1. 10
ot long after we started dating, my
husband, Joe, introduced me to cat
sailing. His parents’ 16-foot Prindle
with vibrant rainbow-color sail gave me
my first taste of wind and boat. At first, I
preferred the calm waters, the hot sun, and
the pliable tramp where I could lie and
soak in the rays. I was young and really
couldn’t be bothered with the wind mess-
ing up my hair. Under a blanket of
sunlight, I half-eyed Joe as he apologized
for the lack of wind. With all the distain I
could muster, I murmured, “Yeah, bum-
mer, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t until after our daughter was born,
that I finally understood how fun cat sail-
ing could be. My conversion was pretty
simple and sudden: Joe introduced me to
the trapeze. Hello 10-15 mph winds and
goodbye sunbathing. I didn’t know that
this was what sailing was all about. Sure
one could sit on the edge of the hull and
lean. But stand? Suspend out over the wa-
ter? Are you kidding? It’s as close to fly-
ing as I’d ever get. Why sit when you
could fly?
After we were married, we moved to Des
Moines, where his mother lived and where
the boat was kept. Those first years, before
we got a rental spot near the lake, we
parked it in our driveway all summer. I
even damaged one of the hulls by backing
into it with our old Chevy Lumina. Inci-
dentally, it’s the same car that’s made its
way to our neighbor’s driveway across the
street in Minneapolis. But that’s another
story for another time.
I’ll admit it. I harbor a lot of silly nostalgia
for that old boat. I can’t claim it as my
boat or even our boat. I don’t have the
memories of growing up, camping and
sailing with my family. I don’t have the
stories of the boat tipping over; saving
my sister; or of my Dad teaching me
how to sail by picking out a spot on the
opposite shore to sail to. Those are my
husband’s memories; memories much
more poignant and personal than those
of a Midwest farm girl who got a taste
of sailing for a few years on an old fam-
ily friend. I feel like an imposter for
loving an old Prindle that I have no
claim to. And yet, in my heart, I still
considered it our boat.
Truthfully, after Joe’s dad passed away,
he was the only one who knew how to
sail the boat with any confidence. Even
though technically it was owned by his
mother, it was Joe who took our daugh-
ter, son, and nieces out into the gentle
breezes for the first time. It was Joe
who patiently gave all who wanted a
ride before finally retiring to the beach
for a beer break. Without Joe, the boat
didn’t move. And even though I was just
along for the ride, this fact made it seem
more ours than anyone’s.
The most beautiful thing about her was the
sail. No computer generated image. No
swooping logo. Just bold swaths of color
climbing like a ladder to the sky, flapping
in the wind like a long mane of hair. I have
some beautiful photos of just the sail
alone. I will never get tired of looking at it.
The last time we took her out, my first-
born son was nearing two. The boat was
aging and the sail and trapeze lines were
wearing. I was up and out on the trapeze
when the front hull got buried in the water.
And we all know what that means. Dead
stop. I swung starboard, snapping the worn
trapeze lines before nose-diving into the
water. Joe managed to right the boat; we
climbed back on, but realized that all the
lines would have to be replaced before we
took her out again.
Time passes the way it always does. I be-
came pregnant with our third child, we
moved away from Iowa and the boat, and
she was never sailed again by our family.
Joe’s Mom sold the Prindle several years
later. I’d like to think she’s bringing more
memories to another, her sail flying high
again, but with her age and condition, she
would have needed some serious restora-
tion.
Our family has grown to six and we have
finally invested in our own catamaran: a
Hobie Getaway with plenty of room for the
kids, the oreos, the licorice, and the Gator-
ade. We’re making our own memories:
helping the kids to overcome their fears of
the water and wind, and teaching them to
pick out their own spot on the opposite
shore. When I’m on the water with Joe and
the kids, I often think of the Prindle. Cruis-
ing along, it’s not too hard to make the
connection with the past. As I lean back on
the tramp and wings, perhaps with a sleep-
ing child in my lap, I almost always look
up at our own colorful sail flopping in the
wind, recalling the colors of a sail that is
now only a memory.
NNNN
Catamaran Memories by Carol Shea
Carol and Joe Shea (and their pile of
adorable kids) spend their summer on their
Hobie Getaway
Joe and Carol on their be-love Prindle
The joys of a forward tramp