Damp conversation

I NOTE WITH CONSIDERABLE INTEREST that there is now a handheld VHF radio that moves and shakes when it gets wet, like a shaggy sheepdog flinging spray everywhere after a swim.

It's an Icom, listed in the West Marine catalog, and it apparently has what's known as an AquaQuake water-draining function. I don't know how it senses that its speaker is waterlogged, but when it does, it shakes, rattles, and rolls until the water has been expelled, so that the glug-glug-glug of the Coast Guard on Channel 16, ordering you to heave to for potty inspection, comes through loud and clear again.

It would be nice to have a shivering radio like that, if only to impress my friends. Very little has evolved in the world of handheld VHF radios since DSC sneaked into operation, and that turned out to be more fanfare than practical use.

Not much fanfare has accompanied the introduction of the AquaQuake, but its significance should not be lost on amateur sailors. This is s radio that moves when it gets wet. It first thinks about things. And then it acts. It shudders until things come right again.

    What next might we expect in the line of electronic surprises like that? Could there be a kettle that will put itself on for tea while I furl the mainsail, or, more muscularly, a mast that will furl the mainsail while I put on the kettle for tea?
   I know there are already electric furlers and winches, but the point is they don't think for themselves. How about an anchor that winches itself up when it feels itself dragging, and resets itself without waking you up? How about binoculars that automatically focus on the yacht where the blonde lady with the long tan legs is obviously bored and looking for lively company? And binoculars that automatically take the shake out of your hand?
   Yes, yes, I know you can get binoculars that do away with a normal, everyday kind of shake, but this is a different kind of shake, an emotional sort of shake, a shake of anticipatory excitement that only special binoculars with testosterone sensors could cure.

Won't need any for myself, of course. Spoken for, lo these many years. I'm just thinking about you youngsters. No, no need to thank me. Always willing to help where I can.

Today's Thought

Women give us solace, but if it were not for women we should never need solace.

— Don Herold

Tailpiece

“Have you recently seen a man with one eye named Gustav?”
“I’m not sure. What’s his other eye called?”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

Not tonight, Josephine

I WAS THUMBING through a sailing magazine yesterday, looking at pictures of boats for sale, when I came across a pretty little Freedom 21 dancing among  lively waves in a fresh breeze.
   She was advertised as a singlehanded catboat, owned by a devoted meticulous owner, and "incredibly upgraded."  If you needed to establish just how incredibly she had been upgraded, you were referred to a website that presumably would supply you with all the fascinating details.
   All you had to do was read the address of the website from the printed advertisement, type it into the address box of your computer's browser and click on "Go!" (Or an arrow or something. You know your browser better than I do.)
   All you had to do ... yeah, right. Here's the address of that website: https//picasaweb.google.comHJRCMMBlueRavenFREEDOM211984CatBoatFORSALE?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCObUk8Tcp8fI4gE&feat=directlink
   I think you have to be pretty desperate to find out more about this boat to try to enter that in your address box, specially if you're a hunt-and-peck typist like me. Is this what the digital age has brought us to? Is this some kind of test of your eye/finger co-ordination, or a test of your powers of your patience and comprehension that you must pass before you can make a bid on this boat and become its new owner?
   In passing, I must note that the magazine charges $21 for 30 words or less for these classified ads. What I want to know is this: Is that website address counted as just one word? If not, how do they break it up?
   But the real point is that we have become so used to pointing and clicking to get the information we need from the internet that we have become quite spoiled. I can't imagine anyone going to the trouble to type that longwinded address into a browser unless they were absolutely desperate, really desperate, to know more.
   The art of advertising, as I understand it, is to snag the interest of the casual passerby who would never have dreamed of buying a Freedom21, and to excite a positive lust for possession that can only be satisfied by drawing out a checkbook and signing your name.
     I'm afraid this ad excites no such lust in me. Not tonight, thank you Josephine. Typing long website addresses gives me a headache.

Today's Thought

Advertising may be described at the science of arresting human intelligence long enough to get money from it.
— Stephen Leacock

Dekker in Durban

By e-mail from Chris Sutton, my man in South Africa:
   "A veritable armada of internationals has arrived in Durban. Many are slightly shellshocked by having to change their plans from transiting the Suez to the Cape of Good Hope. Hopefully they will enjoy South Africa and its attractions.
   "Laura Dekker, the 16-year-old Dutch girl arrived last week. I spoke to her yesterday when I went down to do some work on my boat. I asked her if she needed assistance with anything and all she wanted was to know where the nearest laundromat is. I didn't spend long enough with her to get much of an impression, other than that Laura is very self-assured and seems to be enjoying herself."

   * Well, I'm glad to hear Ms Dekker heeded my advice not to take the Red Sea route. She'll be much more at home going around the Cape, and much safer, at least as far as piracy is concerned. They also speak English in South Africa. Dutch, too. Sort of.

Tailpiece

“I hope I didn’t say anything in my sermon to offend your husband, Mrs. Smith.”
“Oh no, you mustn’t pay any attention to him. He’s been a sleepwalker since he was kid.”

