Under Full Sail

20 Tuesday Oct 2015

Posted by shemaya in Junk Rig, Sailing/Boat Handling, the boat

[both photos above: WR Cheney]

Earlier this year I had the great pleasure of sailing alongside two friends who came out under sail to meet me, when I was on the way to the island where they live. Both took pictures, and I am delighted to be able to share these photos of AUKLET under full sail, with the new junk rig.

Now getting toward the end of October, with many months, and hundreds of miles, of travel under sail I can say wholeheartedly that the junk rig is a complete success. True to what everybody says about the more traditional versions of this rig, sailing upwind is not it’s greatest strength. Regardless, I have sailed many miles upwind, including entertaining myself by tacking into or out of narrow harbor entrances against a bit of tide. Going with the tide is of course better, but it was comforting to know that with flat water (and a tremendous amount of tacking), it could be done the other way. Against the tide and with a chop, one might as well not bother to try, but this can be easily overcome with planning and/or patience (the tide always changes!) Though I sure do wish for detailed tide charts for the coast of Maine, like there are for some areas farther south.

On those long runs across open water, sailing upwind in 5 to 10 knots is ideal, and upwind is actually preferable, as the boat will steer itself with sails set and tiller fastened, with the boat adjusting its heading on its own for minor changes in wind direction. The boat will steer itself in stronger winds too, but bashing along into the waves isn’t so much fun, and there’s less windward progress as the boat is thrown back by the waves. The junk rig makes it perfectly easy to adjust the amount of sail area on each sail, and to tinker with the position of each sail forward or aft on its mast, in order to move the center of effort one way or the other. The boat responds to that, and it’s been fun.

All other points of sail are a perfect joy, as far as progress. As mentioned everywhere in discussions of junk rig, reefing is especially easy. Ironically, I’ve found that the effect of such easy reefing is that I don’t reef as early as I used to. Nowadays I reduce sail based on the angle of heel of the boat, or when going downwind, in response to difficulty steering, as well as for overall boat balance. In the past, with other rigs, I reefed based on those considerations, but even more, based on how difficult it was going to be to carry out the reefing procedure as the wind got stronger. I hadn’t realized just how much that last consideration was playing into those decisions until it became a non-issue. Lately I’ve been having quite a bit of fun sailing with more sail area than I used to for a given amount of wind.

Connected to the above, I’ve been learning that the boat makes much better progress upwind with extra sail area. Because it’s so easy to change the amount of reefing, it’s been easy to compare the effects of one amount of sail area or another – reefing because it seems sensible, observing the poorer upwind progress, and putting that sail area back up, having the opportunity to see the boat make noticeably better headway toward the wind.

On the subject of sail area, it’s been just wonderful having these enormous sails. It had been a question during the rig change, whether or not to go with larger sail area, and I debated it both ways for a long time. It was really a coin toss at the end, and I am now very, very happy that the final decision was to go large. The progress in low wind conditions is significant, showing forward motion when there is hardly a sign of a ripple on the water.

The problems I had in the Connecticut River with steering issues, related to the large sail area in following current and shifting, minimal wind, have come up two or three times since then, but not nearly so much as I would have thought. Primarily this occurs when the current is both following and changeable, with eddies and/or shear. The boat will still do pirouettes in very light winds under full sail in these conditions, and it is still true that the problem can be resolved, counterintuitively but completely effectively, by reducing sail area. Under most low-wind conditions, the boat simply sails, with the full sail area, and maintains easy steering. It’s a delight.

One of the more unique arrangements for this version of the Reddish-style junk rig on AUKLET is the ability to let each sail swing substantially forward relative to the mast.

This works using a running tack hauling parrel, a running luff hauling parrel, and standing batten parrels that attach farther aft than normal on each batten so as to allow for this movement. This is described as moving the sails forward for convenience in understanding, but the practical use for this maneuver is when sailing downwind, so that the sails are actually moved across the masts side-to-side, ending up almost centered on the masts in an arrangement a little more like a square rigger.

Ordinarily, in sailing downwind with any given sail sheeted out perpendicular to the centerline of the boat, the center of effort for the sail ends up far off to the side, beyond the outside edge of the hull. The effect of this is to make the boat want to turn, pivoting from that pressure off to the side, and this is felt as weather helm, the boat wanting to turn toward the wind. Having one sail out to each side can help to counteract this, but if the sails are radically different in area it’s not a perfect solution. Steering is more difficult under these conditions, and this is particularly noticeable when it comes to using an autopilot, which will typically veer wildly to one side and then to the other of the intended heading.

