Learning the Hard Way - Storm Sailing
the last day of the school holidays was spent improving our storm sailing credentials. what presented as the worst sail in my life actually developed into one of the most instructive day on the water ever. clearly, it was a day of extremes.
a strong wind warning had been issued for 20 to 30 knots, I'd run out of tomorrows with my son, so today we had to sail. he was keen but knew little what 30 knots did to a small sailboat, but he would soon learn more than he wanted to about heavy weather sailing.
the launch ramp was only partly protected, there was limited wave action but the W was closing the shore side on, making conditions busy rather than dangerous. all but for a small improvement I'd made the previous week we'd probably have made a clean escape from the shore. three times as we headed for open water after I'd lowered the outboard Misty screwed sharply to port sending us careening up the bank, before I realised that the engine lanyard was too short when the engine was lowered and it was causing the motor to rotate. I loosed it off and pulling my son back onboard for the fourth time headed for open water with our confidence already quite shaky. however as each yard passed I deluded myself. As we reached the chop, 3 to 4' high and 10 feet apart, setting the bow bouncing excitedly, the engine fluttered to a stop in such a convincing manner that I went straight for the anchor.
about now my son's moaning and fearful protests got more audible to the point of becoming unsettling. I reassured him that with the anchor down I could sort the engine problem and we'd be sweet. the anchor did not hear me and playfully danced across the bottom gaining no purchase at all. that useful little calm bay lunchtime anchor revealed itself to be useless under boisterous conditions. a finger wharf loomed downwind and regardless of what I did with engine or anchor, we had an appointment to make.
As we approached I was stunned to see my son chest deep in the water between us and the wharf; all at once I was chastened by his bravery and angered by his foolishness. "Stay with the boat Joe!" I yelled over the wind and waves and hauled him over the windward gun'l and we set about mooring up before Misty bashed herself senseless. Soon after mooring up I noticed that in all the excitement the fuel line had parted and clipped it back on, zipped her to life and we were off for the sixth time. I held my breath but without wanting to tempt fate, we were looking good.
I mean we were still storm sailing, the chop was more akin to being at sea and the bow was continually tossed stewards and M's progress halted.it was not so much the height of the waves, but their gradient and proximity. M would shoulder one and be hit by the next before she could make progress. but I was enjoying the lack of drama, at least for a few moments anyway.Joe was leading to go ashore and was moaning each time we rocked about... Then the engine spluttered, coughed, wheezed and died. I have the zip chord a few half-hearted tugs, but sensed that she'd ingested some salt water and needed more attention than I could give her at this point. wanting to give Joe a job to snap him out of his self-absorbed state, I "ordered" him on deck to steer into the wind while I hoisted an already reefed mainsail. this added a dramatic soundtrack to the mad gyrations of our little boat, Joe scampered below only to complain about the water cascading through the cheap dorade vents - pointing forwards of course. but he took action, juggling various pieces of kit about to keep them dry and putting a towel under the vents.he added sailing and grasping at the furniture each time we were hit by a gust, to his previous antics. I found I had to look away to take stock of our situation and concentrate on developing a plan of recovery.
to windward was Wangi Wangi bay, the home of painter William Dobell. backed by relatively high ground on three sides, this bay would offer more shelter the nearer we got. perhaps there would be a wharf and an idle taxi that could take me cheaply back to collected the land rover? I dangled that carrot to Joe and his face showed a glimmer of relief. but to win Wangi bay we'd have to work for it. with reefed main that I was allowing to luff to spill wind and keep an even keel, Misty was crawling along. the centreboard was still up! In all the fuss I'd forgotten. with it down there we were marginally more stable, but I found the steering heavier. (in hindsight, this would have something to do with the balance of the CLR and the CE. CE was well aft because we had only the mainsail set, and with the centreboard lowered, the CLR shifts forward.)our pointing ability improved, but with the chop I didn't really want to point a ny higher.I made a note to prefer a raised centreboard in future.
