Sailing

As I write this it is 40 degrees outside and I can hardly imagine that only 2 days ago I was out on the water enjoying a warm 70 degrees sunny day. Fall is no longer just an idea but a rather persistent reality, and, as they say in imaginary lands: "winter is coming". But two days ago, when the world was still summery, I drove my catamaran to the Keyport Municipal Boat Ramp, rigged it in record time (it now takes me less than 20 minutes), and went out towards my destination: Verazzano Bridge. Little did I know that this journey would last over 7 hours, and I wouldn't make it home for a full 10. But first things first. Here is what happened, including the bulk of the tragi-comedic adventures:

1. I had a nice and leisurely time sailing straight downwind all the way to the bridge. The journey was about 15 miles and took under two hours. I knew that coming back would be harder, but figured that I should not be so conservative all the time and live a little.


2. I managed get my scenery on video and even made some video calls to share my experiences with family and friends (Using a Galaxy S3 in a waterproof pouch)


3. As I approached the bridge (about 1pm), the wind started to get stronger. Having learned from last week's mistakes, I took great care not to underestimate the power of wind gusts, and thus managed to keep the boat right side up. I turned around and headed back, but the wind was now exactly in front of me. I picked the closest course I could that kept me moving at a reasonable speed without capsizing, and headed towards New Jersey


4. In about an hour and a half I found myself approaching land which was strangely familiar, and yet entirely devoid of that "home port" feeling. This familiar land was Leonardo. I felt that this was acceptable as tacking goes, and I'd tack back towards Staten Island next, but when I turned and tried to settle into a similarly acceptable course on the port tack, I found myself heading almost exactly for the Verazzano Bridge. This was somewhat disheartening, so I beached the craft just west of Leonardo and had lunch on a beach that was still somewhat warm.


5. The wind continued to increase, and while I was having a forcibly de-stressed lunch experience on the shell-encrusted beach, I glanced up to notice a batten sticking out my unexpectedly torn mainsail, about half-way up (that's about 12 feet up the mast). Now, seeing parts coming out of a craft that is responsible for getting you home is in itself disconcerting - but your mainsail... well, it's kind of important. I managed to take down the sail, shove the batten back into its torn pocket and hope for the best


6. With the relaxation over, I re-attempted my port tack course with a significant reduction in success quantity. This time, I pushed it harder and a gust of wind simply knocked the boat over, despite me letting the mainsheet loose altogether. I righted the boat without too much difficulty thanks to my righting pole, and even managed to stay relatively dry by quickly getting out of the water


7. Several more attempts at getting somewhere resulted in the same success rate, and thus I felt it time to play the remaining ace I had in reserve. I beached the craft yet again, in almost the same spot (as I literally gained no ground against the wind), and reefed the sail. Reefing the sail is basically leaving it part-way down, and mine has the fittings to permit this to be done given adequate spare line, which I happened to have.


8. As I am fiddling with the sail, I notice that my righting pole, which was at some point permanently attached to the dolphin striker via the use of an eyebolt is now floating in the bay somewhere near my boat. Apparently when I beached the boat, I ripped the pole off its attachment because the pole wasn't properly tied (I don't have time to tie it up after righting the boat, the boat takes off and needs attention)


9. Proudly complimenting myself on my resourcefulness I wasted no time and reattached the pole by using some spare line. I was busy tying a knot to the dolphin striker (with the bows pointed to sea) when a gust of wind decided that it was time for the boat to climb off the beach and do what boats are supposed to do. Now I should point out that I was directly in front of the boat that I thought was safely beached, and that the sails were completely free (and now reefed!), yet the boat still plowed its way off the sand, into me, and continued its relentless march towards freedom despite my grunt-ful efforts to slow its progress. I had no choice but to grab on and climb on. A few minutes later, I managed to turn it around through diligent application of choice expletives and additional grunts, and to get it back on the beach to finish my knot work


10. I launched the now reefed and re-conditioned boat once more, only to discover two interesting things:
    • The boat travels at ridiculous speed even with all the sails loose
    • The starboard rudder won't lock at these speeds, and I can't keep the boat still long enough to do it either


11. What this means is that now I have a boat with a dragging rudder and excessive sail area, in other words, it requires all of my upper body strength (of which I do have a fair amount) to steer. At this point, I had no choice but to admit defeat - which, naturally, does not excuse me from further failures.


