Better to cling like a monkey

IT CAN BE QUITE A SURPRISE to see how much safety gear there is aboard some yachts, and how little aboard others. A lot of it has to do with the owner’s philosophy.

In the middle of the last century, when men such as Marcel Bardiaux and Bernard Moitessier were sailing around the world, they spurned even such elementary safety features as stanchions and lifelines.

“They give you a false sense of security,” Moitessier once told me.  “they catch you below the hip. They can catapult you overboard. Better to learn to cling like a monkey, like me.”

Times have changed, of course,  It’s difficult now to find a yacht that doesn’t have lifelines. But the old spirit hasn’t vanished entirely.  Some of the safest boats afloat have the simplest equipment — but it’s combined with a thorough knowledge of how to use it, should the need arise.  It’s pretty pointless to own thousands of dollars’ worth of lifesaving gear if you and your crew haven’t practiced using it.

So be very careful when choosing safety equipment. Safety is an emotional subject and store clerks know this. Try not to buy anything you can’t imagine yourself attempting to use in pitch darkness on a stormy night.

As for lifelines and tethers, I believe in them thoroughly. Bardiaux and Moitessier were sailing’s heroes, sailing’s supermen. The rest of us need all the help we can get.

Today’s Thought

Heroes may not be braver than anyone else. They’re just braver five minutes longer.

— Ronald Reagan, 40th U.S. President

Tailpiece

Why does a chicken coop have two doors?
Because if it had four doors it would be a chicken sedan.

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

It's really a very safe sport

IT’S INTERESTING TO THINK THAT sailing is one of the safest sports practiced in the U.S.A. In fact, more people die in their baths every year.

The sea is actually not as dangerous as you might imagine. Most of the famous singlehanded circumnavigators of the mid-20th century sailed without lifelines around the deck, and without safety tethers.

For many sailors, lifelines represented false security. “Better learn to cling like a monkey,” Bernard Moitessier once told me. He has a point. I suspect that if I fell from atop the house of a medium-sized sloop while she was well heeled, I would fall right over the lifelines without touching.

It’s impossible to know if the lifelines now so popular on small boats have added to safety at sea, but  I don’t think anyone can seriously say the death rate in the old days was any greater than it is now.

Perhaps the sea just seems more dangerous because we live in a society obsessed with safety, our own and others’. We are ordered to belt up in cars, wear helmets on bicycles, put on sunscreen, and swallow vitamins. Old-timers accepted responsibility for their own safety and relied on common sense rather than constant and irritating adjurations from so-called authorities.

I have reservations about lifejackets, too, especially inflatable ones. I cannot imagine how I’d get back on board most small boats if I were hampered by the bulky inflated bladders. Perhaps that’s why there’s always advice to carry a small knife attached to your lifejacket, along with a flashlight, a whistle, a personal locator beacon, a rescue mirror, a waterproof VHF radio, a rescue mirror, and lord knows what all else. You could stab the bladders, I suppose, before attempting to pull yourself on board. You could also stab yourself accidentally and die from blood loss and shock instead of drowning.    

The more I think about it, the more I like Moitessier’s advice to cling like a monkey.

Today’s Thought

A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.

— John A. Shedd, Salt from My Attic

Tailpiece

America is one of the few countries that have too many surgeons and not enough patients. In fact, it has got to the stage now where doctors are accusing people of staying healthy just out of spite.

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

 

Are life rafts really necessary?

SOMEONE WHO READ my last column was moved to ask if there was a reason why any deep-sea sailor would prefer an inflatable dinghy to a dedicated life raft. Well, all I can say is this: Before you rush out and hand over thousands of dollars for a life raft, ask yourself a simple question: What are the chances of a tiny, fragile life raft surviving a storm that sank a much bigger and more seaworthy boat?

Not all that good, apparently. In a famous storm during a Fastnet Race off England in 1979, seven sailors lost their lives because of what an official board of enquiry described as “failure of the life rafts.” The board noted further: “Life rafts clearly failed to provide the safe refuge which many crews expected.”

In the Queen’s Birthday Storm off New Zealand in 1994, the only three sailors who took to a life raft were lost and never seen again. Others who stayed with their crippled, sinking yachts were rescued.

Even if a raft survives the ordeal of launching in a storm, its occupants then have to sit and wait to be rescued, which is catastrophic for morale. Psychologists say many people will die within three days if they perceive they are in a hopeless situation. They are far more likely to survive if they can make organized progress toward land, as they might in a hard dinghy or an inflatable dinghy.

If your boat is big enough to carry one, an unsinkable fiberglass or wooden dinghy is preferable. If not, a partially inflated inflatable dinghy on the cabintop will suffice. Most boats have room for that.

Finally, whether you have a life raft or not, the overwhelming advice is to stay with your boat until it actually sinks under you. Easy to say, of course. Not so easy to do.

Today’s Thought

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,

Nor to one place.
— Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice.

Tailpiece

Here’s a question for all you history buffs:
What did Hannibal get when he crossed the Alps with elephants?
Mountains that never forget, of course.

