A word to savor

ONE OF THE ANCIENT SAILING WORDS that should be used more often, lest it disappear from our vocabulary, is futtock.  I love it.  It has a fascinating ring about it. It's a word to savor. I always think it sounds like something you shout when you accidentally hit your thumb with a hammer, or drop your sunglasses overboard.

But no, futtock is a corruption of foot-hook.  In wooden ships, futtocks are the curved parts of transverse frames extending from the floor-timbers at the turn of the bilge to meet the top-timbers.

Most of us will know the word from maritime historical novels, such as Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series, where neophyte sailors are always getting into trouble at the futtock shrouds on large sailing ships.

According to Cornell's old Encyclopedia of Nautical Knowledge, the futtock shrouds were usually iron rods, the harbingers of the rod rigging found on today's ocean racers.  These rods were downward extensions of the topmast shrouds. They helped stiffen the top in addition to taking the stress of the topmast rigging.  They were adorned with ratlines so that sailors could swarm up and over them, but the interesting thing about the futtock shrouds was that they slanted outward from the mast, and thus presented what the encyclopedia calls "an interesting obstacle to the beginner as he scrambled aloft."  Interesting indeed.  You had to be able to climb upside down, almost like a fly landing on a ceiling. How they kept their feet on the ratlines I'll never know.

Most ships also had an opening next to the mast, through which you could crawl instead, but no real sailor would be seen dead using what was called the lubbers' hole.  So they all went a-futtocking, and sadly some of them fell off.  Perhaps it's for the best that futtock shrouds have almost disappeared, but do let's try to preserve the word itself.  Say it after me. Futtock, futtock, futtock.  There, doesn't that feel better?

Today's Thought

Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.
— Rudyard Kipling, Speech

Tailpiece

"What have you done to my article on organic milk? I wrote 1,000 words and you've only used 300."
"Sorry. We had to condense it."

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Two different varnishes

ONCE UPON A TIME I had a racing dinghy with a varnished foredeck that was much admired for its perfect glossiness.  I hadn't taken too much care with the application of the varnish, but when it had cured good and hard I rubbed it down with very fine waterproof sandpaper and then buffed it with a rag and metal polish.  It sparkled like liquid amber.

A few years later, having built a new dinghy, I bought a different brand of urethane varnish.  When it came to the finishing touches, I was very disappointed.  No matter how much I sanded and buffed, I simply couldn't get it to shine like the first one. Only recently did I realize why.  There are two different kinds of urethane paints and varnishes. There's polyester urethane, like Awlgrip and Perfection, and there's acrylic urethane, the kind of finish they put on new cars in Detroit.  One of these varnishes can be  polished to a high sheen.  The other can't.

I found this information on the Cape Dory bulletin board in a post by "Brandon" dated November 7, 2010.  Here's what he said:

"Polyester urethane molecules are much smaller than acrylic molecules. So when they cure, the polyester urethane forms a tighter matrix, which gives a harder, more abrasion-resistant film, with better chemical resistance than the acrylic.

"Acrylics are more forgiving in application, trap less dust and are buffable. When an acrylic urethane is buffed, due to the lower cross-link density the melting point of the resin is much lower, i.e. it is softer. When buffing is carried out, the resin-rich layer "melts" and reflows into the scratch. It is possible to retain an intact resin-rich layer at the surface protecting the pigments and not losing significant thickness. The edges of touch-ups can be blended carefully in the same way. Long-term performance is not affected, as much of the resin layer remains.

"With the polyester urethane, the paint is a very hard rigid film, and to get rid of a scratch you need to cut deeply into the paint, leading to the exposure of the pigments. This looks shiny to begin with but the long-term performance of the finish is now compromised.

"I am currently following the build of a 95-footer in Viareggio, Italy. We are using Awlcraft (Snow-white), and almost finished painting her. I am happy to use the acrylic because we have found fairing issues on the hull, even with the white paint, and with the acrylic we can re-fair this 6-square-foot area, reshoot the area and blend in. We don't have to repaint the entire 95-foot hull side as we would with the polyester!"

Considering how tricky it can be to apply the better-known twin-pack polyester urethanes by brush, it might be more practical to use the acrylic urethane, without worrying too much about the finish, and then fine-sand and buff your way to a perfect shine, as I did with the first dinghy.  

It's good to have this knowledge, but sometimes I wonder how much longer it's going to take me to learn everything I really need to know about sailing and maintaining small boats.