12. I went back to the beach yet again and asked for help. Now, I don't usually do this.... I don't mind asking for directions (who does that nowadays, anyway?), but asking for help with stuff like this is typically met with the following response from my inner rationalizer: "And if this easy way out weren't available, what would you do, huh? You're supposed to be self-sufficient!". Yet my situation was clear: It took me an hour to go 500 feet. I have 10 miles to go, all up wind. It is past 5pm, and sunset is in less than 2 hours. So I picked up the phone and asked my wife to come pick me up at a downwind marina. Now, doing this would require that my truck and trailer also find their way to this new marina - which would require some commuting, but it was better than my current situation.


13. With my hat thus hung low, I now have only one difficult task remaining - getting the boat to Leonardo boat ramp. That means that I now need to circumnavigate the big pier just west of Leonardo (it usually shows an aircraft carrier on satellite). My rudder still won't stay down (more accurately, I still can't pull it down fast enough before I pick up speed), and thus it is time to use those expletives and upper body strength yet again. The next 40 minutes are comprised of me being contorted between the tiller and the nearest handhold, applying all the force I can to keep the boat from going directly into what I suspect to be a military installation. All my sails are loose and yet the boat continues to careen forward, veering wildly thanks to the floppy rudder


14. To add to my already adequately entertaining experience, I realize that I'm not actually sure exactly where the ramp is - but this time I pick the right direction and find it on my first attempt. Moreover, I even manage to dock on my first attempt, tying up the boat just in time for my wife to show up to pick me up


15. Now it's just a bunch of driving back and forth, or so I thought...


16. By the time I get back to Leonardo with the trailer it is completely dark. In fact, the sky is clear and I can see the stars, if only I had the time to stare at them. I position the trailer in the water and have my wife sit on the brake pedal, since my parking brake isn't the most reliable and I don't want to have to fish out the truck as well as the boat (not to mention the famous Leonardo boat ramp drop-off - we'd need a crane to get the car out of the water here). With the truck safely running, I get on my boat (which is now only equipped with the jib) and try to sail the 20 feet to the ramp, to what I thought would be the end of this adventure. I thought wrong, again


17. The boat decides that it does indeed want to sail, except not towards the ramp - the wind does something strange, unpredictable, and confusing - and I wind up slowly drifting past the ramp towards the parked boats, as my wife looks in the rear view mirror in puzzlement. The rudders seem to have no effect on the boat's direction


18. I try this and that, then I start using an oar, and each time I start to row, the wind picks up and blows me back, sideways, or into the barnacle-encrusted walls of the boat parking area. As all of this occurs in complete darkness, I continue to trip over my own lines and rigging and to periodically fall into the water (not that I didn't try to prevent myself from falling - I have bruises to show for it). A few spectators show up on the pier and start giving my wife a running commentary sprinkled with helpful suggestions (which, according to her, were entirely useless). After 1 hour and 15 minutes of this process, I make it close enough to the pier for the spectators to grab my line and pull the boat to the ramp. My famous upper body strength is now exhausted, and it is now 59 degrees out, rather than the pleasant 74 at mid-day


19. The rest of it is uneventful, and I make it home at 9 pm. I left at 9:30 AM

It's been two days, and my muscles are still quite sore. I feel that the sailing season is over for me this year. Maybe I'll take a class next year.

Here is the wind graph for this day (this is at Sandy Hook, it was probably somewhat stronger in the middle of the Bay):



According to this, if I had stayed out a bit longer I could have sailed back - the wind shifted from West to North.

Attaching the mast forestay shackles on my Prindle 16 takes me a long time. It is also one of the more troubling steps in rigging this boat - somehow the mast has to stay up while I fumble with the shackle and its pin, holding up the bridles and pulling on the forestay turnbuckle. It's not ideal, and it could be improved.

