When Phil excitedly pointed to another mountain, even higher and steeper than the last, I knew I would have ample time to ponder the next topic, the process of sailing itself, for they once again left me for dead and it was up to me to catch up. When I wasn't falling off the trail or plotting my revenge, I created a mental picture of the Roger Henry under sail. I replayed several of the thousand times Diana and I have hoisted, trimmed, reefed, furled or handed our sails. I critiqued our sail combinations, storm tactics and performance: running before huge seas, heaving to, or lying a-hull. I retraced our routes and their timings. I asked, "Have we shaped our voyages to efficiently harness the predictable forces of nature, yet adapted prudently to the unpredictable?"
Before the next downhill run I expressed some concern over the tight spacing of the trees on the precipitous slope. Phil said, "No problem, just ski around them." I did--all but one.