For about 30 years I stood on the shore and envied those with boats. Now I often sit on my boat and envy those ashore.

My fantasy never was to scream across the water at the speed of sound on some overpowered motorboat. Oh no, my vision was the idyllic, quiet grace of the sailboat moving over Penobscot Bay, with only the sound of the wind and the waves bouncing off the bow.

Now I realize those events are few and far between and more expensive than I ever dreamed.

The plan was to sail every day last week on my well-earned vacation. Monday was blowing more than 20 mph, way too much for a timid sailor. Tuesday was all fog. Wednesday was a go and I paddled out to Daybreak, a gleaming Catalina 27 bobbing at the mooring in Owls Head. We had been in such a hurry to take it from the boatyard to the mooring a few days earlier that we never did get the jib (that’s the one in front) sail up.

That should be a simple task, even alone in light wind. But one thing you learn about boats and wind, once you spend any time on the water, is that the wind will always blow out of the worst possible direction, at the worst possible strength. One Camden schooner captain thought he had it figured out. Every time he ate potato chips on deck, the wind would pick up and blow his food overboard. So, when he wanted a stronger wind, especially in a race, he would order “chips to the helm” to attract a stiffening breeze. He swore it worked more often than not.

I didn’t order anything, but the wind picked up as soon as I opened the sail bag. Much like Pandora’s box. This is a furling jib, which means it rolls up, much like a window shade. For me it was a complicated rig and this would be the first solo sail-raising. How hard could it be? If (boat partner) Peter Clifford could do it, then anyone could.

I tied the top of the sail onto the (line) rope which would haul it to the top of the mast. The sail slid easily into the slots, which would hold it in place, and I hauled on the lines with minimal effort. This was easy. Then, as the wind predictably picked up, the sail got caught halfway up. Wouldn’t go up. Wouldn’t go down. I don’t know if you have ever wrestled with a sail on a pitching deck, with no help available, in a stiffening breeze, but I don’t recommend it.

The sail snapped around like a snake, slapping me across the face repeatedly as I tried to haul it either up or down. Naturally the wind grew even stronger. I tried every swear I knew, several times. It still didn’t budge. I wondered if the boat would blow over.

To add insult to injury, a sailing class of pint-sized sailors was snaking through Owls Head Harbor, enjoying the breeze and sailing in general. For one second, I thought about calling one of them over to help. Then I realized I would rather die drowning, wrapped in a jib for a shroud, than ask an 8-year-old to bail me out.

I thought about the lucky people with motorboats. I thought about the even luckier ones who were ashore.

Finally I yanked down as hard as I could and the sail fell on top of me on the deck. In moments such as this I always assume someone on shore is watching the whole thing, probably filming it for “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” Somehow the sail got jammed back in the bag and stowed below. It would stay there until some day when serious help was aboard.

The diesel engine did start and I motored out to Rockland Harbor and raised the mainsail without any casualties. The wind was perfect for sailing, if not for sail-raising, and the rest of the afternoon was a delight. So what if Daybreak was the only boat in the harbor without a jib?

For those few hours, at least, it was still better then being ashore.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.