Labor Day Traffic

Funny word "traffic". The web crowd thrives on it, commuters resign themselves to it, and sailing and fishing buffs try to avoid it whenever possible. Nothing can be more annoying than a curious jet ski buzzing your boat when you're trying to raise the mainsail, or a ski boat trying to zoom around you as you navigate a narrow channel.

It was an enjoyable weekend, with gusty winds constantly striving to pitch her head to the weather then dropping off and letting her sag to lee (I've learned that it can take a lot of muscle and perseverance to keep the helm steady), but I have to admit the number of boats (it was about as crowded as I've seen Pelican Lake get) were a tad distracting and people often just don't make sense.

For example, call me old-fashioned, or a snob... or God forbid a technophobe, but why would you dash all the money on a hobby vehicle, invest the effort into maintaining it, pour further thousands into docking it up on a lake where you can hear the loons call, only to toss in subwoofers and an unmuffled motor? Is the goal to scream through all that nature, inundating your person with sound until you collapse a lung? Is impressing people with the sheer obnoxiousness your "status symbol" worth permanent hearing damage? If so, couldn't you achieve either of these things more effectively on, say, the Mississippi, the Saint Croix, or any of the lakes closer to home?

The same largely goes for renters. Pontoons are not terribly fast vehicles; I've seen catamarans scream past them and the Springtide could overhaul most of them sailing on a bowline with a good, steady breeze. It's going to take you a minimum of two hours to get around the uppermost bay on Pelican. You've got no bathroom on board, and seats for around ten. Why you would want to load this tub up with twenty or more people and attempt to sail the entire lake is beyond me.

All in all, though, it went well. As Sunday was particularly windy, we got our second go at reefing the sails, which reduced our heel from 50 degrees to a more reasonable 15. The reefing took shorter than it did before, though our reef knots could use some definite work. Though she has a wide beam, righting her if she went over would be tricky with a swinging keel; something I'd rather not have a go at.

Musings on Self-Sufficience

Pelican Lake, courtesy of Google Earth

No pelicans, but loads of loons up on Pelican Lake last weekend. Spent most of it on the water learning to sail on all points -- close-hauled, broad reach, by the beam, by the lee. Finally got the proper hang of the cleat tie, and can stretch a bowline fairly prodigiously now.

Funny to see that the majority of boats out there are either bass boats or pontoons. If you consider the fact that you can circumnavigate the world by plane (with only a few layovers) in a few days; that using Skype you can hear and see someone in India, or using Google Earth visit the pyramids from the comfort of your desk chair, sailing vessels seem terribly obsolete.

But what are we really relying on for these newer means of "travel"? To actually construct a 747 from scratch, you'd need a team of engineers, of mechanics, would need to purchase enormous amounts of raw material, pay a crew of mechanics to maintain it, a pilot or two to fly it, an air traffic tower to tell it where and when it was clear to depart or land. In the end you require thousands of people, loads of raw material, and a regular supply of fuel. Without any one of these elements, you are grounded.

And while most people don't think that connecting via the internet involves anything more complicated than plugging their home computer into the cable modem, consider that, to send an email, you need a constantly operational connection from your computer to your local service hub, likely from your local service hub to one of your ISP's branch routers, from the branch router through a maze of routing devices to your email server (like Hotmail), and an active connection from there to the email server of the person you intend to send to. All of these locations must have power, an active connection to the web, and likely a 24/7 tech staff. Google Earth is even more complicated, involving various servers throughout the world that collect and conglomerate sattelite photography and 3D imaging. Again, lots of people, lots of raw materials, and a major reliance on stable power and lines of communication.

Sailing, in comparison, is relatively simple. One human, given enough time and some very basic materials, could build a sailing craft worthy of circumnavigating the globe. Though it would be a prodigious challenge, he or she could man the craft themselves (alone), and though they might wile away a good amount of time in the doldrums, they could do it without a drop of gasoline. I think that's what makes it so rewarding; you are essentially self-sufficient; freed from many of the technologies we enslave ourselves to in modern society.

