The heater that made ice

PEOPLE HAVE TRIED to persuade me that if you have a heater on your boat you can extend your sailing season by six weeks or so at each end. I have never been swayed by that argument. Having spent a great deal of my life in the sub-tropics, I have no love of sailing in the cold. Or the cold-and-rain, as often happens around here.

There was a heater of sorts on a boat I once had, a little Cape Dory 25D. My wife and I found her on an island in north Puget Sound, and sailed her home one bitter-cold day in February, when there was ice on deck. We had an overnight stop in a marina in Anacortes, where we ran into an old sailing friend. He offered us an electric heater because he said a cold night was forecast, but we scoffed and turned him away. “We have a nice Force 10 heater installed,” we said.

After a meal ashore, we came back to the boat and lit the heater. It had started life as a kerosene model, but the previous owner had converted it to gas. A small can of propane screwed onto the bottom.

We soon noticed something strange. It didn’t seem to be producing a lot of heat, and what heat it did produce rose to the top of the cabin and stayed there. What was even stranger was the fact that the can of propane was collecting a coat of ice. If we stood up in the cabin, the air was luke-warm from the belly-button up, and freezing cold from the belly-button down. As the layer of ice on the can grew thicker, we shut the heater off, fearing that it was actually producing more cold than heat on average. Our bunks were below belly-button level, so we spent a very cold night aboard, having brought only light-weight sleeping bags with us, and regretted having turned away the offer of the electric heater.

One of the first jobs I did on that boat was to convert the Force 10 back to kerosene heat.

It was a fairly easy job once I’d bought the right tools for flaring the copper tubing and so on. The new burner put out a lot more heat and never tried to make ice, but the hot air still hung around above belly-button level until we bought a 12-volt fan and mounted it where a reading lamp used to be. That stirred the air up nicely, distributing warmth all over the cabin from head to toe.

But we rarely used that heater because the fan used electricity, and I was scared we might flatten the battery overnight and not be able to start the diesel engine on a cold morning.

I have learned over the years that very little is simple on a boat, and the less you have to go wrong the better off you are. So I’m not overly enthusiastic about heaters on boats in our part of the world. That of course provides me with a very handy excuse for not sailing when the weather gets cold, which is fine with me.   

Today’s Thought

What is true, simple and sincere is most congenial to man’s nature.

— Cicero, De Officiis

Tailpiece

“Who gave you that black eye?”

“My wife.”

“I thought she was out of town.”

“So did I.”

The importance of a compass

IF I WERE TO GUESS, I’d say the fixed steering compass is the most important navigational instrument on a boat. I know that GPS has tried to steal this title ever since it was invented, but I don’t think it has earned that honor yet.

The wonderful thing about a compass is that it points the way to go, day and night and in all weathers. GPS can’t point the way to go because it only takes snapshots of where you’ve been in the past, and uses that information to tell you what your course was a few moments ago, and presumably will be in the future, if you keep going straight.

The compass is a beautifully simple piece of equipment that needs no electrical power and has hardly anything to go wrong. It does need to be lit at night, I admit, and an electric bulb is a good way to do this, but they also used small kerosene lanterns on square-riggers, before Mr. Edison came along with his new-fangled light bulb.

Oh, and sometimes, after a lot of exposure to hot sunshine, a compass will develop bubbles. In the old days, when the damping fluid was alcohol, you used to top up the compass with gin, if there was any left after the skipper had been at the bottle. Nowadays they use a petroleum-based fluid that is about 10 times as expensive, but you can get away with using odor-free, water-clear kerosene if the bubbles aren’t too big.

With compasses, as with most other things in life, you get what you pay for. If you’re buying a new one, here are two simple tests that will give you an idea of its quality:

► The test for pivot friction: Use a small magnet or a piece of ferrous metal to deflect the compass about 5 degrees to one side, then quickly remove the magnet or metal.

The compass should return to the previous position exactly. Do a similar test from the other side.

► The damping test: Deflect the compass card again, but this time let the card pivot through about 30 degrees. When it returns, see how far it overshoots the original mark. A quality compass with proper damping has minimum overshoot and will regain its original position with quick authority — that is, without excessive hunting backward and forward. A cheap compass that hunts endlessly will drive a helmsman nuts in a seaway.

