The D-Bag Part the Second

While my latest efforts (top) are an improvement over the machine-gun attempts that came before (top), I am no master of the flat stitch.

D-Baggery

Progress on the ditty bag is hampered by my apparent inability to sew a straight line. It has been suggested I use a sewing machine; a suggestion that I have refuted with an argument I find myself using commonly in the line of sailing: 'that's practical and faster and likely better and all, but not the point.'

Am re-pinning and adding a sew-to line.

Fid-ling about

The first step in learning to sew a sail is learnign to sew a ditty bag. What do you need to sew a ditty bag? Well, a needle, some marline and a yard of canvas (all commercially available,) some beeswax (got plenty of that,) and a fid (think of it like a rounded, blunt wooden stake.) As you can't find proper fids on Amazon these days, this is my first attempt at carving one out of 3/4" oak. I'm fairly okay with the whittling portion. Still need to sand it down quite a bit.

Finally Out

Went to launch the boat when the docks opened May 1st. While there were spots of sun throughout the day, it rained torrents while we were launching, and I took shelter in the cabin while everyone else ran back to the truck. Good news is that there aren't any leaks this year.

Got the boat in the water, and it wouldn't come off the trailer. Drove the truck deeper in, still ntohing. Exhaust pipe now in the water, and the boat's still not budging. Pulled it up on to dry land, and on a hunch loosened the swinging keel up with a rubber mallet and tightened the pendant. Sure enough, we were able to pull it up a few more inches -- just enough to swing the boat off the trailer and into the lake.

Where it sat for a week due to extremely cold, damp, and windy (20-30mph) conditions.



Last Saturday around 4 PM, we took it out for its first three-hour tour around the lake. Gusty winds at around 11mph from the NNW made it easy to swing around the Western edge of Gooseberry Island. As we were nearly at a run, the wind seemed to fade, and as the sun peeked out from the clouds, it was almost tolerable.

I took the tiller as we rounded the Eastern edge of Gooseberry, and made a pretty easy close-reached course for the NE shore. It's when we turned back that things got dicey. Clouds rolled in, the wind (now set against us) stirred up whitecaps, and the advent of evening, the temperatures dipped down into the lower 40's. The wind kept swirling from NNW to something more like North, taking the Springtide firmly by the head whenever they did.

Tacking was nearly impossible with the jib up (in retrospect we should have dropped it and raised the centerboard six inches to shift the center of gravity), and whenever we settled on a nice, somewhat comfortable close-haulled course, a stray gust would grab the jib and swing the Springtide about by her head. As the rocky wall of Gooseberry to our lee didn't looked uninviting, we wore twice back to the NE; the opposite direction of the harbor. After taking a zigzag course for around an hour and making very little progress, we finally had to drop sails and run back in under motor power with our spanker between our legs.

Sunday was by far more pleasant. While temperatures hadn't improved much (it had just snowed Friday night), the wind was coming from the SE at about 5 mph and the sun was out, making for a far easier, more pleasant sail. As we were planning on heading back to the cities, we only made a run out to the middle of Gooseberry Island, and then back into the harbor.

Lessons learned:

• Swinging keels provide you the flexibility to traverse shallower waters, while minimizing leeway. That said, when going backwards, the keel has the tendency to jam into objects unless totally stowed, and the pendant has a penchant for jamming at the most innoportune times.
• When running close-hauled under gusty, variable winds, consider dropping the jib and refocusing the center of gravity either by drawing in the swinging keel or having crew shift to weather.
  

Wildlife spotted:

• Great Blue Heron
• Loon
• Sea Gull
• Tern

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.

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.

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.