Winter Tarp Frame

Last winter, when the boat was delivered to the house, I bought a large blue tarp at Ocean State Job Lot and covered her up snuggly and tightly.  I had to adjust my tie-downs the first time, having been warned not to tie them to the boat stands -- a very strong wind pulling on such a line could shift the boat stand and destabilize the raised boat.

Piao under her old tarp

I also learned, the hard way, that it is better to have the tarp drawn taunt, at a steep angle, to facilitate run-off of snow and rain and prevent accumulation of pools and puddles -- which freeze into surprisingly heavy chunks of ice.

Piao topless

Hoping to avoid repetition of the great spring tarp-ice melt, I decided to build an A-frame for the deck of the boat.  I hoped this would create a steeper pitch in the tarp, would better protect the mast and shrouds, and would raise the tarp so there was less contact with the hull (where water may also collect and, with prolonged exposure, cause the gelcoat to blister).

To my surprise, the Admiral supported the project.  After a few days of research, including some helpful user forums at SailboatOwners.com, I came up with a plan.  Then, the other weekend ahead of a forecast storm, I drove over to Lowes to purchase a hack-saw and a bunch of PVC pipe.

Parts for the Project

The pipe I found came in lengths of ten-feet.  I bought three 1.5" pipes (for the ridge pole that will run the length of the boat), three 1" pipes (with which to fashion several vertical pillars to support the ridge beam), and twelve 0.75" pipes (flexible enough to use as ribs for the frame), as well as two end-caps for the ridge pole, and T-shaped connectors of various sizes.  Total cost: $106.98

It took me a couple of hours.  The trickiest part was getting the initial piece in place.  I started from the stern, cutting a length of 1"-pipe and lashing it vertically to the stern pulpit.  At the bow and stern, the A-frame ribs protrude slightly to produce a more sheer drop when the taped is draped.  In retrospect, I probably should have taken very careful measurements and pre-cut all the pipe using the table saw.  Instead I took the hacksaw up on the boat and cut pipe sections as I went along, using my knee as a saw horse.  Fortunately, my hack job was hidden by the T-connectors that were fitted to the ends of the pipe sections.

Almost finished

View from the stern

When the Admiral returned home, I asked for some help in pulling the tarp back on the boat and over the new frame.  The following day, I went and bought a much smaller tarp (10'x12') to cover the stern section, and to allow easier access when I want to climb up to work on the boat.

Piao with her new cover.

Frosty, my winter night-watchman, dangles from the bow

Tonight some arctic air moves in, bringing temperatures in upper teens to low twenties and twenty-knot winds, with some snow in the forecast.  Let's see how it holds up....   

2014.XI.8 -- Haul Out

8 November 2014

HW 0826
LW 1436
Sunrise 0624
Sunset 1629
Temperature: 38 (F)
Winds: WNW 16, gusting 24
Waves 2-3'

Alas, all good things must come to an end.  Loathe as I was to haul out Piao and to close the season, it was time.  Weather had been pretty fair all autumn, but the first week of November -- and one snow blow -- had come and gone.  More pointedly, Dexter's dock had been pulled out of the water at the high astronomical tide in late October.  I still had access to the boat, but now I had to drag the dinghy through the tidal grasses and mud.  It wasn't an insufferable inconvenience, but by November the water was getting a bit chilly around the ankles.

My friend, Ric, the PO and my local go-to guru for hands-on learning, had graciously offered to go with me when the haul-out date finally arrived.  This was to be my first haul-out, as the boat was delivered to the house last winter.  It has been wonderful to have the boat's previous owner onboard to teach me what-needs-to-be-done, and to offer some handling tips particular to this boat.  We started by "prepositioning" one car at the haul-out point: Old Town Landing in Marion's Sippican harbor.  We grabbed some coffee at the local Cumberland Farms, where I also bought another lottery ticket (I play the same numbers each time and save my completed form, ready on hand, so that I can not win again next week).

Last Man Standing

By 7:00 am, we were down at Dexter's Cove.  Piao sat all alone in the water.  First in, last out.  I found proud.  A thin layer of ice covered the bottom of the dinghy, laying on the hard.  Ric looked at me but said not a word.