Adjusting the sails across the masts makes a huge difference in this issue. It’s extraordinary to feel the weather helm go away in that one moment, as the sail is eased across the mast by letting out the tack hauling parrel (the luff hauling parrel is left loose beforehand, though it can be adjusted later to take away wrinkles). The autopilot is the most sensitive measure of getting this right. By tinkering with sail area on each sail (reefing), position of each sail across its mast (tack hauling parrel), and the angle of each sail relative to the wind (sheet) it is almost always possible, in a relatively steady wind, to get the boat, at least this one, to steer reasonably straight on the autopilot while going downwind. For somebody who travels distances, particularly single-handing, this is huge. Prior to this rig, on this boat it was almost never possible.

In planning for this maneuver, I had originally guessed wrong on the appropriate position for the “windows” in the batten pockets on each sail, that allow for fastening the aft ends of the standing batten parrels to the battens; the standing batten parrels did not allow the sails to come across the masts nearly far enough. This became obvious during sea trials in the fall of 2014, and over the winter we put in new windows and made longer standing batten parrels. The new fastening positions were defined by the position of the attachment for the inner lazy jack on the boom, which it didn’t make sense to cross. This meant that the standing batten parrel on the boom came something fairly close to one half of the length of the boom. The yard does not change position relative to the mast when you move the sail across like this, so the line of windows angles up toward the halyard attachment, from that deep position on the boom.
[photo: WR Cheney]

When this arrangement is put to use, the sail swings across the mast, with the clew dipping toward the water, and the tack rising. It’s extremely helpful to have lazy jacks that adjust from the cockpit, so that the clew can be easily raised away from the waves. I originally thought that having both port and starboard lazy jacks led to the cockpit was a little much, and that one would do the job, with the other fastened. In use, however, it’s been extremely helpful to have both (which I had, thankfully, put in after all).

On AUKLET, the original mizzen mast was tall for the size of the new junk mizzen sail, so lazy jack adjustments are not needed when letting the mizzen sail come across the mast. The sail is simply hauled high on the mast with the halyard, and the boom angle is not problematic, being well above both the water and the deck.

It’s been interesting to note that when it’s time to jibe the mainsail, one might first think to haul in the lazy jacks to raise the clew. If this has already been done because of waves, then everything is fine and it’s not a question. But in very light winds, when one wants every bit of sail area available, it can be advantageous to leave the clew low, thereby keeping the lowest panels of the sail completely extended. It turns out that it’s much easier to simply haul in the tack hauling parrel temporarily (which raises the clew), bring the sail across to the other side, and then let the tack hauling parrel out again after the jibe is complete. On a boat with a sufficiently high mainmast this would not be an issue, as the sail could be raised high enough on the mast to clear the cabin regardless. In the interest of passing beneath low bridges, the new mainmast on AUKLET was cut to the bare minimum length/height. I would not do this again – an extra 2 feet of height would not have made a difference with the crucial bridges (which, alas, still do not clear), and the additional mast height would have helped enormously for the size of this sail. Still, it all works, if with a bit of fiddling.

All in all, the new junk rig has been fantastic. It took quite a while to come upon the opportunity for underway photos of the new rig with sails completely raised, and I’ve been perfectly delighted to see them. Many thanks to Bill Cheney and to Kent Mullikin for the photos, and for the fun we had sailing around alongside each other!

[photo: WR Cheney]

[photo: Kent Mullikin]

Dealing with Insects

19 Monday Oct 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 2 Comments

Summer sailing, besides being beautiful and warm, is full of bugs… I have never been more bug-bitten than I have on a boat with ineffective insect strategies. As a result, a lot of thought, and some preparation, have gone into avoiding further repetitions of those experiences. Being averse to chemicals, this mostly involves netting, in a variety of applications.

Where I’ve been sailing, the primary insect issues are mosquitoes, and “no-see-ums,” those tiny black midges that are especially thick in the vicinity of wetlands and marsh grasses. “Black flies,” or gnats, have not been a big problem the way they are in the woods, at least so far in my experience. Since they breed in moving fresh water, I guess this is not such a surprise. Then there are biting flies, including horseflies and deer flies, and smaller ones that look like houseflies but are determined biters, that I have only encountered on the water, and can be quite a pest. I’ve taken to keeping a flyswatter on the boat, which handles them nicely; netting hung loosely over the companionway also keeps most of them out.

