Whitewater Leadership

People have hobbies. It is my good fortune that one my friends spares me the expense, but none of the fun, of his hobby. As I hope to illustrate, sometimes what we do in our leisure may inform what we do at work, especially if your job involves leading or teaching others. And so it is with my message.

Jeff is a math professor at North Carolina State University. Jeff's wife, Maggie, works with my wife, Deb, in one of Wake County's excellent middle schools. Jeff and Maggie own a sailboat on which they invite Deb and I to spend time every summer.

Circumstances conspired against us this year such that last weekend was the first time we were able to drive down to the marina just south of New Bern, where Neuse River meets Core Sound and where is docked their boat. Coincidentally, it was also race weekend.

Jeff had asked me earlier if I would like to crew on the same boat he planned to crew. After consulting my gut instinct, hearing the prediction of some really bad weather, and remembering that I had never crewed in a race before, of course I said, "Yes."

As forecast, by the time Jeff and I arrived at Captain Dave's slip Saturday morning, the temperature was in the low 50s, leaden skies were turning to rain, and the wind was blowing 15 knots gusting into the 30s. Core Sound was a pallet of whitecaps.  It was a good thing that Captain Dave had extra foul- weather gear.

Dave, in his late 60s, had already been joined by Bill, 71, and Conner, 82.  Jeff, 50, was the baby of the crew. Since I fall much closer to Jeff's age than Dave's, I was feeling like a spring chicken among old birds.

Even with five men on board, I was told than we needed at least one more able body to be competitive. I would mentally remind myself of that remark many times during our four-hour trek through the rain and high seas.

I told Dave at the beginning that I knew a bit about sailboats having once owned a catamaran in my 30s. Even as I promised to be a quick study, I assured Dave that I could not be counted on to initiate as my experience was so long in the rear view mirror. Plus, I had captained, but never crewed, before.

If you have ever watched America's Cup on television, you saw skilled individuals working in perfect harmony, a veritable ballet of well-toned men working as one. That was not us.

What you would have seen in us was more like a mob. The only dancing you would have witnessed was us trying to avoid the sudden--but not entirely unpredictable--lurches of the boom on downwind reaches. The only tone you would have apprehended would have been Jeff, assuming duties at the fore, shouting "lazy sheet, lazy sheet," until crew released the rope connected to the foot of the jib on the leeward side allowing crew on the windward side to wench it down.

Sometimes the skipper wanted the sails "hard." Sometimes he asked us to "jibe the jib." We varied from "beam reaches" to "downwind runs" to "pointing." Sometimes I was asked to go "port" and other times "starboard."

At no time, however, was it advisable to "list" more than 15 degrees in this particular craft. I was assured that no matter how much the list, owing to a thousand pounds of lead in the keel, the center of gravity was sufficiently low such that we would "probably" not turn over. Good to know.

Conner, the oldster among us, tended the main sail at the stern, releasing tension on the main sheet to allow the wind to take the "traveler" to the other side when we tacked. In most ways, it was the position demanding the least athleticism. If I were 82, I would hope for such a job. That said, Conner was as agile as any of us.

When not busy with his chores, Conner coached me. "Put a couple of turns around the wench on the lazy sheet so you'll be ready for the next tack." "Watch for overlapping of the sheet." What did he say? All I knew was that, after several hours of wenching sheets, climbing the high side of the boat to be a human counterweight, and dodging errant swings of the boom, I was whipped.

Cold, wet, and exhausted, we beat the last leg of the race "DFL," according to Conner. I thought at the time that DFL was a Coast Guard term meant to initiate a search. Since there were no other boats in sight when I learned that we had actually--thank God--finished, what else could it mean?

Conner would coach me once again later that afternoon as he explained from the comfort of the clubhouse that DFL was an abbreviation for "Dead F'ing Last." Everything you've heard about the sailor and salty language is true.

So what did I learn about leading and teaching? Six things: 1) Sometimes unity of command is not only desirable; it is essential; 2) For many jobs, the only learning is learning by doing; 3) Physical health is a necessary but insufficient condition when faced with the likelihood of novel events; 4) Special language both bonds the team and makes for efficient action; 5) Dressing for the weather makes the undesirable tolerable; and 6) A sense of humor is often helpful and absolutely essential when the outcome you get is not what you sought.

Believe it or not, I would do last weekend all over again.  I love a challenge. I love uncertainty. I love teamwork. I love competition. In that cold, wet ride in Core Sound on October 29, 2011, I got most of what I love.  I hope you will try connect what I learned in my leisure last Saturday with what you do in your work everyday. Most of all, I wish you joy.