Incidentally, don’t think you can cure bad deviation by installing a new compass. The new compass will have exactly the same deviation as the old one because deviation is caused by external factors on the boat around it. And if deviation is more than 5 degrees on any heading, don’t hesitate to call in a professional compass adjuster.

Today’s Thought

Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be

The faithful compass that still points to thee.

— John Gay, Sweet William’s Farewell to Black-Eyed Susan

Tailpiece

Books I’d like to find in my library:

Mother and Child, by Polly Anderson

The Appointment, by Simeon Mundy

Ceaseless Fall, by Eileen Dover

Shattered Window, by Eva Brick

Front Row of the Stalls, by Seymour Legge

Droopy Drawers, by Lucie l’Astique

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

Time for some potty talk

WE DON’T OFTEN talk about heads around here, but Harrison Butler did. Quite a lot.

T. Harrison Butler was the famous British naval architect perhaps best known for his metacentric theory of yacht design. But in his 1945 book, Cruising Yachts, he also includes a delightful passage about toilet arrangements on small boats, which he refers to in his delicate way as "sanitary accommodation."  Here's what he had to say:

"This is a most important question which, perhaps for reasons of modesty, is generally most inadequately dealt with.  Accommodation is necessary even in small day-boats . . .

"I am inclined to think that the ability to lodge the sanitation in the forecastle, apart from the main cabin, decides what must be the smallest size of a cruising yacht.  I am utterly opposed to a separate compartment in any yacht under about 12 tons.

"In the first place, it is absurd to sacrifice two-and-a-half feet of valuable space in the best part of the hull for functions which are limited to a few minutes a day;  in the second place, these small compartments, ill-ventilated, smelly and difficult to clean, have no advantages from the standpoint of privacy. A mere thickness of wood does not comprise seclusion, and for all practical purposes of concealment, apart from the visual, might not be there.

"Now, if the sanitation is lodged in the forecastle, there is considerable secrecy, for one can enter the forecastle from the saloon for a variety of purposes. Never forget that that, even when anchored head to wind, the current of air is from the stern forwards, and with an open forehatch the use of the convenience is attended with no unpleasantness.

"Again, these contrivances have to be used at sea, when there may be a considerable motion. An arrangement that, with skilled acrobatics, can be made to function in harbour may be quite useless at sea. With a mixed crew of four, I have never, either in Vindilis or Sandook, found the forecastle lavatory any detriment, except once or twice at night. Under these circumstances, a bucket in the cockpit has sufficed.

"The under-water machines [1] are not suitable for a very small craft; they are too heavy and too high.  Nearly three feet sitting room must be allowed, but part of it can be gained by utilizing the extra height given by the forehatch. In such craft, a bucket will be used. The compartment in which the bucket stands ought to be lined with lead or other metal, otherwise in time there will be a chronic smell, for with a wood lining adequate cleansing is impossible."

The bucket-and-chuck-it toilet system that Harrison Butler aadvocated is now illegal in U.S. coastal waters, of course.  You have to be several miles away from the land before you can do that.  We now have to pump our waste into holding tanks or else install Porta Pottis. Either way, it's pretty disgusting to have to carry your sewage around with you, but it's a penalty we have to accept in the name of creating a greener earth;  although I have to admit it makes me quite mad when I pass a whale, and think of the massive amounts of effluent he and his pals dump into the water, apparently  without upsetting Nature in any way.    

[1] I presume he means the old fixed toilets, flushed with sea water, that discharged directly through the hull into the surrounding water.  —JV

 Today's Thought

Out of the world's way, out of the light,

Out of the ages of worldly weather,

Forgotten of all men altogether.

— Swinburne, The Triumph of Time

Tailpiece

"How's your new computer system working?"

"It's wonderful. Works like a charm."

"Great. And how's business?"

"Dunno. We had to close down the business to run the computer system."

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

We're no longer trucking

IF YOU READ a lot of books about sailboats you will surely come across mention of a part of the boat called the truck. Quite often it’s in a phase such as: “She is a real sea-going vessel from truck to keel.” This might puzzle you because most sailboats don’t have trucks these days.

There are, in fact several meanings of the word truck. There’s the vehicle, for a start, such as the well-known pick-up truck. There’s also the noun that indicates “dealings with” someone: “That boatyard robbed me blind. I’ll have no truck with them in future.”

But the truck we’re concerned with here is a flat disk of wood fitted horizontally on the extreme upper end of a mast of a sailing ship. On ships with more than one mast, it was found on the tallest mast.