Bug netting comes in a couple of varieties. Some has a more open weave, and will stop mosquitoes, but nothing else, and is sold as “mosquito netting.” The other kind has a tighter weave and will keep out both no-see-ums and gnats/blackflies, with the trade-off that air does not move through it as easily, which is noticeable on a hot summer night. Either kind is often available by the yard, in 6 foot widths, generally from camping supply places. I get no-see-um proof netting from Campmor (nope, not receiving anything for this reference): https://www.campmor.com/c/72-in-tight-weave-no-see-um-mosquito-netting-61001

The first year that we launched AUKLET involved a tremendous amount of completing rigging, as well as finishing other aspects of the boat, after the boat went into the water in the spring. This was in the Connecticut River, and nearby on the north shore of Long Island sound. There were a lot of no-see-ums! Having gone through a terrible time with bugs in the trips in the Peep Hen, AUKLET was prepared with a giant, 12′ x 12′, piece of no-see-um proof netting that Suzanne and Theo and I had sewn together, with loops for attaching the netting to line strung over the cockpit. We had also made a screen for the forward window using this same material, and had an arrangement for attaching another piece of no-see-um netting over the companionway (more on that later).

Nowadays I mostly use the forward window screen and the companionway netting. When there are too many bugs in the cockpit, lately I’m inclined to just go inside the cabin. Sometimes I have waited too long, enjoying a pretty evening sitting outside, before sealing off the companionway netting. This has resulted in mosquitoes in the cabin, with nighttime coming on enough that you cannot see them properly to catch them. Oh no!

This year when that happened it occurred to me that I already had the perfect solution on board. Out came the giant cockpit netting, and up it went over my berth, neatly tucked, especially around the head and sides.

I could then hear the mosquitoes in the cabin, but somehow knowing that they were not about to be biting me made the sound completely unproblematic. Several times this summer I have slept with this indoor tent. Sometimes the weather has been cool, and it’s been a pleasant surprise to find that it is significantly warmer underneath the indoor tent. Sailing north, excessive heat has not been such a problem.

Early this summer, on an evening when the companionway was carefully closed off well before mosquito-time, as it started to get dark there were still new mosquitoes. Out came the berth netting, but the situation was a puzzle. First I thought that I had not quite perfectly taken care of the companionway. When it happened a second time, the next morning with full light I carefully checked the companionway and found not a single spot where a mosquito could wriggle through. Thinking on this, it finally occurred to me that there are plenty of mosquito-sized openings between the starboard cockpit locker and the cabin, and noticeable cracks where the anchor chain goes through the chainpipe and its cover.

The chainpipe allows the anchor chain and line to be dropped down through the deck into a bin in the starboard cockpit locker. Blocking that gap with a rag has made all the difference in nighttime peace.

Different boats have a variety of strategies for putting companionway netting in place. Some use frames with netting, instead of the ordinary drop boards for closing the companionway completely, with the netting frames sliding into the same slots. Others folks use netting with Velcro on the edges. The frames seemed like too much trouble, especially for quick exits in a serious situation, and my experience with Velcro and netting is that the Velcro grabs the netting when it shouldn’t, and worse, opens up gaps in the weave when you pull it apart. But there were those handy slots, for drop boards that were not in place. It turns out that you can hang netting on a string fastened inside, across the top of the companionway hatch, put a flexible weight, in this case a coil of spare line, over the extra material at the bottom of the netting to pin it down, and then fill the slots on the side with pieces of foam “backer rod” to pinch the netting into the slots.

Backer rod comes from hardware stores, in a variety of diameters. It is made of soft foam, and is ordinarily used for filling gaps that are going to be caulked, so that you don’t need so much actual caulk for the job. It’s cheap, flexible, and easy to work with. With a bit of netting bunched up on the sides, and a little experimenting to find the perfect diameter of backer rod, it makes a very handy closure for the netting. It’s not much trouble to put in, and comes out instantly for quick exits.

On this boat, the top 6 inches of the vertical sides of the companionway have no slot. This was initially a problem, but Suzanne took a trip to the local department store and found oversized plastic clips that close onto the existing strip of wood. Voilà, a complete netting seal all the way around the perimeter of the companionway.

This whole routine might be too fussy for some folks, but it has seemed worth describing, in case some part of it is the perfect fit for somebody puzzling over this issue. I’ve found it easier than the alternatives, having tried several over time.

The forward window screen is a plastic frame that Theo made from scraps that had to do with the borders for plastic lattices, like those used to close off crawlspaces underneath porches and houses. Foam weatherstripping is attached around the outside edge, and makes a snug fit into the frame of the window, where it stays without any additional attachment.

