"Moby Dick" opens with a statement by Ishmael saying that when "nothing particularly interested him on shore," and he found himself lingering too long in front of coffin stores, or growing grim about the mouth, he would simply heave-ho onto a long sea venture. For example, go hunting down a Great White Whale in behest of his alter ego who posed in his story as a megalomaniac, peg-legged sea captain. He said this about his sea trips: "It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation."

I get these urges myself every few hours; whenever my cell phone fritzes out on me, the ATM lines are too long, or upon receiving "final notice" letters from the IRS.

So it was on such an impulse, being fed up with the normalcy of my bourgeois, landlubberish, existence, that on a recent fair-skyed weekend I decided to rent a two-hour seat on the good ship Chardonnay bound from the Santa Cruz Harbor, and sail 'er straight out, far enough into the Monterey Bay. And whereby with the aid of natural anti-seasickness herbal remedies ingested prior to cast-off-and numerous plastic cups of Beauregard Chardonnay served aboard ship-I could for a short time give the slip to my humdrum existence, and "drive-off my spleen."

The good ship Chardonnay, in all its alabaster perfection, is a miraculous  contemporary technical incarnation of a Phoenician sloop. Its steerage is cleverly marketed to those of us who need, nay, can ill-afford to escape only for the moment onto the foaming organic brine from which we sprang. And who among us would go there without the sure hand of an experienced tiller man.

Ishmael spoke of having a "strange awe" of Captain Ahab, and such was my feeling towards our shipmaster, Captain Homer Lighthall, a man of athletic bearing whose hair is turning a confidence-inspiring gray, and whose very stature set us all instantly at ease. This was assisted again by more glasses of Beauregard Chardonnay which our thoughtful crew generously forced on us the instant of launch. My trepidations and my identity soon vanished.

I sat on the rear aft fan tail gunwale (I've included every possible term here to be sure) of the boat, high enough to keep a firm eye on the horizon, and be accessible to the Captain should he need my assistance, which luckily, he did not. Lighthall stood with his back to me which made rapport difficult, but I was better able to watch his posture as he stood with legs spread wide, and like a wise, wary owl, continually rotated his head in an almost 360 circle in order to constantly scan our surroundings. Lighthall admonished us that the spilling of wine was considered alcohol abuse. His orders to the crew were direct and kind, and his demeanor affable, unlike Captain Ahab who was a sulking manic-depressive.

We motored slowly over to and around the Santa Cruz Wharf admiring the sleek sable-coated sea lions. Then we came about and deiseled more rapidly directly out from the wharf, until when we got just slightly beyond the lighthouse, where sails billowed up to full blown, and the Chardonnay leapt forward like an unharnessed steed. Charging into the open bay at what Lighthall said was a heady 11 knots, the sea with only two- to three-foot swells, our boat knifed rapidly and exhilaratingly straight through the water. Even a neophyte could feel that these were perfect sailing conditions, and great food and wine not-withstanding, the reason we were here.

The gymnastic crew continued to serve food and wine without pause or break in rhythm. Even when the ship was leaning mightily on its side, they displayed amazing feats of balance, appearing to walk "up hill" as easily as another might walk on a flat surface on land. Their movements were dance-like, well choreographed, and totally gracious.

Drifting in quiet waters off the Capitola pier mid-way on our route, Lighthall pointed out the house of local Jack O'Neill, "the man who invented the wet suit." I commented that it was too bad the idea had not caught on. The ocean surface was dotted with thousands of little jellyfish called "By the Wind Sailors." Crewmember Kathy Carney pointed out that an equal number of the little scooped-sailed jelly fishes are inverted as opposed to converted so that regardless of winds and currents they'll drift in equal numbers with the breezes in different directions as a survival mechanism.

Expecting little more than bread, cheese, and cold cuts, we were instead plied with copious amounts of very high quality food prepared by Chef Jason Cullen of the Mainsail Restaurant. The Mainsail is located in The Westcoast Santa Cruz Hotel. I was impressed enough with Chef Cullen's offerings that I plan to have dinner in his restaurant soon. Samples of the shipboard menu: Shrimp and Lobster Tempura Rolls, Coconut Dusted Prawns, Maryland Lump Crab Cakes (more crab than cake) with Spicy Rémoulade, Mongolian Hot Potstickers, and Antipasto tray, and finally Petit Fours. He had us on all fours. It was a little hard to hear at times on the ship, but I believe that the chef offered to buy dinner for the first 100 people who read this article and call him up to make arrangements. Or maybe he said something different-couldn't be too sure with all that wine and wind.

About the wine - wine that, at first, tastes good because of the anticipation one has built around it, and the excitement of breaking the ice with the first glass, can fade in quality with each plastic cupful unless the wine is of a higher than expected quality. Let's call this the free-wine-lush rule of incremental returns. The Beauregard Chard began to show its merits as the sail went on, thereby increasing the desire for more, not less. There is a tie-in between the boat and the winemaker. Jim Beauregard, who is owner of Shopper's Corner market and responsible for the incredible collection of high quality, reasonable priced wines there, is also involved in the Chardonnay (the boat, that is), and the maker of the wine.

The grapes for the Beauregard Chardonnay are grown in the Santa Cruz Mountains; a typical robust, full forward fruit wine being the result. However, there is no cloying, or thick oak-and-butter obstacles to distract from the intrinsic grape flavor. The fruit turned to flint and gravel in the mouth, and eventually to citrus, leaning towards lime. There was practically enough citrus to stave-off scurvy on a long cruise. The finish was quite dry and left one begging for more. When I find a good deal, I tell everybody about it, finally maturing enough in life to realize (slightly) that I cannot buy and stash every bottle of wine ever made. But I can encourage others to buy and enjoy good deals I come across. Beauregard sells his excellent Chard in his store for $9.99, which makes it an extremely good value.

In comparing the mysteries of the sea to the "knowledge" of the land, Ishmael says: "Consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half-known life. God keep thee! Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!" Grab a bottle of Beauregard Chardonnay at Shopper's Corner in Santa Cruz, 429-1804. In the mood for a sail, call Chardonnay Charters at 423-1213.

© 2003 Pacific Sierra Publishing