Today's Thought

Knowledge and timber shouldn't be much used till they are seasoned.
— O. W. Holmes, The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table

Tailpiece

 "How's your glassblower friend?"
"Not so good. He inhaled by mistake and had to go to the doctor with a pane in his stomach."

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

The way the wind blows

I ONCE TOOK an advanced motoring course and failed.  Well, actually, at the end of a grueling two-hour drive through a busy city at rush hour, my examiner turned to me and said: "I honestly don't know whether to pass you or not."

It was a cruel blow because I rather fancied myself as a driver, and in a fit of pique I said: "Well, if you can't make up your mind it means I don't pass.  So fail me." Which he promptly did, the so-and-so.

Part of the problem was that I wasn't driving an advanced motoring sort of car.  I owned a little yellow Mazda with a wheezing engine and a juddering clutch. To change to a lower gear I had to double de-clutch. It was an infra dig, non-sporty car and obviously not one your normally advanced driver would touch with a barge pole. When I took the test again in a new VW Passat, with a different examiner, I passed with flying colors.

Anyway, what I wanted to say was that part of the test involved my giving the examiner a non-stop running commentary on road and traffic conditions. "Pedestrian ahead on the right might be wanting to cross the road.  Wet patch on road might be slippery.  I'm going to change down for this right-hand corner after signaling my turn. I'm going to overtake this bus because there's a hill ahead and he will slow down and hamper traffic." That sort of thing.

In later years, when I was teaching people to sail I applied the same principle of the running commentary, of thinking ahead. Besides proving that they were awake, it told me a lot about their powers of observation.  "Tall thundercloud in front of us, might need to reef.  No-wake zone coming up. That big powerboat is throwing up a huge wake, might need to turn to meet it.  Boat converging with us is on starboard tack and has right of way."  All that stuff.

But the one thing I emphasized over and over was wind direction.  Every few minutes I would turn to a learner sailor and say: "Wind direction!"  He or she would then have to point straight into the wind with an outstretched arm.

It's interesting how many landlubbers can't tell you where the wind is coming from, even though they can feel it on their face and hair, and see dust and leaves being pushed along. But it is, of course, an essential skill for the sailor, for it is the source of power for his boat and he must adjust the sails correctly according to the wind direction.

It becomes quite difficult in very light weather, but after a while (and many shouts of "Wind direction!") the neophyte sailors could supply a reasonably good direction most of the time, and they began to note it unconsciously and continually. In fact, it became second nature, as it should be for anyone who takes a small sailboat, or even a powerboat, on a body of water of any size. In due course, a good sailor will be able to tell the wind direction even while lying below in a bunk.  As I said, it's an important skill for any sailor, but almost essential, I'd say, for singlehanders.

Today's Thought

All things require skill but an appetite.
—George Herbert, Jacula Prudentum

Tailpiece

"Did you manage to sell my book yet?"
"Well, I have to tell you that Random House absolutely ate it up. But there's bad news."
"What's that?"
"Random House is my poodle."

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

Storm management

I AM REMINDED very forcibly now and then that while men change, and manners change, and even boats change, the sea does not. I have often heard that the best way of riding out a gale at sea is to heave to, but this is what I read the other day in a 1946 edition of A  Manual for Small Yachts by R. D. Graham and J. E. H. Tew:  "We put forward the view, definitely, that the hove-to position is not the best one to withstand a storm."

When such knowledgeable and experienced sailors as these two make a statement like that, it behooves us to listen well.

"As the weather worsens you may get seriously alarmed by the behavior of the ship," they said. "Make some attempt to render the cockpit partially watertight by filling it with spare sails or cushions; get down the headsails and then the mainsail.  The ship will then lie broadside-on in the trough of the sea and will bob over the waves like a cork. You will probably be amazed at the safe and easy way in which she rides — but, and there is a substantial but, the tops of the waves will slop over the stern and the crests will break with some violence into the cockpit. It is not likely that they will break up things yet, but if the cockpit is not watertight a dangerous amount of water will get below.

