Behind the curve

Among the things airplane drivers get to worry about is being in a place called, "behind the power curve." One falls into that fix by allowing the configuration of the aircraft, and its energy status, to deteriorate past the point where all of the available power can overcome the accumulated weight and drag. Should that happen the next few moments are often embarrassing at best, fatal at worst. I used to think that was a problem unique to humankind's attempts at flying. But I was sipping a cold one to battle the heat, lounging under our new Bimini, and watching the flock of seagulls play in the marina. One of them came floating down out of the sky in a steep trajectory, beak forward, head down, feet out, wings bent in a perfect high-lift / high-drag configuration. He was aiming for a touchdown on one of the support posts for the piers, a spot already occupied by another of the flock. Clearly our intrepid flyer was under the impression that landing traffic had the right of way. Not in this case. The resting bird reared up squawking and batting his wings, pushing the approaching bird off to the side...who found himself out of airspeed, altitude and ideas all at the same moment. Furious flapping of wings followed which was not enough to completely stop his final descent. Not often do you see a seagull belly-flop onto a concrete pier. Clearly power curves apply to more than just airplanes.

In fact I have been feeling a bit behind the curve when it comes to little Nomad. Friday night, most of Saturday, and Saturday night were spent tied to the pier for the sake of AC and sanity. Though rumor has it the temps will break soon, it hasn't happened yet. This kind of heat scorches brains and cooks the wind right out of the sky. But this morning, at last, there was a forecast for a little reprieve; 7 to 9 knots. A veritable hurricane compared to what we have been seeing. I had my doubts. After some deliberation I hanked on the drifter and we took to the lake. Wind, as expected, was light, but somehow we still managed to stumble deploying the head sail. A wind shift, a few degrees on the helm, the deck monkey being a bit sloppy on the halyard, whatever it was the sail snagged on a mast cleat and the tired fabric gave up the ghost. Deb called out the damage and we immediately dropped the sail before the tear got any worse. The little sail went up in its place. But me was not a happy camper, though I did my best to keep my sour mood to myself.

The winds and the little sail didn't help. The zephyrs would make the boat go, sort of, once in a while. It was hot. In my head the damaged sail was added to the list of things that need attention on Nomad; a coolant leak, wiring for the water heater, the rudder bearings or sleeves (or whatever Compac uses) need replaced, some interior work, and the drifter isn't the only tired sail on Nomad. Then the wind died completely, leaving us sitting in a bowl of jello in the middle of the lake. Deb suggested we stow the sails, drop the anchor right were we sat, and go swimming. It sounded like a good idea to me. Anything to offset the funk going on between my ears.

Sails down and I was standing on the cabin top tying up the main. Just before Deb pitched the hook I looked out across the lake. Maybe a mile off a wind line tickled the water. On the far side a sailboat was making pretty good progress. We stood and waited. A puff of breeze cooled the sweat on my neck. Nomad turned her head. Deb hoisted the jib while I pulled the main back up. More wind. Nomad stared to move like she actually intended to go somewhere.

And just like that I was back on the front side of the curve. Amazing what a few knots can do.