A bit of the ice removed from the dinghy

The plan was to motor the entire trip, roughly ten nautical miles, from the mooring to the town ramp.  Running on motor power would give us an opportunity to haul down the sails and to stow them below with the running rigging.  Time was a factor, as well, since Ric had another commitment at noon.  It took about one hour, from our final cast off the mooring, to round Bird Island and turn northward for the mouth of Sippican harbor.  I drove the boat up the winding channel, as Ric encouraged me to avoid the money.

We arrived at the town dock about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, which made me very pleased about my float plan.  Next year I will endeavor to sail more purposefully, to selected destinations along Buzzards Bay, with projected arrival times based on calculations of currents, tides, and winds.  I also want to learn to trim sail more effectively.  The haulers from Brownell showed up at the dock just five minutes later, also ahead of schedule.  We were soon in position, and they backed the trailer down the ramp and into the water, then guided me as I drove the boat right up onto the submerged trailer lifts.  The lifts were raised into place, holding the boat snugly, and the trailer pulled up the ramp and parked, so that we could unstep the mast and disassemble the standing rigging.  Within half an hour, the shrouds were off, the boom was stowed, and the mast was lashed down to the bow and stern pulpits.  The trailer pulled out for Edgewater Lane.

Kind of a sad sight.....

Piao's Returns to Winter Residence

Last year, when the boat was delivered to the house, I learned a few lessons.  This year, I had prepared new lengths of chain (including a spare third length) for the boat-stands.  I also cut little squares of wood to place under each leg of the boat stands, dispersing the weight of the boat a bit and helping to prevent the legs of the boat-stands from sinking into the soft ground.  I also procured a couple of extra old railroad ties as additional keel blocks.

I was impressed to find the hull free of barnacles.  That is a testament to the efficacy of $250/gallon MicroExtra ablative bottom paint from Interlux.  My neighbor, Jolly Jack, used a cheaper bottom paint on his Grady White and found it covered in barnacles when he hauled out for the season soon after Labor Day.  Piao had only a thin coat of soft slime that was easily removed with boat soap and a power-washer.

The 'worst' spot for marine growth was on the retractable centerboard.

I asked the Brownell guys to place the keel blocks fore and aft of the centerboard so that I could lower the centerboard while the boat was 'on the hard' for the winter.  I wanted to clean the centerboard, and to paint it with ablative in the spring.  They were happy to oblige.  Unfortunately, the height gained by the additional keel blocks was insufficient to lower the centerboard completely (when fully deployed, it increases the draft of the boat from 2'3" to 5'4").  One temporary solution would be to dig a (rather deep) hole under the keel, so that the centerboard could be fully extended.  Meh.  Another option would be to get Piao in a boat-lift, maybe at spring launch, and get to the centerboard at that time.  That sounds expensive.  A third option would be get taller boat stands, if I can find them at a good price.

One of the end-of-season tasks involves removing the outboard motor for winterization.  This presented an unforeseen challenge, for summer-long exposure to the salt water had corroded the padlock that secured the motor to the transom mount.  Outboard motors are not cheap, and sometimes they are stolen off boats during the night.  I have a bracket and lock that secures the 9.9hp Mercury outboard to its mount on the transom.

Master Lock's outboard brass bracket lock

($27.99 at West Marine)

Now I discovered the internal mechanism of the lock had rusted.  Initially, I could not even insert the key.  After lubing up the key with a generous application of WD40, I was able to achieve penetration but was still unable to turn the key.  Misery loves company, and before long three spectators came by in succession to observe my struggle.  Each suggesting, in turn, that perhaps I had the wrong key.

My next-door neighbor, Henry, used to own an O'Day 23 just like mine.  Henry is a handy-man, a modern-day Homo habilis who seems to possess every tool known to humankind.  Last year, when our cat was stuck high up a tree for five days, I asked Henry if he had a long ladder I could use to up and bring down the cat.  "No," he said, "But I have a gun.  Why go up?"  Now I went next door to explain Henry my predicament.  He, too, asked whether I was using the correct key.  Within minutes however, he was at the stern of the boat with his "Sawsall."  Now that was a cutting tool....

