Safer singlehanding

SINGLEHANDED SAILING can be a wonderful experience but there is one thing that often frightens off beginners. It is the thought of being stuck at the helm while running downwind in increasingly heavy weather, when you dare not leave the helm because the boat is already overcanvassed and likely to broach-to and throw you overboard if you don’t take every approaching wave exactly stern-on.

Not being able to leave the helm to take in sail is (as somebody once put it) the maritime version of wearing a ball and chain. It turns an enjoyable sail into an adrenalin-fueled fight for your life. 

The situation arises when you’re running before a stiff breeze that gradually strengthens. It’s very difficult to detect a dangerous increase in wind speed when you’re on the run, and even expert helmsmen can be taken by surprise this way. The old advice is to shorten sail at the same wind speed off the wind as you would on the wind. But that’s easier said than done. All too often, you realize your peril only when the boat starts misbehaving. The helm becomes heavy. She becomes slow to react to the rudder. The waves start threatening to break over the transom. There’s no crew to reduce sail. And you dare not move from the cockpit. How long before you succumb to cold and exhaustion?

There are a couple of things the neophyte singlehander can do to avoid this nasty situation.

First, invest in some sort of self-steering. An automatic wind vane is expensive but worth its weight in gold to the singlehander. Alternatively, an electric autohelm will do a fine job as long as you have sufficient battery power aboard. Either of these devices will give you a chance to drop the mainsail while the going is good, before things start getting out of hand.

Secondly, learn to heave to. The time to heave to is when you first wonder if the wind isn’t getting a bit strong. If you’re beating, there’s no problem. Just go about without unsheeting the jib. Give the main sheet some slack when you’re on the new tack and fix the helm down so that it counterbalances the backed jib.  If you’re on the run, watch for a chance to round up on the same tack, then pull the jib aback and fix the helm down. Your boat should ride like a duck on a pond, five or six points off the wind and forge ahead at 1 knot or so.

Now you have all the time in the world to reef or change sails and a much steadier platform to work on. You can also take the opportunity to make a warming cup of coffee or pour something a little stronger.

Life suddenly becomes more enjoyable, not to mention safer, when you find yourself in control of the boat, instead of the boat being in control of you.

Today’s Thought

I hear the wind among the trees

Playing celestial symphonies;

I see the branches downward bent,

Like keys of some great instrument.

— Longfellow, A Day of Sunshine

Tailpiece

A young woman went to the doctor complaining of aches and pains. “I think I’ve got the swine flu,” she said.

“Swine flu nothing,” the doctor said. “That’s Egyptian flu — you’re going to be a mummy.”

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

Ethics of singlehanded ocean racing

LESS THAN A MONTH into the race, at least seven of the 20 Vendée Globe round-the-world singlehanded racers have fallen by the wayside.  So far there has been no loss of life, but I can’t help wondering how long this class of boat will last, considering the lack of seaworthiness.  Among the casualties suffered by these multi-million-dollar racers were a dismasting and one case where the keel simply fell off.  And there were two of these Open 60 class sailboats that collided with fishing boats while their skippers were sleeping, one in the cockpit and one down below.

Technically, the whole race is in contravention of the International Rules for the Prevention of Collisions at Sea, which require every vessel to keep a proper lookout. That’s something a singlehander can’t do, for he or she has to sleep some time or other. So I would imagine that an Admiralty Court would award substantial damages to any boat engaged in fishing that was struck at 20 knots by a sailboat.  I hope the sponsors of those racing boats have deep pockets.

Sleep is definitely a problem for the Vendée Globe sailors, especially in the early days of the race, where shipping lanes are congested.  Several boats were penalized for transgressing the international rules regarding one-way traffic systems and causing hazards to other shipping, but I would imagine they were there because sleep deprivation had affected their ability to make rational decisions.

