Confessions of a Skylark

Hi, I’m Amy Skylark (the bird behind our boat’s name). As a professional writer who actually makes a living writing blogs (among other things) every day, I’m so glad to finally have a chance to contribute to our very own little home-grown blog!

First I have to start with a disclaimer: I’m incredibly new to the boating world and am still learning everything there is to know about sailboats and the boating lifestyle. Seriously, a few months ago, I wouldn’t have known what a boom was if it hit me in the head (which it almost has a couple times since then). So how does a mountain-loving, sun- hating, tree-hugging, land –lover end up with a “son of a son of a sailor” and a lovely boat such as the Skylark? It’s simple—love your guy, love his boat…

Having spent most of my adult life in Denver, a mile above sea level, I never had much of a chance to go boating, let alone sailing. The first time that I was ever on any boat was actually in New Zealand on a whale watching tour. Very cool catamaran; not so cool killer waves. Roll, stop, retch—repeat. That’s most of what I remember. I quickly became the silly American girl frantically snapping the band around my wrist they promised would prevent sea sickness, while trying desperately to vomit the cold pizza I had choked down for breakfast as ladylike as possible into a sick bag. All while a boat-full of disgusted Kiwis stepped over me to see the whales.

My second time on a boat was in a water taxi zooming around the Sydney harbor. Underestimating the “power” of a power boat, I lurched backwards and felt lucky to have lost just my hat (and not my balance) near the murky waters off of the Sydney Opera House. The third time I went out on a boat was with a very nervous guy named Jim who was trying very hard to impress his new land-loving lady friend with his sailboat. I feigned interest and he feigned nautical know-how. That night when we went into the front berth to go to sleep, I was quickly reminded of how allergic I am to mold and suffered a buzz-kill of an asthma attack. Nice.

Now, the fourth time was different. Alone on a small mountain lake in a 17 foot sloop, I got to take the tiller and work the sails. I began to feel the water and watch the wind. Suddenly I got it--why people like to sail. I could feel the symbiotic relationship between the boat and the water; the sailor and the boat. Finally, I could see the poetry in sailing.

And while I’ll never become a Parrot Head, and am far from committing myself to sailing around the world as Jim would do in an hour’s notice—I am slowly, very slowly, working on becoming one of Poseidon’s peeps. At this point, I’m just happy to not only be Jim’s mate, but his first mate. It’s a pretty sweet deal so far…