The "Sawsall"

I gotta get me one of those for the Zombie Apocalypse

Henry's Declaration of Intent

It took him about fifteen minutes, but Henry eventually cut a large enough gap in the metal bracket so that I could slide it off and thus free the motor.  O Henry!

Over the next week, I dowsed the seized-up MasterLock with a good deal of penetrating oil, but was never able to get the keys to turn the cylinders.

Just today, I found this other set of keys in my desk drawer, labeled 'Master.'  Don't tell anyone....





Next up: wrapping Piao in the winter tarp -- and maybe building a tarp frame (!)

Riding Out the Storm

2 November 2014

Our first snow storm of the year blew through the region today.  It did not bring much accumulation here along the coast, but the winds were pretty strong.  My neighbor, Jolly Jack, was a bit anxious about my boat, since it was still in the water.  Jack takes his Grady White powerboat out of the water after Labor Day, but I did not want to haul out Piao quite so early.  It is my first year with the boat, and I have had such an enjoyable time, so I was hoping for some pleasant autumn sailing.

Back in the spring, I was required to have my mooring inspected.  I had purchased the mooring gear from my next-door neighbor, who used to own a powerboat.  He sold me a 250-lbs mushroom anchor, mooring chain, mooring ball, and a "tall boy" pendant (buoy) for $250.  He also wrote a letter to the Marion Harbormaster, offering to turnover his mooring spot to me.  Since the mooring is on the Weweantic River, this was not a problem -- moorings in Sippican harbor, for the million-dollar sailboats of the Marion Blue-Hairs, have a waiting list that can take years.

When the diver came to inspect the mooring in May, however, he discovered that the chain was worn dangerously thin.  "I don't know how your boat is still there," he told me.  Of course, he had new chain with him and offered to do the replacement for a modest fee of about $150.  When he showed me the old chain, with several shackles worn and rusted as thin as a credit card, I was a little less annoyed and a little more appreciative.

Then came the November blow, and I became VERY appreciative.  Piao weathered the storm nicely.

Piao in the storm.  Yeeha.

The following Monday, when I drove down to work at Stony Brook (Long Island -- yes, it is a rather long commute), I came across a sailboat that had broken from its mooring and drifted downwind to wash up on the rocks of the lee shore.  Very dramatic.  Also very heartbreaking.

s/v 'Courageous Cat' on the rocks

"That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed

when the 'Gales of November' came early."

Site of wreck in Mount Sinai Harbor

The Cedar Beach mooring field lies to the north

2014.X.30 - Last Sail

Solo #11
Thursday, 30 October 2014
HW 1344; LW 1903
Clear; 50 degrees (F)
Winds NNW 5-7, gusts 10
12.1nm
Ave Speed 2.5 kts; Max 5.2 kts
Dpt 1130; Arr 1640
5h10min


Gorgeous autumn day!  Temps in the fifties, not a cloud in the sky, a very gentle breeze -- everything one needs to be "knot working."  Ah, the pleasures of a life in academia.  They may not pay you a whole lot, but there are other benefits besides a paycheck.....

Everyone else, however, has to work.  I'll "work" tonight.  For the day, I went down to Dexter's alone for what was to be my last sail of the season.  Most of the boats had been hauled out already, save for a few diehards.  I'm very happy I kept mine in -- squeezing every last day out the season: first in, last out.  Hooyah.

Getting a little lonely out there....

When I got out to the boat, I discovered that there had been some trespassers in my absence.  Although they had not taken anything, they had left their calling cards.   Next year I need to install some real air defenses.  This shit has to stop.

This is getting out of hand

It is as if they were doing target practice.....

Think its funny, eh?  Μαλακα!

It takes a while to clean off so much birdshit.  You really have to scrub and scrub.  What did I do to piss them off??  Finally, around 11:30, I had the deck and housing (and motor) as clean as it was going to get.  I hoisted the mainsail and cast off, sailing down the river on a run at 2.5 knots.

