Maiden Voyage of the Amanda Louise

Sept 15 - tested her out on WBL.  Actually got the sails up and the daggerboard down.  She handles very well in light winds, and rows quite comfortably as well.  I do like the oars as compared to a motor as they're easy to swing down if you have to get moving or need a bit of help shifting tacks (which you may in a very light wind.)  No engine to get started/monkey with.

I would definitely recommend an extra set of oarlocks (which I installed on mine,) as they allow you to a convenient spot to stow the oars while you're under sail.  Would also recommend adjusting the tiller so it swings... if you go with the recommended build, whoever sits in the back is going to have to constantly shift to get out of its way.  Only major concern is the fact that the sail obstructs the view, a problem we resolved by occasionally ducking around it.

Successful Float Test!

... on Typo Lake.  The dagger board trunk is finally not bleeding water from the corners.  Read something on one of the wooden boat forums about using pressure (think they recommended a blow dryer) to cram caulk or resin up into a leak.  After sanding down with a shim covered in paper towels and sandpaper, I applied 3M 5800 caulk liberally both around the outside of the bedlogs as well as the inside of the trunk/seam of the hull and bedlogs/anywhere that looked like it could leak.

I then applied a duct tape patch to the daggerboard socket at the bottom of the boat and the top of the trunk, leaving just enough room for a duct tape-wrapped tube, which I connected to a shop vac.  I threw the shop vac on reverse, and while there were a few leaks allowing the air to get out (which I wanted... didn't want to generate enough pressure to do damage,) I believe it also created enough pressure to force the caulk up into the leaks.

Typo Lake is down, by the way.  Way down.  Damn this drought.

Leaky Daggerboard Trunk and Other Rites of Passage

First outing was about ten minutes on Typo Lake, where we discovered a small leak in the daggerboard trunk. It sounds like most suffer from this to begin with as the trunk is prone to jostle and the layer of bedding compound is very thin and narrow. Think it's coming up around the bedlogs mostly. Jammed it somewhat by sealing up the underside of the daggerboard socket with duct tape, dusting the leaky areas with wood putty powder and then throwing in some water, allowing it to leak in.

Second outing was on White Bear Lake, where we discovered the oars were in bad need of wrapping and the middle seat snapped under the rower's weight (half suspected this would happen as we routed the hole for the daggerboard a bit too long.) Wrapped the oars with 1/4" rope with a manila cap, cut a new seat and added a cedar support block in the middle to support the rower's weight.

Third test was on Martin Lake. Ended up seizing the halyard and boom to the mast when underway and not sailing to prevent it from draping across the boat and getting in the way. Rowing was much better, but the daggerboard got jammed on some of the resin we'd aplied, so the total sailing portion of the voyage was about fifteen minutes give or take as we made signifant leeway. Planning on sealing the inside of the boat with 5800 marine sealant, and then sanding down the inside of the trunk and sealing it up with resin now that I have a better idea where the leak is coming from. May use blocks of the soft packing foam to really apply pressure to get the epoxy in there and apply two layers, really getting it good and solid before sanding it down. May have a proper workflow down by mid-Fall.

The Halyard Hitch

Doing what it was born to: hauling a yard.

Just about Done

Just stepped the mast yesterday. Since the last post, I've:

• Painted the insides (I only gave this about 5 coats as opposed to the 12 on the outside; I'd like to leave a bit of a rougher finish for traction anywhere crew are going to step.)
• Painted the daggerboard and rudder (and added hardware for both)
• Painted the numbers (surprisingly more tedious than it seems.)
• Installed the foam for the seats (call me cheap, I bought standard insulation and waterproofed and sealed it.)
• Finished the mast
• Finished the yards
• Finished one of the oars

Just have the gunnel guard left to add and she's done.

The Final Countdown

Sanded down the inside of the boat, and got the first layer of white on there. Unfortunately, it revealed several screw holes that blended right in with the mahogany. Going to have to putty those up.

The Joys of Brass

Mounted the brass rub rail along the keel. Screwing soft brass through slightly harder brass into moderately hard oak is NOTHING if not loads of fun (and pre-drilling! and cursing!) Last strips of red along the side. Tomorrow I'll start finishing its insides.

