You have a new boat! She is a neat little sloop of which you are sinfully proud. You need a good picture of her. Surely you have a friend with a small power boat and a camera. On the appointed day subject to proper conditions of sun, wind and water, be ready. Scrub off any ugly rubs on the topsides. Leave no fenders hanging from life lines. Stow any stray gear on deck or house top. Hoist sails so luffs are taut and pull each sail out snuggly on spars to set without a wrinkle. Hand two rolls of film to your photographer and tell him to use up every picture on Amelia as you round a racing mark or sail by a scenic lighthouse.
When the prints come back, edit ruthlessly. First, throw out the obviously impossible ones and work the number of keepers down to the absolute minimum. Pick any one of the survivors. Have it elegantly framed, and hang it over the mantle in the living room.
A week later, your neighbors’ son, Jack, roars by in his Grand Banks 30, waving, blowing his horn and snapping his camera. He will bring you a pretty good picture, but unfortunately the new burgee was drooping sadly.
As you shoot the mooring, jib and staysail doused, mate with boathook poised, your neighbor on the float next to yours shouts, “action shot” with his camera at his eye. Danny picks up the mooring neatly as Amelia glides to a stop over the buoy. This is a good picture of the grandson, Danny, and must hang in the dining room.
On a day with a really brisk breeze, you are trying out Amelia single reefed with rail awash. A neat, speedy little launch appears astern and is soon abeam. On her side is lettered PHOTOGRAPHER and there he is, standing up and waving a camera. He takes shots from a number of different angles and sends you excellent proofs. For $50, you can have an impressive portrait of Amelia really standing up to it with you at the wheel. You succumb and hang it in your dining room.
On a calm, foggy day, no day to go sailing, your artist-photographer neighbor takes a picture of your boat and his lying at their moorings near each other. It carries the feel, and almost the smell, of a foggy day. This one must hang in the dining room.
A flat clam day. Amelia, all sails set, waits for a breath of air, her reflection sharp upon the still water.
On the morning of the yacht club gam, we have a light northwest wind. The sloops, schooners, yawls and ketches, all flying the yacht club burgee, are getting underway. With mainsail and staysail, winged out, jib hanging slack, we lead the fleet. The official historian is ahead of us, taking our picture. It will hang in the Club dining room and probably in ours.
Completely by surprise comes The Perfect Day. Smooth, warm and with breeze enough to fill all your sails. You and Danny are crossing Penobscot Bay admiring the Camden Hills You are close-hauled but can comfortably fetch your course. You feel entirely at one with the day, with Amelia and with the coast of Maine.
As this delightful ecstasy overwhelms you, you are inspired to record it on film. You rouse out Danny, who is busy untangling a fish line and bid him to take the wheel. Kick a fender over the lee side and haul up the peapod against it, her painter fast to a lower shroud. A quick dive below for the camera. Danny knows what is coming next. He casts off the jib sheet, flattens the staysail and slacks off the main. Amelia almost stops. You hang the camera around Danny’s neck, tell him to stay in one place on the big, deep ocean, and use all the film. You chuck a life ring into the peapod and cast off. You sail by Danny at various distances and angles while he clicks away, and then comes back aboard.
When the film is developed, you find two prints that are superb, that really catch the feeling of that lovely day. When you show them proudly to a club mate he says, “Oh yes, a couple of pix of the Amelia. Little overexposed, aren’t they?” You are disappointed. To him, they are a couple of grubby pix. To you, they recreate a profound experience.
You need a picture of your boat? You will get enough to paper the dining room.