"When you no longer dare to lie "a-hull," i.e. without any sail set, either because too much water is coming in aft, or because you fear that the breaking crest will stave in the hull, you must put her before it. Get out two warps, tie bundles of old rope, motor tires or cushions on the ends and pay out on each quarter. Tie up the clew of the foresail in a bunch and hoist the head a few feet. With the aid of the helm the ship will pay off and forge slowly ahead before the wind. Lash the helm amidships or as seems best. The ship will yaw six points on either side but will ride the seas with surprising security. A breaking crest will occasionally strike her, perhaps once or twice in an hour. Her stern offers less resistance than he side, and being struck end-on, she can recoil more easily.

"The slower you are moving through the water, the safer you will be.

"If you allow the ship to run too fast you will probably get a big sea breaking into the stern (pooped). When you feel the ship carried along with the waves and not quickly responsive to her helm, you should slow her down.

"We do not think that a keel yacht when lying a-hull is in any danger of being capsized."

Well, I must say that I have lain a-hull in ordinary gales and weathered them quite well (that is, without excesssive panic), but when the seas grow very large I believe there is indeed a danger of capsize, especially when your boat begins to be picked up and thrown bodily to leeward.

Then, as Graham and Tew said, it's time to run before it.  The trick is to know when to do it, not to leave it too late. The other trick is to arrange to have plenty of sea room.  It's not much use running before solid water if you're going to run into solid land.

Today's Thought

Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves or we know where we can find information upon it.

— Samuel Johnson

Tailpiece

"Dad, what's bigamy?"
"Well, son, it's when two rites make a wrong."

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

Too smart for words

ONE OF MY MANY FAULTS IS THIS: When I am out cruising,  I try to look smarter than I really am.  Mostly it works. But not always.

A while back we were cruising with a buddy-boat manned by a couple inexperienced in the kind of mooring you have to do in some places up the road in British Columbia. Smugglers' Cove is one of those places. It's tucked away into the folds of the "extraordinarily humpy, bumpy, lumpy hills of the Sechelt Peninsula," as my wife, June, puts it.

We hadn't planned to stop at Smugglers' Cove but as we passed by we decided to look in.  "It's exactly the kind of magic place you hope to come upon," said June. "It takes you by surprise, a small, enclosed and unseen inner harbor where you drop anchor and take a line ashore and feel all snug and romantic, a whole series of little coves and bays and pools."

Yes, a line ashore. We have experience of this.  We have brought along a special stern line, an extra long line, and we take it around a madrona tree and back to the boat. That way, cunningly, we experienced cruisers can cast off in the morning without going ashore.

Next door, our friends struggle to take a single line ashore and tie it to tree.  They'll have to make another trip in the morning to cast it off.  June and I, the experienced cruisers, smile knowingly.

But, come morning, it's low tide.  Rocks, lots of rocks, have appeared between us and the shore. Our mooring line  is high and dry, tangled and twisted around itself and snagged by jagged rocks .  Can't shake it free.  Neither end will move.

Our friends don't notice.  They go ashore, untie their line, reel it in, and they're ready to go. 

So we do what we have to.  We cut our nice long stern line. Yes, we cut it. We wait until they're not looking, and we slice right through it surreptitiously. We snake both ends in like greased lightning and stow them in a big tangle in the lazarette.

Now we have two stern lines, each one too short.  But the main thing is that our buddies, who rely on us for cruising expertise, haven't noticed, and we get busily under way looking as sailorly as all get-out.

"Do you remember how to do a long splice?" June asks as we motor out.  I scratch my head. "Better get started before we need the stern line again. Oh — and do it down below where they won't see you."

Today's Thought

The Athenians do not mind a man being clever, so long as he does not impart his cleverness to others.

— Plato, Euthyphro

Tailpiece

Happiness is that temporary feeling of pleasantness you have when you are so agreeably occupied that you forget how miserable you really are.

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

Everything in its place

PERHAPS THE GREATEST VIRTUE required of a sailor is tidiness, for it equates directly with safety. Every boat should have ample arrangements for the stowage of all the gear needed to run the ship at any time, in any weather.
 

The ancient Greeks understood this. You will recall that Xenophon, the historian, once asked his wife Philesia for something in their house, and she couldn't find it. So Xenophon proceeded to lecture her.

He described a visit he had made to a Phoenician ship: "I have never seen gear so well arranged, or so many coils of rope and tackles stowed away so neatly. A ship needs a large number of spars and warps when she enters port or puts to sea; much rigging when under sail, and contrivances to protect her against enemy craft.

"She carries a stand of arms for the crew and each mess needs a set of household utensils. In addition, she carries a cargo which the captain sells for profit. All the gear necessary for these several functions was contained in a small store not more than 15 by 12 feet."