With practice, I’m told, you can get sufficient sleep in short stretches. Many singlehanders sleep for 20 minutes at a time, keep watch for 20 minutes, then sleep another 20 minutes, and so on.  On a normal cruising yacht, 20 minutes is taken to be roughly amount of time for a vessel appearing on the horizon to reach you, but, of course, if you’re doing 20 knots or more yourself, as the Vendée boats often do, the collision time is greatly shortened.

To state it briefly, lack of sleep on a singlehanded sailboat is dangerous. Recklessly dangerous, possibly, because without sleep you lose efficiency.  Your temper becomes frayed and decisions are difficult.  All this makes you a danger to others at sea and those who might be sent to rescue you if the worst happens.

I think there ought to be a lot more discussion about the ethics of singlehanding, particularly singlehanded racing.  Much as I admire the guts and determination of the Vendée Globe racers, there is something else that needs to be discussed:  in the old days, if a singlehander caused a collision, his or her own small, slow-moving  craft was likely to come off the worse. So breaking the Rule of the Road was largely condoned. The rule was rarely, if ever, enforced.  But nowadays, we have flat-iron-shaped 60-footers moving at lethal speeds under autopilot only and capable of wreaking all kinds of havoc and damage.  We need to think about whether this makes sense.

Today’s Thought

No one when asleep is good for anything.
— Plato.

Tailpiece

Two sweet young things were returning home late after a party when they discovered they’d lost the key to their apartment. They found a ladder, though, and put it alongside an upstairs window that had been left open.

One of them started climbing up the ladder and chirruped: “You know, I suddenly feel like a fireman.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” hissed her friend. “Where are we going to find you a fireman at this time of night?”

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

How big a boat?

Beginning sailors have  often asked me:  "How big a boat can I safely sail singlehanded?"

It's not an easy question to answer, unfortunately, because it all depends.  It depends on the person's physical fitness, strength, experience, nautical cunning, and determination.

Nevertheless, there are two definite limiting factors that can help a person decide how big a boat he or she might be able to handle with safety and confidence.

The first factor is the anchor. Ask yourself if you can raise the heaviest anchor on board without the help of a winch and manhandle it onto the foredeck.  In ordinary circumstances, you wouldn't have to do this, of course, but it's still a good indication of your strength and ability.

The second factor is whether you can reef, hand, smother and get gaskets around the largest sail on board in all kinds of weather. That sail will probably be the mainsail because it's safe to presume that most large headsails will be roller furlers these days.

If you feel confident in your ability to manage these two things, you're probably physically able to singlehand that particular boat. There are many other factors to take into account, of course, not the least of which is your mental ability to withstand solitude on long ocean passages and the ever-present prospect of having nobody but yourself to relay on, even if you break a leg or have a heart attack.

Exceptionally skilled sailors are racing around the world singlehanded these days in boats of 50 feet and more, but the average sailor would be wise to build up experience in boats of no more than 40 feet overall, and preferably quite a lot less.  There is some truth in the fact that a bigger boat provides a steadier working platform in heavy seas, so that dousing sails in squalls might well be easier for a singlehander on a 40-footer than one on a 30-footer, but I have to say that as I get older I set my sights lower.

I have always loved sailing dinghies, and they're probably the only vessels I've really felt totally confident about handling in all conditions.  The sails are small enough, and the forces on sheets and helms low enough, that my limited muscle power can cope adequately.  So what it boils down to increasingly for my singlehanded aspirations is a dinghy with a lid on and a fixed ballast keel.  There's no comfort in a boat like that, of course, but there is a great safety factor in its smallness when one person has to provide all the operating power.

Today's Thought

I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.
— Thoreau, Walden: Solitude

Tailpiece

There's many a young go-getter, who, later, is sorry he go-gotter.

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

Varnishing vs. sailing

WHILE WE’RE ON THE SUBJECT of singlehanded cruising I’d like to steal some more of the wisdom of Francis B. Cooke, the English sailor and author. Almost 90 years ago, in 1924, he was concerned with a subject that still affects many of us today: How much should we work, and how much should we sail? How much of our labor should we devote to the way our boats look, and how much to practicality?

