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.

Raincatching Revisited

18 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Sailing the Farm

≈ 4 Comments

Raincatching arrangements on AUKLET have developed further since the last post on this subject, that went up a couple of years ago (http://sailingauklet.com/2013/06/28/sailing-the-farm-rain-catching/ ). Mainly, the process has become simpler, and in the average but not extreme rainstorm that we had last night and this morning it was very easy to collect about 5 gallons of water for drinking, washing, and plants. Here’s how it went:

A clean sheet of sturdy plastic, originally sold for putting underneath backpacking tents, was tied to the bulwarks in the cockpit, arranged to drain toward a low spot in the edge near the cabin. Sliding plastic tarp clips are really helpful with this – I’ve gotten them from Sailrite and also from a local “job lot” store in Holyoke. (Here’s an example, included for readers’ convenience. As always, I’m not receiving anything for sharing the reference: http://www.sailrite.com/EasyKlip-Midi-Black-Pkg-4#) Without clips, it’s easy enough to scrunch a corner of the plastic around a small something, like a pebble or a bottlecap, and then to tie a loop of string where the plastic gathers.

Still, the clips are easier if you can get them, especially for adding tension along a side edge.

Some tarp clips require poking a hole in the tarp and using significant pressure to close the clip, which is then hard to remove. That kind is good for high strain situations, like winter covers for a boat. These others slide closed, requiring no holes, and can be slid open to move or use elsewhere.

The sheet of plastic in this system is about 4′ x 3′. You would think that it would be too small to do much, but in this past storm when the rain really dumped for a little while, the arrangement collected 1/2 gallon of water in about 10 minutes. This piece of plastic was in fact left over from other uses, but it was not dirty, and is now dedicated specifically for raincatching, carefully dried and stored between uses so that it’s clean when needed. Being on the small side has made it a lot easier to manage, especially because it can be pulled taut between the bulwarks.

In setting up the plastic it’s helpful to put a small carabiner on each string that ties off to the bulwarks, so the carabiner attaches to the tarp clip, or to the loop of string tied to a corner. This way the whole business can be set up while everything is still dry, and then part of it can be unclipped for access to the cockpit, without messing up the fussy adjustments that will make the plastic drain correctly. In the spot on this boat where the plastic sets well, the forward end of the mizzen sail would ordinarily overhang and drip into the raincatching project, complete with salt from spray and whatever else is in the sail and all its parts. That would be bad! Fortunately, the position of the sail and its lower reefed bundle is adjustable, so the sail can be shifted back and clear of the water operation. The small size of the plastic sheet also helps with sorting this out.

Originally I had the idea that it would be useful to have a drain fitting in the plastic sheet, which could have tubing attached that could then be led directly into a container or tank. A 1/2 inch plastic mushroom through-hull fitting from one of the boat catalogs worked easily for doing this. However, as it turns out it’s much simpler to just let the water run off the edge of the plastic into a bucket, and then to transfer the water from the bucket into storage containers. One reason for this is that it’s a good thing if the plastic sheet is low, so that it doesn’t catch the wind. Being low also means that tying to the bulwarks works out just fine. In the end, this brings the drain too far down to be convenient for much of anything. Having the drain in the plastic, without any tubing, has been useful for a little bit of weight, and for keeping the plastic oriented over the bucket – but I don’t think I’d put one in just for that!

Another reason for guiding the water into a bucket and then transferring to containers is that there are are inevitably little specks of who knows what that end up in the water. Using a white bucket, it’s easy to see these. They generally settle to the bottom, and it’s possible to dip the water out, or to carefully pour it off. Either way this leaves the specks at the bottom of the bucket, with that last bit of water that gets poured out or saved aside for washing or for watering plants.

I’ve been using square three gallon buckets made of food-grade plastic, found on the Internet. It’s helpful that they are white (for keeping clean), and also that they are square (for easier storage and positioning for water catching), but one could of course use anything, so long as it had not previously been used for chemicals. Tofu buckets from a local tofu maker come to mind as another possibility… It’s helpful that the rain catching container is not too tall, and that it holds a few gallons. One could use a cooking pot, but the tiny pot that I carry on the boat would involve a lot more tending. As it is, I slept through two or three hours of last night’s rain, and during that time the 3 gallon bucket filled to overflowing – I probably lost quite a bit of water, but since I got more than enough as it was, this was not a problem.

Then there’s the issue of getting the water from the bucket into containers. During the night I transferred a half a gallon of water into a gallon jug, and a little while after that completely filled a two liter drinking water bottle, both done by pouring the water out of the bucket, using a plastic funnel to get it into the jugs. Later, snug in my berth and listening to the rain, I was thinking about how to add a drain to the side of a bucket, with a tube for filling containers. This was to avoid lifting the heavy bucket when it was completely full. In the morning, with the overflowing 3 gallons and no such arrangement, it worked to use a small cooking bowl to dip the water out and into the funnel, and it was surprisingly easy to fill each bottle. I’ve now completely discarded the drain and tubing idea, because the simple version with the bowl was so easy and quick.