It usually had holes bored down through it for flag signal halyards, or small sheaves instead, if it was a fancy truck. In old navy days men used to man the yards as a salute in honor of a visiting sovereign or high official, or in celebration of a national event. In ships of the line this display was topped off by a man standing on each truck.

If you know how the movement of a ship is exaggerated and quickened at the top of a mast, you’ll understand that this was an onerous duty for the poor soul chosen to man the truck, especially when you consider that the only way he could stand on this lofty perch for hours at a time was by steadying himself with the help of a small iron rod temporarily inserted in a hole between his feet.

There are very few sovereigns who need saluting these days, and probably just as few private yachts  with mast trucks big enough for a person to stand on — but I think that’s something for which we can all be truly grateful.

Today’s Thought

No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get him into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail with the chance of being drowned.

— Dr. Samuel Johnson

Tailpiece

“Any sovereigns in your family?”

“No, but I had an uncle who was a Peer.”

“Really? I had an uncle with bladder trouble, too.”

When might ain't right

AUSTRALIANS cruising under sail have developed a well-earned reputation for contempt of authority. One lovely example I came across involved an Aussie yacht and an American warship.

Not many of us realize it, but American warships roam freely over all the oceans of the world, bossing other vessels around, including small sailboats.

I myself was highly indignant when, in a British-flagged 30-footer, I was stopped by a U.S. guided missile cruiser while I was minding my own business in international waters 200 miles off Puerto Rico, en route from the British Virgin Islands to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I was sailing with my wife and my 17-year-old son.

The 548-foot-long USS Wainwright came roaring down on us out of the path of the sun and scared the life out of us. They made us all line up in the cockpit and grilled us about who we were, where we were going, what passports we held, and a whole lot more. They had no good reason to stop us, and they had no right to ask those questions. We were angry and resentful, but we were so intimidated we didn’t even dare take a photograph of them.

But the Aussies, aboard the 45-foot steel ketch Hinewa in their own waters, weren’t so easily intimidated. Here’s what they reported on a sailing bulletin board:

“We were off the Queensland coast, just outside the exclusion zone for a joint Aussie/U.S. landing exercise — just around dinner time. The weather was pretty dull so we decided to heave to for the meal and watch the show by eye, night-vision glasses, and radar.
“All of a sudden, ‘American Warship 123’ challenged us on Channel 16 by name, warned that we were close to the exclusion zone and that the boat would be seized if we entered it — and asked our intentions.
“We thanked them for the call, explained we were half a mile from the exclusion zone, hove to, and were in fact slowly moving away from the zone.

“With respect to our intentions, we then advised that we were still considering what pudding to have, but that we would definitely be having coffee afterwards.
“They don’t have a great sense of humor.
“I must admit we were a little miffed that we, an Australian-flagged yacht in Australian waters, could be challenged by a U.S. warship.
“But the scariest thing was, they must have been close enough to read our name on the bow (in the dark), yet we never saw them — no lights, no radar return near-by and nothing through the night vision.”

Today’s Thought

He who is too powerful seeks power beyond his power.

— Seneca, Hippolytus

Tailpiece

“Have your eyes ever been checked before?”

“No, doctor, they’ve always been brown.”

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

Voyaging across Europe

EVERY NOW AND THEN I come across someone who has never heard of Negley Farson. So I have to do my duty and educate them, as I have done with others many times before.

Farson was an early 20th century American author, adventurer, war correspondent and (more relevant to this column) a sailor. In the 1920s, he and his English wife, Eve, sailed a 26-foot wooden centerboard yawl called Flame from England, through the canals, rivers, and lakes of Europe, over the Alps and right down to the Black Sea. It was an extraordinary voyage that took them eight months.

He describes it briefly in his famous autobiography, The Way of a Transgressor, although he did in fact devote a whole book to this boating trip. It’s called Sailing Across Europe. Both books are still in print, together with many others of his, including a classic on fishing, which he loved dearly.

Flame was probably the first boat of its kind to go through what was then the only freshwater link across Europe connecting the North and Black Seas. It climbed over the beautiful Frankischer Jura mountains in a series of steps — 101 locks in 107 miles.

“So shallow and so overgrown with weeds was it, that we could not use our motor,” Farson reported, “and I hauled Flame, with a rope around my waist, over the Frankischer Jura range! As soon as breakfast was over, I would go out on the towpath and turn myself into a horse. Flame was 2 1/2 tons deadweight, and it took me three weeks to pull her over the mountains for 107 miles.”

