Forget what you may have heard about sailing. It's like a breath of fresh air | Opinion

I used to think of sail boating as one of life's gentler pursuits, perhaps enjoyed over a steaming mug of coffee while staring toward the horizon and contemplating life's meaning.

Then I met the "Sailing Sonars," a group of Treasure Coast sailboat enthusiasts who blew the misconceptions I had about their hobby right out of the water.

The men and women of the group, formally known as Sonar Fleet 36 Stuart, gather on the north fork of the St. Lucie River most Saturday afternoons for some friendly but intense racing.

"We do get competitive, that's for sure," admitted Dave Ottaviani, a 64-year-old Port St. Lucie resident who introduced me to the group.

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I met Ottaviani and two of his sailing partners, John Terrell and Pete Hansen, at the Riverwatch Marina in Stuart on a recent Saturday. I planned to accompany them on their 24-foot boat, Go Daddy "O", and play my usual role as a trained observer while they did their thing.

Well, they had other ideas. Their fourth crew member, Samara Essen, was a no-show that day. So not only was I going to document their experiences as sailboat racers, I would also have to pitch in.

I agreed, even though I didn't know "jib" from "jibe," both of which are sailing terms with different meanings. In fact, I quickly learned sailors have a language all their own, most of which was about as easy for me to grasp as IKEA furniture assembly instructions.

I didn't really understand as my crewmates explained what they needed me to do, but thought to myself, how hard could it be?

Ottaviani told me not to worry if, during the races, we got close to or even rubbed against the competing boats.

"When should I worry, then?" I asked.

"If John jumps off the boat," Ottaviani replied. Then for good measure, he added: "This is not a pleasure cruise."

Getting out of the harbor certainly didn't feel like a pleasure cruise. It was a typically hot and sticky Florida day, with very little wind.

Some sailboats are equipped with backup motors, but not the Go Daddy "O."

"We never have a motor," said Terrell, a 67-year-old Rocky Point resident. "I guess that's part of the spiritual thing."

The crew resourcefully used what little breeze there was, but it took us a while to get to the rendezvous point where the other boats were waiting. Sometimes, the races attract as many as five or six boats, but on this particular day, there were only two others.

All of the boats are Sonar models, a particular type of craft well suited to racing.

The course was marked using inflatable toys with attached anchors. Then, before I fully realized what was happening, we were racing.

While the winds didn't seem like much coming out of the marina, they were stronger in the middle of the river channel, without any objects to slow their course. We quickly picked up speed, as did our competitors.

I don't know how fast we were going. Not as fast as your average power boat or jet ski. But you perceive speed differently when you're in a vessel that's propelled along by a force of nature.

Slowing down a motorized boat is as simple as easing back on the throttle. On a sailboat, with its elaborate networks of sails, pulleys, and lines (don't call them ropes), it's a bit more complicated.

Not that my crew was interested in slowing down. We raced along, repeatedly shifting from one side of the boat to the other as the sails were adjusted to make best use of the wind conditions at any given moment.

Adjusting the sails means the boom swings around a lot, too. Very quickly, I decided my goals for the afternoon would be A) to not fall overboard; and B) to try to avoid getting smacked in the forehead by the boom.

My job was to unfurl and re-furl the spinnaker, one of the sails used during certain points of the race. It's about as easy to do as folding a fitted sheet. And my crewmates advised me, in no uncertain terms, not to get the spinnaker stuck in the water. (The term when that happens is "shrimping" — and apparently nobody on a sailboat wants to be known as Forrest Gump.)

Even having me as a liability, the Go Daddy "O" won all three races that afternoon. After the boats returned to their respective docking places, members of the various crews gathered at a local restaurant for lunch, drinks, and some recapping of the day's adventures.

No money or pink slips changed hands. The Sailing Sonars race only for bragging rights. (Ask my wife about the bragging part. She's already tired of hearing about my undefeated career as a sailboat racer.)

Unfortunately, sailboat racing seems to be a dying art, at least locally. Bill Baxter, an 88-year-old Stuart resident who got the local group started, said it's becoming harder to find places to store sailboats along the Atlantic coast.

Meridian Marina in Palm City is undergoing a $15 million renovation project that includes a "boat barn" for indoor storage. The barn takes up the space where sailboats have been stored.

Because of their masts, it isn't easy to stack sailboats in indoor storage areas. Their rounded hulls make them difficult to move with forklifts. And sailboat racers prefer not to store their vessels in wet slips because algae and barnacles grow below the waterline, creating drag that slows them down.

Also, marinas obviously don't make money from gas sales to sailboat operators.

The Go Daddy "O" and some other sailboats have been allowed to stay at Riverwatch as "grandfathered" exceptions, but the marina isn't offering rental space to other sailboats any more.

Ottaviani is hoping to find new spots where would-be racers can store their boats, as well as new racers to join the fun.

"Anybody who would like to join, we can train them," he said.

Literally anybody. I can attest to that.

(Anyone interested in joining the Sonar Fleet 36 Stuart can contact Ottaviani at dwottavian@hotmail.com.)

This column reflects the opinion of Blake Fontenay. Contact him via email at blake.fontenay@tcpalm.com or at 772-232-5424.

This article originally appeared on Treasure Coast Newspapers: 'Sailing Sonars' keep St. Lucie River racing tradition alive | Opinion