It’s been interesting to note the difference between using the plastic sheet, and simply setting out buckets. There are three of these square buckets on the boat, dedicated to rain catching. In an absolute dumping rain that goes on and on, it’s possible to collect about four liters (1 gallon plus) of water just by setting out the three buckets. In the storm that had that kind of haul, it turned out that nearby measurements said that there had been 4 1/2 inches of rain! On the other hand, I’m guessing that this recent storm had something along the lines of a half inch to maybe an inch of rainfall, and with the plastic sheet, not counting the probably substantial overflow that was lost in the night, I ended up with 5 gallons of water. This has convinced me to no longer bother with setting out three buckets, with the fuss of drying and storing them afterwards. From now on I’ll go with the plastic sheet with the one bucket, knowing that it will quickly gather a lot more water.

Following up on the post from a couple of years ago, the outcome of the fabric raincatching sheet, with the special funnel sewn into it, was that it was not practical, at least on this small boat, and in use in the damp north. Hung high enough to stay off the cockpit benches it caught the wind badly, flogging like a sail and needing to be taken down, and it was a production to set up, with a boathook set crossways as a spreader and tied to the mizzen mast. Being larger, the arrangement did collect tremendous amounts of rain – 12 (twelve!) gallons in the big storm where I first used it, and that in the time before the wind made it necessary to stop. The fabric funnel worked beautifully, but it was fussy to keep the attached plastic tubing where it belonged, as the fabric lifted in the wind. In lighter rainfall, a good bit of water went into soaking the fabric, before any was actually collected. In either case, afterwards it was hard to dry the fabric properly, and even once dry, because it was cotton it tended to collect the dampness while stored. In the end, mildew was a problem, and I started working with the plastic sheet.

The other thing I’ve learned in the intervening time has to do with using rainwater for drinking. Basically, rainwater is distilled, with no minerals. Although there are holistic healthcare practitioners who recommend drinking only distilled water, there are also reports that doing this, whether from mechanical distillation and bought at the store, or from rainwater, can lead to health problems. Supposedly these issues mostly involve loss of calcium and other bone and teeth minerals.

The permaculture folks who are raincatching for drinking water suggest that putting crushed oyster shells in the bottom of the water container will take care of this issue, as the water will leach minerals from the shells, rather than later from one’s body. I’m looking toward doing something with shells, but haven’t yet. I’m assuming that broken up clamshells would work just fine, but I’m waiting for the opportunity to collect some from a clean beach. Lately I seem to be spending a tremendous amount of time in areas where the water is working-harbor brown, which has hindered this particular task. Since the boat water supplies alternate between rainwater and wellwater from shore, and I ordinarily take calcium/magnesium supplements, I’m hoping for the best, sans shells. In the meantime, the rainwater tastes great, and definitely feels better than anything from a chlorinated municipal supply.

So that’s the latest on raincatching. This recent effort is the easiest it’s ever been, and it feels like the system is a keeper. It’s a great thing to have the water supplies all in order, without any outside assistance. Now I’m inspired to get back to growing more vegetables…

[Written about a week ago; now it’s been sunny and hot for days…]

Report

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, Trips

≈ 11 Comments

Well, I’m here to say that, in case anybody wondered, having a first and in-depth experience of shingles while cruising singlehanded on a small boat is an absolutely terrible idea! On the other hand, having that experience present itself in the neighborhood of a friendly and supportive harbor and community really helps a lot.

Shingles is a follow-up to childhood chickenpox, endured by some of the people who had chickenpox, generally sometime after they get to the age of perhaps starting to think about reading glasses. It is something to do with herpes, affecting nerves and skin, as well as muscles associated with nerves. It’s not a nice time, but you get a lot of sympathy. In all the assorted health experiences I’ve had, in telling people this or that I have never heard so many emphatic exclamations of “OH NO!” as I have during the last two weeks, followed by complete understanding of whatever is going on to try to make it better, and offers to help. Though it’s been a difficult time, it’s also been very heartwarming, and the kindness from everybody, from total strangers to an assortment of friends, has made the whole process easier than it might have been.

This event got into gear just as I arrived in Belfast, planning to be here for three days or so, meeting up with Suzanne on her way to and then from Gouldsboro. It’s now been two weeks, and thoughts of departure are becoming more realistic. For a person who prefers holistic medecine, Belfast is ideal as a place to land during a healthcare situation. There are quite a number of holistic healthcare practitioners, as well as folks with thoughts on whom to recommend. Two of those practitioners came to the dock to make boat calls, for which I am enormously grateful; those visits resulted in a nice range of possible treatments in addition to what I was already doing.

