Equinox and a trusty compass

ONCE AGAIN I HAVE FAILED to write a book about the equinox and putting one’s faith in a compass. It was an idea that rattled around in my head briefly a few years ago and it seemed like a good plan at the time. But I regret to say it was an idea that escaped, like so many others, never to be captured again.

I did, however, write a short piece to serve as a sort of story skeleton, a bag of bones, which, suitably clothed, could turn into a minor masterpiece. So here, by way of compensation, is the short version of my unwritten magnum opus: 

A JUG OF WINE, A HAND BEARING COMPASS, AND THOU

The cedars in the back yard were twinkling with cool gray mist this morning, a sure sign that the autumnal equinox is almost upon us.

For years, when we lived on Whidbey Island, Washington, my wife June and I used to make a short pilgrimage on the date of the equinox. We went to a grassy little west-facing hillside in a quiet state park. We took along a blanket, a bottle of Vouvray, some cheese and crackers, and maybe a baguette. And, of course, our hand bearing compass from the boat.

On the evening of the equinox we watched the sun go down into the middle of the Strait of Juan de Fuca and checked the accuracy of the compass. This is one of only two days in the year when the sun rises exactly in the east and sets exactly in west. Otherwise, it’s always either north or south of true east and west.

At that magic moment when half the blazing red sun was hidden beneath the sea horizon, I checked its bearing with the compass up to my eye. Every year, the compass proved accurate to within one degree. And at that moment I was flooded with a wonderful feeling of trust.

Cruising under sail is built on trust in so many ways. You trust that the mast won’t fall down, you trust that the engine will start, you trust that the waves won’t be big enough to sink your boat, and, of course, you trust that your compass is telling the truth. (The way you know whether your main steering compass is telling the truth is to check it against your hand bearing compass, now proven accurate by the sun itself. Trust, but verify, as it were.)

We always stayed long after the sun sank into the strait. We went home cold and happy and damp from dew, and slightly woozy from the wine, holding hands, with our trust in our compass and our boat restored for another year.

And every year I think to myself what a wonderful metaphor this is for life. And I tell myself I must nurture that nascent thought and expand it into a living philosophy and write a fascinating book about it and make a lot of money and get famous and appear on Oprah. But I never do. Restoring trust is easy. Writing a book is hard work.

Today’s Thought

A man who trusts nobody is apt to be the kind of man nobody trusts.

— Harold Macmillan, NY Herald Tribune, 17 Dec 63

Tailpiece

“Dad, what’s horse sense?”

“It’s one of Nature’s little safeguards, son. It’s what keeps a horse from betting on people.”

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

The useful hockey puck

ONE OF THE MOST VALUABLE navigation tools here in the Pacific Northwest is the little hand bearing (“hockey puck”) compass you can wear on a cord around your neck. It’s an essential part of chart navigation, of course, because it’s what you use to take magnetic bearings of prominent features on land. Two or more of those bearings allow you to plot your position on the chart.

But the hockey puck compass is also valuable if you navigate by GPS. Let’s presume you’re heading for an anchorage on Flybutton Island, one of many in the Trousers Archipelago. As usual, with islands overlapping, covered with pine trees, and all looking alike, you can’t see any obvious entrance to Zip-Up Cove on Flybutton Island.

However, you have programmed a waypoint into your GPS; and now your GPS is telling you to steer a course of 250 degrees magnetic to Zip-Up Cove. All fine and good, but because of currents and leeway, your main steering compass is not going to take you to Zip-Up Cove if you steer 250 degrees. If you’re beating, your boat will be making leeway, so she won’t be going where she’s pointing. And if you’re in a current, as you mostly are around here, you have to allow for being set sideways.

An experienced navigator knows how to compensate for all this, naturally, and your GPS will tell you how much you’re going off course. But there’s a simple trick that’s very reassuring to Nervous Nellies:

When the GPS says the direction to your destination waypoint is 250 degrees, get out your hand bearing compass and sight through it until it shows 250 degrees. Now you are looking at the actual place on land that you are aiming for. Make a note of any landmarks you can see, such as a tower or a tall tree, or a mountain with a cleft.

When you can actually see a place to aim for like this it’s a great help with the steering. You still need to compensate for being set off course, but it’s reassuring to have the GPS course confirmed by your hand bearing compass.

Another thing — if you stand in the cockpit to take your bearing, you’re usually well away from any ferrous metals and current-bearing wires, so your hockey puck compass is not affected by the ship’s deviation, and will show a true magnetic course. (If you wear glasses, just make sure the frames aren’t magnetic.)

As you probably know, there are many other uses for this little compass; too many to explore in this limited space, but they include the ability to warn you of impending collisions with other vessels, and to reveal the deviation of your main steering compass. Your hockey puck can also help you stay clear of charted (but not visible) underwater dangers, and by giving you two quick bearings, it can tell you how far you are off a prominent landmark. In addition, it will tell you in an instant if your anchor is dragging.

Furthermore, if you take it ashore with you, it will help you find your way back to the boat in a dark anchorage, or in thick fog. And so on ... for 150 bucks or less, it’s a great safety aid for any sailor and a particularly valuable tool for the navigator.

Today’s Thought

The sea never changes and its works, for all the talk of men, are wrapped in mystery.
— Joseph Conrad

Tailpiece

“Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup.”
(2)“Don’t worry, sir, he’ll sink when he’s dead.”

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