"I awoke at 5:00AM. "Good Morning," my best half greeted me.
"Bullshit," my worst half replied.
"Am I going to have to put up with you all day?" the best half asked the worst half.
"Everyone else has to put with me," the worse replied.
"Well, I'm not going to, not today, and I'm not doing what you tell me to do."
"You do the same thing ever day," the worst half sneered.
"Not today, I'm going sailing."
"You can't. You'll be fired. You've got the bills to pay. People rely on you. The work you do will never get done."
"Bullshit," the best half repeated the worst half's original response the morning. "And stay here," the good half continued.
"What?" the worst half screamed.
"You stay home," the best half commanded, "I don't want you on my boat."
On the way out I slammed the door and locked it. "Well, I may be only half here," I said to myself, "but I've got the best half today."
-Tom McGrath Voyages of the Damn Foole
This singular passage in one of my favorite books sums up what it was to go sailing this weekend. There was a messabout planned but all the usual suspects were to wiley and weather savvy to show up. Had a lake wind advisory on Sunday and in the warning it said explicitly that small craft were prone to capsizing in the possible weather. So Saturday it was just me and
Kat Boat as The Lady had to work and would be joining me later.
I managed to get on the water around eleven or so, an hour past when I had planned. You know what they say about planning and things. I was moping a meaningful relationship lost due to my failings but sailing was on my mind and that loss and all other worries I've had while on the hard melted away the minute I got out of the car and started prepping the boat in the parking area. This was going to be the first time out out this year but I have been dreaming and practicing this last October.
In truth I had gotten the boat on the water a few days before but that was a battery powered muddle around Salmon and no great shakes. Didn't even get the mast up. This was going to be the real deal. As I went through my mental checklist (I need to write it down) I was taking constant note of the weather. It was blowing a bit. And while not concerning it definitely had my attention.
I often say when I'm sailing that I have a low threshold of fun. Many times I have hit my "End of fun" point and called it a day. Now it should be noted that as I've learned the water and the art of sailing my threshold level of fun has gone up. But a true Force 3 is my empirical limit of fun and the most wind I want by choice. Observing scattered white horses galloping across the water is enough to give me thoughtful pause. I've been out in that and more, but the more always came
after I was already on the water and could do little about it. My 1962 Lido 14
Esmerelda loved these conditions, her skipper not so much. It was enough for me go stand at the waters edge and just take it all in. The voice of caution began it's usual song.
Was it getting worse? Did I believe it would get worse? How well do I know my boat?
The questions continued even once I coaxed the boat into the water. I watched her pull on her lines as she did her best rocking horse impression on the foot tall swells and that little voice continued.
Was the second reef enough? Are you really prepared? To quote Tom Pamperin of
Jagular Goes Everywhere fame: "The hell with it." I parked the car and trailer, tightened my life jacket, threw off my lines and with a skateboard like push from the starboard locker I headed out into the bay.
It was lumpy to say the least. I was taking the occasional spray of cold lake water over the bow but my boat was designed for this and rode like a dump truck. After only a few minutes I was noticing the motion of the boat was off and sluggish. I shook out the second reef. The boat straightened right up. Within twenty minutes I was at all plain sail, which is easy with only a single sail, and making good speed if not good VmG.
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| Full and by |
The plan was to make Dayton Bay to take pictures of the almost empty Yacht Harbor, but short tacking is not the way to go about that from Big Arm. I did however purposely come close to shore and ring my bell at the campers who watched in what I imagine was awe of my sailing prowess. Quite a jaunty spectacle I think. My fouly jacket easily kept me warm and dry and the tiller and mainsheet sailing was a hoot. We tacked and gybed, ran and beat. I got to know the boat a bit more and she did not disappoint. Steering is incredibly neutral with not pulling at all but there is a nagging lee helm if unattended. Mike, the original builder noted this and it appears it was never corrected. It will be. I was taking reefs in and out as the day progressed and very pleased that my two part jiffy reefing system worked well.