All of this brings to mind the larger subject of illness or injury while solo cruising. I still have thoughts of Newfoundland, and this issue of possible incapacity is the one that slows that idea down the most. The bottom line is, would I be willing to live somewhere for an extended amount of time during a recovery process, far from people who know and care about me and my well-being? Two or three weeks is not such a big awful deal, but what if it was a few months? A year? My new long-term residence? Being a person who does not travel easily at the best of times, other than in one or another rather unique boat, the question is real. How much am I willing to risk, in order to go sailing? To sail far?

Risk is inherent to everything – to life itself, as well as to any venture in a boat. But one measures, holding the possibilities alongside one another. Having shingles on a small boat can make a person really wish to be at home on land, being taken care of, with all of the comfort that both of those imply. During the worst of it, I seriously considered that we could take the boat out of the water right here on the adjacent ramp, and I could ride home by road to our new place in Gouldsboro, an hour and a half away, and say “enough.” The situation eased, and I’m glad to still be on the boat, but it does get you thinking.

As it is, I am now close enough to seaworthy to be ready to give it a try. With luck I will go across to Holbrook Island, outside of Castine, and continue recovering in the peaceful stillness of the surrounding woods and rocks. Sometime after that I hope to be working my way east, back toward Gouldsboro.

In the meantime, my heartfelt thanks go to each one of the many people who have helped during this extraordinary time.

[Posted from the cove at Holbrook Island, a few days after the initial writing.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Following are some of the strategies for shingles that I’ve found. It is important to note that I am not a healthcare practitioner, and these are not recommendations; what I have done, or thought about doing, or learned along the way, are all included as food for thought for readers in doing their own research.

Clay packs – In my experience, clay packs both help the blisters to dry up, and are soothing for that bizarre skin nerve pain that is part of shingles. I put some clay in a container, add enough water so that when it is all absorbed it makes a soft paste, put on skin, cover with plastic so it doesn’t dry out, keep on for 15 minutes to an hour, whatever feels good. It gets removed gently, with water and/or a moist washcloth. It’s messy, but plastic sheets are useful, and the clay cleans up easily. Clay for doing this sort of thing can be found in natural food stores, or ordered online. This one is my personal favorite (I’m including this link for readers’ convenience, and am not receiving anything for posting it or any other references on this blog):
Pascalite Superfine Powder, found by scrolling down on this page: http://www.pascalite.com/Prod.htm (For skin that’s tender, the “superfine” is likely to feel more gentle, and soothing.)

Shingles Rescue Plus, made by Peaceful Mountain
http://store.peacefulmountain.com/products/shingles-rescue-plus (also available from many other suppliers) – this is a water-based gel that includes both homeopathic and herbal ingredients. It is fragrant, which was problematic for me, so I only used it for one day, but it was very soothing.

Lemon balm (Latin name: Melissa officinalis) – there are a number of products available for shingles that include this herb. It is also available as loose, dried leaves, at natural food stores in the bulk herbs section, or online. The loose herb can be made into a tea which can be drunk, and/or applied to the skin. The plant is in the mint family, so it’s a question whether it is appropriate for use at the same time as homeopathic remedies. Anybody considering using this herb might want to do some in-depth research – there are mentions of thyroid considerations, perhaps among others.

Homeopathy – I like homeopathy best; for many reasons it suits me well. Choice of particular homeopathic remedies depends upon the characteristics of the individual. For intense problems, for example shingles, I believe it’s best to find a skilled homeopath for guidance.

Magnesium oil – this is magnesium chloride in water, called “oil” because it feels oily, like the greasy feeling of sea salt that has dried on the surfaces of a boat. Magnesium is important to a wide array of cellular functions, and can be absorbed through the skin. I ordinarily use this stuff to help with muscle cramps. One aspect of shingles can be what feels like intense muscle pain, quite similar to the feeling of having pulled or otherwise strained a muscle. According to the medical folks, this is actually a nerve problem and not the muscle itself, but since I usually use magnesium oil for muscle strains, I used it for this and it seemed to help. Later, when the blisters got going, it was too irritating, but it was good in the early part of the overall process. This is my personal favorite, but there are others available too: http://www.amazon.com/Ancient-Minerals-Magnesium-Oil-oz/dp/B001AD0HL8

Seawater – especially as a cool compress using a washcloth. This feels outstanding at the time, including where there are blisters, and seems to help with reducing skin discomfort later on in the day or evening – I’ve tried for doing it twice a day. There’s a lot of magnesium in seawater, along with many other minerals. There are also microscopic bits in seawater that I’ve been learning about recently, called phages, that apparently go after bacteria and viruses. Nothing but good, if it’s true!