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

Never trust your lifelines

LIFELINES COVERED IN WHITE PLASTIC look pretty shippy on a boat, but don’t let them fool you. Few have sufficient strength to prevent a heavy crewmember crashing through and falling overboard.

The trouble is that lifelines are strung from thin vertical poles, called stanchions, that don’t have much stability. Stanchions have small bases where they’re attached to the deck, and the leverage applied by a falling body is tremendous.

In some cases, lifelines are too low to be effective, and serve only to catch you behind the knee and flip you overboard. If you fall from a high cabintop while the boat’s heeled, you could miss the lifelines altogether.

Offshore racing authorities usually require two rows of lifelines each side with a maximum height of at least 24 inches. But 30 inches, which catches most people high on the thigh, is better if the stanchions are well anchored. They must be through-bolted, never screwed, and fitted with large and heavy backing plates underneath to spread the stress load.

Lifelines should be regarded purely as back-up protection. Primary protection comes from strong harnesses attached to substantial fittings, or jackstays, by tethers short enough to keep you on board.       

Finally, be aware that white plastic coating can hide corrosion, so bare 1 x 19 stainless-steel wire is actually safer.

Today’s Thought

Who can hope to be safe? who sufficiently cautious?

Guard himself as he may, every moment’s an ambush.

— Horace, Odes

Tailpiece

Paddy O’Reilly and a friend were lying on the beach at Fort Lauderdale.

“Begorra, there goes a beautiful lass,” said his friend.

“Yes,” said Paddy appreciatively. “Nice legs, too.”

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

Take more care at night

GEORGE DAY, a former editor of Cruising World magazine, wrote this in his book Safety at Sea: “There is a strong correlation between losing sight of a victim and the fatality of that victim.” In other words, if you fall overboard and the crew on board can’t see you, you’re likely to die. This is especially true at night.

At sea in anything except a dead calm, your chances of being saved at night are very bleak indeed. In fact, if you don’t have a light on you, your chances are about zero. Even if you’re wearing one of those personal strobe lights that attach to your arm, your chances aren’t a whole lot better.

An electronic flash may look quite bright, but when it’s so low down on the surface of the water its range is very limited.

At five knots, a boat travels about 10,000 yards in 60 minutes. She therefore covers 100 yards in 36 seconds, so by the time the first minute has elapsed the victim is nearly 200 yards away. Given the usual conditions of swells, breaking waves, and spray that’s too far.

The message is clear: You should take extra precautions to stay aboard at night. Wear a harness and make sure there are strong attachment points in the cockpit and on deck.

I know this sounds like advice you’d expect to get from a socialist-liberal nanny government, but I’m only doing what I know to be right. On the other hand, I regret to say I can’t count the number of times I’ve reneged on a promise to my wife that I’d faithfully wear a harness and lifejacket whenever I was on watch in the cockpit alone.

I suspect many of you are guilty of the same crime. I promise to try to be better in future, and I would urge you to give it a go, too.

Today’s Thought

Who can hope to be safe? who sufficiently cautious?
Guard himself as he may, every moment’s an ambush.
— Horace, Odes

Tailpiece

Confucius, he say if man think by the inch and talk by the yard, he will be kicked by the foot.

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

Simple safety

IT CAN BE QUITE A SURPRISE to see how much safety gear there is aboard some sailboats, and how little aboard others. A lot of it has to do with the owner's philosophy.


During the 1950s, when men such as Marcel Bardiaux and Bernard Moitessier were sailing around the world singlehanded, they spurned even such elementary safety features as stanchions and lifelines.

"They give you a false sense of security," Moitessier once told me. "They catch you below the hip. They can catapult you overboard. Better to learn to cling like a monkey, like me."

Times have changed, of course. There's a lot more nagging now from the people who are trying to save you from yourself and your obviously suicidal ways. It's difficult now to find a boat that doesn't have lifelines.

But the old spirit hasn't entirely vanished. And some of the safest boats have the simplest equipment. It is, however, combined with a thorough knowledge of how to use it should the need arise. After all, it's pretty pointless to own thousands of dollars-worth of lifesaving gear if you and your crew haven't practiced using it.

You should be very cautious, though, when choosing safety equipment. Safety is an emotional subject and manufacturers trade on it. Promise yourself that you will not buy anything you couldn't handle in pitch darkness in a heaving sea on a stormy night.

So what do you really need? You'll have to choose for yourself, of course, since it depends on the boat, the crew, and where you intend to sail. But here are five areas you should consider when the subject comes up. Think hard about each of them and buy the simplest, sturdiest gear that fills the bill:

1. Equipment that will keep you on board.

2. Gear to save you if you fall overboard.

3. Equipment to keep the boat safe (including a reliable engine and sturdy anchor tackle).

4. Gear to attract help if you get into trouble, and

5. Equipment to save you if your boat sinks.

Today's Thought

Rashness brings success to few, misfortune to many.

— Phædrus, Fables.