As we neared Wangi Point, a large peninsula running east-west on the south side of the bay, I was concerned about our tracking ability (slow speed, heavy chop), and elected to not close to bear shore. choosing a gap in the waves I was able to tack surprisingly effortlessly. another tick for Misty.I'd prepared Joe for tacking and being to starboard, the port tack put him on the low side and made it less likely that he'd be pitched off his berth. apart from being damp and buffeted by a cloud westerly wind,I was feeling okay. I spoke aloud to Joe about the design safety features of yachts and how we were navigating easily towards shelter, and then the tiller snapped of in my hands! my mind came out with the Victor Meldrew line "I don't believe it!". But unfortunately my primate mouth let loose with a more alarming "oh bloody hell, the tiller has broken off". this was not what Joe wanted to hear from his skipper at this point: Near Gale, small boat being tossed about, no engine and a mile from shore. but there you go. I had no time or patience for any more counselling, so I did the only thing I could and grabbed the bare rudder blade and tried to steer. amazingly I could do it in a fashion with the main eased and barring us rounding up in gusts, I could maintain steering, no longer into the breeze, but there was another potential shelter of to our north and we could make for there.
it's wondrous how the mind can wander when you're out sailing, feet up, having a relaxing time of it. anyway, at this point,I began entertaining the thought of RESCUE. not me calling to be rescued, I think the vhf was on the blink, and anyway I subscribe to Tilman's philosophy that "every being must hang by his own tail". I was worried about an attempt by a well-meaning rescue skipper paying us a visit in his large, well-equipped and underused rescue vessel:
Rescue Man: "are you in need of rescue?"
Me: "No. I'm fine thank you.
RM: "very good. but why are you not wearing a life jacket?
M: I ran aground for times after I launched, then hit a wharf, then I had a spot of engine trouble. so I've just been too flat out sir.
RM:So you've been around several times and hit a wharf, and you engine is not working and you're sailing in near gale conditions? have you been drinking?
M: No sir, but I wouldn't mind one right now.
RM: I noticed you don't are navigating erratically. can you explain why that might be?
M: ahem, my tiller broke off just back there and I'm seeing by hand.
RM: So, you've been around several times, you have no engine and no steering and is blowing a gale, and you don't need rescuing?
M: Yes sir.
RM: Are you the only person on board?
M: No sir, my son is below decks (shitting himself).
RM: You have a child on board! Tell me he is wearing a lifejacket?
M: Ah no sir, I'm afraid he is not.
RM: #=/+=?-!
Bloody do-gooders. Yeah but we were actually making good progress and I was having a ball. I told Joe with a great deal of excitement that with the tiller broken we'd joined the ranks of some great sailing feats, I was reminiscing about TZU HANG of Cape Horn. "Well if we were at sea like", I added. I asked for some water and a jumper, and coming under the lee of Fishery Point the sea state was easing though the wind was becoming more erratic, buffeting and blustering us about like a toy. but perhaps too, the wind was easing and by playing the mainsheet and changing my steering hand occasionally there was no reason we wouldn't make a little wharf in a calm bay within the hour.
and so it was. the wharf was under construction, so we had to tip toe ashore. after scoring hot chips and guzzling a brain drenching coke, I repaired the tiller by wrapping and frapping. it was ugly but seemed ok. cleaning the spark plug and letting the engine run at idle in calm conditions worked well. coming back from falling to find a taxi, I found my son, at dusk, waiting way too close to a public toilet block. being homeschooled had protected him from exposure to many of the depravities of mankind, some of which is seen signs of there earlier. As I coaxed him away I realised he was safer on the lake than this waterside park. I handed him a family-sized block of chocolate and told him we'd have to get home under our own stream. he asked for reassurance on the engine and steering front, which I have and comforted him by adding that the wind had eased to under 15 knots. the worst was over and he'd done well. he smiled weakly. but as each mile passed, the engine chugged unevenly but kept going, the steering worked, the wind cooled us rather than blasted us, and lights came on in the houses, the world seemed to close in. just us and our safe little boat, tummies full, tense muscles relaxing,and the boat ramp on sight, almost oily calm under the glow of a lone street light. As I reflected on the priceless lessons I'd picked during what turned out to be an extraordinary day, I congratulated Joe on seeing it through and for his valuable help at critical times.