Raw honey, applied topically, is mentioned for shingles in a number of online sources – I didn’t do this, because it’s messy, and would have been difficult to manage over such a wide skin area while on the boat. Otherwise I would have tried it, using Manuka honey, which is said to be particularly good for treating wounds and burns. Honey is completely liquid at body temperature, so when used for a skin treatment it needs to be contained somehow, either with bandages, or maybe plastic.

EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques), brain retraining exercises, and basic breath work – each of these has also been very helpful. Resources on everything except the breath work are described and referenced elsewhere in this blog, and can be found by using the search box in the upper right part of the page.

There are of course mainstream Western medicine approaches to shingles, including antiviral medication, and now a vaccine to increase chances of preventing it in the first place. There are also other holistic treatments not discussed here (acupuncture comes to mind). As everybody says: check with your doctor!

Shingles is a wild experience, and a wide array of approaches for getting through it can be helpful… I wish anybody who needs this information the very, very best in a speedy recovery.

Beaching Legs ~ Score: Gravity – 1; Engineering – 0.5

26 Sunday Jul 2015

Posted by shemaya in Sailing/Boat Handling, the boat

≈ 4 Comments

A couple of weeks ago, on the mud flats in Joy Bay, we tried the beaching legs. These are stilt-like boards that go on either side of the boat to hold it upright, resting on its keel, when the tide goes out. For people who know what they’re doing, with the correct arrangement, this is a commonly used technique, though it is seen much more in the UK than on this side of the Atlantic. It is used successfully with enormous keel boats as well as for smaller craft.

When AUKLET was built, in commiseration with the builders we decided to try brackets on either side of the boat, with 1″ x 4″ legs that would slide into slots in the brackets, to then be adjusted for height depending on the slope of the bottom on which the boat might be resting. A couple of years ago I went to test this system, but discovered that the original legs had swollen in such a way that they would no longer fit into the slots. In the intervening time since then, we made a new set of legs, and it was exciting, and interesting, to try them out.

The more usual way to attach beaching legs is with a bolt through the hull and the top of each beaching leg, and lines from the bottom of each leg to the bow and stern of the boat. These lines hold the legs steady, and also prevent the boat from twisting, with one leg shifting forward and the other aft, relative to the twisting hull. Alternatively, as described in the book Sailing the Big Flush, the legs can be lashed to the shrouds (wires that support the mast, side to side), and adjusted for height from there, also with lines to bow and stern to prevent twist. AUKLET, with a freestanding mast, has no shrouds, and I was not excited about putting bolt holes in the hull, so we tried the rather unique brackets instead. Both location and angle of the brackets was experimental. It seemed like the fore and aft lines would not be necessary, because of the configuration of the slot; I was wrong about that. It also would have been better if the slots angled away from the boat, so that the feet of the legs ended up farther from the side of the boat than the tops of the legs.

In mud, it’s necessary to put plywood boards under the feet of the legs, so that the legs will not sink into the mud. This can be arranged with a pin in the bottom end of the leg, and a hole in the middle of each pad, to deal with the issue of the plywood pads wanting to float and slip away when there is still water and one is getting the whole arrangement in place. The pin arrangement would be best – I can attest that an alternative arrangement with a line through the middle of the pad and a hole through the bottom of the leg was less than satisfactory, though it did work more or less, with help from a boathook.

It’s quite a production to deploy beaching legs, and it’s helpful to have more than one person, so that the legs can be adjusted simultaneously as the boat settles onto the bottom. Doing this alone, as I was, added extra complications. But then, there were a lot of complications, as a result of trying a new procedure and never having seen it done in person. Also, I made a tactical error that is perfectly obvious in hindsight.

Some time back, as part of this post: http://sailingauklet.com/2013/09/22/the-pool-table-effect/ I described a technique, told to me by Tim Pfeiffer (thank you Tim!), for rocking the boat and letting the keel dig a bit of a hole into the mud so that the boat will settle level, into its mud cradle. Not thinking perfectly clearly, after the beaching legs and mud pads were set for deployment, but not down all the way, I had the idea to do a little of that digging with the keel, by rocking the boat. On the one hand, this did dig a little bit of a cradle, but sadly it completely displaced one of the mud pads, though I was able to rescue it as it started to float by. I was not, however, able to get that mud pad back into position. The situation became a further experiment, as to how far the leg would sink without the pad. The answer is: quite a bit, though it did seem to stop.

The boat had been positioned previously, using two anchors on fairly long lines opposite each other to avoid the occasional rocks in the mud flat, which came into view as the tide went down. By adjusting the anchor lines it was easy to guide the boat away from the rocks. That part was a success. After that one mud pad came free I gave up on keel-digging, committing to the possibilities of the beaching legs supporting the boat.

