Moondust on the Hudson River, in Kingston, NY.

It’s said (ad nauseum) that the two happiest days of a boat owner’s life are the day you buy the boat AND the day you sell it. I was pretty happy when I sold my last cruising boat, about ten years ago, after it sat on the hard for two years when my life took a sharp turn away from the water and into the unexplored wilds of having children. It was a great boat—a 1979 Bristol 35.5—that had taken me and my friends (and future wife) all over the Chesapeake Bay, up to New England, and down to the Caribbean.

You never really get used to it. And you can never not feel empathy, sadness, and regret when sailors die at sea. It doesn’t matter whether you know them, or know their families. Everyone who sails boats on the oceans is part of a community that is bound together by a love of water and adventure, but also by the quiet knowledge that the oceans can kill. That’s why this past weekend’s tragedy during the San Francisco YC's Farallones Race, in which the Sydney 38 Low Speed Chase lost crew overboard and then was thrown by heavy seas upon the rocks, hits so hard.

Any good regatta organizer knows that it’s best to make the most of what your sailing venue has to offer, whether it’s big wind, beautiful scenery, excellent food, night—I mean dance—clubs, or any and all of the above. And some venues—think Key West or San Francisco Bay—maybe have a little more to work with than others. Regardless, it always pays to think outside the box.

What would you rather do? Race or do race committee? Well, the answer is pretty easy. We go to the trouble of buying boats, maintaining them, practicing with them, and spending down marital credits to disappear for a day—the price varies according to season, mood, and the behavior of children—because we want to sail and compete against other sailors.
 
So lots of sailors moan about, bitch about, and even actively shirk their race committee duty, even though it's glaringly obvious that if there is no race committee, there is no racing.