The screen presses into place, and there is an eye strap screwed onto the inside face (hidden behind the rolled up curtain in the photo), to make a handle so it’s possible to get it back out of the window. It uses regular fabric no-see-um netting. I was worried about that being too fragile, especially when the screen is out of the window, being stored somewhere inside the boat. But it turns out that with moderate care it’s been fine, and the original netting is still holding up in this fourth year of sailing.

Then there is the question of mosquitoes while actually sailing. I’ve been pretty bitten in this situation also, especially coming late into a harbor, just as it gets dark. Footwear is good, as are pants and long sleeves, but sometimes this really isn’t enough. Last winter, browsing a stray catalog that showed up in the mail, I came across the perfect thing: a bug shirt! Marketed to people who go canoeing in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota – where they really know mosquitoes – it has netting for coolness along the sides, and a full hood with a netting front and zipper access, to cover one’s head and face. You wear a brimmed hat inside the hood, to hold the netting away from your face and neck (so the bugs can’t bite right through the netting), and gloves for your hands, and laugh at the mosquitoes.

One morning about a month ago I left a Gouldsboro Bay anchorage early, when it was still dark enough to need navigation lights. There was barely a breeze, and the mosquitoes knew it. The shirt was a fine thing – easier to manage than a mosquito headnet, with no worries about gaps at the collar. I’m an absolute convert. This is the one I got, but the same company has another one, and I’m sure there are others to be found elsewhere. As always, I’m not receiving anything for including this link… http://www.boundarywaterscatalog.com/all-products/browse/keyword/bug-shirt

So that’s about it for what I’ve learned about bug avoidance. I do like early spring and late fall sailing, for that time with no bugs, no netting, and neither bug-vigilance, nor itching. But since working out the various systems, that middle time of the sailing year has also been quite nice.

[Posted now in October, but mostly written sometime in August.]

The Anchored Wind

17 Saturday Oct 2015

Posted by shemaya in the boat, Why Go Sailing

≈ 2 Comments

The boat rears and bucks, on its tether to the underwater ground. The wind will shift later, around to the west, and all will be placid, more or less. But for now, the tide risen over the sometimes-protecting eastern rocks, it’s all about waves, the boat an agile thing, demonstrating its paces.

For those of a certain age (something like middle) – and perhaps only in the United States, and maybe Canada? – going to the supermarket as a child, companion of one’s mother, or other adult, meant passing the mechanical bucking horses outside the entrance to the store. Child-sized, with saddles and stirrups, ready to go. Put in a quarter, or probably a nickel, when I was small enough to actually ride them, and up and down, forward and back, the mechanical horse would give you a ride. It was always over too soon, and you wished for another coin in the slot, patting the sturdy neck and face of your sometime steed. It was the best thing about going to the store, easily rivaling the gumball machines, or the search for the prize buried somewhere in the CrackerJacks. The motion was fun, and we always wanted more.

Today, as the boat bounces, I’m thinking about that. Endless quarters in the slot. Who ever would have thought that I would come to complain about this. Child who went to every carnival, favorite ride The Scrambler, turning, bouncing, changing direction at all moments. The motion of this boat is something that you would be hard-pressed to achieve, for whatever cost, on land. Physical therapy devices come to mind, none of them with the stamina, or simple ease, of my berth, in the anchored wind. Even the cash laid out for the boat could not compete with the hourly cost of this much motion from any other source.

It’s a gift. Remember that!

Back in Joy Bay

16 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by shemaya in Trips

≈ 4 Comments

Yesterday, after a gorgeous sail across from Northeast Harbor on Mount Desert Island, I arrived back in Joy Bay. This summer/fall has involved sailing every which-way. First from the Connecticut River up to Joy Bay, in Maine, to see the house that Suzanne and I are moving into, and then off again, as the gradual process of transitioning to the new place has gone on, with building (boat shed), and repairs, and getting things like propane service and a kitchen stove all in order. I’ve had the luxury of being gone off sailing during most of this, available by telephone, and in some ways helping by keeping myself out from underfoot.

Earlier in the summer I went a little ways east, doing some visiting in Pleasant Bay, in the vicinity of Dyer Island, and then back across toward the west, again to Penobscot Bay, with a bit more visiting, and spending time in a variety of harbors. This year I’ve been on “harbor tour,” going into a number of locations that I’ve either seen from a distance, or heard about, for years. Benjamin River, on Eggemoggin Reach, was beautiful, and it was fascinating to finally see Smith Cove, by Castine, which is really a bay of its own, with a number of interesting coves all around the edges.

