Sail/Camp Adventure #2: Part 12: End Like A Boss!

At the flooded campground (sheltered by trees) the wind is whipping; the lake looks worse. This seems like a good time to shit myself with fear.

Instead I start “reefing”. To “reef” a sail is to reduce its surface area. Thus, the wind transmits only as much power as the sailboat (or its captain) can handle. My Puddle Duck Racer sail (a component shared in common with the 12’ Oz Goose) can reef down to a postage stamp. In fact, I have two sets of reef points; one reduces the sail some, the next reduces it more. I apply both. Let’s hear it for advanced planning!

As with everything I’m not a pro at “reefing”. [Insert “Reefer Madness” joke here.] My only knowledge is autodidactic experiments and YouTube videos. On my last outing I bought some cheap rope at WalMart and carefully installed little 2’ hunks of line in all 8 “reef point” grommets in my sail. I’m glad I did that!

When I fiddle with the yard to get to the reef points, I let the end of the halyard go through the block (pulley) at the top of the mast. Whoops, now I’m holding a rope that doesn’t go anywhere. Down goes the mast to re-thread it…

Not so fast landlubber! A downhaul is a line that pulls the boom (and thus the sail) down toward the deck. (Halyard pulls up, downhaul pulls down, sail is taut-ish in the middle. Capisce?) When I try to lift the mast, the downhaul stops me. Quickly I undo the downhaul, pull down the mast, re-thread the halyard through the block, tie it off again at the yard, and soon the mast is up again.

[Warning, nautical shit: skip if you wish] In my haste, I forgot to run the halyard around the mast before I retied it. With my setup, the yard is just a loose stick on the top of the sail. The boom is a loose stick at the bottom of the sail. Nothing but loops of rope on the boom and yard holds the sail to the mast. I’ve forgotten one of two.

There’s a right side and a wrong side to a balanced lug (sail). It extends out on both sides of the mast; some to the left (port) and some to the right (starboard). It flips those two sides back and forth depending on which direction I’m going. If I’m going one way, the sail pushes against the mast. It looks slightly uncool (looks wrong) but they say it’s a non-issue and that’s just how this kind of sail works. Under those conditions the loop is pointless. If I’m going the other way the sail pulls away from the mast. It looks gorgeous and photogenically “right”; but I’m not sure what would happen without the upper loop. Probably, nothing too catastrophic.[/nautical]

One of the guys is inspecting my boat. Finding little flaws.

“Why’d you tie this important thing with only 3/16” line?” I saw some dude in a YouTube video using 3/16” line. I think it had to do with keeping the cost of the boat down for folks in the Philippines? I shrug. “Next time use ¼ inch.” He suggests. Noted!

“Is that your downhaul?” My downhaul is 4’ chunk of 3/16” line that starts at a ring tied to the deck. I loop it around the boom and back through the ring, repeating 3-4 times, before I tie it off. (Same video.) Doubling & tripling all that line makes it strong but it looks dumb and it’s a PITA if I want to tweak it while underway. Everyone else’s boat has arrays of lines and blocks (pulleys) to do what I’m doing with loops of rope. I file that away for future reference.

I hope he doesn’t see the rod which holds my rudder to the boat. (A rudder hooks to a boat with hinge thingamajigs called a pintle and gudgeon. I couldn’t find ¼” rod for the “hinge pin” so I hacksawed a bit of “all thread” and put a locknut on the top (so it won’t fall out). The all thread is not easy to slide through the holes and it gets bent from the forces exerted on it. It hasn’t mattered yet.

When reefed, I feel armored for battle. The reduced sail is at the bottom of the mast (not the top) to keep the center of gravity low. It’s so tiny I imagine a tornado would hardly push the boat.

Let’s do this!

With a surprisingly small amount of flailing, misdirection, oars, scraped bottoms, and the like, everyone heads out. Crafts with motors have a clear advantage and one of them tosses me a line. I grip it like I’m hanging from a cliff.

Two hundred yards out, the lake is definitely different than the manageable experience of the morning. My little double reefed sail balloons in the wind. It takes a nice sail-ish shape. I must have done “reefing” correctly.

I’m waiting for a signal to let go of the line. Now we’re 400 yards out and my tow craft is bobbing in the waves as he raises his sail and shuts down his motor. I’m not sure what to do.

My boat has an opinion. It’s telling me; “do it!”

Who am I to question the wisdom of my plywood creation? I cast off the line.

Having crossed a personal Rubicon, I give a jaunty wave and turn with the wind. The boat is happy. It knows what to do. I adjust the sail and aim for the ramp invisible at this distance but said to be some 3-4 miles away.

Swoosh! The other two boats in the “go with the wind” cohort sweep by. One is the 12’ OZ Goose. It’s running the same sail as me and it’s not reefed; which means he’s got lots of power shoving against an almost weightless hull. He knows what to do with it too! He’s skittering on the tops of the waves like a happy otter. Right behind him is the long sleek sailing canoe thing that arrived with the Prius. Both captains are whooping and cheering with joy. I’m have a huge grin but I’m too scared to do any whooping.

They’re changing directions and zipping back and forth. I’m riding flat and conservative and not taking any chances. I glance behind. The tow boat is already in the distance and fading. I shift the rudder to get a better view; I’m going to take a photo.

Except the boat isn’t turning. WTF? The “all thread” rudder pin has come partly out.

I’ve got no steering. I’m drifting out of control in a plywood box, miles (literally) from land in all directions in a strong wind. Once again, I’m struck by how utterly mad my activities seem to the rational mind. Then again I’m starting to get used to it.

My boat is happily going with the wind so I’ve got time. Quickly but not in a panic, I plunge my hands into the water and wrestle the shitty bolt material back into position. The rudder starts working again.

Yeah baby! Repairs while under sail… I’m a damn pirate!

Then I notice the halyard isn’t looped around the mast. Shit! One option is to drop the sail and re-tie the halyard (again!) while in motion. I weigh my odds. It could be the beginning point of a failure cascade… or not. Another option is to ignore it. I’m on the tack that pushes the sail against the mast so it’s not an issue until I switch tacks. I decide to stay on the same tack all the way to shore. Two bullets dodged in 2 minutes.

Thankfully there’s no more drama.

“Apparent wind” is the wind as experienced relative to the craft. If you’re standing in the back of a pickup that’s going 70 MPH down the highway it will feel like a 70 MPH blast to the face. If your truck has a tailwind going 70 MPH too, it would feel dead calm. (And you’d get epic MPG!)

I think of this apparent wind as riding peacefully in eye of the storm. Me and my plucky craft ride it straight down the middle of that big ass lake and it’s glorious! It’s fun and I’m smiling like a lunatic. Orbiting me, the other two boats are surfing and swooshing and like slalom skiers. They’re having a blast.

This is it! This is what it’s all about! This is the whole point! I get it!

Too soon we get to the other side. We all beach without issue and the carpool arrangements work out fine. An hour later I’ve retrieved my truck, trailered my boat, packed up my campsite, and I’m on my way home.

I don’t know how much awesome can be crammed in a short trip but I’ve done well. It was a great time.

A.C.

P.S. A few days after getting home I pondered what I’d learned and sketched out ideas to improve my little boat; minor stuff you couldn’t know without experience. Operation “level up” is already in progress.