Sails fill and the boat leans. Angling with the wind, we tack to and fro. Like pedalling a bicycle with their arms, the folks up front frantically whirl the winches. Hats and hair go flying. The boat tips, its gunwales scraping the water.
Empty cans slide across the cockpit.
That's the cue for me to perform my relatively sober and intelligent task. Grabbing a handle, I reel in the line that tethers the main mast. When it reaches a predetermined mark, I reholster the handle. The boat charges forward. Its bow, plowing through the waves, sends spray flying.