Kat Boat doesn't heel to inform me a reef is needed like some boats do. She will however stop tacking when under canvased or not answer her helm when overpowered.
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| Mainsheet belayed and single finger steering |
She is also a bit sloppy in stays when tacking if I'm to be honest. As you come to a halt mid tack her rudder all but stops working for about three seconds allowing you to fall off quite a bit before she picks up way and answers like a good boat again. It takes some mental energy to remember to wait and not simply crank the tiller harder, which compounds the issue. Thankfully she, unlike some boats, is relatively quiet while sailing and not prone to snappy comebacks or fits of sarcasm at the skippers expense. It is very much appreciated. As we thundered and banged our way through the top of Elmo Bay the serene quiet and beauty of the lake overtook me. I was breathing in fresh lake air and seeing the a world that no other sailor sees this early in the season. Well not many I think. I engaged the self steering, ate a sandwich and prepared for the geometry problem that is the entrance to Cromwell Channel.
In the half a decade I've been sailing out of Big Arm not once have I managed to hit the entrance of the channel just right. The winds are always flukey and they curve a bit so half a mile out your dead on but as you chase a close hauled course it becomes apparent the closer you get the less accurate you are. So you tack. And tack again. I didn't mind. Neither did the boat. Her design limitations mean I can't pinch near as heard as I could on my old Lido. But I don't have a jib to worry about and that about makes up for it.
I finally entered the channel under the electric spanker, not wanting to keep chasing my angle of entry. As I motored by a fine house at the gateway of the cut, a group of gentleman fishing looked at me curiously. "Sailing vessel
Kat Boat out of Big Arm and headed for Dayton Harbor" I bellowed giving my best Whence and Wither response. "Didn't think you'd have enough wind" one of them called as I passed. My pride was wounded and an unspoken and most likely unintended challenge was answered. Without turning around to my audience, up came the sail and the motor was stopped. Oh we had wind all right. Straight down the channel it was. I began to beat. And beat. And beat some more. I was gaining fifteen feet a tack but damned if I wasn't sailing. I'll show them a tip top sailor! After half an hour I gave up my ego driven windward marathon. I needed to get back to the dock at Big Arm to meet The Lady for dinner. So with a muttered curse I abandoned the quest with a promise to try another day. After one almost grounding and broken motor mount I began the long run home.
The Lady was not yet at the dock so I decided now was a good a time as ever to try my anchor. Over the winter I picked up a
Mantis Dingy Anchor with ten feet of chain and a hundred feet of nylon rode. This was then fed forward to my bow eye to allow for remote anchoring and retrieval. In theory anyway. After discovering a few flaws in the system that necessitated a Spiderman like journey to the bow of that boat, the anchor was set and we were at anything but peace just off the Big Arm dock. Kat Boat it seems likes to dance on her anchor and is not shy about doing so. Left, right, spinning she knows all the moves. But the anchor never dragged nor felt strained during these balletic maneuvers. Eventually The Lady arrived and I hauled up anchor and got the boat out of the water.
As I made the short drive to the campsite with the boat finally on the trailer my soul was filled and my heart was at peace. Today I stood among my sailing heroes. Not Nelson or Nemo. But Andy Linn and Tom Pamperin of
Texas 200 fame and beyond. Tom McGrath the Townie sailor and author, Roger Barnes, Dingy cruiser, James McMullan and the rest of the Sail and Oar™ bunch and just about every other crazy bastard who decided it was better to go in a small boat with half a mind then a big boat with none at all. What I had done was no great shakes. My distance covered minuscule. I didn't even make my destination. But in those fleeting moments the world was my oyster. I had the nerve to go somewhere and the boat to take me there. What I could have done far outweighed what I did. And that is why we do this. Mess about in boats that is. Looking forward to what this summer brings. I hope you do too.
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| Tip Top Solo Sailor |
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