corinthian yacht club wooden boat show

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Tiburon wooden boat show.

The  annual MMBA Wooden Boat Show takes place at the lovely Corinthian Yacht Club in Tiburon, Calif. View and board classic sailing vessels, meet their skippers, and learn their unique history. Both large and small classic sailing vessels will be on display. Model boat building for children by the Arques School of Traditional Boatbuilding offers hands-on entertainment, along with live music by the SF Feetwarmers Jazz Band.

Outdoor bar & grill open for lunch. Bring the whole family!

Since 1867, the Master Mariners Benevolent Association has been devoted to the preservation of classic sailing yachts and traditional seamanship. Show proceeds go to the Master Mariners Benevolent Foundation, a 501(c)3, which provides scholarships for youth sailing, wooden boat building, and maritime education.

For more information see: facebook.com/MasterMarinersBenevolentAssociation/

Events are not guaranteed. It is your responsibility to confirm before going.

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Wooden Boat Show

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May / June Issue No. 298  Preview Now

McNish Classic Wooden Boat Race

July 28, 2012.

Hosted by the Pacific Corinthian Yacht Club.  This race is open to all wood sailing boats. It is a reverse pursuit race whereby the slower boats start first followed by the faster boats.  The finishes can be quite dramatic with many boats arriving at the same time.   

Event information, Pacific Corinthian Yacht Club , 2600 South Harbor Blvd., Channel Islands Harbor, CA 93035; 805–985–7292.

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A crash course in sailing aboard a millennial yacht on the Han

M ary is definitely, totally, absolutely not nervous at all as she skippers for the very first time. Names have been blurred. [SAILING PARADISE]

I am clinging onto the mast for dear life from about 10 feet up in the air. The floor beneath me shifts, and I hear a series of shouts as a towering triangle whips around my arms, nicking a bit of my face in one swift motion from right to left.

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A rush of wind blasts against my nylon jacket, and metal clangs against more metal as I question the series of choices that have led to this aquatic reenactment of the twister scene from "The Wizard of Oz."

Then, there is calm. The shouts die down, the clanging softens to quiet clinks, and I open my eyes, which I hadn’t realized I closed. I turn my neck to peek at the scene behind me, and my eyes focus on my crew, four very calm men.

I hoist my left leg over the boom — a large horizontal pole that anchors the mainsail — and complete my journey from one side of the mast to the other.

I’m now standing opposite the jib, the smaller sail at the front of the ship that gave me a whipping. I find my footing before flashing my crew a shaky thumbs-up. Smooth.

I’m sailing. It’s a sunny Sunday afternoon and I’m perched on the bow of a Yamaha 26 named Girls’ Generation, somewhere in the middle of the Han River.

Ready, set, sail

I’m a rookie — unless you count the time I constructed a cardboard boat for a group project in high school tech and design. We held a regatta in our town pool during one of the final weeks before summer vacation and raced against the other teams. (Reader, we sank.)

A few weeks ago, I discovered that a friend of mine (and Good Sport loyalist) has been leading a double life as a sailor since the weather turned warm. Apparently she’s been spending her weekends breezing along the Han — which sounds more enticing than dehydrating on solid ground.

Jet skis join us on the water in Yeouido, western Seoul. [SAILING PARADISE]

And that’s how I find Sailing Paradise , a yacht club in Yeouido, western Seoul, who agree to show me the ropes. I, an exceedingly average swimmer, am thrown into the deep end of a highly technical sport.

I’ll admit, thinking of sailing as a competitive or recreational sport rather than a leisurely pastime reserved for pastel-clad coastal elites was something I struggled to get behind. Like calling a tomato a “fruit” instead of a vegetable.

Braving the China Sea in a thrifted yacht and motley crew, all in the name of sustainability

From yacht rides to year-end parties, jeju shinhwa world caters to long-term travelers, luxury sailing on the han river.

But it’s a gorgeous day in Seoul, a welcome break from the cold rain of the previous 24 hours. It’s windy, and the breeze carries clouds of white pollen, a few kites and a handful of discarded flyers advertising something in bright, blocky Hangul.

I’ve been messaging with Hyun, one of the more senior members of the club and a sailing instructor, for a couple of weeks. We’d originally planned to take the boat out the previous weekend, but rain forced us to postpone. “It’s easy to catch a cold,” Hyun said.

But there is sun and wind this Sunday, and things are a-go. I’m told to wear a cap and sunblock. Sneakers are fine, according to Hyun, so I’m back to my destroyed Hokas.

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I arrive at the yacht club, which sits alongside one of the many floating restaurant-slash-convenience stores along a Yeouido patch of the Han .

Hyun, who wears his hair in a ponytail and dons a bright blue polo with the Sailing Paradise logo on top of long sun-protective sleeves, waves me over across the connecting bridge with a cheery hello.

