The word ping is very evocative for me. As I put that word on paper the clear sound of two champagne flutes toasting a romantic brunch comes to mind, as does the ring of a hammer forging a chunk of hot steel into something useful. Generally, a ping is a pleasant sound to hear, a cheerful exclamation point on life.

But sometimes, ping is not so good a sound. Especially when it comes from the nether regions of a sailboat. I have gained a new appreciation of ping as an opening act for potential disaster through a couple of experiences.

The second time I had ever sailed my Potter P19, I was lowering the mast for trailering: The mast got down to around 45 degrees, and the shackle holding the block and tackle to the gin pole decides it is a good time to practice auto-releasing. Ping! in slow motion, I watch the mast drop the remaining 45 degrees and bounce off the companionway hatch, accompanied by a painful crunch! as the vang shackle punched a neat rectangular hole in the hatch. Fortunately, the aluminum bludgeon missed my daughter in the cockpit, though her tender ears did receive some rather salty commentary from the stupefied Captain Dad. Besides the perforated hatch, no other damage, except to my daughter's innocence and my opinion of certain kinds of shackles. But the thing I remember most vividly from that was the ping! just before the mast toppled.

My next ping-related calamity was shortly after I had discovered the marvel that is a quick-release pin. What a boon for the trailer sailor! No more of this fooling around with fussy little wire circle cotter pin thingies that were diabolically difficult to thread into the correct hole unless blood was sacrificed in the process. No more chasing the damn things down the launch ramp to the amusement of the (pin-free) powerboat guys. No more 45 minute rig-the-sailboat flails while bored children attempt to drown themselves off the end of the finger pier. No, just stick it in there and go! When de-rigging, push the little button and presto! A brilliant idea. I wanted to buy a case of the things and install 'em all over my boat.

I connected my forestay using one of those quick release pins one fine day. The boat was rigged in record time, and my sons and I were soon out on the lake, tacking about and having a good old time in about 5 knots of breeze. Then: ping! The quick-release dives for Davy Jones' Locker, releasing the forestay from the deck. One minute I'm sailing along, the next I am watching my rig perform a maneuver that I had never before experienced, or imagined.

Fortunately, the roller reefing line, skinny little thing that it is, held the reefing drum close enough to the front of the boat that nothing unduly embarrassing happened after the quick-release jumped ship. I retained enough presence of mind to immediately turn the boat downwind, which took the pressure off the skinny line, and cast off the jib sheet. This time it was the boys' turn to learn some new sailor terminology as Captain Dad scrambled forward to interrupt a slow-motion dismasting at sea. While they observed, wide eyed, from the cockpit I managed to secure the forestay (using the anchor rode no less, though I had to drag out 20 feet of chain first!), all the while trying to explain to the boys how to keep the boat going downwind with shouts, curses, and wild one-handed gestures, as the flailing genoa wrapped itself around my head.

Disaster thus averted, albeit comically, we limped back to the ramp under power where I replaced the delinquent quick-release pin with, you guessed it, a regular pin and circle wire thingy. Lesson Learned-- Quick release Good when done intentionally. Not so good otherwise.

So now I have a more visceral appreciation of ping! than I did when the sound was simply two champagne flutes. As a sailor, I am determined to never hear that particular sound again while on a boat, if for no other reason than to avoid the looks from The Wife when the kids demonstrate their new grasp of nautical terminology learned from Dad on the high seas. I now scrutinize anything on the boat and try to anticipate any potential ping-crunch-dagnabbit scenarios before they happen. Anything that even looks like it might go ping! at an inopportune moment is treated with deep suspicion, or replaced outright.

So far so good. Now if I can just do something about the gurgles, thumps, squeaks, groans and pops when trying to sleep in a bumpy anchorage, I'll be a happy camper.