People generally advise against using any sort of quick-release hardware on the forestay, and with good reason. Should it quick-release on its own, you'll have a 26 foot mast coming down on your head, and at best you'll be stranded. Thus I went through West Marine's entire sailboat hardware list 100 items at a time, until I had a solution. Basically, I need something that's quick to attach, but is relatively strong and secure. I am trying to go from this:


To this:


Now, it's quick-release, and it's not as secure as the original shackle, but it is very unlikely to release under tension. As an added safety measure, I use a velcro tie over the pull-pin.

Here is how this setup was made:

This fine day I found myself back in Keyport, equipped with a brand new power righting setup should I find myself capsized again. The forecast called for relaxed 6mph winds, but it must have been a very fast 6mph - so much so that I had to take down my mainsail to keep the trailer from flipping over in the parking lot. The old man who seems to be a permanent resident of the pier helped me rig and launch, nearly without incident (my mainsheet got tangled on the trailer, and I almost sank the boat when pulling out). The strong wind forced me to launch on jib alone, and I then sailed to a beach where I could raise the main safely (In retrospect, tying off at the pier would have been just as good). Before long, I was sailing faster than ever.

My goal for the trip was to experience fast sailing alone, and to start pushing the catamaran a bit. The wind was strong enough to easily flip me, so the weather complied. After about an hour I gained enough confidence to intentionally fly a hull - a balancing act that's equal parts fun and scary. It didn't take long to get fairly comfortable to keep a hull a foot or two in the air (as a kid I used to ride a wheelchair on two wheels just for fun, and that tipping point experience is handy). The only problem was that my arms were getting abused - my main cam cleat stopped working and I had to hold the mainsail at all times.... this was also a good thing, since it made it much easier to react to wind gusts.

This day I came prepared, complete with sandwiches, but as it turns out, it is impossible to have lunch on a catamaran in high winds - you need your hands at all times. Fortunately, the Prindle 16 is a "beach cat", so I beached it. Even so I had to keep a watchful eye on it as the waves kept turning the boat against the wind.



After lunch, I resumed my journey and my heeling experiements, but this time I shifted my weight forward somewhat to level out the boat. Little did I know that in high winds this is not a great idea. As I approached ludicrous speed on the port hull, I pitchpoled unexpectedly... although I suppose that it's always unexpected. The port hull caught a wave, and suddenly the boat was going end-over, but since it was already angled, it also began to cartwheel - first bows down, then onto starboard hull, and then, to my amazement, onto the stern and back onto the port hull! This was nearly a complete revolution about the mast axis, and I still cannot quite tell how I stayed on the boat and what I was holding onto.

Here is a video that approximates what I experienced (it's the closest thing I found):

The very first time I got my Prindle on into the Raritan Bay I managed to hit 16.7 mph (14.5 knots). The water was warm and it was all fun and games... well, mostly - as long as you keep your head away from the boom. I met Bill who lives right by the boat ramp and he took me for a ride on his Hobie 16.

I learned that launching is best done with the bows away from shore, and that it's not so easy to come about without a steering oar.



The following week I found myself in the same location, but with significantly less wind. There was only a single gust of wind while I was out, and that one happened when the main was cleated and I wasn't paying attention... and me and my sister suddenly found ourselves being slowly dumped into the water. Capsizing wasn't the problem, as we soon discovered - it's getting it back up that's tricky. I brought a righting line complete with knots, and the boat didn't even turtle, yet our combined weight did not contribute significantly to changing the boat's orientation. The tip of the mast never lifted from its position about 20 inches under water.

Fortunately we were shortly rescued by a pair of wave-runner operators. The men had not planned for a high seas rescue, instead they came by to figure out what the odd shape sticking out of the water was all about. One of them simply grabbed the righting line and put his craft in gear - our boat came right up. Here we learned another important lesson: do not position yourself where the boat will land on you. In fact, it's probably best to hold on to the boat and go down with it.

I plan on adding a power righting pole since I'd like to sail alone.

After my gradual disappointment with inflatable sailing, I started to monitor craigslist for catamarans. Hobie 16's were at the top of the list but I eventually expanded my search to include Nacra 5.2 and Prindle 16. After some research I decided that a Prindle would actually be better as it is more novice friendly, and after some failed transactions (people who didn't have valid titles) I suddenly found myself parking a Prindle 16 on my driveway.



