water, your muscles aching from trying to control the waves crashing into your hull, and if you’re like me, your skin taught and frazzled from being knocked around too much to remember to regularly apply sun block. Luckily our motley crew of Scots, Argentinians, Wisconsinites and Brazilians are into that kind of thing, so it’s the absolute best place in the world to be — particularly when it’s paired with Mexican bear, American bourbon and Cuban Cigars.
Since social isolation began almost one month ago, we have spent our weeks sneaking boat renovations in between Zoom meetings five slips away from The Lord Jim, and book ending our weekends sailing with Francisco and Vinny — who plan on sailing to Francisco’s hometown in Argentina in 2022. Of course it’s quite difficult to remain 6 feet apart on a 36 foot monohull, but we decided early on to be dedicated shelter in place partners. The boat is Francisco’s, but at this…