Autumn foliage and million dollar properties along the Weweantic

Directly across from Dexter's Cove is a large black-hulled sailboat.  I call it the 'Black Pearl,' because it is like a ghost ship.  The kids call it the "pirate ship."  I'm not sure what its real name is, since you can never see the transom.  This boat is quite the topic of conversation at the "Dexter's Yacht Club."  I am told that each summer the owner (who summers across the river there) pays someone to sail the boat up here from its winter residence.  Then the boat sits there, docked all season, never going out, until the end of the summer when the owner pays someone to sail it away again.  If you ask me (or even if you don't ask me), I think that is a shameful waste.  I want to lobby Congress to introduce new legislation that mandates forfeiture of any vessel if you do not use it.  Hah!  And they think Obama is a 'socialist!'  Use it or lose it.  Plenty of people who could never afford a nice boat like that but would take much better care -- and use -- of it.  Watch out, when the revolution starts, you know where you can find me.

"Black Pearl" awaiting its autumn migration

As I reached the mouth of the river, the wind shifted slightly and the mainsail jibed.  I could feel it coming, and grabbed the mainsheet just in time, slowing the boom as it swung around violently.  Good thing it was only a gentle breeze.  Good thing I was sitting down, too.....

Running toward Great Hill

By 11:50 I had cleared the R6 NavAid and set the jib as well.  Roaring along at head-spinning 2.2 knots!  Yeeha!  Break out the tether and jack lines...

A powerboat came by, headed toward Wareham.  Being a friendly and amicable guy, I waved but my salute was ignored.  I called for a radio check on the VHF, but got no response either.  Powerboaters (or "stink-potters") are not a particularly friendly lot, at least not particularly friendly toward sailboaters.  Of course there are exceptions -- such as my friends Jolly Jack and Captain Kirk.  But powerboaters from Wareham seem to have particularly large anuses.  Wareham is a very special community with real charm.  Jolly Jack's wife, a realtor, refers to it as "Brockton-by-the-Sea."  You have to know Brockton to get that joke.....

Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

The "Castle" at the Stone Estate on Great Hill
Funny how the foliage on the east side of the peninsula is so colorful, while these trees on the south point are still all green

By early afternoon, alone on the bay, I was feeling sufficiently cocky to try a neat maneuver: running downwind with the foresail on a tack to one side of the boat and the mainsail on a tack to the other side.  There wasn't much wind, so the risk of an accident jibe was minimized.  If I had a spinnaker pole, maybe I could get that jib out there a bit further.  Can't afford a spinnaker right now, alas, or even a spinnaker pole for that matter.  Thinking about crowd-sourcing the funding for that.  Wondering what to get me for Christmas?

"Wing-and-Wing"

Life is Good....

As I sailed lazily around upper Buzzards Bay, I decided to practice getting the boat to "heave-to."  This has nothing to do with heaving up your lunch.  Rather, this is a procedure that slows or stops the progress of the vessel, so that you can take a break, eat lunch, go below, use the head, repair a leak, wait for the tide to turn, ride out a storm, or otherwise amuse oneself.  You "heave" on the windward jib-sheet, backing the foresail to windward, while easing the main-sheet.  The tiller/rudder it put hard-over, as if you were trying to turn the boat to windward.  However, with the mainsail eased and the foresail "backed," the boat slows almost to a stop.  Any forward momentum would tend to turn the boat even more to windward, thus slowing you even more.  Its actually a pretty neat trick.  I need to practice this some more.  Should probably also practice crew-overboard drills.