The boat sat unused for something close to 10 years, changing owners but never seeing much use. The trailer and hulls were sound (although dirty), but the wear items were trash - trampoline, lines, rigging were not in great shape. Before long my $600 investment turned in $2000.... some of the expense could probably have been avoided, but I wanted new parts on a boat I wasn't very familiar with.

Trampoline came from Slo Sail and Canvas (made to order), Lines and rigging from Salty Dog Marine, Sail repair from SailRite, and a bunch of little things from Murrays. On top of that, I wound up buying LED lights and new wheels for the trailer, regalvanizing the frame and rewiring the whole thing (it didn't even come with wiring).

I've now owned a sailboat for about 2 months. In this time I learned some sailing terms, some sailing maneuvers, and a lot of sailing frustration.

My first boat is a Kaboat 14 with a removable sailkit from SailBoatsToGo.com. It's the deluxe version, bigger sail, bigger leeboards. I have to be honest - this thing does sail. And it does pack into bags, which is the main reason I bought it - so I can tow my RV and bring a boat. It takes about 30 minutes to put together, which I find to be fairly reasonable.

The bad news boils down to these:

1. It only sails well downwind. It can't really point - I'm not sure if that's because it's a raft, or because the sail doesn't let it, or because I lack the skills to make it do so. But the end result is a 170 degree no-sail zone. In other words, if you go downwind, you can't really come back - instead, you tack, then you tack, and each time you lose all the ground you gained.


2. Even downwind, it can only go so fast - 6mph is about as fast as it can even go in very strong winds, and 2-3mph is all I can expect in typical winds where I sail. This one is definitely all about the boat - with a 4HP outboard, the boat can go about 8mph with 2 people (10mph with one), all while bouncing around like crazy. The amount of wake it produces even during low speed sailing is phenomenal


3. This setup lacks blocks and cleats - so you have to hold the mainsheet at all times. My arm gets tired.


4. This setup lacks a true rudder - you steer with an oar, to which you must apply a good deal of force. My other arm gets tired

In short, it's not ideal. The last time I was out on Lake Hopatcong I was making my slow and wakeful way back to port, surrounded by heeling HobieCat's. The catamarans were flying around me in circles, seemingly unaware that the winds were mild and suboptimal. It took about 2 weeks for me to start considering an upgrade seriously... and the search for the perfect catamaran began.

My first brilliant solution to the boat numbering problem was of course using the self-stick numbers from Home Depot. These did stick to the inflatable PVC hull, but inspired no confidence as the corners peeled off immediately.



After some research, I figured that I need to paint the numbers on. I ordered stencils, made a template with stencils, tape and old newspapers, and sprayed white Krylon Fusion onto the boat. This is a surprisingly time-consuming process - making the template to look straight in the first place can take a while, then masking and taping, and more masking.... and in the end, you still wind up with overspray everywhere because the letters weren't absolutely flush with the boat. Now you need to use acetone to clean up the cloudy edges, which also takes forever and goes through paper towels very quickly.

The real surprise comes in a few days - when you realize that the paint isn't drying. It's still sticky - scotch tape sticky. So I called Krylon, and they confirmed that the paint will only work on rigid PVC. Thanks, Krylon, all of my spray paint works on rigid PVC.

At this point there is nothing else left to try but that which you should have spent your money on in the first place - boatnumberplate.com .... live and learn.

The logic for taking this course flows somewhat like this:

Boat over 12' long? Then register it and take the course. Plan to put a motor on it? Then register it and take the course.

I found a locally taught $75 course from Boat Safe US, and it turned out not to be a complete waste of time (other than saving me $500 in fines should I ever get checked). While I already knew or inferred a great deal of the material, the unambiguous driving rules and various other bits of info were helpful. Our instructor was coaching us for the entire 8 hours to pass the test - he basically gave away all the exam questions, so it was hardly a surprise that most people got a perfect score.

Now I can legally drive just about anything that isn't commercially registered - a 60' yacht if I wanted to. But that isn't what I'm driving. I'm driving an inflatable raft. Fortunately, that's also legal.