After the water was almost gone the boat was beautifully upright – for about 5 minutes. It started to list to port, and I somehow had the feeling that the keel was sinking into the mud, and that easing the starboard beaching leg just a little bit would help things come back to level. In hindsight, and after seeing photographs, I expect it’s more likely that the port beaching leg, which was missing its mud pad, was simply digging in further. At any rate, I went to ease the starboard leg adjustment, and the boat started to come over on the starboard side, but more than I was hoping for. Trotting myself over to port, and jouncing to try to bring the boat back over that way, was unsuccessful, and the boat gradually settled more to starboard, coming to rest – temporarily – at about 15° of heel. There is a clinometer in the boat – a gizmo like a level that shows degrees of heel – so it’s easy to see just what’s going on. I’ve done this grounding out before, intentionally letting the boat go down on its side. More about that can be seen here: http://sailingauklet.com/2013/08/04/kneeling-camel/

As it turns out, in this new situation the boat was resting it’s weight sideways on the starboard beaching leg. This is not what that board was designed for, and it was not nearly strong enough to support that kind of weight applied crossways. I was inside the cabin getting organized for being over at such an angle for the duration of the low tide, and there was a snap, a bit of a jolt, and the boat went over another 3° or so. This was definitely not in the plan! However, the boat was now settled. From the float by the shore Suzanne was able to confirm that nothing in that process had made any holes in the hull, so there was some time to relax.

When the tide had gone out the rest of the way I took a little trek in the mud, retrieved the beaching legs (one snapped completely into two pieces), tied the stuck mud pad so that later when everything floated free it would be possible to get it back, and surveyed the situation.

The mud in Joy Bay is very slick – it’s as if the boat was sitting on grease. There was twisting, perhaps contributed to by the gusty wind, even though the sails were all down. Undoubtedly losing that port mud pad contributed, but I do not feel confident that things would have been okay with that mud pad in place. Lines from the lower ends of the beaching legs, led bow and stern, would have stiffened things up considerably, and I do think that with both mud pads in place and those lines it probably would have worked, provided that the lines were actually able to set up the correct tension to keep the legs securely in position.

Besides all that, the biggest thing that I learned is that deploying beaching legs is a huge production. The first time of anything is almost always 10 times more effort than after familiarity and routine are established, but it still looks like a big job. Added to that, there is the issue that there really should be two people, in order to set the legs correctly as the tide goes down. What I have absolutely confirmed is that if I were to try this again, I would change the attachment for the legs, adding a pivot bolt hole to the existing brackets, and refreshing my memory on how to make the length of the legs adjustable when a pivot bolt is being used. I’ve read this, somewhere.

As it is, I’m quite up in the air about whether or not I will pursue the beaching legs trials. In soft mud, my preference would definitely be to forgo all that effort and potential drama, and simply use the keel-digging trick, hoping to settle at an angle of something better than 15°. I’m looking forward to trying that in Joy Bay, some time in the next couple of months. It’s doable enough, to wait out a few hours over at an angle, and who knows, in the right location the boat might dig itself enough of a cradle to go down level even with the tide all the way out to bare ground. That’s an investigation I’m interested in making! In the meantime, much was learned, the boat is fine, and so am I.

On the day in question, about four hours after we went down in the mud, just before dark the tide came back, the boat floated, and I got some nice, horizontal rest. At about four in the morning, before things went back to mud, the anchors came up and we relocated back to the mooring in the channel. It’s been a fascinating exercise, and I’m still thinking on the many results.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: In the process of putting together this post I went back to looking on the Internet on the subject of beaching legs. There is more there now, than when I first came to this subject. I would have done well to read up before this attempt! Sturdier legs would be in order – at least 2 x 4’s, for this boat, in my updated opinion, and for larger boats people are using 4 x 4’s. A number of people have completely foregone adjusting the length. Instead, the legs are built just slightly shorter than the depth of the keel where the legs go, to allow for the keel settling into the bottom, and the whole business is called good, with apparently successful results. At least one individual doing it this way singlehands, and reports the process being easy.

It is worthy of note that this ease for singlehanding was achieved by having the pin permanently mounted in the beaching leg for each side, so that it could be easily positioned into the hole on the side of the boat. An interesting detail was that when one of these folks set up this system, he used lines from the bottom of each leg to the bow and stern, and marked those lines for the correct length. When deploying the legs, the lines were first tied at the correct length and then the pin was put into the hole. The leg, and the pin in the hole, were then supported well enough, while the boat was floating, for the singlehanded sailor to go inside the boat and fasten the washer and nut on the inside.

An assortment of folks said that they had initial concerns about the holes in each side of the hull, but found them to be easily stoppered, and not a problem. One writer used wine corks, and another used tapered plugs like those for seacock emergencies; both were completely satisfied.

