It all started with an ad in the National Observer , not to be confused with the National Inquiror. The National Observer was a wonderful weekly newspaper which only existed for some ten years. However, during its short existence I was a faithful reader. I saw an interesting ad one day for a cartop-transportable sailboat. I was in graduate school at the time and had a very flexible schedule. My immediate future was going to include lots more school. Sailing was something I had always wanted to do. I sent for the boat.

A few weeks later I got a call from the Railway Express office at the station. My boat had arrived. Amazingly I could pick up the whole box and place it on top of my station wagon without strain. It was just what I needed.

Of course, being in Kansas, everyone thought I was nuts. Where, they snorted, would I find water? Well, I knew the answer.

One day while I was sitting outside a classroom building having my brownbag lunch, a groundskeeper stopped his lawnmower and chatted with me for a few minutes. In the process the groundskeeper pointed out the "terminal moraine" and other geological features which I had never heard of and had to look up after I got home. One of the things the groundskeeper, who must have been taking classes at the University, said, was that from the top of Mt Oread, on which Kansas University stands, you could see the beneficial effect that man had had on the Kansas environment. This was in 1971 (the very heart of that era commonly known as "the 60s") when everyone was convinced that man did nothing good to the earth or anything else. Startled by this heresy, I listened carefully to the explanation that during the Depression a lot of lakes had been dug and forests planted, many of which could be seen from where we were standing.

A nearby body of water that I had seen from Mt Oread, called Lone Star Lake,. was where I took my little styrofoam boat and taught myself and my kids to sail. Greg was 11 and a fast learner. I was surprised, though, at how quickly Bonnijean, who was 9, learned, too. Before we left for Germany both those kids had soloed in the little boat. Heather was only 7 and too young to sail by herself.

The next year, in Germany, I was impressed by the number of beautiful lakes not far from our station in Garmisch. One was run by the very people who ran most things in Garmisch, the Armed Forces Recreation Center, or AFRC. The family took a trip over to the AFRC resort on the Chiem See, "see" meaning lake in German. AFRC had a nice little fleet of sailboats on the lake, and no motor boats were permitted on the large lake. It was, in fact, normally covered with the white sails of the Germans in their boats every weekend. It was an ideal place to sail.

I went to the rental booth and asked to rent a boat. "Do you have a license?" was the water patrolman’s response.

I didn’t understand at first. What sort of license would he mean. Of course I had all the drivers licenses required to drive in Germany, but how was that relevant?

It turned out that to rent a boat from AFRC you first had to pass two tests: a written test and a practical (sailing) test, just like getting a drivers license. I took the written test and passed it easily, but now I was told that I would have to wait until a boat became available and, considering that all the boats were reserved for the rest of the afternoon, this was probably not the best day to try to take the practical test.

The situation, though, was not that simple. My wife and Heather had gone with grandparents and the car to visit a nearby castle. Greg, Bonnijean and I were pretty much stuck there until the others returned. We might as well wait and hope someone failed to show up for their reservation.

A young officer saw us sitting around and came by to try to talk us into going in with him to rent the "big" boat. Rental prices for the sail boats corresponded to the number of passengers each carried. Most of the boats were 4-passenger size and cost $4 an hour. The "big" boat held 8 people and cost $8 an hour. The young officer, probably a captain, had reserved it when it was the only boat available, even though he was only accompanied by a date, whom he was obviously anxious to impress with his ability to sail. He was looking for some people to go with him to share the cost.

For some time I declined to go with him since I wanted to wait to see if a test boat would come available. The kids were getting pretty bored. Finally, when it was apparent that I would never get to take the second part of the test that day, I agreed.

It turned out that there were seven people and one dog on the boat. An older couple, probably retirees, were going along for the ride, as was their beloved mutt. I objected to the dog. I had just taken the written test and knew that pets weren’t allowed on AFRC boats (and this was in Europe where dogs are treated better than people!) The young captain wanted the couple to go—they were worth two bucks and hour to him—and they wouldn’t go without the dog.

We set out and I was busy learning how to use a jib, something I’d never done, and watching the captain sail the boat. As soon as I had a chance to look around and check the kids I discovered Bonnijean holding tightly to the collar of the dog which was lunging and barking at the swans swimming nearby. I told her to let go of the dog.

"I can’t, Dad," she objected. "If I let him go he’ll jump into the water after a swan."

"You don’t know anything about dogs, " I told her. "He only lunges like that if you hold him and he can’t fall in." She held on as the dog continued to pretend to be attacking swans.

