"I will when I see it, I guess," Robert said, smiling at me. Cary glanced back.
"This won't work if you don't pay attention and concentrate," he said stiffly.
"I will," Robert promised. "Sorry."
"The wind flows at a great rate of speed along the forward surface of the sail, creating an area of lower pressure ahead of the sail. Understand?"
"Yes. I mean, aye, aye."
Cary shook his head.
"I must be crazy."
"He's paying attention, Cary," I insisted.
"We'll see."
"I just don't understand why the wind doesn't turn the boat over if the sail is at a forty-five-degree angle," Robert said. Cary stopped walking and turned.
"It would if the hull were perfectly flat. Every sailboat has a fixed keel that acts as a flat longitudinal plane to prevent the boat from moving sideways," Cary explained, illustrating with his hands.
"Oh. But if we're moving with a forty-fivedegree angle, how do you get the boat to go in the direction you want it to go?" Robert asked Cary's eyes filled with that glint of pleasure he always had when talking boats. I was glad Robert was asking questions.
"By sailing on the wind, a sailboat makes a course about forty-five degrees away from the wind direction. First you go to the left and then you go to the right, zigzagging. It's called tacking. You should know the terms so you'll know what I mean when I show you and tell you to do something. Corning about means shifting from one tack to the other. We'll do it with the rudder, pointing the bow up into the wind and then away from the wind on the opposite tack, or steering away from the direction of the wind until the sails fill from the other side."
Robert nodded, but I could see he wasn't clear on what Cary was explaining.
"In fore-and-aft rigged vessels--"
"Fore-and-aft?"
"You don't even know what that means?"
"I think I do. Is fore the front?"
"Great."
Robert smiled.
"In fore-and-aft rigged vessels, this maneuver is called jibing, and in square-rigged it's called wearing. If we start to lose control, I'll say we're broaching, understand?"
"Lose control?"
"It can happen," Cary said dryly.
"What happens?"
"We turn over and you fall into the sea and mess up your fancy outfit," Cary said, turned, and walked on. Robert looked at me.
"Don't worry, he won't let our boat turn over," I said. "He hasn't ever."
"That's reassuring," Robert remarked and we followed with May at our side.
May and I set the blanket out on a nice flat spot in Logan's Cove while Robert and Cary launched the Sunfish. I had brought along Daddy's binoculars so we could watch them from shore. I knew that once Cary had boarded our boat and set sail, he would be all business. He was really a very good instructor and expert at reading the wind.
They went back and forth, the Sunfish bouncing over the waves and looking as if it was running smoothly each time. When I gazed through the glasses, I saw Cary lecturing, pointing, and adjusting, directing Robert to make this turn and that, explaining as they went along. Even so, a few times, they did come close to capsizing when Robert was at the rudder and controlling the sail.
May and I played a few games of Chinese checkers, searched the beach for interesting seashells and waded out along the jetty of slippery rocks, searching for tiny crabs. The terns flew around us and followed us everywhere, especially when we returned to the blanket. They knew about picnics, anticipated crumbs, and eyed us cautiously.