Here are a couple of references that I found helpful:
http://www.classicboat.co.uk/forums/showthread.php?t=88484

http://www.ybw.com/forums/showthread.php?432110-Boat-legs

And one for the book Sailing the Big Flush, by Eileen Beaver (nope, not receiving anything for printing this link):

Solar Hot Water

21 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 2 Comments

The boat carries a propane camp stove, but I hardly ever use it. If the charcoal heater stove runs to warm up the cabin, it works just as well to heat water, or food. When the weather is warm enough that the heater stove doesn’t run, I still like to drink hot water when I can get it. This is along the lines of tea, but without the teabag. Typically I’ve missed this treat, once the weather warms up in the summer. Then along came the solar hot water heater…

Some time ago somebody figured out how to make glass cylinders that are useful for heating water using sunlight. The cylinders are long and thin, with an inner wall and an outer wall, with a vacuum space between the walls, like for a thermos. The inner wall of the glass is colored dark red, with the coloring in the glass itself, for better heat absorption in sunlight. These plain glass tubes are available on their own, for those inclined to start from scratch. But there is also a commercial version of solar hot water heater that uses these tubes, and already has a plastic support/storage housing, a screw on cap with a soft plug that fits into the top of the glass tube, and reflector panels on hinges, neatly arranged with a stiff wire stand. The plastic bits aren’t the most well-made things in the world, but they work, which is quite good enough.

The glass tube holds about 16 ounces of water, and in a good summer sun it’ll have water scalding hot in two hours. I haven’t bothered to fiddle with a thermometer on this, but there is serious steam, and the water is hot enough that you have to worry about a significant burn, if you were to spill it on yourself. It’s good to be careful, when opening the lid!

My experience with this gadget has been between Connecticut and Maine, covering latitudes in the low 40s, from mid-spring through mid-fall. For folks closer to the equator I expect it would be even faster, and for those farther north it would be interesting to see what the limits might be. With occasional clouds, or high, thin cloud cover, it still works. It helps to adjust the angle, early or late in the day (or season), by propping the wire stand on a cushion, so that the cylinder is not at such a broad angle to the sun. It also helps to fiddle with the position side to side, so the sun has a good angle that way. But really, it’s not that particular – I’ve forgotten about it, and come back some time later, and had good, hot water, in spite of less than perfect orientation. After four hours, the water is much too hot to drink, but would probably make quite good tea.

I’ve now bought two of these – being glass, I’ve wanted to have a backup, in case of the inevitable. With the first one, the soft rubbery stuff in the plug arrived with quite a strong smell, and I was not hopeful. We left it to sit, open, for several months and it improved quite a bit. Then, after some use, it stopped leaving a bad taste in the water. This settling-in time is one of the reasons that I got the second one, so that it would have time to air out, in case the glass in the first one came to a bad end. From the same company, the second one did not smell nearly as bad, so perhaps they received feedback and changed the material. At any rate, it seems better.

According to reviews, some people have actually put soup and other food into these cookers, but I have not been inclined to do that, because being so long and narrow I think that cleaning up could be difficult. Just using this gadget for hot water has more than earned its place on the boat, and whenever temperatures are too warm for the heater stove, and the weather allows, it can be seen on AUKLET’s deck making quick and easy hot water.

Here are the sources I used for looking at the plain tubes, and to get the finished version (as always, I am not receiving anything for including these references):
complete hot water heater:

plain tube:

Telltale Compass

25 Thursday Jun 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat

≈ 5 Comments

A telltale compass is designed to be mounted overhead, and read from underneath. The idea is to mount it over your berth, so that the heading of the boat can be easily checked, whether at anchor or underway. I gazed at one of these, in a catalog, for years. They’re not cheap, and there seems to be no such thing as a lightweight, less fancy plastic version, at least that I could find.

A couple of years ago, in the middle of the winter with my birthday coming up, I was encouraged to go ahead and get that nice brass version, to put in the Chebacco. That encouragement was all it took, and it was my birthday present to myself, for the grand old age of 55. The next summer we mounted it in the boat, and I’ve been blessing it ever since.

At anchor, it’s nice to be able to look up, and see if the boat has swung to a new direction with the change of tide. This lets you know that it’s a good time to sit up and look out the windows, to check that the anchor is indeed holding in the new direction. Having the telltale compass, there is no need to sit up just to find out whether or not the boat has swung, or to go through contortions to read the kayak compass that I used to set on the head cabinet for the same reason.

Underway it’s even better. When the boat is being steered by the autopilot, or by the adjusted sails, it’s easy to keep tabs on how that’s going, moment to moment. When resting, out to sea, the telltale compass is particularly helpful. If the autopilot is struggling, it’s easy to know way before the characteristic sounds of a wandering course become obvious. Steering with the sails, there are even fewer auditory cues before things go completely to bits, with unintended tacks or gybes. Keeping track by just looking up at the compass goes a long way toward preventing all of that, as well as providing assurance that the boat is generally on course, in a safe direction. One of these days I will be sailing with crew again, and it will be nice to be able to check on progress in that situation in the same way.