For years I've been reading about ships "hove to" to ride out storms.  I'm a big fan of maritime literature, especially from the "Age of Sail."  In fact, I have a whole bookcase devoted to that collection.  The Admiral does not appreciate my book collection.  She does not see the point of buying books.  "That's what libraries are for," she argues.  I really enjoyed the late Patrick O'Brian's twenty-volume Aubrey-Maturin series (or 21-volumes if you count the aptly named unfinished last book, The Unfinished Last Voyage of Jack Aubrey).  On the non-fiction front, my favorites include:

 Barry Cunliffe's The Extraordinary Voyage of Pytheas the Greek

Scott Ridley's (not Ridley Scott's) Morning of Fire -- featuring local hero Captain Kendrick of Wareham

Nathaniel Philbrick's In the Heart of the Sea

John Toohey's Captain Bligh's Portable Nightmare

 Laurence Bergen's Over the Edge of the World

Derek Lundy's The Way of a Ship

And Brian Fagan's Beyond the Blue Horizon.

(not be confused with Alfred Santell's 1942 film of the same name)

Enough about my book collection already.  I know I would catch hell from the Admiral if she were to read this -- fortunately for me, she refuses to read my blog anymore.  "Boring!" she says.

Just after 2:00pm, I passed a flock of about forty birds sitting on the surface of the water.  Maybe they were tired, or maybe they were looking for a missing friend tangled in a fishing line.  I figured they were looking for fish, and it would be in my best interest to get as far away from them as possible before they shit on me again.

My nemeses, reloading for another air strike

By mid-afternoon, the breeze had died.  I really enjoy sailing, but I must confess that it is not so much fun when you are only making 0.9 knots.  So I headed back towards home.  On my way in, I ran into -- figuratively speaking, I'm happy to say -- my friend Captain Kirk.  Kirk is an old salty dog who has spent his life on the water.  He used to sail, and used to have a lobster boat, but now runs about in his Pursuit.  Sometimes you'll see him heading out or coming in from a fishing trip (of course, he will never say where he finds the fish -- only "out there in the ocean.").  Today, he and his wife Judith were headed over to the 'Chart Room' in Pocasset for their evening cocktail.  Kirk is not a part-owner of the Chart Room, but he should be.....

Kirk and Judith aboard the 'Hey Judes'

Loathe to call it a day, on such a nice day late in the season, I decided to sail up the Weweantic river a bit.  The birds were chilling at 'cormorant rock,' eyeing me wistfully as I sailed by.

Don't even think about it.....

Edgewater Lane, from the water, showing the home of my friend, Jolly Jack.

I went upriver as far as the Briarwood Beach neighborhood just south of the Route 6 bridge.  North of the bridge the river forks: the Sippican leading to the northwest and Weweantic to the northeast.  The Admiral and I have explored both rivers on our tandem kayak, the Tiffany-May (named after the month in which I presented her with the engagement ring -- isn't that sweet?).  But the sailboat would not fit under the bridge.  Fortunately, it did fit under the power lines that run across the Weweantic here.  Earlier this summer, not one but TWO sailboats clipped those power lines.  One was de-masted and had to be towed away by TowBoat US.  The other, a large catamaran on a maiden voyage (!), actually caught fire and burned to the waterline.  Fortunately, no one was injured but the boat was a complete ruin.  Sounds like someone should have paid better attention in tenth grade geometry class, or at least read their charts more carefully.  It was quite the event: Police, Fire Boats, USCG, news helicopters, and schadenfreude spectators all converging on the scene.

Power lines and the Rt. 6 bridge over the Weweantic

Returning to Dexter's, I brought Piao over to the dock.  I was very proud of my docking maneuver, but I also should practice this more.  I washed down the deck again, this time rinsing the boat soap off with fresh water.  Then I unloaded non-essential gear in preparation for winter haul-out.

Piao at Dexter's dock.  Who da man?

Not as simple as it looks to jump off and tie up before the boat drifts away.....

Celebrated a great day of final sailing by tapping into my still-unused 'Captain's Reserve.'  Although, it doesn't really lighten the boat to shift that bourbon from the flask to the belly.

It has a been a great first year with the boat!  I am so very happy.  What a great find!

Thanks to all those who helped me crew her this summer: Mark, Don, Dennis, Jack, Lauryn, Dylan, Kalliopi, Myra, Arlene, Frank, and of course the Admiral herself.

Thank you, Bob & Linda, for all the advice, encouragement, and free boat "goodies."