They were now over the backbone of Europe, beginning the long descent to the Black Sea, but they missed disaster by inches at Ratisbon, where they shot beneath a bridge built in the year 1300. “Once out in that swift current of the Danube pouring out from its gorge above Kelheim, we were helpless. The steeples and roofs of Ratisbon simply raced at us as Flame hurled her weight at the one navigable arch of the bridge. We had taken out masts out to get under this arch.

“Not until the last minute did I see that the peasants at Kelheim had directed us to steer through the wrong arch. It was choked with rocks so that a white froth of rapids was sluicing through it. I had to swing Flame sharply to the right and try to hit a small open hole of arch by the town wall.

“We just made it, grazing it as we shot through. All I saw of it was a row of open mouths from the Ratisboners wondering what on earth was this little craft doing up above the bridge, some yells as we shot perilously at the bridge — and then the sun was shining on the back of my head again. The bridge was being snatched away into the distance behind us, Ratisboners wildly waving us a goodbye salute.”

On their way to the Black Sea, Farson and his wife experienced many more hair-raising adventures (some even life-threatening)  in countries recently destabilized by the Great War, and their journey makes wonderfully exciting reading. Great stuff for the cold winter nights that surely must be coming soon.

Today’s Thought

Traveling is not just seeing the new; it is also leaving behind. Not just opening doors; also closing them behind you, never to return. But the place you have left forever is always there for you to see whenever you shut your eyes. And the cities you see most clearly at night are the cities you have left and will never see again.

— Jan Myrdal, The Silk Road

Tailpiece

“Do you prefer American girls, Canadian girls, Mexican girls, French girls, or German girls?”

“Yes.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for another mainly about Boats column.)

 

What to expect from a boat

ARE YOU A SAILOR who is happily agreeable to being overtaken? If so, you are a rare bird, for when another sailboat comes shimmying past it’s not easy to remain calm and let that little smile of insouciance play on your lips. It’s not easy to keep the knuckles from going white while gripping the helm, or the teeth from grinding themselves down to the gums.

But the sailors who can do this most successfully are those who have come to an agreement with themselves about what they expect from a boat. Most often, they are cruising sailors who, knowing that all boats are compromises, have decided that seaworthiness, interior space, ease of handling and seakindliness are more important to them than speed and the ability to point higher than anybody else.

This is not to say that all cruising sailors have the steely self-control not to hurl insults at the boat that overtakes to windward, but on the whole they are more even-tempered than the excitable racing types who, having spent large fortunes on boats and gear with the express aim of going faster than anyone else, may be excused for getting their wimmies in a froth when some rotten so-and-so comes past them.

The point of all this is to know before you buy a boat exactly what you want to do with it, and then to find out what kind of boat will fulfill your requirements. If you omit these vital steps in successful boat purchase you will surely be disappointed, and your boat will join the thousands that sit in their slips week in and week out.

Modern wide, shallow boats with fin keels go fast and have bountiful accommodation. Old fashioned skinny boats with low profiles, pretty sheerlines, and modified full keels, will look after you in a storm at sea.

Fin-keel boats will be faster in light weather, because at low speeds, the majority of resistance comes from skin friction, and they don’t have much skin down there. But at higher speeds, when the wind pipes up, the main resistance comes from making waves, so old fashioned designs are at less of a disadvantage, and in fact will often outperform beamy shallow boats to windward in choppy seas. The skinny oldsters can slither snake-like through the chop while the fin-keelers bang and slam and pound their speed away.

One of the most experienced small-boat sailors was the British ocean racer and publisher, K. Adlard Coles, who said: “A good heavy-displacement yacht is at least as equally able as a light one at sea. I used to be a light-displacement fan, but I have been converted to heavier displacement by Cohoe III, which I have found to be a better sea boat ... the principal difference is the immeasurably improved windward performance in really heavy weather. She can stand up to much higher winds.”

Today’s Thought

The race by vigor, not by vaunts, is won.

— Pope, The Dunciad.

Tailpiece

“Basil, you’ve been drinking beer again!”

“No my love, not a drop of booze has passed my lips.”

“What have you been up to, then?”

“I’ve been eating frogs’ legs at the club.”