After our Sinking in the Navesink adventure which is covered in an earlier entry, me and my passenger reached a spontaneous and hesitation-free decision. Something about rowing a sagging craft a midst a cloud of gnats makes one wish for a backup plan, and this plan involves powered propulsion, and by powered I don't mean human-powered. It took some pondering to decide whether I wanted electricity or gasoline as my main power source, but ultimately gas won due to the particular appeal of exhaust fumes, noise, and the inability to use it in restricted waters. Or was it the range? I suppose it must have been the range. Doubling your range with electric means another 50lb+ battery which costs another $170+, and will probably last a few years before it wears out. Doubling the range with gas means a couple of pounds of gasoline in a little red plastic container.

When I research my options I try to break them down into categories, and thus I searched far, then wide, then both, until I narrowed my choices to the following three:

1. New Name Brand
2. Used Name Brand
3. New Chinese Wonder (no name)

My wife took care of blacklisting the no-name category altogether, based on some interesting past experiences. I don't have a problem with off-brands, but try as I might I couldn't find a source of replacement parts for any brands I considered, so to her surprise I came to agree with her opinion. Most forum discussions seem to agree here as well (often for unscientific reasons like "Buy American"), and while I often get a bit concerned when too many people agree with me, I felt that the decision was justified regardless of motives.

The choice between the remaining categories was simple. I felt that spending $1400 on a new motor was a bit excessive, seeing as how the whole boat thus far has cost about that much. As for used, June is not the ideal time for shopping - supply is running out, demand is high, and unsurprisingly the prices go up. Fortunately outboards hold their value remarkably well and thus I can probably get my money back. After some craigslist hunting I found the perfect motor: A Mariner 4M 2 stroke. The boat can take a 10 hp 2 stroke but I don't want to carry anywhere near that much weight. The little Mariners seem to be very well liked, and after a bit of failed negotiating I had it for a spring-time price of $375. It ran great but showed signs of poor cooling flow, and so of course I wound up pulling it apart.

Seeing as how my understanding of our legal system boils down to "Claiming that I didn't know won't get me off the hook", I decided to read up on boating regulations "just in case". My boating equipment consists of an inflatable raft and a clip-on sail kit, but something told me that putting one red pool float into the water may not be entirely without cost. As it turned out, I was right. The New Jersey Boating Safety Manual attempts to decipher the complex set of laws surrounding boat approval using a full-page dummy-compatible flowchart. According to this diagram I must register and title my boat for two reasons: It is over 12 feet long, and I plan to put a motor on it. (It also tells me that I must enroll in an 8 hour safety course, which I hope to take next weekend).



Regardless of how funny I may find the idea of going to the DMV to register a pool toy, I'd rather keep my dreams free of the haunting face of the Angry and Disapproving Boat Police man. I've never actually met a Boat Police man, but something tells me that his gaze will be both Angry and Disapproving, while the stares of the passing vessel operators are likely to be Curious and Condescending, as they on-look from the regal safety of their properly registered non-pool-floats. Thus I gathered my documents and my pride, and went out to the place they call the Department of Moro... (I try to forget how that acronym goes).

The clouds were rolling in steadily, and their distorted reflections now danced inquisitively in the dark stillness of the water. I continued to row, moving my eyes periodically from the luffing sail above my head to the shriveled and distorted shape of the boat hull, as it gave way to the force I applied to the oarlocks and then returned to its proper form, as if I were pumping some huge red bellows for some distant furnace. My destination, formerly my point of origin, continued to loom in the distance behind me, reminding me each time I turned my head of just how fast 2 miles per hour really is. Looking aft I would encounter the compassionate stare of my wife, helpless in her desire to assist me in some way, but finding no help from either the entirely absent wind or the partially broken rear oar locks.

I was grateful, for the moment, for the sudden disappearance of trumpeting power boats passing us on either side. Each pass of these vessels added insult to helplessness in the form of a limp sail flapping back and forth as we bobbed in their powerful wake. Now even these sources of noise and unrest were gone and all that disturbed our slow progress back to shore were the gnats, silently landing on us in small but appreciable quantities. Every few oar strokes I would break my rhythm to inform the gnats of how I truly feel about them.