Lessons Learned on Pelican Lake

A few things learned during this weekend's outing on Pelican Lake:

• You really only use the motor to sputter around the harbor, through channels, and in dead calms.
• You always want to be sure to have suntan lotion on the boat.
• It's far easier to sail upwind than it is to run with the wind (that is, to have the wind at your back). Your best bet when running downwind is to do so at an angle. This is not only generally faster (even if you have to make more tacks), but makes you less susceptible to accidental jibing.
• People seem to take far more notice of sailboats than, say, pontoons or jetskis.
• Wildlife are the exact opposite. As there's no sound, not even that of oars, you can get much closer to them than you could in even a canoe. We came extremely close to:
• Loons
• Cormorants
• Mergansers
• Mallards
• Green and Great Blue Herons
• (of course) loads of Gulls
• Lake residents and marina members tend to know the rules of the road and show respect; those who rent watercraft from marinas don't. Had two teenage girls in a jet ski buzzing the boat (in a no wake zone) to get a better look while I raised the sails. By the third pass was willing to invest in a 9 lb chaser to help them with their maritime schooling. Seriously parents, tell your spawn what the white-and-orange bouys mean BEFORE you set them loose.
• You will likely use the cleat hitch every day you sail.
• A swinging keel is a great thing in shallow waters.

Jargon

While the concept of organizing a work stoppage to bring about reform has been around since Biblical times, the term "strike" originated in the 1700's, when sailors from Sunderland "struck", or removed, their topgallants, thus preventing their ships from going to sea. Or take the end of a cable, most notably the rode of an anchor, tied around a bitt (or post/capstan etc) on board the ship. This was commonly referred to as the bitter end, and when you reached it it's the end; there's no rope left. Also take sayings like "cut him/her a little slack", "learn the ropes", "three sheets to the wind", or "by the board" -- all nautical in origin.

This is just a minor and cursory glimpse, but it's pretty obvious that nautical jargon has had a sizeable impact on the English language. It does follow logically, of course; our language is British in origin, and Britain is an island. An island must depend on its fleet for its defense, its food, its global standing -- its identity-- far more than a mainland country like France or Germany would.

Our English-speaking forebears spent over a thousand years at sea, and the sea shaped their language as sure as their coastline. So what about technology? Have computers, and the IT field in general, shaped our language in a lasting way? Well, they've shaped our language; you now have "IM's", "texts", and even (blech) "tweets". You have marketing jargon like "net-centric", "cloud computing", and "web 2.0", though I'm not certain that the people who coined these terms were entirely sure of what they meant. Cyberese, with its lack of vowels and emotive punctuation is its own form of pidgen.

You have a slew of terms that have been invented for or around particular technologies or fads, but I don't know that they'll last six years, let alone six hundred. I suppose that, as technology improves and matures and the latest pop fads eventually even themselves out into a slow progression, only time will tell whether machines will have the same influence that our elegant sailing vessels once did.

The Weekend's Sail

Discreditable bit of action. Took it out for about an hour and a half on Lake Edna. Setup and takedown were much faster; about 45 minutes a piece, but while running we nearly hit a sandbar. As a precaution, I pulled up the swinging keel, only to have it get jammed on its own pendant (rope), and could only work this loose while it was on the trailer. Couple that with the wake and noise factor of Lake Edna being chock full of boats and jet skis over the holiday weekend.

Jibed (swung the boom from one side of the boat to the other) several times while running as the wind, which there was barely any of on Saturday, changed direction. While jibing can be a handy way to change your bearing, it does put extra wear&tear on the sheets and hardware, and can be potentially dangerous for any crew or passengers in the way of the boom (there's a reason they call it a "boom" after all).

She does have a name at last; the Springtide; the term for the strongest tides of the lunar cycle -- occurring at either a full or new moon.

Bower Anchor

Many modern boats carry two anchors; a bower and a kedge. A bower, like the one seen above, is typically the meatier of the two, while the kedge is often an anchor used for stability or maneuvering. In the case of maneuvering or as 'kedging' or 'warping' as it was sometimes called, a boat would be lowered from the main vessel with the anchor, which was dropped some distance away. The crew aboard the main vessel would then ply the capstan, and the rode (cable attached to the anchor) would be haulled in, pulling the vessel in the direction of the anchor. This technique could be used to safely manuever through crowded harbors, progress through doldrums, angle the vessel to gain some tactical advantage in combat, or to dislodge a vessel that has run aground.

Kedging is still used in modern times; though with the advent of the engine for manuevering, it is normally only used to dislodge smaller vessels that have run aground. Boats too small to carry a dinghy (like ours) would usually do this by having one of its crew jump out and pull the anchor (usually floated on a life vest) far enough out to drop. Our kedge is a slightly smaller anchor I used to use on our rowboat.