“Oh, sorry, it must be the hops I can smell.”

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

 

Darwin, and yacht evolution

I SOMETIMES WONDER how yachts fit in with Darwin’s theory of evolution. I guess it’s fairly obvious that really bad yachts will sink and automatically remove themselves from the gene pool. Or they will be so slow and clumsy to windward, or so skittish downwind, that their owners will take an ax and chop them to bits.
But what distinguishes a good modern sailboat from a bad old one? I can think of seven areas: ease of handling, seaworthiness, comfortable accommodation, seakindliness, speed, weatherliness, and affordability.
Ø Ease of handling? Lighter, stronger fabrics for sails and lines have made handling much easier (along with fancier winches and line stoppers).
Ø Seaworthiness? I'd call it a slight improvement.
Ø Accommodation? Definitely better.
Ø Seakindliness? Probably no improvement on the whole.
Ø Speed? If we leave aside the ultra-lights and multihulls, perhaps just a little improvement.
Ø Weatherliness? Much better, through improved rig and keel design, and better sails.
Ø Affordability? Yes, more affordable now because of mass production.      
So I think we have to agree that on the whole sailboats have indeed evolved for the better. They're living longer, too. Fiberglass is turning out to have a very long life, despite a few outbreaks of bottom pox here and there.
Today's Thought
I have called this principle, by which each slight variation, if useful, is preserved, by the term of Natural Selection.
— Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species.
Tailpiece
Blessed are the pure in mind, for they shall inhibit the earth.

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

Let's get flapping again

I’VE MENTIONED this before, but I still don’t see enough flags flying on small boats these days. Hardly anyone even flies a burgee at the masthead any more, which is a great shame because that colorful little triangle of fluttering cloth denotes  pride of ownership and bestows a disciplined liveliness on a boat.

And as for signaling flags, we might as well be talking about dodos, or pterodactyls, or home-based land-line telephones. And that’s another pity, because there is a huge section of the International Code of Signals devoted to the ancient art of sending messages by flags.

You can signal with one flag, or two, or three. There are literally hundreds of coded messages waiting to be sent, and anybody with a set of code flags ought to be absolutely itching to send a few. I mean, imagine you spot some old friends aboard a far-flung yacht in an anchorage —  but you don’t carry a VHF radio (because you don’t have to) and you don’t have their cell-phone number because you never wrote it down like you were supposed to. So now what? Well, code flags to the rescue, of course.

Get out the signal book. Look up the right signal and hoist the flags. Simple. There are codes for every occasion. For example, here’s a handy three-flag hoist: MEG. It means “Bowels are regular.” That’s a message your friends are always happy to receive. And relieved, you might say. Of course, that might not always be the case, so the people who drew up the international code cunningly also provided MJD (“Patient has flatulence.”) and MIO (“Patient has clay-colored stool.”) There are other codes describing sailors with other delicate variations of tummy problems, but we don’t need to dwell on that now. You can look them up for yourself in private after dinner.

One two-flag signal of particular interest is XP. It is not clear why the compilers of the signal book thought fit to include this hoist, since it means “I am in thick fog.” But perhaps they needed a belly laugh after dealing with all that sordid stool business. In any case, if you ever come across a vessel flying XP, if you can read it, it’s already too late.

One signal you might want to memorize is SN. It means “You should stop immediately. Do not scuttle. Do not lower boats. Do not use the wireless. If you disobey I shall open fire on you.” Heavens, what a vicious and belligerent message for two little flags to convey. The only reply I can think of is MEG flown in reverse order, which should be read as “My bowels are NOT regular.” Not now, anyhow.

The international code does not deal with flags alone, of course. All other forms of signaling by sea are covered, including the use of the human voice as transmitted by radio waves. It seems that radio waves may sometimes distort the human voice so much as to make it intelligible without the help of the international code. Now I fear very few of my sailing friends practice this, but it’s not sufficient to say “One, two, three and four” over the radio. The code insists that you say  unaone (oo-nah-wun), bissotwo (bees-soh-too),  terrathree (tay-rah-tree) and kartefour (kar-tay-fower.) In fact, here is the full list, just in case you want to impress the Coasties when they ask to come aboard and inspect your potty arrangements:

Figure spelling table

Figure or Mark to be Transmitted

(Code Word Pronunciation)