Tailpiece

“What happened to your leg?”
“Broke it jumping over the net.”
“But isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in tennis?”
“Apparently not if it’s table tennis.”

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

Cling like a monkey

I MENTIONED THE OTHER DAY that the waters of Puget Sound, together with the adjacent San Juan and Gulf Islands, are some of the best small-boat cruising grounds in the whole of the United States. But there is one drawback that visitors, in particular, should be aware of. Our waters are cold. They’re in the 40s and 50s Fahrenheit, even in summer. You’d be lucky to survive half an hour without protective gear in water that cold. So the Golden Rule around here is: Don’t fall overboard.

Most production sailboats come complete with deck stanchions and lifelines these days, but I’ve always been a bit skeptical about their efficiency. Most of them are so low that they’d catapult you overboard if you lurched hard against them at deck level. And when you’re on top of the cabin trunk, working at the base of the mast for example, you’re high enough to fall clean overboard without even touching the lifelines when the boat is well heeled over.

So maybe it would be wise go back in time a bit and take the advice of some of the old-time singlehanders who were sailing wooden boats across the oceans before the plastic revolution. They rarely had lifelines.

When I was a teenager, a young French colonial from Indo-China came sailing into my home port of Durban, South Africa. His tubby 27-foot ketch, Marie-Thérèse, had no lifelines, by design. Her owner, and sole skipper, didn’t believe in lifelines.

I asked him what he did to stay on board in rough weather while working on deck.

“You must learn to cling like a monkey,” he told me.

That man was Bernard Moitessier, who later became an icon of single-handed long-distance sailing and one of the most famous sailboat cruisers in the world.

Times have changed, and we now give greater respect to the question of safety (perhaps too much respect when it comes to advising others) but Moitessier’s advice is still very valid.

Regard your lifelines purely as backup. If you come adrift, they may save you; they may not. And even if you habitually wear a harness clipped onto a jackstay, make the Golden Rule and Moitessier’s mantra your absolute priorities: Don't fall overboard. Learn to cling like a monkey.

Today’s Thought
Who can hope to be safe? who sufficiently cautious?
Guard himself as he may, every moment’s an ambush.
—Horace, Odes

Tailpiece
Paddy was crossing the fairway when a ball smacked him on the back of the head.
A golfer came up and said: “Why didn’t you get out of the way?”
“An’ why should I?” said Paddy angrily.
“Because I said ‘Fore!’ and that’s a sign to get out of the way.”
“Oh and is it now?” cried Paddy. “Well I’ve got news for you. When I say ‘Foive’ it’s a sign you’re going to be hit on the jaw. Foive!”

The safety of the sea

MOST SAILORS don’t die at sea. The majority die of heart attacks when they get their boatyard bills. Seriously, very few sailors die in storms at sea but the prospect of sinking far away from land is what keeps many would-be ocean cruisers at home. In fact, sinking, from whatever cause, is our biggest fear. We pack our sailboats with liferafts, dinghies, lifejackets, drysuits, flares, VHF radio, SSB radios, satellite phones, and Epirbs just in case our boat sinks.

But the plain truth is that our boats are safer than we think. Probably safer than our cars. Very few small yachts sink in deep water even in the worst storms. Some get rolled over and dismasted, but they don’t sink. Almost all make it back to shore under power or a jury rig.

Size, of itself, doesn’t equate with seaworthiness. Small is not necessarily dangerous, and large is not necessarily safer. If a boat is designed so that it will admit little water if it’s turned upside down by a big breaking sea, it possess one of the major components of seaworthiness. And even the smallest boats can be designed that way.

Small boats are certainly more uncomfortable, but small boats, especially light-displacement ones, have the advantage that they yield to the seas and offer little resistance, whereas bigger boats offer solid surfaces for heavy water to damage. The disadvantage is that deep-sea sailing in a small boat is like living in a busy tumble drier — only it’s a whole lot colder and wetter.

The last time I looked, the record for crossing the Atlantic in the smallest sailboat belonged to Hugo Vilen, whose boat, Father’s Day, was just was 5 feet 4 inches long, the size of coffee table. Soon the record will go to a boat that is deeper than it is longer, because the occupant will have no choice but to stand the whole way. I imagine it will be almost as uncomfortable as flying coach.

John Guzzwell circumnavigated the world in a boat he built and called Trekka. She was just 20 feet 6 inches long. That was regarded as quite an achievement … until Sege Testa went round the world in Acrohc Australis, which was 11 feet 10 inches long. Now, I hear, there’s an attempt to race around the world in sailboats just 10 feet long. When will they ever stop?

Anyway, the message is that few sailboats are lost at sea, and there’s no evidence to suggest that small boats sink more frequently than big ones. So, if you’ve always wanted to cross an ocean in a small boat of your own, don’t let fear stop you.

Today’s Thought
Rivalry is good for mortals.
—Hesiod, Works and Days.

Tailpiece
Advice to nubile women:
A man resembles a fine wine: He starts out like the grapes on a vine and it’s your job to crush him underfoot and keep him in the cellar until he matures into something you'd like to have with dinner.