For a while we had almost a week of very strong northeast winds, and the possibility of a hurricane to follow that. The hurricane thankfully turned out to sea, but I spent the week investigating anchorages that might be suitable for such a storm, and in any case were better or worse at fulfilling the needs for shelter from 20 to 25 knot winds right there in the harbor.

Holbrook Island was nice, hidden behind the steep shore; Benjamin River was lovely after the wind died down, and the water stayed relatively flat throughout, but the wind just howled, not particularly interfered with by the gradually sloping surrounding hills. I was sorry to have left Holbrook!

The biggest prize in the harbor investigations was Seal Bay, on the east side of Vinalhaven. Gorgeous, with no big-world activity, and thus boring to many folks who therefore ignore it. A moderate number of cruising boats go in, but if one chooses out-of-the-way corners for anchoring, the small crowd is mostly seen in passing. (Though one motoring sailboat on its way out took a turn entirely around my anchored boat, sightseeing; not being up yet for the day, I didn’t get to say hello.)

True to its name, there are seals in Seal Bay, and one of the corners where I anchored was bordered by a rocky island that turned out to be where the seals like to spend the night. A friend said earlier this summer how funny it was that seals sound like pigs – she grew up in the Midwest, and was much more familiar with the land-creature version of that sound. The comparison seemed true to me at the time, but I had mainly heard seals from a distance. Two o’clock in the morning in Seal Bay, and the grunting and squeaking about 50 feet away from the boat, and I knew it had to be seals, sounding like pigs! In the half light at dawn, as I got ready to sail off, there they were, eight or ten seals hauled out on that nearby rock. Of course I knew that already – I’d been getting woken up by them off and on through the entire night. I may not pick that exact spot for anchoring again, but it was a lovely place to watch the lunar eclipse, and there are so many other perfect corners in that bay. One hesitates to advertise nice hideouts, but I think that the big boat people already know about it, and seeing another small sailboat or two among those shores would only be a treat.

This year I also went up into Somes Sound. This one has been on my list since way back sailing the Falmouth cutter over a decade ago. This is a long narrow bay that almost divides Mount Desert Island in half, and is said to be the only true fjord in the continental US (though there are many in Alaska). I was daunted by the fjord stories, of no anchoring possible along the steeply dropping shores, and fierce and unpredictable winds rushing down the slopes of the surrounding mountains. In Alaska this is very true, where the mountains are huge and jagged, with freezing glaciers developing cold rushing winds that tumble down in williwaws that can put a sailboat right over on its side. With the word fjord conjuring all that, and the New England cruising guides making much of this unique body of water, I was nervous about it. Then a friend of a friend, who lives in the village at the head of Somes Sound, suggested visiting, and I started to think about going there. Watching the weather, there was an opportunity with a south wind for going north up the sound, followed by a north wind a couple of days after that, to be able to get back out. Getting around to this took some time after the initial conversation, and phone messages never did generate a meeting with the person who inspired this trek, but I’m so glad for the time that he took to reassure me on the various concerns about going up there.

As it turns out, it wasn’t such a big intense deal – much more like sailing up and then back on a good-sized river. There are in fact beautiful mountains along the sides, but these are New England mountains, rounded and old, and the highest is something like 1000 feet in elevation.

Some of the shorelines are steep, but the deepest water is in the neighborhood of 150 feet, and much of the sound is considerably less than that. The word fjord is true – this waterway was carved by a glacier – but the resemblance to the daunting stories from Southeast Alaska or the southern parts of South America does seem to end with the glacial origins. Lucky for me! Instead of an intensely challenging and somewhat hazardous undertaking, what I discovered was a lovely, long bay, with a very nice harbor at the northern end, interesting coves along the way, and tremendous scenery on the way in and out.

I have since been back again, and have shown myself that it is even possible to sail this boat upwind to get out of Somes Sound. But it did take a half a day, instead of an hour. I’d rather do that run with the right wind!

So this is the story of this year of sailing. I haven’t done so well at keeping up with the blog, but there are a couple of other posts mostly written, and some others beyond that in mind. I’m hoping to put them up here in the next little while. Tentatively, we will take the boat out of the water in a little over a week. A friend has suggested that a Google maps trace of this year’s track would be a nice thing to put on the blog – presently this is out of my technical range of skills, but I do expect that I could learn. It would look something like the path of one of those little waterbugs that skitter around on the surface tension of a pond: here, there, and everywhere, with not much sense of specific destination. But you sure do cover some territory! It’s been a marvelous year.

Sailing AUKLET

~ Small sailboat cruising and related thoughts

Monthly Archives: October 2015

Under Full Sail

Dealing with Insects

The Anchored Wind

Back in Joy Bay