0 NADAZERO (NAH-DAH-ZAY-ROH)

1 UNAONE (OO-NAH-WUN)

2 BISSOTWO (BEES-SOH-TOO)

3 TERRATHREE (TAY-RAH-TREE)

4 KARTEFOUR (KAR-TAY-FOWER)

5 PANTAFIVE (PAN-TAH-FIVE)

6 SOXISIX (SOK-SEE-SIX)

7 SETTESEVEN (SAY-TAY-SEVEN)

8 OKTOEIGHT (OK-TOH-AIT)

9 NOVENINE (NO-VAY-NINER)

Decimal point

DECIMAL (DAY-SEE-MAL)

Today’s Thought

What harm in getting knowledge even from a sot, a pot, a fool, a mitten or a slipper?

— Rabelais, Works

Tailpiece

The luckiest man is the one who has a wife and an outboard motor that both work.

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

How to fall out of love

ARE YOU IN LOVE with your boat? I ask because love is temporary insanity. Love is hormones out of control. But above all, love is giving.

It means new sails, new winches, new electronics, a new engine, new everything you can imagine to make your boat happy and love you back.

Love is Nature’s way of separating a yachtsman from his money. Love is Nature’s way of making a sailor go bankrupt. By my reckoning, too many of you are going to end up in debtor’s prison where no boats are allowed.

But I can help you here. I can tell you how to fall out of love with your boat. It’s all to do with remembering.

— Remember the time she wouldn’t tack, got into stays and embarrassed you in front of the yacht club that wouldn’t accept you as a member?

— Remember when the engine quit just as you were about to pick up the mooring buoy and the cover was still on the mainsail and you hit three boats sideways-on before you could get the anchor overboard? 

— Remember when you got seasick and your mother-in-law didn’t? Remember how she laughed?

— Remember when you came last in the Wednesday evening race because your boat ran into a big submerged plastic bag and deliberately wrapped it around the keel?

— Remember when the oil pipe split and spewed hot oil all over the engine compartment?

— Remember when the alcohol stove flared up, removed your eyebrows, and burned the galley curtains?

— Remember when your cousin with diarrhea blocked the head with wodges of toilet paper?

Think on these things, my friend. Remember the bad times. Ask yourself why you’re in love. Ask yourself if you really should be. And stop buying presents. Enough already. It’s only a boat.

Today’s Thought

But he who stems a stream with sand,

And fetters flame with flaxen band,

Has yet a harder task to prove —

By firm resolve to conquer love!

— Scott, The Lady of the Lake

Tailpiece

I believe it was Kierkegaard who once remarked that the trouble with life is that it can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.

Nevertheless, some people do live in the past and they tell me it has one great advantage — it’s a lot cheaper. 

The beauty of simplicity

IT OCCURS TO ME that we’d be better off if typewriters hadn’t been replaced by computers. I mean, it’s thanks to computers that government departments are getting hacked. Airline computer systems are falling down dead. Banks, whose greatest responsibility is keeping your money safe, are putting you at risk because their defenses against hackers simply aren’t good enough.

What we need is fewer computers and more typewriters. I mention this because most of my readers are sailors, and you will appreciate that sailboats are the typewriters of modern transportation systems.

Sailboats, like typewriters, don’t need silicon chips and intricate circuits to  make them work. They don’t need gasoline or steam. They don’t even need electricity. You can circumnavigate the Earth under sail alone. It has been done many times. Some sailboats have auxiliary engines, to be sure, but you don’t actually need an engine to cross an ocean.

It’s a fallacy of modern thinking that computers are needed to run airlines. I can remember the days before computers, when airline offices (and all major businesses) had typists’ pools instead of keyboards and monitors. Typists had nice legs clad in silk stockings in those days, which made it a particular pleasure to take your notes into the typists’ pool to be typed up.

Those old airlines ran just fine without computers. They never came to a standstill because the stupid computers had broken down. And when you think of all the Allied bombers that made combined runs over Europe in World War II, hundreds and hundreds of them wing-tip to wing-tip, and all organized by typewriters and typists with pretty legs, you have to wonder about the alleged advantages of computers.

And just imagine if the Allied landings in France on D-Day had been scheduled on a computer whose hard-drive had crashed at D minus two hours, because one of Herr Hitler’s hackers had penetrated the firewall.

