No comfort under 40

A MAN I ONCE KNEW wanted very badly to sail around the world with his wife and young family of a seven-year-old boy and a five-year-old daughter. But his wife was worried about seasickness and wanted to be assured that any sailboat they bought would be “comfortable in a choppy sea.” So he asked me what I thought. I told him not to expect much comfort in a choppy sea in any boat under 40 feet, and I’m afraid that dashed his hopes of a circumnavigation because he couldn’t afford a boat that big.

It’s an unfortunate fact that the very qualities necessary to ensure survival, such as maximum buoyancy and fast reaction to changing water levels, result in the kind of quick, jerky motion that causes seasickness and difficulty in moving about — sometimes even difficulty in staying put.

That said, some designs are kinder to humans than others. The well-known naval architect Ted Brewer, who invented a formula for a “comfort ratio,” says that quickness of motion, or “corkiness,” is determined mainly by two factors: the beam of the hull and the area of the waterline.

What this translates to is that it’s more comfortable to sail in a boat that’s comparatively narrower, deeper, and heavier than another of the same length.

Most classic full-keel designs fulfill those requirements. They’re slightly slower to react to waves and swells because of their increased inertia. They’re less likely to be capsized by a breaking wave and it’s safer to work on the deck of such a boat, though they may be wetter. Comfort naturally increases with size, but it increases more quickly with displacement than with length.

So there you have it. Comfort is subjective. The very word means different things to different people, and the amount of discomfort the human body can endure is quite remarkable. Most people get used to the motion of a sailboat at sea sooner or later, and the arbiter then, as the boats become smaller and lighter in displacement, is whether you can actually endure the physical punishment of being bodily thrown around in bad weather.

Judging by the number of people sailing around the world in boats of 30 feet and under, it’s not a problem if you take the calmer tradewind routes and pick your seasons with some forethought.

Today’s Thought

It is often a comfort to shift one’s position and be bruised in a new place.
— Washington Irving, Tales of a Traveller

Tailpiece

“Dad, I need a car.”
“What? You think cars grow on trees?”
“Heck no, Dad. Everyone knows they come from automobile plants.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

Bliss is a door on the toilet

LEFTY OFTENSNITCH, currently serving five years in the Walnut Street pen for some crime or other, wants to know if comfort is important on a cruising yacht. Lefty has become used to a rather Spartan existence at his present residence, and feels that the yacht he is going to steal when he is released could with benefit be more seaworthy than comfortable down below.

Well, Lefty, strangely enough, comfort can be a contributor to seaworthiness. A warm, dry, happy crew is more efficient than a wet, miserable, fatigued one. Besides which, during an extended overseas cruise such as you’re planning, you’ll spend five or six times as much time at anchor or in port as you do at sea.

Comfort in port or at anchor is affected by such things as pressurized hot and cold water, showers, electric light, a fridge, microwave oven, and a door on the toilet.

Now I don’t know if you’re planning to take a woman with you, Lefty, or whether you’ll pick one up along the way, but I can tell you that women are especially sensitive about doors on toilets. My own dear wife refused to come to sea with me unless I built a hinged door for the head aboard our 31-foot sloop.

It took me six weeks of racking my brains and carving a sheet of half-inch plywood, but I finally managed. It had custom-crafted cut-outs for the toilet seat, the pump handle, and the hand basin, and you had to go through a complicated routine of raising flaps and unhooking eyes before you could get in or out, but my wife June loved it.

We were the only boat in our class with a door to the toilet and June used to give the other ladies conducted tours. They were very envious. Their unthoughtful husbands made them use curtains. I was much admired for my sensitivity and understanding of the feminine nature.

Now, you don’t have to go overboard with the comforts, Lefty. But a proper toilet with a closing door should be the minimum acceptable when you start casing prospective boats. There should be a holding tank, as well, because they won’t let you pump straight into the harbor any more in most countries, let alone dump a bucketful overboard.

We all have to set our own priorities as far as comfort goes, but I agree with June. If you have to choose, go for the door on the toilet before the microwave oven. That’s the (ahem!) bottom line.

Today’s Thought
Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.
— H. D. Thoreau, Walden.

Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #168
The efficiency of a rudder depends on its shape. A narrow, deep rudder is more efficient than a broad shallow rudder. The farther aft the rudder is placed, the greater its turning leverage. For powerboats and racing sailboats, a balanced rudder with about 17 percent of the area forward of the pivoting axis provides a lighter helm and quicker response. For cruising sailboats, an unbalanced rudder hung from a skeg or a full keel benefits from a smoother flow of water and offers less resistance.

Tailpiece
“Excuse me, Miss, but do you have a book called Harmony in Marriage?”
“Sure. Look over there. It’s filed under Fiction.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for a new Mainly about Boats column.)