Thank you, Ric, for taking such good care of her as the Previous Owner, and for donating her to Mass Maritime for their auction.

Thank you, (other) Dennis, for buying her at that auction and then parting with her for only $1000.  Otherwise, I could never afford to buy a sailboat.

And thank you, Dennis's wife, for pressuring your husband into making that deal by threatening him that he will have to sleep on the boat if he doesn't sell it before the end of the weekend -- he already owned four other sailboats, and she did not want a fifth parked in their yard or driveway all winter.

I still remember that Christopher Cross song from 1980:

Well, it's not far down to paradise, at least it's not for me

And if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility

Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see

...

Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be

Just a dream and the wind to carry me

Next year: maybe I'll make for the Vineyard.  Just don't tell my mom.....

2014.IX.5 (Voyage #37) -- West Falmouth

Solo #7
Friday, September 5
LW 0501; HW 1028
20.5 nm
6hr 30min
Ave Speed 3.5 kts (Max Speed 7.3 kts)
Partly Cloudy

Headed out on a Friday morning for a sail over to West Falmouth on the Cape.  Originally I planned to head to Quisset, near Woods Hole, where my friend Ric said he was headed with his wife.  I thought it might be fun to surprise them there.  But I got a bit of a late start and was never able to raise his boat, the 'Mommigrand,' on the VHF.

Today I decided to raise the mainsail while I was still on the mooring, and then sail down the river into the bay.  Once again I wrapped the halyard around the winch, but this time I inverted the wraps, with the halyard tailing from the bottom rather than the top.  No problem.  Three stripes, baby....

Casting off around 11:15, I cleared the river without incident, and sailed passed a flock of birds feasting noisily on the surface of the water just off Great Hill.  A few minutes later, I came up on a single bird sitting in the water, flapping its wings strenuously, and crying audibly.  I sailed up close, expecting it to fly away, but it was only as I passed within a few feet of the bird that I noticed it had its legs tangled in fishing line and was unable to get airborne.  I thought of stopping the boat and trying to extricate the poor thing from what seemed to be a fatal predicament.  But a stiff SW breeze quickly pushed me onward into the whitecaps of the bay.  I felt guilty, not having made an effort to rescue the doomed creature.  But then I thought it looked a lot like one of the birds that has been shitting all over my boat, and that quieted my conscience a bit.

By 1:00pm I was crossing the channel approach to the Cape Cod Canal.  The waves were big, but not like that day of the Mattapoisett ass-kicking.  Under mainsail alone, I was making 4.5 knots with the boat heeled 25-degrees.  Yeeeeee-ha!

An hour and a half later, Wild Harbor was off my port beam.  Wind and seas had diminished somewhat, given the proximity to shore.  Since I was not only making less than three knots, I pulled out half-jib and bumped up the speed to 5.3 knots.

At 3:00pm I had reached the Red #2 NavAid off West Falmouth.  The waves were bigger here, running three to four feet at mid-afternoon.  I realized that I probably was not going to make it to Quisset in time to hang out with my friends, and considering that I was uninvited anyways, it was probably better to turn for home.  A half hour later I was back in mid-channel, and completely drenched through all my clothes from the waves and the spray.   yee-ha.  (lower case).  By 3:45, I had round Green #1 NavAid near the entrance to Sippican Harbor, and turned starboard for the run home. The GPS was reading a steady 7+ knots.

Rounding Great Hill, I looked for the bird that had been entangled in the fishing line, but failed to find it.  Maybe it went up and away; maybe it went down and away.  It was not hard to imagine how quickly it would have tired in those conditions, and how its desperate thrashing about might have attracted the attention of a hungry sea creature, as predator turned to prey.

By 5:30, I was back on the mooring.  As I relaxed post-sail with a bit of my 'Captain's Reserve,' a cormorant lighted upon the spreader bars on the mast and promptly shat down all over me.  SPLAT!

Trust me, cormorant feces smells nasty.  Curiously, it has a lot of tiny pebbles in it, and they can hurt a bit when dropping from that height.  Oh well, Instant Karma's gonna get you, I thought.  I should have stopped and tried to rescue that tangled bird.