Putting the name on the Nutshell Pram

Three hours in the 90 degree heat with a very small paintbrush was, in all likelihood, worth it. Boat is getting insanely close to being completed. Included in this picture: my wife's gardening knee pad. Thanks to it I can still stand like a hominid.

Priming the Nutshell Pram

When it comes to boat building, there's little that is more exciting, glamorous or all-around romantic than priming. There's the prepping, the mixing, the rolling, the blast oven that was my garage this weekend, the process of sanding and checking and repairing small scuffs and nicks with auto body repair gel; the smell of the primer (part of a balanced breakfast; the component list includes butane and calcium,) the smell of acetone, washing brushes and buckets and roller pans.And now I've got a boat with three solid coats of pollution grey that I will never see again once the paint goes on. A weekend well spent.

Time Lapse of Carving Name on Boat

Used a dremel tool with engraving and grinding bits I carved the name into the back of the pram, then washed her down with denatured alcohol and sealed her with a very light layer of epoxy.  Spent about three hours on the garage floor.  Sweet fancy Moses, I hope my knees forgive me one day.

The Don't Call it Breezy Point for Nothing!

Had a very educational sail this weekend. As the winds were gusting at around 25, we ran with the storm jib, and got an excellent lesson in leeway as we tried to pass a rock reef (eventually had to wear around and make another pass.) Practiced shifting the crew's weight around during strong gusts. By hiking over the edge of the boat, I was able to shift the weight enough to even it out and take a lot of the strain off the tiller.

With its island and rock reefs, Pelican Lake really is a great lake to learn sailing, and particularly to learn piloting (the art of navigating obstacles and shallows.) We would not be learning as much about piloting on a "blue water sailing" sort of lake like Mille Lacs, though we'd likely have to content with heavier winds and taller waves.

High Winds

Well, not really high. Likely around 8-11 mph steady with gusts of up to 20 Saturday. Reefed the main and gave the storm jib a try. Gave a very interesting look to the Springtide as it's not really a jib at all, but more of a small trysail with about 1/4 the regular jib's power. Made managing the boat through the gusts possible if not entirely comfortable. Returned to port with a rather sore tiller arm.

One of the Few Saturdays we've Gotten out this Year

Amazed at Amanda's sailing ability. Though nervous at first, she motored out, took the helm once I raised the sails, steered a close-hauled course around the Western edge of Gooseberry Island, and ran us back in with the wind on her quarter as the thunderheads rolled in. Docked for the first time with no problem.

Saw numerous seagulls, three or four loons, and several terns.

Beautiful day for a sail

Wind was mostly abeam (falling on the side of the ship; what they used to call a soldier's tack,) all the way to Gooseberry, falling slightly on the corner just as we rounded its rocky Eastern edge. Spotted two loons, countless seagulls, and a Bald Eagle being chased by what appeard to be a small flock of blackbirds.

Though there were magnificent storms almost all day Saturday, today the weather was mostly sunny with a few white cumulus ruminating across the sky like fat white heifers.

Got around two and a half decent hours of sailing between storms yesterday. Brought the storm jib, but didn't need it with the winds E-SE between 8-10 MPH. As reccomended in Seidman's The Complete Sailor, hauled the centerboard up about 1/3 when sailing at a beam reach, and making sure the jib channels air to the main when sailing close-haulled.

Saw two sea planes while out, as well as a flock of geese and a hawk nabbing what appeared to be a fish.

Heavy Weather

Weather like this makes a storm sail a solid investment.
Made two attempts to circle Gooseberry Island, both in gusty winds that swirled from the NW to W. The lower part of the circle was fine, even comfortable. Once we attempted to head back to the W we had to tack from NNW to almost straight S. Could bear SW by loosenign up the sheets and spilling wind, but the boat was overpressed with canvas when gusts hit, carrying the head to S or even SE despite the tiller being hard-over. Our only options were to run back around the island and shoot straight N through the channel between Gooseberry and Breezy Point, or complete a long series of NW to S legs.

This is what age-of-sail sailors called "over-presssed," and is why much larger vessels would only carry only staysails in heavy winds. These scraps of heavy canvas were more than enough to keep the ship going at top speed, but not enough to overload the boat, causing it to heel dangerously. A storm jib would be an excellent investment in this case, allowing us to travel much closer to a heavy wind.

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.