Hyun gives me a quick tour of the layout, walking me past the hot water machines for riverside ramen and through the clubhouse to where they dock their boats. (They’re parked right next to a fleet of hollowed-out swans.)

Walking through the clubhouse to get to the dock. [MARY YANG]

He gestures toward a boat in the middle of the river, “Girls’ Generation,” the one we’ll be taking out in about a half hour. She was built in the early 1980s, I learn. (A millennial!) Hyun also indulges me with the meaning behind the name: Nine people pooled their money to buy the yacht and thus decided to pay homage to the nine-member K-pop girl group .

We retrace our steps and duck inside what looks like an office, a kitschy room decked out with model sailboats, walkie-talkies, coffee cups, wedding decorations and Korea Sea and Education Association emblems. (It’s the room version of that one kitchen drawer designated “miscellaneous.”)

Shirts hang in the office decked out in boat-related gear and other various goodies. [MARY YANG]

I introduce myself to the rest of the crew. We’ll be a group of five — me and four middle-aged men. Along with Hyun, two of them are Korean Air pilots, one with more sailing experience than the other. The younger one of the group is a TV producer who has also dabbled in windsurfing, equestrian and freediving — and will be taking his sailing license test tomorrow.

Hyun has been yachting for about four or five years but also knows his way around a dinghy. (He switched to yachts because he “got old” and didn’t want to keep falling in the water.)

“It’s very dynamic. It’s also very exciting,” Hyun says. “And, smells not bad.”

Hyun and the Korean Air pilots assure me multiple times that the Han River will not be smelly. Apparently this is a common concern among their friends. (A quick Google search indeed confirms Seoul’s ghosts of sewage past.)

No passenger princesses

Today is a perfect day for sailing, according to Hyun, who starts gathering his gear. It’s time to go, and everyone else follows suit, reaching for red life jackets.

“We don’t take passengers. Only crew,” Hyun reminds me. I feel the same queasiness as I did during my first-ever driving lesson when my instructor commanded me onto the highway after a few circles around an empty parking lot.

Should I be concerned with the level of trust he places in a total naif? Maybe, but I wave off the worry. Asking the question at all is good enough for me and proof of my move toward a fully developed frontal lobe.

I watch one of the deckhands (mates?) take out a new pair of gloves, grab a pair of colored scissors and snip off the tips of the pointer finger and thumb of the right hand so I can still use my phone. He hands them to me, and I take them, though I need a beat to recover from the quick mutilation of a perfectly nice pair of gloves. All for what — a few selfies? But I am grateful.

I get fitted in a red windbreaker with the blue Sailing Paradise logo and strap into a life jacket. Everything is covered except for my face, but I’m still the least dressed, as everyone else is behind scarves and sunglasses.

Making our way down to the dock, passing a fleet of swans. [SAILING PARADISE]

We march back toward the floating dock where the Girls' Generation awaits us, in all her fiberglass glory.

There’s a specific way to get on board. Hyun demonstrates. He starts by grabbing onto a thick metal wire, and I hear a sharp electric shock. Yowch, I wince, though Hyun brushes it off. I mirror the move, only to be greeted with the same. (Feisty!)

Evidently I am very eager to get into the vessel, as I immediately start pulling myself up like I’m scaling a wall. “No, no, no!” Hyun exclaims, pointing downward. It appears I’ve lunged prematurely, as my feet are on either side of the metal wiring lining the yacht. Both feet are meant to cross over at the same time, for safety. (There will be no one foot in, one foot out nonsense. All or nothing.)

Mary grips onto the boom as Hyun checks the fuel tank. [SAILING PARADISE]

I wobble on and wedge myself into a cutout on the left side. The rest of the crew soon follow. There may be additional safety checks and set-up, but I’ve been preoccupied with not falling overboard before we’ve left the dock. One final order of business before disembarking — Hyun inspects the fuel tank. Yup, we’re all gassed up.

Mary, second from left, is set to set sail with her crew. [SAILING PARADISE]

And then we’re off! I hear the hum of the engine, and there’s no turning back. Our only objective is to get everyone back in one piece, Hyun says. Surely we can manage.

Learning the ropes

It quickly becomes clear that Hyun wasn’t playing when he said everyone would be part of the crew. We drive out halfway between either side of Seoul (I spot the National Assembly just beyond the bridge) until it’s time to raise the sail.

We’re only using the jib, the smaller sail at the front, because raising the mainsail would have exponentially increased my chances of unintentionally taking a swim.

The next minute is a blur. I’m hustled over to the right side, as the left winch — the metal thing used to reel or release the rope — has issues (don’t we all?) so I switch with the less advanced pilot, my fellow winchman.

“Pull, pull, pull, pull!” I hear, as I yank wildly on the rope. I’m pushing against the side of the boat with my left foot for leverage in what feels like a game of tug-of-war — but a very lopsided one and there are no prizes for the winner. I am grateful for these gloves, or else I’d definitely be feeling the rope burn.