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

Laura's stowaways

WHAT A SURPRISE for young Laura Dekker at sea between Australia and Africa: she discovered an infestation of ants on board. She says they came aboard in Darwin, Australia.
   Laura, who is chasing the record for the youngest solo circumnavigator, is probably right about that. You can always tell Ozzie ants. They're the ones who line up, hold hands, and sing Waltzing Matilda when you take down the ensign at sunset. Like most Ozzies they are charming in their way and not at all reticent about expressing their views.
   Interestingly, they all disappeared for several days when Laura's boat hit rough weather. But when the wind and swells died down, "they came crawling out of hiding from every hole and crack imaginable," she wrote in her daily blog. "I find them in the most unusual places, like on my computer keyboard or on my maps ... Argh!"
   Argh, indeed. There is little more disturbing to the human stomach than the sight of hundreds of seasick ants throwing up all over the place. I don't know how she survived.
   And I don't doubt that when those ants recovered from seasickness the first thing they did was to send scouts out searching for the grog locker. I hope that Laura has one, and is willing to share. In the first place, Ozzie ants can be a dangerously surly lot when deprived of alcohol for more than two hours. Secondly, there is not a lot to fear from drunken ants, even if they end up in a riotous brawl, and it's better by far to be shipmates with happy ants than with spiteful ones just waiting to nip you in the billabong when you aren't looking.
   Finally, I must admit to one niggling fear: can Laura's claim to a record be in jeopardy? I mean, she's supposed to be sailing solo — and here she's openly admitting that she has hundreds of stowaways on board. I'm glad I don't have to be the judge of that.

Today's Thought

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise.
— Old Testament: Proverbs, vi, 6.

Tailpiece

Only some of us can learn from other people’s mistakes.
The rest of us have to be the other people.

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

Allowing for leeway

I SOMETIMES WONDER how many of the sailboat skippers I see blithely cruising among the San Juan Islands are making any allowance for leeway. If you don't make any allowance, there can be a surprising difference between your chosen arrival point and the actual place where you end up. And that's even without taking the tidal current into account.
  Leeway is sideways drift, of course, caused by the wind hitting the side of the boat and sails. All boats make leeway to some degree on all courses except two: when the wind is either dead ahead or dead astern.
  You can assume that a close-hauled sailboat will make between 3 and 5 degrees of leeway in a 7-knot breeze, and 8 degrees or even more in 20 knots. So, if you want to maintain a set course over the ground, to avoid reefs and rocks, you must head your boat toward the wind to offset leeway.
   It's not always easy to estimate how much leeway you're making, but you'll get a fair idea if you look aft along the centerline of the boat and compare that imaginary line with the line of the wake. If you have a hand bearing compass it will give you the difference in degrees, so you'll know how much correction to apply next time.
   Powerboats often make more leeway than sailboats because they present a greater area of topsides to the wind, compared with the amount of hull under water. But it doesn't affect their course over the ground so much because the sideways component is mostly a small percentage of the powerboat's forward speed.
   In any case, it's wise to be aware of leeway because it means your boat is not actually going in the same direction she's pointing at. It's not at all obvious, but she's actually crabbing along to leeward, and if you don't compensate by pointing higher, you might be in for a nasty surprise.

Today's Thought

To be conscious that you are ignorant is a great step to knowledge.
— Benjamin Disraeli, Sybil.

Tailpiece

Little shots of whisky

Little drops of gin
Make a lady wonder
Where the hell she’s bin.

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

Gas or diesel?

IS IT WORTH buying a new auxiliary engine for your good old boat? Or should you just put up with the constant need for spares (if you can get them) and ever-more-costly  repairs? And if you buy a new engine, should it be gasoline or diesel?
   Well, the average gasoline boat engine runs for 1,500 hours before needing a major overhaul. The average diesel engine runs for something approaching 5,000 hours under the same conditions — that us, roughly three times as long.
   Of course these are very general rules of thumb because the life of an engine depends on how it's used, abused, and maintained. But I should add that these estimates come from a man whose full-time job it has been for many years to persuade boaters to replace ailing used engines with new ones.
   Cynically, therefore, we may assume that his figures concerning the life of engines are a little conservative. According to the same man, the typical gasoline boat engine gets a "good" 1,000 hours of operation. During the next 500 hours, minor troubles become increasingly likely, turning into major troubles as the 1,500-hour mark approaches.
   It's interesting to note that an automobile engine runs an average of about 3,000 hours — about double the running time of of a gasoline boat engine — before requiring an overhaul at 100,000 miles. But most of the time, boat engines work harder than do car engines, and under worse conditions.
   A well-maintained gasoline boat engine run under the best conditions might indeed run for more than 1,500 hours without a major overhaul, but many will get fewer hours than that because of the atrocious conditions they suffer — salt air, damp bilges, intermittent operation, and all too often, pure neglect.
   Diesel engines are built more heavily, and to finer tolerances, than are gasoline engines. They thus accept more abuse and often deliver 8,000 hours of hard work in  fishing boats before requiring major surgery. At this rate, in theory, a well-maintained diesel auxiliary will last the life of the boat, because the average boat owner logs 200 engine hours a year.
  Unfortunately, in practice things are rather different. Engines like to run long and steadily. The shorter the running time between stops, and the longer the idle time between runs, the fewer the hours they deliver before needing to be carted off to the engine emergency room.

