Operating a sport yacht can be tough. There are generators and battery chargers and engines and throttles to think about. There are knots and gears and VHF radios and gauges to check. Some would go so far as to say it's a job only cut out for men. MarineMax's Women on Water program—designed to assist ladies in the starting, driving and docking of sport yachts—on the other hand, is out to prove the exact opposite. Upon being invited to the class, I was promised a pink "Women on Water" ball cap, a box of chocolates, detailed instructions on guiding a cruiser and, most enticing of all, the opportunity to get behind the wheel of one of these aquatic monsters.
I arrived at the Polestar Marina in St. Charles to find my fellow invitees and J.D., our enthusiastic and able male instructor, exchanging indecipherable boat jargon. "Hey! How's it goin'? How's your 310?" "Oh, I've got a 380 now." "Really?! Movin' up to the dual-engine, eh?"
After J.D. helped us onto the brand-new, $455,795 Sea Ray Sundancer (a dual-engine), he talked about bows and afts and beams and drafts. To put the maneuverability of a boat into context, he compared it to pushing a shopping cart—how the butt of the cart sort of swings out when you take a turn, as if it's on an axis. After describing the differences between inboard, outboard and inboard/outboard engines, he asked Fran, "Does that make sense?" She stared blankly at the diagram. "Yeah …"
J.D. carefully guided the boat out of the dock and onto the fast-moving Mississippi. He talked us through each shift and acceleration, then let the students take the wheel. Each of the women guided the boat with confidence, listening to J.D.'s instruction as they went.
Fran took it to full throttle as I sat in the lowering stern, the wind nearly blowing off my new pink hat. Then J.D. asked if I wanted to steer, and all the girls cheered, encouraging me to do it, just as they had.
One of the only reasons I considered coming here was to do just that—drive a boat—and yet I felt myself withdrawing, unable to muster the confidence J.D. had been trying to instill in us for the past two hours.
Not only do I have a phobia of singing, doing choreographed dances and ordering menu items that have names like "The Sorry Charlie," I also get insecure when performing challenging tasks in front of other people—especially women. I felt my hands clam up and my stomach drop when J.D. suggested I drive.
"No thanks," I said politely, as if I were declining another helping of my grandmother's canned beets.
Sure, I considered the fact that I may be letting my whole sex down by saying no and that my purpose for coming here was to break some gender stereotypes, but I was content to remain a passenger.
I settled into my plush white seat and watched the powerful wake behind me, while delighted squeals of accomplishment could be heard from the women on the water.