Post Script: Joe had previously been quite reluctant to go sailin and I had to coax him aboard by fitting an iPhone dock and plying him with sweets, but the following day that he would go sailing again "just not in those conditions".
a strong wind warning had been issued for 20 to 30 knots, I'd run out of tomorrows with my son, so today we had to sail. he was keen but knew little what 30 knots did to a small sailboat, but he would soon learn more than he wanted to about heavy weather sailing.
the launch ramp was only partly protected, there was limited wave action but the W was closing the shore side on, making conditions busy rather than dangerous. all but for a small improvement I'd made the previous week we'd probably have made a clean escape from the shore. three times as we headed for open water after I'd lowered the outboard Misty screwed sharply to port sending us careening up the bank, before I realised that the engine lanyard was too short when the engine was lowered and it was causing the motor to rotate. I loosed it off and pulling my son back onboard for the fourth time headed for open water with our confidence already quite shaky. however as each yard passed I deluded myself. As we reached the chop, 3 to 4' high and 10 feet apart, setting the bow bouncing excitedly, the engine fluttered to a stop in such a convincing manner that I went straight for the anchor.
about now my son's moaning and fearful protests got more audible to the point of becoming unsettling. I reassured him that with the anchor down I could sort the engine problem and we'd be sweet. the anchor did not hear me and playfully danced across the bottom gaining no purchase at all. that useful little calm bay lunchtime anchor revealed itself to be useless under boisterous conditions. a finger wharf loomed downwind and regardless of what I did with engine or anchor, we had an appointment to make.
As we approached I was stunned to see my son chest deep in the water between us and the wharf; all at once I was chastened by his bravery and angered by his foolishness. "Stay with the boat Joe!" I yelled over the wind and waves and hauled him over the windward gun'l and we set about mooring up before Misty bashed herself senseless. Soon after mooring up I noticed that in all the excitement the fuel line had parted and clipped it back on, zipped her to life and we were off for the sixth time. I held my breath but without wanting to tempt fate, we were looking good.
I mean we were still storm sailing, the chop was more akin to being at sea and the bow was continually tossed stewards and M's progress halted.it was not so much the height of the waves, but their gradient and proximity. M would shoulder one and be hit by the next before she could make progress. but I was enjoying the lack of drama, at least for a few moments anyway.Joe was leading to go ashore and was moaning each time we rocked about... Then the engine spluttered, coughed, wheezed and died. I have the zip chord a few half-hearted tugs, but sensed that she'd ingested some salt water and needed more attention than I could give her at this point. wanting to give Joe a job to snap him out of his self-absorbed state, I "ordered" him on deck to steer into the wind while I hoisted an already reefed mainsail. this added a dramatic soundtrack to the mad gyrations of our little boat, Joe scampered below only to complain about the water cascading through the cheap dorade vents - pointing forwards of course. but he took action, juggling various pieces of kit about to keep them dry and putting a towel under the vents.he added sailing and grasping at the furniture each time we were hit by a gust, to his previous antics. I found I had to look away to take stock of our situation and concentrate on developing a plan of recovery.
to windward was Wangi Wangi bay, the home of painter William Dobell. backed by relatively high ground on three sides, this bay would offer more shelter the nearer we got. perhaps there would be a wharf and an idle taxi that could take me cheaply back to collected the land rover? I dangled that carrot to Joe and his face showed a glimmer of relief. but to win Wangi bay we'd have to work for it. with reefed main that I was allowing to luff to spill wind and keep an even keel, Misty was crawling along. the centreboard was still up! In all the fuss I'd forgotten. with it down there we were marginally more stable, but I found the steering heavier. (in hindsight, this would have something to do with the balance of the CLR and the CE. CE was well aft because we had only the mainsail set, and with the centreboard lowered, the CLR shifts forward.)our pointing ability improved, but with the chop I didn't really want to point a ny higher.I made a note to prefer a raised centreboard in future.