2014.VIII.14 - Voyage #29: Dexters-Mattapoisett

Mattapoisett Solo

2014.VIII.14 -- Mattapoisett

Voyage #29 (Solo #5)

Thursday, 14 August 2014
HW 1126; LW 1714 

Clear, 70º F 

Winds W 10-15, gusts 25

Seas 3+ feet
20.5 nm
5hr 20min
3.9 knots ave speed (8.3 kts max)

On Thursday, August 14, I went out to the boat for my fifth solo sail.  I was starting to feel comfortable handling the boat alone and thought to myself, "I need some challenges now."  Hah!  Be careful what one wishes for.....

The night before, I had decided to sail down the coast that day to the neighboring town of Mattapoisett and Ned's Point Light.  Dropping the mooring at 11:40am, I motored down the river to the R6 buoy, where I set the mainsail at 11:45.

Chart showing my mooring ("M") in Marion and my destination, Ned's Point Light ("NP"), in Mattapoisett

I had been having trouble all season getting the mainsail up to the top of the mast (it seems to jam about six inches short of full deployment).  So this time I wrapped the halyard around the starboard winch for a couple of turns, stuck in the winch handle, and began to grind.  Haha! I was finally able to get that sucker all the way up!  I felt pretty smug about that.  Hoho! Then I noticed that the halyard had become tangled on the winch, having somehow run under itself.  Now this was a bit of a problem.  The mailsail was fully deployed, there was a brisk breeze, and I could not free the halyard from being fouled in the winch.  There was a great deal of tension on the line, and it refused to slack up even after I released the clutch (a piece of deck-mounted hardware that secures the halyard and prevents it from slipping back down).

Halyard running through a clutch, with the locking lever down

(not from my boat -- a random picture stolen from the inter-webs)

This was not good.  "Keep Calm and Sail On."  I swallowed my rising panic and did my best to maintain composure.  With the clutch lever free, I stood over the winch and pulled on the halyard with both hands, leaning back and hauling with all my strength.  Pull! Tug!! Heave!!!  Ho!!!! Eventually, after much perspiration, I was able to pull enough slack (only about an inch or so) into the halyard to enable me to loosen its wrap around the winch.  Wow.  That was exciting.

Afterwards, it was a pleasant and uneventful sail down Buzzards Bay, passed Bird Island and the 'Bow Bells,' then around the rocks at Angelica Point and Strawberry Point, and up into Mattapoisett harbor to the lighthouse.

Ned's Point Light, Mattapoisett

The lighthouse at Ned's Point is an attractive local landmark, and a popular site for weddings (at least two of the Admiral's cousins have been married there).  It is named after the former owner of the land, Edwin 'Ned' Dexter, a relative of Tom Dexter who owns the dock I use to access my mooring in Marion.  Tom claims his ancestors have lived in the area since the seventeenth century.  I've lived in the area about three years now.

Mattapoisett, which took me a long time to learn how to say and an even longer time to learn how to spell, is said to be a Wampanoag term meaning 'Place of Resting.'  The present town, settled in 1750 and incorporated a century later, is a charming coastal community with some serious property values. It was an important local center for trade (especially lumber), shipbuilding, and whaling through the mid- to late-1800s.  The whaler, 'Acushnet,' upon which Herman Melville spent eighteen months, was built there in 1840, as was the barque 'Wanderer' (1878), the last whaleship to sail from nearby New Bedford, and which famously wrecked on the rocks off Cutty Hunk in early twentieth century.

1840 Crew List from the whaler, 'Acushnet,' which sailed out of nearby Fairhaven

Herman Melville, age 27, is listed near the bottom

(source: http://todaysdocument.tumblr.com/post/12812629728/the-acushnets-crew-list-december-1840-herman)

The 'Wanderer' on the rocks at Cutty Hunk, 1924

The lighthouse at Ned's Point was built back in these halcyon days of Mattapoisett whaling and shipbuilding with the help of federal funding secured by John Quincy Adams.  Constructed in 1838 from locally-sourced stone, the tower stands thirty-nine feet high and features a climb of thirty-two shallow hand-hewn cantilevered steps of granite to its light, which was automated in 1923.  It is one of the smallest working lighthouses of Buzzards Bay, but it is a very pretty one and a source of local pride.