But all of this happened 4 hours later.... here is how it began:

The wind forecast claimed that the wind would pick up in the afternoon so we went out late (2pm). My plan was to sail from a water access area in South Amboy, so we drove to this spot. It turned out to be not quite as pictured - either it was low tide or something else, but there was no way to get from the boat ramp to the water. So we moved one block over to the East, at the end of Raritan Reach Rd. There is a small parking lot with a 200' walk to the beach. We lugged the already-assembled boat to the ocean, and I should have aborted the trip right there - the waves were large for our boat (2' at times), and the wind quite strong, blowing straight towards shore. I tried to rig the sail so that it was up until I rowed out and would drop later - but our attempts resulted in a completely different outcome:

After debating whether I should go out at all in the 3-5 mph winds (too little wind), I figured I'd go local and launched from Riva Avenue in East Brunswick. I rigged up some hose adapters for the inflator so I can let it do its thing while I assemble the sail kit - and the total unpacking and assembly only took a half hour (alone).

The wind was blowing (when it was blowing) steadily down river, thus I decided that I'd tack upwind first to see if I should dare to go downstream for fear of having to walk back. It was rather slow but doable, so I sailed downstream. To make a long story short - narrow, winding river, intermittent wind and lilies do not mix with sailing. Tacking isn't pleasant in such an environment: first you tack left, and the boat drifts 20 feet before catching a gust of wind and moving across in seconds and regaining barely as much ground. Then you tack right, and you do the same except you wind up on top of lily pods, effectively grounded. Then you row, and have to jump back to sailing position, only to repeat the whole ordeal. It took me 2 hours to go half a mile, back to the truck.

To add insult to a tiresome experience, I once again parked on the wrong side of a low bridge. Having discovered this, I decided to move to a different spot on the same river - but I didn't want to break everything down, so I just threw the boat on the truck (on the cab and bed), tied it down somewhat and drove over. Then it hit me: why not do that every time?

In my quest for large but protected bodies of water, I searched Google Maps and spied what seemed like convenient access to Shrewsbury River (Middletown, NJ) from Old Warf park. This was indeed a great location to launch from (the parking lot is very close to the water)... unfortunately I did not account for one small problem: a low bridge. We set out, tacked upwind towards the main body of water, and then encountered a 6' tall bridge (with the NJ Transit North Jersey Coast Line trains passing overhead).

The mast of the sailboat is at least 16' tall. There I was, struggling to remove the mast while the boat is helplessly drifting under the bridge. Live and learn. Ultimately, we sailed in intermittent 5-7mph winds and managed to hit maybe 3mph (according to the waterproof gps I brought.).

To Sail or not to Sail

After my earlier Kite Kayaking adventure, I started cautiously looking into sailing. The appeal of not having to paddle was undeniable - being able to just hang out and take in the environment, rather than having to work the entire way. Kite kayaking is fun, however tricky or even dangerous, but a single-line kite can only pull you downwind. Even if I attempted to use a control-line kite, I'd have no hands left to steer.

Decisions

The other option, of course, was a sailboat with a mast, which would allow me to sail into the wind. The problem is that I already pull a trailer, so I can't very well bring the RV and the sailboat... or can I? Then I discovered Sailboats To Go - a line of sailing kits for just about any inflatable craft there is. Typically the kit and boat pack small enough that they can be checked luggage.

I wanted to have a portable craft that wouldn't take too long to set up, and would not require a trailer or boat ramps. Eventually I settled on a deluxe kaboat kit (a 14' Kaboat with the 55 sq ft sail). The kaboat is fairly streamlined yet stable, and has a transom for a 10 hp motor (which I may wind up getting eventually). I got the larger leeboards, but skimped on the stabilizer floats, thinking that $150 is a bit much for buoys on sticks, and figured I'd make my own.

The boat and maiden voyage

The boat took over a month to arrive - all kaboat retailers were out of stock. By the time it arrived, I had everything ready for a maiden voyage on the 500 meter long lake in my town. Here is what things look like from outside and from the boat itself: