A few weeks ago I slipped off to sail my tiny homemade boat.
It was late September. The month had been inordinately rainy. I fretted over lost summer days. I also worried that playing on the lake was a distraction from other duties.
In the end I decided that there’s only so much of “me” left. In a world of endless “tasks”, one must draw a line somewhere. Luck was on my side and I found a few hours of heaven between days of rain.
At first it was a mite sketchy. The smaller the boat, the bigger the adventure. I bobbed about on choppy waves like a cork in a blender. The wind varied between moderately strong and angry gusts. It came at me from all points in the compass. I had my hands full.
Through it all, my sailboat performed admirably. It’s a plucky little bugger. Frankly, it does more than I’d reasonably expect of such a small craft. Still being a novice sailor, I had to stay alert to keep things under control; but the craft was more stable than the operator. I took no photos.
Eventually, the winds calmed. I shook out the reefs (going from partial sail to full sail), hoisted everything to it’s full glory, and relaxed. I finally had a chance to use my camera.
I’m still experimenting with sail shape. I’m sure a true sailor could wring more power from the wind. That said, it’s something like 89 square feet and for such a small boat it feels like a towering affront to Poseidon. Sailing feels very much like you’re meddling with elemental forces; an aquatic version of playing with fire.
The experience of sailing a boat you personally constructed is sublime. Far beyond what you’d expect from a couple sheets of plywood and a bucket of epoxy. If it’s in your head, make it happen.
I guess what I’m saying is that any boat can be beautiful and even a chimp can make one (at least one like mine). So if you’re thinking about it… stop thinking.
Also don’t fret over buying plans. I think the design is surprisingly elegant, well worth a few bucks. The boat does more than it should. I suspect there’s a reason for that. Some very special math resides behind what looks like a floating box. I’m glad the wizards who design these things offer the plans on-line for chump change.
Soon the winds were perfect. I meant this boat to be a lake explorer and I intended it for light winds. It ghosts along flawlessly in hardly a breath of wind… just as I’d hoped.
There will come a time when I’ll set out with camping gear and grand visions. For now, I’m pleased with myself just sailing away from the launch ramp and eventually getting back. I can’t go too far until I can make it go more or less where I want it. But the boat is willing and I’m starting to get the hang of it. Maybe next year?
My oars are mismatched. I sanded and re-varnished one (port side). It’s pretty spiffy. The other side (starboard) hasn’t been sanded yet. (Sanding took longer than expected. The oars are probably 30 years old and work perfectly well.) I sailed with mismatched oars and it was no big deal. Never let “perfect” be the enemy of “go now”.
The rigging at the mast’s base is “version 2”. I had one version that worked. I’ve “upgraded” to a more elaborate that that’s better.
There’s always room to improve. They say you’re never truly done building a boat. At first that sounded depressing. Now I see it as an advantage.
By now I was at total peace. I’d left the ramp with a thousand competing mutually exclusive problems competing for headspace. On the water I realized that whatever happens in life… at that particular moment I was doing the right thing.
The sun sunk to the horizon. The winds died to almost nothing. This is another part of my experimentation. It’s surprisingly easy to go far. Time slows and then you’re miles and miles from your plans. This doesn’t happen while hiking. I need to know I’m always going to get back, even if conditions change.
No, I don’t have a motor. For this craft I don’t intend one.
I drifted along on a breeze that would scarcely move a dandelion. If I hadn’t tempted fate by sailing so late I could have just drifted home. It might have taken hours but what better way to spend hours? Alas, it was going to be a moonless night. I was a few miles out. As always, I was solo and had no other recourse but to solve my own problems.
As the last hint of breeze ended, the lake turned glassy smooth. This is all part of the plan.
A boat that will leave you stranded if there’s no wind is a boat I can’t sail into the wilderness. I meant to be able to row when I can’t sail. I tied the rudder straight, retracted the daggerboard, unfolded a little seat, and started rowing. This, like everything, requires practice. I plan to modify my craft so the sail is bundled and tied above your head when rowing. It was dead silent. Most people never hear silence.
Before I made waves I snapped one last photo.
I suppose it’s unwise to get back after dark but I did it anyway. I could’ve rowed several more miles. It’s slow but peaceful.
I didn’t know that was going to be summer’s last hurrah. I left the boat on it’s trailer just waiting for another chance… but the rains are fading into snow and I’m burning firewood instead of amassing it. October is coming on hard. I have a long slog ahead of me before I do this again.