Today's Thought

Life too often presents us with a choice of evils, rather than of goods.
-- C. C. Colton, Lacon

Tailpiece

“What jobs are hippies best fit for?”
“Holding on your leggies.”

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

Dump that roach

ONE OF THE PEOPLE I taught to sail once asked: "Why do mainsails have battens when foresails don't?"

   I replied with the shocking truth. "To make more money for sailmakers," I said.

   The fact is, you don't need battens in a mainsail. You only need battens if the sail has a roach. So what's a roach? Well, if you draw an imaginary straight line from the masthead to the outer end of the boom, any sail area that protrudes aft of that line is a roach. And the problem with a roach is that it's floppy. It has to be kept in line with the rest of the mainsail by stiff battens of wood or plastic, otherwise it will do no work, flap in a breeze, and generally drive you crazy.
   But it's not necessary to have a roach. Your jib or genoa works perfectly well without a roach. It has a slight scoop in the opposite direction, as a matter of fact.  It's what's known as a hollow leech. So why don't mainsails have hollow leeches?  Well, some do, actually, and they're usually found on cruising boats. Racing boats have roaches because they want that extra sail area up high where the wind blows harder, and they benefit mostly from the roach when they're sailing off the wind.
   But there are good reasons why you shouldn't have a roach. It's not needed when you're beating because the great majority of the sail's lift then is generated at its leading edge, the strip next to the mast. And boats that generate weather helm on the beat will positively benefit from losing some sail area so far aft. They will not suffer at all from having no roach and no battens.
   But most sailmakers are driven by racing boats and racing rules, which also affect the design of cruising hulls, of course. So the great majority of coastal and deep-sea cruisers end up with battens in their mainsails simply because it's de rigeur for racers.
   Sailmakers confirm that battens add considerably to the maintenance costs of any sail. Short battens crease and bend the cloth just forward of the pocket, where persistent chafe and flexing wear out the sailcloth. Full-length battens, besides adding considerably to the cost of a mainsail, put considerable stress on the leech and luff ends of their pockets.
    It's easier to handle, stow, and bag a hollow-cut mainsail, and you don't have to worry about the roach clearing the backstay when you jibe.  Next time you're considering a new mainsail, give some serious thought to dumping the roach. Your sailmaker might have more difficulty making his Mercedes payment, but you won't be sorry.

Today's Thought

Cut your cloth, sir, according to your calling.
— Beaumont and Fletcher, The Beggar's Bush

Tailpiece

“Waiter, do you serve crabs here?”
“Sit down buddy, we serve anyone.”

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

Tuning the rig

EVERY YEAR toward the end of the sailing season Old Wotsisname makes the same request. He wants to borrow my Loos tension gauges. After twelve months of straining to keep his masts upright, his shrouds and stays have stretched somewhat, and he wants to set about screwing up the turnbuckles to the correct tension.
   Now, while I admit I don't like lending my best tools, I'm not a total curmudgeon about it. I do lend my expensive gauges to OW, and I do eventually get them back after I've nagged a few times. But there has to be a limit.  Why should I be the perpetual sucker? How many years is this going to go on?

   Perhaps not many more. I have found a method of tensioning a sailboat's standing rigging that doesn't need gauges. It may well take a few years to soak into OW's rather dense gray matter, but there is hope on the horizon.

   It's a convenient fact that that the elastic stretch of stainless-steel wire increases in rough linear proportion to the load, up to about half of the wire's breaking strength. Therefore, stretch is a good indication of load.

   In fact, when a 33-foot-long 1 x 19 wire (of any thickness) is loaded to half its breaking strength, it will stretch 2 inches. Little wonder, then, that the leeward shrouds sometimes look a little slack.

   Nevertheless, you can use this principle to tune your rig. Here's how:

   Take all the load off a wire and mark on it as accurately as possible with tape or a marking pen a length of 1,980 mm.  Do this anywhere along the wire, where it's most convenient.

   Now tighten the turnbuckle and measure the length again as you do so. You will find that every extra millimeter of stretch (up and above 1,980 mm) induces a load in the wire of 5 percent of its breaking strength.  In other words, an increase of 2 mm, with a space between your marks now of 1,982 mm, indicates a 10 percent load.

   You can find out the breaking strength of the wire from the manufacturer's or retailer's catalog, and from that you can calculate the load in actual pounds or kilograms if you like. But it's just as easy to reckon that a moderate pre-load for the average rig is about 25 percent of the breaking strength.  In which, case, you need to stretch your marked length by 5 mm to 1,985 mm.

   That's it.  All you need is a tape marked in millimeters. I think I'm going to have to buy one for Old Wotsisname.

Today's Thought

Often ornateness goes with greatness;

Oftener felicity comes of simplicity.

— William Watson, Art Maxims.

Tailpiece

“Doctor, I think I’ve got water on the knee.”

“No problem, I’ll just give it a tap.”

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