Xenophon continued: "I noticed that each article was so neatly stowed that it was ready to hand; it had not to be searched for and there was nothing to cast off and cause delay when anything was needed in a hurry.

"I found that the bosun knew each particular locker so well that he could, even when on deck, say exactly where anything was stowed and how much there was of it. I saw this man in his off-duty time inspecting all the stores most likely to be needed.  I asked him why he did this.

" 'Sir,' he said, 'I am looking to see that all the gear is properly stowed, nothing foul, nothing missing. For when God sends a storm at sea there is no time for searching for gear or clearing it if foul. God threatens and punishes careless sailors and you are lucky if you escape with your lives. You are fortunate if, even when you show good seamanship, he brings you safe into port.'"

Xenophon then admonished Philesia for not being able to do the same thing in a large house founded on solid earth, furnished with ample storerooms.  I don't know if Philesia was ever able to improve her performance to Xenophon's satisfaction, but I do know it's important for sailboats of all sizes to make every attempt to keep all the gear neat and tidy, which calls for a plentitude of stowage spaces (and preferably a handy diagram showing what's stowed where, if you haven't got the kind of memory displayed by that Phoenician bosun).

Today's Thought

Method is good in all things. Order governs the world. The Devil is the author of confusion.

— Swift, Letters: To Stella

Tailpiece

"Excuse me, sir, but this coin you just gave me is counterfeit."
"Well then you may have it, my man. Keep it for your honesty."

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

The need for a name

I SPOKE the other day to a man who had a boat for sale.  "What's her name?" I asked. "No name," he said.

"No Name?" I said, "You mean she's called No Name?  "No," he said, "I mean she hasn't got a name."

Poor boat. Poor unloved, neglected boat. How can you have a boat without a name? Things have to have names.  Names are just words. There must be words, otherwise you can't talk, you can't communicate. You couldn't really even think if things didn't have names. You'd just have these blurred, vague little black-and-white pictures in your mind, such as I presume cats have. In fact I've often wondered how human speech began. It probably sprang up simultaneously with the ability to think.  I can't believe it could work any other way.

But in any case, boats have to have names.  If you buy a boat and don't like its name you can change it.  It's not unlucky, as long as you de-name the boat first.  I once wrote a special de-naming ceremony, hoping to make some money from it. It's in one of my books. And it's also all over the Internet for free, of course, so that wasn't a particularly good idea for making money, although it's typical of most of my efforts.

It can be quite hard to name, or rename, a boat, so that's probably why the man selling the boat hadn't got around to it yet.  He'd only had the boat for 10 years.  The problem is that there are so many names to choose from.  If you ask Mr Google for boat names he comes up with thousands of them; however the best ones are the personal ones that mean something to you but are also reasonably short, easy to pronounce and spell on the radio, and non-offensive.

Funny names, and rude names that try to be funny, seem to go best with small sailboats and sport-fishing boats, although I'm never quite sure that it's funny to give a poor boat a rude name like UP YAWS.  Bigger boats call for more dignified names, such as PERSEPHONE or POLYANTHUS, that tend to suggest that the owner attended university and studied very clever things pertaining to literature or botany or something. 

One of my favorite boating hacks, Dylan Winter, who is slowly circumnavigating Britain in a 19-foot Mirror Offshore, and recording his journey in his video series, Keep Turning Left,[1] insisted on calling his boat the slug, presumably because it's slow and ugly.  I don't agree with him, but at least he did the right thing by giving it a name.

I once saw a racing dinghy called SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS.  The hand-painted name ran non-stop from the starboard transom forward to the bows and back down the other side.  A shudder ran down my spine at the thought of the poor crew on the race committee boat who had to write down that name as it flashed over the finish line among half-a-dozen others.  And I often wondered how much the sign-writer's bill was. Mr Disney and Mary Poppins have a lot to answer for.

[1] http://www.keepturningleft.co.uk/     

Today's Thought

Let us speak plain: there is more force in names
Than most men dream of; and a lie may keep
Its throne a whole age longer if it skulk
Behind the shield of some fair-seeming name.
— J. R. Lowell, A Glance behind the Curtain

Tailpiece

"Why did they throw you out of college?"
"Pneumonia."
"Because you caught it?"
"No. Because I couldn't spell it."

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