I was nervous and excited. It's been a while since I've been out on the water, and I prepared by having a decent breakfast early that day, and having nothing but liquid afterwards. I stopped at a CVS and snagged some meclizine as well. I'm glad I did, though in hindsight, I'm not sure I needed to.

Greg was at the dock when I finally found the right place to park. He came out, I changed into tennis shoes and grabbed a coat and sweatshirt and we went down to the boat.

Greg's boat is a Wilderness 30 named Nightmare . It's a neat little boat. Tiller steering, 6hp outboard, spartan interior. My first impression was that this was a boat built for speed.

We were out on the water in just a few minutes, and I was just in awe of Greg's smooth handling in the harbor. The boat seemingly responded to his thoughts.

Just outside the marina, Greg hoisted the main into the gentle breeze, shutoff the motor, and we went from motoring to sailing in a moment of silence. "And we're sailing" he said, and without him turning off the motor and picking the prop up out of the water, I don't think I would've known. Then he handed me the tiller, and the next few hours were pure magic.

The breeze was well behaved and gentle on our way out of the harbor, and with plenty of room to maneuver, I quickly got a feel for how the boat handled. Greg trimmed the sails, and I steered.

And I could see and feel everything. All the things I've been reading about and dreaming about for years came to life around me. The wind became my compass without me realizing it. The water chuckled happily past the rudder. Boats and ships came and went, and it was an eternal moment of profound peace.

We rounded the breakwater west of Richmond Marina Bay and tacked to the southeast. Keeping an eye on our angle to the wind, I kept a bead on the San Francisco skyline. We spent a long while close hauled on the starboard tack, and as we moved towards the city the breeze coming out of the Golden Gate freshened in stages. We saw more and more sails on the water as we went, and the beautiful day on the bay delivered some wonderful sailing.

We went on the port tack within a few stones throws from the SF waterfront, and passed Alcatraz on the port tack. Greg had put in the first reef at this point, and I was having a blast feeling Nightmare respond to my slightest touch. After experimenting with bringing her into the wind and falling off, feeling her lean and bite into the wind and water, I focused on keeping her balanced on that point of sail that was the best balance between wind and water.

The feeling is indescribable, an unending cycle of finding the perfect balance, losing it, chasing it, and finding it again. Nightmare spoke to me through rudder, heel, telltales, sound, splash. It was a language that I've never spoken, but was as familiar to me as breathing. As I write and remember here in my bed at my best friends house, I can feel the movement of the boat underneath me.

I totally muffed my first tack, finding myself laying underneath the tiller and grinning stupidly at Greg. He patiently, and with an air of gentle amusement, demonstrated that the tiller lifts up. Fortunately, I didn't have time to feel too stupid.

We tacked a few times near the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge, and I had a fun few moments imagining Starfleet HQ looking down at us.

Then, with the sun showing about three hours of daylight left, we passed underneath the most famous bridge in the world, and I turned, hand on the tiller, to see the Golden Gate Bridge lit in the brilliant Pacific late afternoon sun. It glowed.

As I was looking aft, entranced, I was still steering and I found that even though I wasn't looking where we were going, I could still feel the boat and the wind and the waves talking to me. I was sailing by feel, and it was a better feeling than I could've dreamed.

As we moved towards Point Bonita, the wind slacked off a bit. Greg gave a wry chuckle. "Looks like we won't get all the way to the point." We turned back, Greg let the main swing out, and we reached back eastwards.

It was an odd sensation. The sails filled out, but going with the wind it felt like we weren't moving at all. We relaxed, watching the rights. A dolphin came to investigate and followed us for a bit. No shit, there we were, sailing under the bridge, with a dolphin following us about, like every sailing story ever written.

It wasn't till we got closer to the South Tower that I realized how fast we were going. The GPS had been showing us mostly between 5 and 7 knots, and I could feel that as we sailed into the wind. Sailing with the wind had felt slower. Watching the South Tower slip aft changed that perspective; we went hustling past, sliding quickly and comfortably across the confused waters, making for the gap north of Angel Island.

The breeze died after we passed through the gap and the sun went down. Greg started up the outboard and attached the autopilot, and I got to experience the pure genius of the boat tending to itself. It got cold quickly, and I put my jacket on over my sweatshirt. I was still shivering. I blame Sacramento.

Greg fiddled with the autopilot to bring us back in, and I got to enjoy the lights of the city and glassy smooth water as we pulled in. The landmarks that I paid attention to when we sailed out were right where they were supposed to be, comforting in the dark.

Tie up was just as uneventful, Greg working with a smooth practice that paid tribute to years on the water. We walked back to the parking lot and I put the heater on full blast, and for a moment I just sat, absorbing everything in a quiet state of euphoria.

It was a perfect day, and to my mind, a perfect sail. It's not often that I come across something that is better than I hope it will be.

And a million thanks to Greg Ashby and the Nightmare for a landmark life experience.