The anchor seen above is a fluke or danforth design weighing about 40 lbs. The hinged flukes at the crown of the anchor dig into the seabed, and once imbeded can provide an enormous amount of resistance. They're also fairly compact and easy to stow.

Embarking

When you think IT people, you generally think of someone whose personal interest -- whose life in general, resolves entirely around technology and gadgets. Someone who transitions from an 8+ hour workday tinkering with servers, desktops, phone and business systems to an evening of quite web work and video games. Someone who owns the latest hybrid phone/computer bastardization and is avidly into facebook, twitter, or whatever the latest tech fad is.

That's not me. After over eight years in the IT field, I can tell you that I'm more skeptical of technology than I ever was, and that if given the choice I would rather invest in humans, training, and the refinement of processes than the panacea promises of house-of-cards software and snake-oil gadgets.

That may be why I've always liked the idea of sailing. The first human to mount a reed mat to their dugout canoe discovered an efficient method of locomotion and a technology. Over thousands of years that method has been refined and perfected and has continued to evolve. You could compare that sailing canoe to a 1st rate of Revolutionary times, or a Catalina that's just rolled out of the shop and find the same forces driving it; the simple combination of hull (now largely fiberglass), sail (for a long period canvas, now various synthetics), and human skill.

It's this trust that got me; the trust in a small group's ability to 'reef, knot and steer'; to navigate across enormous expanses of water with a small cache of canvas and just under an inch of oak and tar between them and oblivion. This relationship between human and boat wasn't a romantic one to be sure; quarters were cramped, and history is rife with sailors who fell from icy rigging, were crushed under falling yards, lost arms to gangrene, or died of malaria, scurvy, or yellow jack. It was, however, a relationship that won wars, shaped history and even the words we use today.


Our new vessel; a 19' O'Day Daysailer


To this end, several weeks back, I went to the White Bear Boatworks to look into the purchase of an O'Day 19 (circa 1984), my friend, coworker and yacht racer Jim in tow. Save a few nicks in the paint, and a cabin window that could use a little caulk, she was in extremely good shape, and came with a trailer and 6hp outboard at a good price. Bought her the same day.

My wife wasn't terribly surprised when I came home to tell her we'd purchased a boat. Sailing has been something I've been thinking about doing for the past twenty or so years, and something I'd been thinking seriously about investing in for the past five. My father and I had purchased plans for a 16' rig, and we'd even taking some very basic sailing courses at the North House Folk School up in Grand Marais.

As I said, we'd purchased her for a very reasonable amount, and my parents wanted to go in half, as we'd be trailering it up at their place (in the Brainerd Lakes region) anyways. We've sailed her a grand total of once so far; a brief trip with Jim around White Bear Lake so that my wife and I could get a handle on the very rough basics of rigging, tacking, jibing, and steering. We did embark on one adventure before that, but the outboard got so choked with weeds on leaving the White Bear marina, and Jim was so concerned about making sure there was nothing wrong with it, that we didn't get further than the docks.

The mast has since been lowered, and the boat trailered back to Brainerd for maintenance and outfitting. So far, we've purchased:

• Toolbox
• Locking pliers
• Needlenose pliers
• Crescent Wrench
• Wire snips
• Scissors
  
• Screwdriver
  
• Pry bar
  
• Caulk
• Marine Glue
• Duct Tape
• Dacron Tape
• Various multitools and knives
• Flashlight
• Lighter
  
• Various spare hardware and lengths and gauges of wire
  
• First aid kit
  
• Mallet
• Bower (main anchor)
• 50' of anchor line
  
• Spare paddle
  
• 4 lb machining hammer
• Anchor
  
• Hatchet
• Ladder (wasn't one to get on to the boat)
  
• Various spare ropes
• Fenders
  
• Ponchos
• Life jackets

And thrown in various lengths of spare halyard, dockline, and chain, shop cloths, and spare shop and beach towels. The boat came with a basic emergency kit of flares, though many of them are bad and in the process of being replaced, and a name (won't put it here for fear of offending the old owners), which is so difficult to pronounce that we're also in the process of replacing in a rechristening ceremony to be determined this weekend. The list of potential names so far include the Otter, Merganser, Springtide, Midgard, Esmerelda, and Fenris.

This blog is to serve the purpose of a sort of apprentice sailor's diary, as well as to serve up any information that could serve as a point of illumination/warning to anyone else just picking up the craft.