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Newport, R.I.: Where Summering Is a Sport
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Finally, the sea called. My sailing lesson -- a half-hour orientation to the boat, followed by two hours out on the bay -- started on a sunny morning at a picnic table on the harbor near Fort Adams. Brian Kelley, a dark-haired 23-year-old with the spunk of a third-generation sailor, was my instructor.
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Let's Do Newport Plenty of places have an air that seems more welcoming to the glitterati and well-heeled than the everyday tourist. But Newport, R.I., offers experiences for vacationers of every stratum. 
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He started with "chalk talk." Drawing a diagram of a boat on a small blackboard, he explained the major parts. The sheet, the line wrapped around the winch, is used to ease the sail in and out. The tiller, attached to the sail frame, is used to steer. The boom keeps the sail extended. My head began to swirl with sailing terms.
"If you can grasp how these parts work, it will be easy," Kelley said. "If you can't, we have to keep going over it until you do." The only way to learn, he added, was to hit the water. With that, Kelley, Eddy and I climbed into Barking Mad, one of the J-22s, the 22-foot boats that Sail Newport uses for training.
"Grab the tiller," Kelley yelled. "You're on."
And so I was. As we headed into the bay, passing schooners and other vessels, Kelley explained the traffic rules. He also showed me how to watch for wind shifts and adjust the sail accordingly. Finally, he fell silent, allowing me to learn from trial and error. I encountered both. Tacking, or shifting the direction, required particular agility. In a harrowing moment, a strong gust forced me to heel until the port side of the deck was close to the water. Eddy clutched the starboard rail and grimaced.
After a couple of hours, I had calmed Barking Mad. As the wind picked up, I tacked and headed for shore, sometimes moving up to five knots. It felt glorious. I was sailing.
Gary Lee will be online to discuss this story at 2 p.m. Monday during the Travel section's weekly online chat at http:/