A couple of minutes later the dog, with Bonnijean still attached to his collar, plunged into the water. I watched as she was immediately pulled under the boat. I stepped to the other side of the boat and, sure enough, she popped up there. I had picked up a life jacket to throw her, but, finding her within reach, I scooped her up and pulled her back into the boat. The dog’s daddy, during this time, had bravely climbed up on the rail and dived in declaring "I’ll save her!", without realizing that Bonnijean was, at that moment, coming back onboard. I immediately threw him the life jacket.

Now the scene was this. A swan was swimming in that graceful, cool way that swans always swim, apparently unconcerned about the mayhem going on behind him. The little dog was swimming as fast as he could after the swan, barking as much as he could but swallowing water on almost every bark. The man was swimming after the dog with a life jacket hooked over one arm. No one was gaining on anyone, since the swan could easily keep ahead of the dog, and the man was hindered by the life jacket.

I could feel how cold Bonnijean had gotten in the few seconds she had been on the water and now I was worried about the man. The sailboat was sailing off leaving them behind.

"Luff the sail," I told the captain. Luffing, or letting the sail go, would eliminate any forward pressure and allow the boat to stop, still in the vicinity of the man and the dog.

"I’m going to come about and pick them up," the captain replied.

"No, luff the sail," I commanded.

"Sir, I’m the captain of this vessel and I’ll take care of it."

We sailed away, leaving the trio swimming along, with occasional barking, gargling and sputtering from the little dog. Eventually the young captain turned the boat around and headed back toward the man and the dog. As he approached, I sensed that this big, heavy boat was going to keep going right past them.

"Luff the sail!" I commanded, again, and, again, the captain refused. As he got to the trio he did let the sail go, but, as I had anticipated, the boat kept going until it was well past them. The little scene continued: the swan swam gracefully along, the dog pursued the swan and the man pursued the dog.

Visibly disturbed and having negated any good impression he might have made on his date, the captain made another attempt to come back and pick them up. He still overshot the trio and the boat came to rest about 50 yards away, not in the direction that the swan was going.

The only way to succeed was to get the boat between the dog and the swan, and there was no hope that this guy could do that in this boat.

The nearby Germans were laughing hysterically at the ineptitude of the Americans in their big, lumbering boat. Finally, one of the German boats went over and scooped up the dog and his owner and brought them to the American boat. The German, as he sailed away, shouted, "Take a lesson!"

The captain had promised me that he would let me sail the boat if I came along and now he was anxious to turn it over to someone, anyone, else. He had made a "dog’s supper" out of it, as the Brits like to say, and was exhausted and embarrassed.

I gladly took the tiller and was surprised how easy it was to sail compared to my little styrofoam sailboard. It was so easy, in fact, that I let Greg sail it for a little while. Greg handled it with ease. Then I asked Bonnijean if she wanted to sail it. I really did that to show up the captain and that was, in fact, more than the captain could handle. He refused, as the responsible party, to allow a 10-year old to sail the boat. In fact, this ultimate embarrassment seemed to kill whatever spirit he had left. Citing the fact that there were two wet and cold people on board, he declared the sail to be over.

I suggested that the captain take back the tiller, but he refused again. "You seem to be sailing it better than I was, you take it in, sir."

That presented a big problem. Getting this big boat back into the little docking area wasn’t something that I had even considered. I had never actually sailed my own boat up to a dock the whole time I had owned it, just to a beach. As I thought about it I realized that I would have to hit the little entrance just right, make a hard right turn, then, almost immediately, turn it all the way around and bring it up to the dock. How was I going to do that? No clue!

It was too late to protest that I couldn’t do it, , so I had to make an attempt. I lined up for the entrance to the little harbor, eased off the sail, and crossed my fingers. The heavy old boat lumbered perfectly through the entrance. Whew!! One maneuver down. I swung it to the starboard, pulling in on the sheet for a little more power. Second successful maneuver.

Now, though, I had to bring it all the way around and get over to the dock. I announced that I was coming about, pushed the tiller all the way over and held my breath. The old boat slowly turned about. As soon as it was completely around I let the sails luff. The heavy old tub wallowed to port from the momentum of the turn and kissed up against the dock exactly in its parking spot. The kids jumped out and tied it up. I sat there dumbfounded at my luck.

The captain and his girlfriend quickly disappered leaving me to try to figure out how to take down the sails. After some trial and error we got both the sails down and secured. I went up to the rental booth and asked if any boats had come available while I was out.

"I saw you bring the big boat in just now," the water patrolman said. "Here’s your license."

I don't have a license to sail now but that doesn't stop me.  This is our latest sailboat, a Siren, which shares the beach with our Sunfish.