Here are his thoughts on the matter, from his book Single-Handed Cruising:

“I am now going to preach what most yachtsmen will, I fear, consider rank heresy. My advice to the owner who contemplates working his craft singlehanded is to concentrate his attention upon the saving of unnecessary labor and let mere appearance go hang.

“I do not mean to suggest that he should keep his vessel in a slovenly inefficient state, but merely that he should eschew such pomps and vanities as white sails, white decks, glistening brass work, and other ‘yachty’ conceits of a like nature.

“It seems to me that if you elect to go cruising alone in a craft of from 5 to 10 tons Thames measurement, the picturesque side of the sport must be eliminated from your programme, for what spare time you are likely to have will be fully occupied in attending to the necessary domestic economy. And after all, one does not keep a yacht for other people to look at and admire, but for use, and her appearance concerns nobody but the owner.

“All the same, it would be horrible to think that your boat looked dirty and uncared for, and what the singlehander should aim at is to fit her out in such manner that she will always look clean and tidy and yet need scarcely any work to keep her so. At a first glance, this may appear a difficult manner, but it is not so in reality. It is merely a question of selecting suitable materials at the start....

“In the first place there is the bright work, by which I mean varnished wood, spars, blocks, etc.... I am prepared to admit that nothing looks nicer than a varnished teak cabin-top, coamings, well lockers, and covering board, but when one has to keep it all in trim oneself, is the game worth the candle?

“Personally I do not think it is. By substituting paint for varnish the boat will have a clean, workmanlike appearance, and if she does not look very ‘yachty,’ well, call her a boat and have done with it.”

Today’s Thought
The final good and the supreme duty of the wise man is to resist appearances.
— Cicero, De Finibus

Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #94
Traditionally a sailboat’s galley is placed on the port side. This puts it down to leeward for easier food preparation when the boat is sailing, or hove to, on the starboard tack, when she has right of way.

Tailpiece
“Nurse, you’re gorgeous. I’m madly in love with you. I don’t want to leave this hospital. I don’t want to get well.”
“Don’t worry, buster, you won’t. Your doctor is in love with me, too, and he saw you kissing me last night.”

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

Sleeping problems

MOST SAILORS with reasonably sized boats find themselves singlehanding sooner or later. If their next port of call is more than 24 hours away, they run right into what I consider the singlehander’s biggest problem — when and how to sleep.

In the first place, a singlehander who sleeps for any time at all is breaking the law because he or she can’t maintain the required lookout. But nobody ever seems to prosecute singlehanders, probably because they come off worse in any encounter with a ship, so we’ll ignore that objection for now.

From what I can gather from published interviews with solo sailors, most of them think the best thing to do is nap for 20 minutes at a time. Then they get up, have a look around the horizon, check the course and the sails, and go below to set the kitchen timer alarm for another 20-minute nap. This apparently goes on all night from dusk to dawn. In theory, if they get 10 minutes of actual sleep in each 20-minute period, they’ll get 30 minutes of sleep in every hour, or six hours during the night.

Then, during the day, they can take a longer nap, justifying it on the grounds that a collision is less likely during the day because a sailboat is then easier to see and avoid.

Why 20-minute naps? Well, there seems to be a theory that 20 minutes is how long it takes a ship to move from just below your visible horizon to the spot where you will be in 20 minutes’ time.

Now the deepest part of sleep, the part we need most, apparently, if we are to avoid fatigue and hallucinations, is called REM sleep, named after random eye movement. It’s not normally the first part of our sleep patterns, but it seems many singlehanders have managed to train themselves to fall into REM almost immediately they lie down, and they get 10 minutes or more of REM in every 20-minute sleep period.

It usually takes about a week to get into the routine of instant REM, so if you’re planning a solo voyage you’d do well to practice in advance.