The winch 'round which Mary yanks the rope, which is sitting slightly off-spool. [MARY YANG]

I can’t pull any further, but I don’t have to, as we’ve successfully raised the sail. There is no more whirring from the engine, and we’re officially doing the thing. But I don’t have any time to bask in our accomplishment, as I’m immediately issued a corrective.

I was pulling with my thumbs toward the front while they should have been pointing toward myself in a sort of — “This guyyyy!” — fashion. That way, I won’t risk losing a couple digits to the winch.

One of the crew members shows Mary how to avoid an unfortunate hand jam. [MARY YANG]

There is a boatload of terminology that is unfamiliar to me. Jib, winch, boom. Two of us are winchmen, the people on either side of the skipper — who steers with the tiller, a long wooden stick stuck to the back. And we have two people acting as bowmen, who look out for the crew and make sure we don’t hit any stray kayaks.

Hyun points out four different kinds of knots, though it’s difficult to tell them apart. The only ones I remember are “cleat” and “clove.”

Soon, it’s time to change direction as we’re currently on a collision course with a concrete column. The crew spit out a slew of hours, since direction exists as time on the water. I realize they’re doing this based on a flimsy ribbon tied to the sail, which I learn is called the tell-tale. (Ohhhh.)

We need to catch the wind, which means the sail needs to switch sides — I think. Either way, I’m back on rope duty.

It’s the other winchman’s turn to pull to get the sail to his side, and my job is to unwind this end of the rope.

I get into position, and listen for what will become a familiar sound.

“Tacking!” Hyun shouts, which I hear as “Teh-king.” “Tacking!” Everyone else echoes in agreement. “Tacking” is when the boat turns its bow — which is a severely watered down definition. (No, I’m not sure what this means until I ask much later. Yes, I should consider placing more value on communication.)

Hyun, skippering behind me, will tap my back when it’s go-time. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, I feel. “Release, release!” I hear.

I frantically unfurl. “Let it go like your ex-boyfriend!” Hyun shouts over the sound of the boat turning against the wind and the water. We’re now teetering like a hypotenuse. Enough said, and I fling the rope off the circular winch. I’m afraid it will fly away, but Hyun points out the stopper at the end. And then the boat’s bottom returns fully to the river.

Super skipper

I begin to relax, as I’ve survived the first keeling. But then Hyun tells me to go to the bow, where there is no seat to sit in. Apparently they switch positions on the boat in an S-shape. So I get up, and it’s only now that I realize my legs are shaking.

The view from the bow is surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly, serene. I desperately resist the urge to put my arms out to the sides in classic Titanic fashion or shout “Thar she blows!” I allow myself to indulge in one pose, a sailorly salute, like I’m looking for land ‘ho.

Oh captain, my captain! Mary has her main character moment. Someone get her down from there. [SAILING PARADISE]

But then it’s tacking time again, which interrupts my peace. That’s how I find myself straddling the boom as the Girls’ Generation assumes the 45th degree.

One of the pilots later demonstrates the proper way to do it, by shuffling around the opposite side sans boom. But you’ll never catch me doing things the easy way. Or correctly.

Finally, I have a hand at being the skipper, and it’s my turn to drive the boat.

I must avoid the “No-Go Zone," which is between 11 o’clock and 1 o’clock, or 7 and 5, according to the more advanced Korean Air airman.

Mary, left, is super focused as she tries to wrangle the tiller. [SAILING PARADISE]

I’m a bit flipped around, as the intended direction is opposite the way one must maneuver the tiller. “Belly side!” Hyun cries, as I have already begun to aggressively pull toward my belly.

Soon I correct course, eyeing the compass and the tell-tales, and manage to keep us going generally forward. Allegedly, I have talent, the pilots and Hyun comment. Allegedly.

We’ve been on the water for about an hour before it’s time to head back. (Our TV producer mate has to practice parking for his test tomorrow.) We’ve traveled in a path that looks like a tangled pile of yarn.

The path of the mighty Girls' Generation. [MARY YANG]

We dock, and before I wobble off to shore, Hyun asks, “What’s the last step in cooking?”

“Turning off the stove?” I reply.

“Dishwashing,” Hyun corrects, as I can hear the disapproving tsks of my parents.

We check the fuel engine (still plenty gassy), and the crew works together to pull down the jib and wrap up the ropes.

I am still bobbing with the waves when I walk off the boat. I feel it in my biceps from all that pulling, and I'm sold on the sport of it all. And I definitely felt the dynamism Hyun harped about, even though we reached a maximum speed of maybe five knots — about 6 miles per hour. (Things stayed relatively tame. Not too knotty.) 

Smooth sailing.

BY MARY YANG [[email protected]]

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