Austin360 blogs > Out & About > Archives > 2011 > May > 24 > Entry
A Sunday sailing on Lake Travis
Sometimes, annoying pop songs get a feeling just right: “Sailing takes me away.”
And yes, thank you Christopher Cross, “to where I’ve always heard it could be.” In this case, Lake Travis.
When we first visited Austin in the 1960s, Lake Travis seemed remote, vast, sparsely populated, a world apart.
The price was right for a sunny weekend day: A four-pack of wine coolers, some corn chips and a meal of barbecued sausage later at Good Eats on Barton Spring Boulevard.
Sunday, Internet entrepreneur Pat Henneberry and her partner, Brenda Thompson, invited us back onto the lake. Instead of an Ensign, Henneberry owns a seaworthy 32-foot Benetau, a French-designed beauty with considerably more space and more complicated tackle than the snappy Ensign.
This was no luxury yacht, nor does Henneberry race it. At the same time, I’m not sure I’d want to sail anything larger on Lake Travis, especially as the water line drops to historically low levels. We — or I should say, whoever manned the helm — watched the depth gauge with constant care.
We were joined by attorney Leslie Hill. As we two newcomers found our lake-legs, Henneberry steered the Benetau from the the marina up the narrower stretches of the serpentine lake. This, she and Thompson explained, was the quieter, less traveled road.
The airy, older homes in Lakeway, now evolving from retirement-community status, are giving way to ever-larger showcases, stacked on arches, pillars and tile. Italian and Mexican influences continue to dominate, but some light, modern structures peak out from green cliffs.
The houses thin out past Point Venture and the Preserve. The receding water line exposes yellow-white stone strata, coves and grottos, as well as trickling springs. Travis’ flood-control and water-reservoir duties probably mean the lake will always rise and fall. I find its many moods fascinating.
Most boaters followed proper protocol, motorboats giving way to sailers, sailboats nimbly avoiding stationary fishing dinghies and swimming or skiing parties. One pair of jet skiers, however, likes to spray nearby boaters with their watery plumes, Thompson and Henneberry pointed out. Not cool.
Like many a captain, triathlete Henneberry is a spellbinding storyteller. Once, for instance, she was taking a few friends on a Caribbean sail when, three days out to sea, the boat phone rang. (“It never does,” she stresses.) Three tropical storms were headed straight for them, followed by a hurricane.
But none came for Henneberry’s raw, terrified crew. After landing, she complained. “Well, you have your captain’s license,” officials said. “Yeah, it’s 11 days old,” she replied.
We didn’t face anything so cataclysmic. On the way back to Lakeway Marina, we had pulled into Bee Creek Cove (also known by a less flattering name) to swim and snack. There we ran into Tracey Hopkins and Norma Cataño of Austintatious Blinds and Shutters fame.
They were a hoot, describing the overblown Hill Country houses they had outfitted (customers exact names omitted). After they departed, we tried to haul up the anchor, only to find it snagged on the cable for one of the boat docks that had been lowered down a steep slope. For 90 minutes or so, Henneberry and Thompson — with minimal moral support from Hill and I — maneuvered the craft and the ropes, trying to set us free.
“I do not give up. But I do give in,” said Henneberry, who cut the cleated rope, after attaching a floating device so a diver could later retrieve her pricey anchor. Just as she did, she quite unexpectedly pulled the chains on deck, with the anchor not far behind.
Anchors aweigh! Henneberry seemed as relieved as she might have been after that tropical storm. Knowing the delay meant I would miss an anticipated reception with S.C. Gwynn, Austin author of the page-turner about Comanches, “Empire of the Summer Moon,” she and Thompson apologized profusely.
They need not have bothered. Every second on the lake was precious.
Cross again: “It’s not far down to paradise. At least it’s not for me.”
Photos of Pat Henneberry and Brenda Thompson by Erin Longfellow (from a previous cruise)
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