IT’S VERY DISAPPOINTING that nobody takes any notice of the colorful triangular burgee that I habitually fly from the top of my mast. I mean, it’s unusual. It’s intriguing. It’s splendid.
People are supposed to ask: How do you do that? Doesn’t it hang up on your VHF antenna? What club does it represent? Why don’t you fly it from the spreaders, like everyone else? How beautiful it looks up there. How very clever of you.
But no. Nobody asks.
I put it down to jealousy. I don’t think they’d have the faintest idea how to fly a burgee from the masthead, specially among the array of electronic sensors and antennas and lights that seem to breed on top of sailboat masts these days.
When I grew up, long ago and far away, everyone flew a burgee from the truck. It had its own halyard and it swiveled on a varnished pigstick. It not only showed which direction the wind was coming from, it also showed what yacht club you belonged to. It kept seagulls from perching up there and bombing the deck. It added color and movement to the mast when you were at anchor, and nicely balanced and echoed the flutters of the national ensign flying from the stern.
But this is the age of the ubiquitous Windex, a sterile plastic wind vane that just sits up there and stares down accusingly at you, a humorless, colorless artifact lacking all vestiges of passion.
Practically my first action when I bought my present boat was to remove the Windex and fit a burgee halyard. A proper halyard for a proper burgee. If I had my way, people would go down on one knee and salute my burgee when they come past. It is, after all, a direct connection to the pennants and flags of sailing craft stretching back through countless ages.
But no. The modern children of Windex ignore me.
My proud little burgee obviously makes them feel uncomfortably inadequate and disconnected from the nautical heritage that should stir deep in their souls. Just as they no longer know how to arm the lead, or handle a sextant, so have they forgotten how to fly a burgee.
Long may they suffer, I say. Long may it serve them right. If they choose to defile Nature by affixing a lump of soulless black plastic to the masthead, they deserve all the discomfort they get.
Today’s Thought
Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o’er the good and brave.
— Longfellow, Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem.
Tailpiece
The drunk shuffled into court again. The judge sighed. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you in here again.”
“Yes, you did,” the drunk replied, “and I told the cops, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
Showing posts with label burgee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label burgee. Show all posts
October 1, 2009
February 19, 2009
Flying the flag
OLD WOTSISNAME who moors down the row from me says we have something in common. “We both fly a burgee from the masthead,” he said.
I hope that’s all we have in common, considering the state his old wreck is in, but he’s right, I do maintain the old fashion of flying a club burgee from the very top of the mast. In fact, one of the first things I did when I bought my present boat was to remove the Windex wind vane to make way for a burgee.
\
My thinking was that it’s a neck-breaking task to keep checking the wind direction by looking straight upward at a Windex. Any decent sailor ought to be able to judge wind direction roughly by the feel of the breeze on his or her face or neck, and if you need more accurate indication you can tie old cassette recording tape to the backstay and shrouds. In addition, you can tell if your sails are stalling by looking at the telltales.
I have no use whatsoever for a Windex and I can’t imagine why just about every other boat I look at has one on top of the mast. I guess it must be one of those mass hysteria things, or some infectious fad that has spread through the sailing world, some thoughtless knee-jerk reaction that has worked out very well for the Windex people.
I love my burgee. It brings life to my boat when she’s at anchor and it’s fluttering bravely up there. It makes a fine show under sail, too, flying according to a tradition that goes back centuries, connecting us to all the old-timers whose ways and responsibilities we have inherited.
It gives me pleasure to raise it and lower it correctly, too, making its passage up or down the mast one smooth movement rather than a series of jerks. It takes two hands and some concentrated practice to do that.
We’re a dying race, of course, me and Old Wotsisname. Two of the last burgee flyers in the country, I’ll bet. Just as long as the herd mentality trumps common sense and tradition, Windex will rule the masthead.
Today’s Thought
Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o’er the good and brave.
—Longfellow.
Tailpiece
The bank robber shoved a note across the counter to the teller. It read: “Put the money in a bag, dummy, and don’t make a move.”
The teller pushed back another note: “Straighten your collar, stupid, we’re taking your picture.”
I hope that’s all we have in common, considering the state his old wreck is in, but he’s right, I do maintain the old fashion of flying a club burgee from the very top of the mast. In fact, one of the first things I did when I bought my present boat was to remove the Windex wind vane to make way for a burgee.
\
My thinking was that it’s a neck-breaking task to keep checking the wind direction by looking straight upward at a Windex. Any decent sailor ought to be able to judge wind direction roughly by the feel of the breeze on his or her face or neck, and if you need more accurate indication you can tie old cassette recording tape to the backstay and shrouds. In addition, you can tell if your sails are stalling by looking at the telltales.
I have no use whatsoever for a Windex and I can’t imagine why just about every other boat I look at has one on top of the mast. I guess it must be one of those mass hysteria things, or some infectious fad that has spread through the sailing world, some thoughtless knee-jerk reaction that has worked out very well for the Windex people.
I love my burgee. It brings life to my boat when she’s at anchor and it’s fluttering bravely up there. It makes a fine show under sail, too, flying according to a tradition that goes back centuries, connecting us to all the old-timers whose ways and responsibilities we have inherited.
It gives me pleasure to raise it and lower it correctly, too, making its passage up or down the mast one smooth movement rather than a series of jerks. It takes two hands and some concentrated practice to do that.
We’re a dying race, of course, me and Old Wotsisname. Two of the last burgee flyers in the country, I’ll bet. Just as long as the herd mentality trumps common sense and tradition, Windex will rule the masthead.
Today’s Thought
Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o’er the good and brave.
—Longfellow.
Tailpiece
The bank robber shoved a note across the counter to the teller. It read: “Put the money in a bag, dummy, and don’t make a move.”
The teller pushed back another note: “Straighten your collar, stupid, we’re taking your picture.”
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