Ned's Point Lighthouse

After taking in a view of the lighthouse from the water, I turned the boat around and sailed back out into Buzzards Bay for my return trip home.  Unbeknownst to me, however, conditions in the bay had changed significantly during the time I had loitered in Mattapoisett harbor.  Winds had picked up considerably to a steady 20 knots, and were driving some pretty big waves up the bay.  As I came out of the harbor on a beam reach, heading SE with both sails set, I was taking those rollers on the beam.

The SW wind gusts soon had the boat healed far over to port.  Eyeing the inclinometer nervously, as it tilted up and beyond 35 degrees, I didn't need three stripes to appreciate that I was not in a good place and needed to reduce sail immediately.  Since this was neither the time nor place to reef the mainsail, I thought it would be easiest to furl in the jib.  To do that, I needed to turn into the wind, but the waves were so large and coming at such short intervals that they kept pushing the bow back to leeward.  I loosened the jib sheet only to have a sudden strong gust of wind heal the boat far over to port.  Really far over.  So far over that I did not even have the time or the mind to look at the inclinometer reading.  The deck was almost vertical, and I felt the boat was dangerously close to broaching.

All I could do was mutter "holy sh*t," and cling to the companionway opening with both hands, hanging on for dear life.  I could not even climb to the windward gunwale (well, maybe I could have, but I did not dare try).  But in clinging with both hands, I inadvertently let go of the jib sheet.  This is, generally speaking, usually an unwise thing to do, but in this case it was a blessing from Poseidon.  Now loosened, the jib sheet ran all the way out to the stopper knot and the wind spilled out of the violently fluttering foresail.  This eased the strain on the bow, and the sailboat quickly righted itself and turned itself into the wind (I was subsequently told that O'day boats are very good at this, provided they are under mainsail alone -- a very forgiving boat for a jackass crew of one).

Head into the wind, I was now able to furl in the jib.  Then I bore away and turned northward on a run, headed for home.  Looking up to the masthead to check the wind direction (very eager to avoid an unplanned jibe in these conditions), I discovered that the near-broach had carried away my wind indicator.  Wow.  I was really quite fortunate that the windex had been the only thing lost overboard.

The run home was smooth (it is a comfortable point of sail), but the waves of the following seas were pushing past me sometimes at the height of my head.  So much for the "Yeeeeee-ha!" excitement of sailing.

Piao rides through the waves during the sail home.

They got bigger than this, but I dared not distract myself with the camera at that point.

The Admiral often teasingly calls me "Safety Sam" (for what she sees as my excessive precautions).  Now indelibly etched in my mind is the old sailing adage that one should reduce sail before one needs to reduce sail.

It was not until I had safely returned to the mooring (and took a very big sip from my onboard reserve of bourbon) that I noticed the Garmin GPS had recorded a top speed of 8.3 knots.  Power-boaters may scoff at that, but some of them can be γάιδαρια anyways (though not my buddies Jack and Kirk, mind you!).  For me, however, this was an amazing piece of data.  Generally speaking, there is a formula for calculating the maximum hull speed of a boat: 1.34 x the square root of the length at waterline (1.34 x √LWL).  For my O'Day 23, with a LWL of 19'6", max hull speed should be 5.96 knots (if my math is correct -- you'd better double check, because there is a reason why Mr. Three Stripes has a degree in cultural anthropology rather than science).  Maybe my GPS unit needs calibration, maybe that is hull speed PLUS the speed of the following seas.  I dunno.  All I do know is that was a fast ride home, no boubt adout it.

Wishing for some challenges?  Be careful what you wish for.   I got my ass kicked on this sail to Mattapoisett......



Notes to self:
1) Get a tether and harness if I am to continue sailing single-handed
2) Clip the handheld marine VHF to the body rather than stowing it inside the cabin