It’s important to say here that distance single-handed sailing, involving resting without keeping a proper visual watch on deck or out the windows, is not the best of good seamanship. A telltale compass is no substitute for keeping a proper watch, and neither are the electronics mentioned in the previous post. Compromises are made, in the process of resting while sailing single-handed. One does one’s best to minimize the additional risks, but I’m not here to recommend the practice. There are plenty of other people sailing distances alone, and the benefits are compelling, for those who are drawn to it, but there’s no arguing that it’s really a good idea. Still, good equipment helps. This compass has made a real difference, for me, in this process.

On the practical level, the compass that I’m talking about is this one: https://www.celestaire.com/compasses/dirigo-telltale-compass-detail.html

The one shown in this link has a beautiful black and white card, but the one I received has a blue card with much plainer white printing. I’m aesthetically disappointed, but it works just fine, and perhaps they did it that way because it is indeed easier to read.

The compass comes with no index mark, I assume to provide flexibility with mounting. I tried using it for a little while just trying to line up the degree markers generally, to the gap between the screws in the mounting ring, but the results felt fuzzy indeed. A little while later I cut a triangular pointer out of a piece of masking tape and stuck it on, aiming for a position parallel to the centerline of the boat. It was quite striking, what a difference it made in being able to identify just the heading that the boat was on. The light color of the masking tape shows up fairly well in the dark, and though I had ideas that it was just temporary, to try out the idea, it’s working just fine and is likely to stay.

The black bracket is actually bronze, which we confirmed when drilling larger holes for 1/4 inch screws for mounting. We through-bolted the bracket, using flathead machine screws through the top of the cabin. The originally provided holes in the bracket allow for fasteners that seem rather small, for something so heavy positioned right over your sleeping self.

That’s about it, for this handy piece of equipment. Somebody looking for a business opportunity could probably make out quite well producing a less fancy version of telltale compass. Sailors (and power boaters for that matter) with any kind of sleeping accommodations could make very good use of it. In the meantime, there’s the beautiful brass version, and I’m ever so happy that it’s now part of this boat.

Gone to Sea

21 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by shemaya in How Does This Work, the boat, Trips

≈ 10 Comments

Lately I’ve become quite fond of “passage making” – going from point A to point B relatively directly, without overnight stops. Just like anything, the more you do it, the more you get adjusted to the process, and the various requirements. Since leaving the Connecticut River this year, I’ve now done this twice (plus a few more passages in previous years), and I’m happy to say that I’m now presently in Penobscot Bay, Maine, after a surprisingly short amount of time.

The first set of overnights in this trip started with a run from the south shore of Cape Cod, where I had been spending some time in Cotuit Bay (hooray for sailing with Amanda and Alaina!)
After that it was off around the outside of the Cape, eventually ending up in Cohasset, which is on the south shore of Boston. Doing this trip around the outside of Cape Cod took three nights and the better part of four days, mostly because I had the idea to start with a north wind. That was ideal for leaving from Cotuit, and for going east, out the channel between Cape Cod and Nantucket, but then there would be a pause, expecting little progress, while waiting for the wind shift. The idea was that the south wind due to arrive on the following day would then be good for the run north. I didn’t count on getting seasick, once outside of Nantucket sound! It was a bit of a strong wind, and there was a bit of a boisterous sea.

A relatively strong wind is a good thing, especially in a tricky passage (“passage” also means a path between assorted obstacles), with shoals nearby. The last thing you want is not enough wind, and a current pushing the boat somewhere it doesn’t belong. As it turned out, given the strong wind and seas, the only viable option on that first night was to go southeast, eventually about 35 miles out. This was away from Nantucket Shoals, but a little far in the wrong direction. Somehow, all that open water, with all those waves, was more disconcerting than usual, and my stomach registered deep protest. Ah well – thank goodness for homeopathic remedies for motion sickness, already on the boat, generally there for crew. And for oyster crackers, which were eventually quite sustaining.

By the next morning the sea had settled down, my stomach was improving, and in that peaceful time between the end of the north wind and the beginning of the one from the south, there were whales, and porpoises, and even a close up visit from two basking sharks! These are enormous, but make their living by eating plankton, swimming slowly with no aggression whatsoever. Still, it does get one’s attention.

There were thoughts of going into Provincetown, but by the time we were around the top enough to turn the corner toward the south, the wind was again rather wild, and tacking against those seas and the tide was yielding no success. Night was coming again, and the alternative, sailing slowly across the 25 miles to Cohasset, would generate plenty of time for rest, with an arrival well after it got light again in the morning. This is indeed what we did, “we” being myself, the boat, and the electronic companions.