Not everybody follows the 20-minute nap routine, of course. Many optimists just sleep the night through as if they were safely in port, getting up only to shorten sail or answer the summons of an off-course alarm. On the whole, I can’t help thinking they’re probably just as safe as the 20-minute nappers. It seems to me that a sleeping singlehander is more likely to run into another sleeping singlehander than to collide with a ship manned by a regular crew and maintaining a proper lookout. And serve the two of them right.

Today’s Thought
It is a common experience that a problem difficult at night is resolved in the morning after the committee of sleep has worked on it.
— John Steinbeck

Boater’s Rules of Thumb, #92
Gaff mainsail. In the unlikely event that you want to convert to a gaff mainsail, here are the traditional rules of thumb for proportions:
Luff: Between 2/3 and 4/5 of the foot.
Head: Between 3/5 and 2/3 of the foot.
Gaff: About 35 degrees from vertical — but a gaff on a tall, narrow sail needs to be more horizontal, like that on a schooner’s foresail, otherwise it sags to leeward.
Boom angle: The height of the mainsail clew above water level should be 1.4 times the height of the tack above water level.

Tailpiece
I don’t know how much truth there is in the medical theory that everybody is slightly taller in the morning than they were in the evening, but I can tell you this: all my life I noticed a pronounced tendency to become short toward the end of each pay period.

Marital bliss on board

FOR THOSE SAILING COUPLES who have been constantly clamoring, I have the answer to marital bliss on board. I have been handed the most wonderful advice for men whose female partners are not mad-keen sailors themselves.

First, and most importantly, you must remember that she is not your crew. She is your lady love, the light of your life, your dearest darling, and you are taking her for a nice ride. Consequently, accept that you are singlehanding with a passenger.

It’s true that if you go cruising and find a beautiful quiet anchorage, she will probably offer to make supper, especially if you first serve her drinks in the cockpit at sunset. But you should not rely on her to bring you back if you fall overboard--not because she doesn’t want you back (although, sadly, that may be true in some cases) but because she honestly doesn’t feel capable of getting the sails down on her own, finding the Lifesling, starting the engine, and avoiding running over you with the propeller. That’s not why she came sailing.

She did not come sailing to be shouted at, either. She is not your crew, so you can’t shout at her. You can give no commands. You can give no orders. You’re on your own, remember. She is an ornament. She is your treasure. Treat her accordingly.

So set up your boat for singlehanding. Invest in an autopilot, and a self-steering wind vane if you’re going offshore. Don’t expect your darling partner to grind winches like a deck ape, or reef the gnarly mainsail in Force 8.

Having accepted this arrangement with good grace, you might be surprised when she does spontaneously offer help from time to time, when she takes the fenders in of her own accord, or shortens the dinghy painter when you’re about to back up, without being asked. You might even be surprised by how much she actually does know about sailing, and how competent she would be in an emergency. But nothing should be taken for granted. You should not expect it, or require it. Let it be a surprise when it happens. And for gawd’s sake show gratitude.

It should also be no surprise to anyone that my wife practically dictated this column, though I have to say she has stuck with me lo these many decades. I recall only one occasion when she seriously threatened to jump overboard and swim to a nearby sandbank, and that was during a dinghy race when she had rather a lot of difficulty with hoisting the spinnaker and she took exception to the valuable advice I was giving her. Otherwise, apart from the occasional remark about Captain Bligh, we have got on very well together on our boats.

Of course, I realize that advice like this is easier to hand out than to follow, but if it helps prevent a divorce it’s worth persevering with. And while the path to marital bliss never was smooth, you have it within your power to smooth out the sailing bumps. You’re singlehanding. Just accept it.

Today’s Thought
There are only about 20 murders a year in London, and not all are serious—some are just husbands killing their wives.
— G. H. Hatherill, Commander, Scotland Yard, 1 Jul 54

Tailpiece
Beware of the man who insists he’s the boss on his boat. He’ll probably lie about other things, too.