Halfway through building Plan C, the story took a twist. I never gave up on Plan A or Plan B. After years of seeking a boatright I finally talked a hippie (who has forgotten more about traditional woodwork than I’ll ever know!) into “repairing” Plan A. He kept it over the winter and did a pretty good job of doing whatever he did.
My Plan A boat was suddenly and unexpectedly “ready”. Cool!
Well actually it was mostly, provisionally, sorta, “ready”; based on some definition of such things which I didn’t quite understand. It’s still not “reliable to use today on short notice”. I gather that certain types of very traditional boats live along a wide and vague spectrum of “usability”. Some traditional boat guys seem so laid back with a little leakage, and bends and creaks, and who know what else (!) that I swear they’d happily sail a telephone pole nailed to a barrel straight into a hurricane. This is more “engaged with the seas” than I’m prepared to accept. But it’s definitely a thing; the more antique the design, the more the craft is just plain different than expectations we’d have for a modern sailboat.
That said, it’s mine and I’m not one to wimp out. Also, it looked gorgeous! I get compliments everywhere I take it.
Filled with trepidation, I took it on a sail/camp trip with some experienced sailors. They all loved the sleek lines and complimented me on the (in my eyes still incomplete) restoration. Then, we hit the water and I learned a new lesson. My “simple” craft was not the tame, lumbering, uninspiring, overgrown canoe I expected. It was lightning with a rudder. It felt dangerous!
The boat was gorgeous, sleek, leaked, creaked, flexed, and heeled over like a motorcycle on a hairpin turn chasing the devil himself. I’d like to point out I said “chasing the devil” not fleeing from it. That’s a deliberate choice. This particular boat just plain feels aggressive!
The instant the sail found a puff of wind it took off like a spooked horse. I clambered all over the thing pulling lines, yanking at the rudder, wondering what I’d gotten myself into, and (involuntarily) swearing. (That’s the only sailor skill I have.)
My attempts to control it had minimal impact. The boat shuddered, vibrated, and tore at the water like it was pissed off having spent so many years on land. Gaps opened and closed as the oakum sealed planks moved about; leaking here and sealing there and then sealing there and leaking here… all the while still accelerating. I wasn’t worried about a few gallons of water because I was told to expect it. I was far more concerned I’d go overboard while the boat took off on it’s own.
Soon it was going fast enough to go up on plane. What fresh hell was this? I thought it was a displacement hull; something for sleepy fishing trips and carrying around a tent and a cooler. Going up on plane is not something I thought it could do. The boat didn’t ask my opinion, it just did it.
It didn’t steer well (or I was doing something wrong) so I madly struggled to get it to tack or gibe or wherever the hell I needed to do to turn it around. It took all I could do to get the beautiful but unmanageable wooden torpedo turned around and headed back toward a safe harbor. I didn’t care if I gracefully landed at the campsite or crashed into shore like a runaway train… just so long as I got back to land again.
Being an old design, it lacks something I only noticed when I was far from shore. It has no safety margin! There’s no buoyancy tanks, no ballast, no nothing… if I capsize this beast (and it was already heeled over at some ungodly angle!) I doubt I can right it. (Did I mention I have no idea how to right any capsized boat? Yeah that’s part of the “don’t know how to sail” subset of personal failings I’m working on.) I’d likely just try try to row it ashore while it was swamped and that didn’t sound like an easy prospect. Basically, I’d be flotsam. Live and learn.
Of course that was all a moot point because the boat was having none of it… I was still upright and streaking through the waves. (I suspect it would take a hell of a lot to capsize it. In fact I think I was just scratching the surface of what it could do. I’m not experienced to assess “seaworthiness” but it seemed to shrug off waves like a boss.)
It stayed heeled over and the sail seemed to know what to do on it’s own. It scooped great gobs of air like a muscle car’s air intake while it crashed through the waves like it it’s sole remaining fuck had been given decades ago. My boat had zero fucks to give! Certainly the screaming monkey clambering around the wet hull was irrelevant. My “control” was at best a suggestion.
On the other hand, I had to admit it was a pretty epic ride!
I had somehow gotten my hands on something very awesome and powerful. Even if it was not under my control, it was a rush. If Thor had a fishing boat… this craft would knife it in a bar fight.
Overall, it was waaaaaay out of my league. I mostly clung to the hull and gibbered in fear. As a canoe guy, I didn’t know sailing could get so crazy.
Back on shore, I dragged it above the water line and waited for my pulse to recover. Then I examined my future. A novice like me trying to “singlehand” this particular boat is like a 16-year-old with a learner’s permit trying to get a Lamborghini to the mall. I’d bought a dragon when I wanted a mule.
Still, I have no regrets. Someday I’ll “grow into” that gorgeous bucking bronco. I added my requirements for “easy to handle” to my Plan C build. For now, Plan A is staying under a tarp on the lawn while I “level up”.
Oh, man! Keep aiming towards Plan A! Says the the guy with minimal sailing experience who immediately sold his screamin’ fast enduro bike after 1 attempt to tame it. The fact that a National-level guy took it for a spin with total control had nothing to do with my humiliation…
Ha Ha Ha! If you’ve been on a motorcycle with a thirst for blood you know what I’m talking about.
Plan A is not for sale. I’m not giving up. But I think it wise to keep it on land until I can handle it. In a few years maybe it’ll be routine for me to use it. It’s just so darned pretty that I won’t let it go. Also, the hassles associated with “traditional” are a learning curve. I didn’t know what I was getting into with that critter.
Bikes were the analogy that occurred to me, too. You were like the first-time rider who sees a Craigslist ad for a 600cc sportbike, containing the words “great beginner bike” (I’ve actually seen a lot of these inducements to sudden mortality), & believed it.
You’re still one up on me. I’m too much a pussy to even try a solo sailboat, so good on ya!
Exactly! “This used Kawasaki is dirt cheap and only has a few scratches on the tank on one side… I wonder why?”
I’ll admit that solo sailing is a bit scary as I learn, but it’s worth it. Ironically, I feel a lot safer in my tiny boat than any others (which are probably much more seaworthy). Mostly because I built the thing and know how strong I made it. Also I really like having dual redundant buoyancy tanks. I think it would sail just fine even if there was a hole the size of a bowling ball in the hull. You can’t put a price on that!