As we neared Wangi Point, a large peninsula running east-west on the south side of the bay, I was concerned about our tracking ability (slow speed, heavy chop), and elected to not close to bear shore. choosing a gap in the waves I was able to tack surprisingly effortlessly. another tick for Misty.I'd prepared Joe for tacking and being to starboard, the port tack put him on the low side and made it less likely that he'd be pitched off his berth. apart from being damp and buffeted by a cloud westerly wind,I was feeling okay. I spoke aloud to Joe about the design safety features of yachts and how we were navigating easily towards shelter, and then the tiller snapped of in my hands! my mind came out with the Victor Meldrew line "I don't believe it!". But unfortunately my primate mouth let loose with a more alarming "oh bloody hell, the tiller has broken off". this was not what Joe wanted to hear from his skipper at this point: Near Gale, small boat being tossed about, no engine and a mile from shore. but there you go. I had no time or patience for any more counselling, so I did the only thing I could and grabbed the bare rudder blade and tried to steer. amazingly I could do it in a fashion with the main eased and barring us rounding up in gusts, I could maintain steering, no longer into the breeze, but there was another potential shelter of to our north and we could make for there.
it's wondrous how the mind can wander when you're out sailing, feet up, having a relaxing time of it. anyway, at this point,I began entertaining the thought of RESCUE. not me calling to be rescued, I think the vhf was on the blink, and anyway I subscribe to Tilman's philosophy that "every being must hang by his own tail". I was worried about an attempt by a well-meaning rescue skipper paying us a visit in his large, well-equipped and underused rescue vessel:
Rescue Man: "are you in need of rescue?"
Me: "No. I'm fine thank you.
RM: "very good. but why are you not wearing a life jacket?
M: I ran aground for times after I launched, then hit a wharf, then I had a spot of engine trouble. so I've just been too flat out sir.
RM:So you've been around several times and hit a wharf, and you engine is not working and you're sailing in near gale conditions? have you been drinking?
M: No sir, but I wouldn't mind one right now.
RM: I noticed you don't are navigating erratically. can you explain why that might be?
M: ahem, my tiller broke off just back there and I'm seeing by hand.
RM: So, you've been around several times, you have no engine and no steering and is blowing a gale, and you don't need rescuing?
M: Yes sir.
RM: Are you the only person on board?
M: No sir, my son is below decks (shitting himself).
RM: You have a child on board! Tell me he is wearing a lifejacket?
M: Ah no sir, I'm afraid he is not.
RM: #=/+=?-!
Bloody do-gooders. Yeah but we were actually making good progress and I was having a ball. I told Joe with a great deal of excitement that with the tiller broken we'd joined the ranks of some great sailing feats, I was reminiscing about TZU HANG of Cape Horn. "Well if we were at sea like", I added. I asked for some water and a jumper, and coming under the lee of Fishery Point the sea state was easing though the wind was becoming more erratic, buffeting and blustering us about like a toy. but perhaps too, the wind was easing and by playing the mainsheet and changing my steering hand occasionally there was no reason we wouldn't make a little wharf in a calm bay within the hour.
and so it was. the wharf was under construction, so we had to tip toe ashore. after scoring hot chips and guzzling a brain drenching coke, I repaired the tiller by wrapping and frapping. it was ugly but seemed ok. cleaning the spark plug and letting the engine run at idle in calm conditions worked well. coming back from falling to find a taxi, I found my son, at dusk, waiting way too close to a public toilet block. being homeschooled had protected him from exposure to many of the depravities of mankind, some of which is seen signs of there earlier. As I coaxed him away I realised he was safer on the lake than this waterside park. I handed him a family-sized block of chocolate and told him we'd have to get home under our own stream. he asked for reassurance on the engine and steering front, which I have and comforted him by adding that the wind had eased to under 15 knots. the worst was over and he'd done well. he smiled weakly. but as each mile passed, the engine chugged unevenly but kept going, the steering worked, the wind cooled us rather than blasted us, and lights came on in the houses, the world seemed to close in. just us and our safe little boat, tummies full, tense muscles relaxing,and the boat ramp on sight, almost oily calm under the glow of a lone street light. As I reflected on the priceless lessons I'd picked during what turned out to be an extraordinary day, I congratulated Joe on seeing it through and for his valuable help at critical times.
Post Script: Joe had previously been quite reluctant to go sailin and I had to coax him aboard by fitting an iPhone dock and plying him with sweets, but the following day that he would go sailing again "just not in those conditions".
The broken tiller, lashed and frapped
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