I like simple boats and simple systems. And there’s very little that’s simpler and purer than a nicely designed sailboat. All it needs is a rudder, a keel, a mast, a couple of sails, and some sort of shelter to sleep and cook in, and you’re in business. And if anything goes wrong, you can fix it yourself. That’s one of the most marvelous things about sailboats. Just like typewriters. You can spill a whole cup of coffee over a typewriter and it will still work. You can dig the gunk out of the keys with a paper clip and it will perform like new. The greatest technological challenge in keeping a typewriter working is changing the ribbon, just as the greatest challenge in a keeping a sailboat working is finding money for the marina fees.

Airlines and banks who really care about their customers, rather than their own bottom lines, would do well to study the simplicity, efficiency, and reliability of sailboats and typewriters. But that won’t happen, of course, because no matter what they say, money is more important to them than people.

Today’s Thought

Blissful are the simple, for they shall have much peace.

— Thomas à Kempis, De Imitatione Christi.

Tailpiece

A friend of mine is set to make a fortune. He’s working on a dog food that tastes like a mailman’s leg.

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

The case for standing headroom

PEOPLE CONTEMPLATING buying small sailboats often ask: "Is standing headroom necessary?"

And my answer to that has always been: "Necessary for what? Your question is not complete."

As is the case with most things to do with boats, it all depends. It depends on what you want the boat for. At least, it mostly depends on that. If you're looking for a boat to live on, and entertain your friends, then of course you need headroom. What would your glittering dinner parties be without full standing headroom? How could anyone pass the Grey Poupon without dipping his tie in the pâté de foie gras?

But if you're wanting a daysailer for pottering around the bay, and picnics ashore, you don't need headroom. Unfortunately, these answers are often too simplistic because normally sane sailors sometimes fall prey to ambitious thoughts. "What if . . .?" thinks the man with the 22-foot daysailer. "What if I wanted to sail her to Hawaii?"

When I  owned my first Santana 22, one of Gary Mull's sweet little club-racing one-designs. I tarted her up and fitted her out for cruising, and told anyone who cared to listen that she was now a sport cruiser, with a bow roller for the anchor, reef points in the jib, and a proper oak Samson post on the foredeck. Her sleek lines allowed only sitting headroom down below, of course, and then not even that when I made the mistake of replacing the old 3-inch foam settee cushions with 4-in ones. But we went exploring in her quite happily for weeks at a time for several years.  (Quite happily being a comparative statement, you understand. We were younger then.)

The younger you are, the less need you feel for headroom. But even then, I have to admit, it was tedious down below at anchor in bad weather. There was a lot of crab-like shuffling when you wanted to move from one settee to the other. Cooking sitting down, facing sideways, was difficult and trying to put your jeans on required some rather ungraceful calisthenics.  On many small sailboats there is also an overhead problem in the head itself.  Several manufacturers provide opening hatches above the toilet, so that when you ascend the throne to attend to your business you may stick your head up through the open hatch and survey the foredeck and the far horizon.  This becomes interesting in crowded anchorages in the early morning, when heads pop up all over, trying to look inscrutable, avoiding each others' eyes and feigning interest in some far-off bird or animal. A few coarse old hands will inevitably have the nerve to wave and say hello to friends straining nearby, but they always seem to be men. I've never seen a woman with her head out of the hatch pretending to be checking the weather or looking for lost children.

People will tell you that headroom isn't important at sea. They say there isn't any headroom anyway when the boat's heeled over and you are stretched out sideways.  But I don't believe it. I find it even more difficult to move around in a heeled boat without headroom. You have to scrabble around like a spider in a capsized bathtub.

Headroom is not needed for seaworthiness, nor for speed, of course. And it's questionable whether it's necessary for safety. But it's certainly needed for comfort, and the lack of it can limit the duration of your marriage.  So my advice is to put up with lack of headroom in small boats that perform well under sail.  Go ahead and sacrifice headroom for looks and sailing thrills. Above all, don't buy a small boat with an ugly, unseaworthy hump of a cabintop added simply to gain standing headroom.

But if you really must have headroom because you feel life just isn't worthwhile without it, the answer comes down to money. Buy a bigger boat. Something around 25 or 27 feet will do it, unless you make your money by playing basketball, in which case you might need to start at 35 feet and work upward.      

Today's Thought

If you need to stand up, go on deck.

— Uffa Fox

Tailpiece

“Doc, my stomach hurts.”

“Let’s see ... hmmm, yes, you’ll have to diet.”

“What color, doc?”

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