Traffic is the biggest worry, when it comes to getting rest as a solo sailor. There is the issue of rocks, and land, but those are fixed, and avoidable, with proper planning and care, and enough distance off. It’s the other boats, that can show up at any moment, that need to be constantly watched for. The electronics now on this boat are great about providing notice well in advance of almost any traffic. Ships and ferries, and high-speed whale watch boats, as well as some commercial fishing boats and some recreational vessels, show up on the AIS (for more on AIS, see this post from last year: http://sailingauklet.com/2014/01/11/ais/ ).

Over this past winter we also installed a Mer Veille radar detector (more in an upcoming post). This gadget uses minimal electricity, and beeps enthusiastically whenever somebody else’s radar signal reaches its antenna. Most any other traffic on the open water, especially at night, or in low-visibility conditions, is running radar, so there is good warning if anybody is out there. Commercial fishing vessels, particularly, are now well-announced.

Between the two of these pieces of equipment, I’ve become much more comfortable with taking naps at sea. Even better, when the weather is rather lousy there’s hardly anybody out there anyway. Going across the north edge of Cape Cod Bay, the ferry to Provincetown appeared a couple of times on the AIS, passing at about 6 miles away, and that was it for the entire night. I’m sure this was aided by the forecast of 4 to 7 foot seas, which was in fact happening for the first part of the night. But the boat did well, oriented at about 50° to the wind, as if hove-to but set up to sail forward at about one knot, going gradually west. I got some rest, and then in the morning, after a somewhat false start trying to get into Scituate, ran downwind to Cohasset. The only complication was my pants trying to fall off, coming into the harbor, because I hadn’t realized just how much weight I had lost in the last few days, and neglected to do something about a belt!

During those days at sea I thought, oh now I’ve probably had about enough of this passage thing. From here on, it’s harbors at night. But of course by a few days after that, and some nice rest, and reflecting on the whales and pelagic seabirds (nevermind the sharks), it all didn’t seem so bad. I started to think that if I would just choose my weather a little more conservatively, I might just like to do it again. From Cohasset it was a day’s ride across Massachusetts Bay to the islands southwest of Gloucester, and crossing Massachusetts Bay I found myself with that itch to just go out to sea. The weather wasn’t right for it, at the time, and I was due for some more rest, but it was interesting to see that that was how it felt. In the meantime, it was nice to be in the islands.

A couple of days later there was another long sailing day around the outside of Cape Ann and up to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where I met Suzanne for supplies, had some more rest, and waited on the weather.
The approaching wind wasn’t as strong as that last rather wild run (no 25’s in the steady-wind forecast!), and it all seemed like a rather nice idea to head straight for the middle of the Maine coast. First thing Monday morning, off we went.

The only downside of avoiding the strong wind is that sometimes, instead, you get no wind at all. The second day out from Portsmouth, about 15 miles south of Damariscove Island, we spent pretty much the whole day floating around in the fog, in roughly the same spot.

The Coast Guard even came to visit, having seen us out there for so long, to check that everything was okay. They were happy to know that things were fine, asked if I had a float plan, and somebody on shore keeping track of whether I was arriving as expected, and sounded relieved when I said that yes I did, and that I had a satellite phone, and reported in morning and evening. Off they went, and a couple of hours later, just before dark, the breeze started to come up. The fog disappeared, the boat started moving, and the horizon took on that gorgeous sharp edge that comes with newly clear air and the sun getting low.

We sailed through the night, and just before dawn were off of Monhegan Island. There was some more fog, but between the GPS, the compass, and the sounds of the buoys, we found our way, comforted to see the lights on the buoys appear where they were expected, even though the fog hid them until we were pretty close. As the dawn started to barely come up, the wind shifted northwest, and with our goal of Tenants Harbor it was a bit of a slog against the last of the outgoing tide, but very beautiful as the fog again cleared away. There had been quite a bit of rain, in those previous days, and in the dark you could smell the islands, wet evergreens, coming across on the breeze. What a sweet way to arrive home.

Now, here I am, moving to Maine – and landed. There’s still a trip from this harbor here in Penobscot Bay over to Gouldsboro, on the far side of Acadia National Park. With some consistent wind this could be done in about three days, with overnight stops in lovely places. Or one could go straight through, perhaps arriving in about 24 hours, if the wind blew just so. For now it’s resting, and visiting, and waiting for the next bit of weather to go by. It’s been a tremendous trip so far, including all those nights at sea, and I’m enormously pleased, by all of it.

	shemaya on Still Out Here
	shemaya on Still Out Here
	Suzanne on Still Out Here
	JG on Still Out Here
	Martin on Telltale Compass

Sailing AUKLET

~ Small sailboat cruising and related thoughts

Under Full Sail

Dealing with Insects

The Anchored Wind

Back in Joy Bay

Raincatching Revisited

Report

Beaching Legs ~ Score: Gravity – 1; Engineering – 0.5

Solar Hot Water

Telltale Compass

Gone to Sea