Small dinghies on open sea

RECENTLY I MENTIONED that if I had to, by force of circumstance, I could probably sail a small open dinghy across an ocean to safety. That imprudent statement elicited the following comment from Jurriën, who lives in Holland:

Although I know impressive journeys can be made in a dinghy, personally I would not recommend them for intercontinental transport. The two major advantages you mentioned, staying afloat and keeping the crew alive are correct, but a substantial problem is that these small boats must be looked after constantly. This means, one moment of inattention and the cockpit is filled with water. In stormy circumstances, you’ll never be able to drain the cockpit; therefore your boat won’t sail properly anymore. Sailing a dinghy in heavy weather is very tiresome; I do not think many people can stay concentrated perfectly for more than an hour or so in these circumstances (wet, cold, frightened). In my experience (never left the North Sea, so don’t take me too seriously) the best you can do is set your storm jib if you have one (otherwise tie a knot in the genua in order to reduce surface), run downwind and hope for better weather!

No Jurriën, I wouldn’t recommend dinghies for your everyday intercontinental transport either, but sailing at sea in a dinghy is perhaps not as dangerous a business as you might think.

In the first place, a small dinghy is easy to steer. She’s very light on the helm, and dinghies can usually be well balanced because you can move a pivoting centerboard fore or aft to change the center of lateral resistance.  If you were serious about it, and were able to plan in advance, you could get a dinghy to steer herself with twin jibs sheeted back to the tiller, or with a sheet-to-tiller system such as one of those suggested in  Lee Woas’s book Self-Steering Without a Wind Vane.

In the second place, decent dinghies do not capsize all that readily. Most of them will heel a long way over before you have to spill wind to let them recover. They have a lot of reserve stability. Yes, they certainly can capsize, but the smaller the dinghy, the easier she is to right from a capsize.

The kind of dinghy I’m thinking of has plenty of built-in buoyancy. The 11-foot Mirror dinghy, for example, has four large flotation tanks. I have seen a Mirror dinghy plowing along nicely through the water, under perfect control, in a gale of wind, with four adults sitting in a cockpit brimming with water after a capsize. They could easily have bailed out that cockpit with a bucket, but they were having too much fun to bother. They sailed her home, right up to the launching ramp, like that with big smiles on their faces.

Frank Dye capsized four times in Force 9 gales in his 16-foot Wayfarer on the way from Scotland to Norway. He had one crewmember, and they managed to right her fairly easily each time. His method of dealing with heavy weather was to hinge the mast down, tie a tarpaulin over it to make a shelter, and lie down on the floorboards to keep the weight low. He unshipped the rudder and let the dinghy lie bows-on to the waves behind a large parachute sea anchor.

That American adventurer Webb Chiles, who singlehandedly sailed his open, 17-foot, Drascombe Lugger, Chidiock Tichborne, almost all of the way around the world, sailed his flooded boat for days on end on one occasion but managed to bail her out eventually when the weather settled down.

The point is, if you have a dinghy with built-in buoyancy, she won’t sink.

Jurriën, I am fairly sure that you, like most of us, are not planning to sail a small dinghy across an ocean any time soon, but for your own interest you might want to read the following books on the subject:

Ø Ocean Crossing Wayfarer, by Frank Dye

Ø The Open Boat: Across the Pacific, by Webb Chiles

Today’s Thought

Seamanship, in its widest sense, is the whole art of taking a ship from one place to another at sea.

— The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea

Tailpiece

“Would you like red wine or white wine, sir?”

“Makes no difference to me, my good fellow. I’m color blind.”

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

Rescuing a drowned outboard

A FRIEND RECENTLY WROTE:  “I saw your piece about how good sailors always look ahead, and live in the future, not in the moment.  Well, I have to tell you that when I look ahead I see myself one day dropping the outboard in the drink when I’m transferring it from the rubber dink to the transom rail.  What should I do then?”

Well, matey, if you paid proper attention you’d know that I explain all this in my book about sailors’ rules of thumb, the Practical Mariner’s Book of Knowledge. So here it is again, for your benefit, and read it carefully because I’m not going to repeat it:

The rule of thumb for outboards dropped in seawater is to render first aid immediately, because corrosion sets in within three hours.

If you fear that sand may have been drawn into the cylinder, or if you can hear grating and grinding when you turn the flywheel, you must either disassemble the engine or call for expert help after thoroughly hosing everything down with fresh water.

Otherwise, proceed as follows:

1. Rinse all salt water away with fresh water. Do not be scared to douse everything, including the electrics.

2. Remove and dry the spark plugs.

3. Remove, clean, and dry the carburetor.

4. With the spark plug holes facing downward to drain, turn the engine over several times.

5. Squirt light oil into the cylinders.

6. Replace the carburetor and plugs.

7. Start the engine.

If it doesn’t start straight away, remove the plugs, dry remaining moisture, and try again. Inspect the carburetor once more for water. Keep trying to start it. Be persistent.

When it runs, let it get good and warm to dry out — and give yourself a well-deserved pat on the back.

If the beast simply refuses to start, try to keep it submerged in fresh water until you can find more skilled help.

Today’s Thought

Water is the driving force of all nature.

— Leonardo da Vinci

Tailpiece

“What caused the fire on Fred’s yacht?”

“The investigator said it was spontaneous combustion — a $20,000 policy on a $10,000 boat.”

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

Seaworthy small boats

I MENTIONED to a friend that I thought I could sail an 11-foot Mirror dinghy across an ocean if I had to. I mean, if the bigger yacht sank, and I were left with the tender, a Mirror.

You may think me rather boastful, as my friend did, but I have had a lot of experience with Mirrors and I also have a great respect for the seaworthiness of small dinghies in general.

Some time back I helped construct a seaworthiness quiz for Small Craft Advisor magazine. The quiz was designed to give the owners of small sailboats a reasonable idea of how seaworthy various designs might be. And, perhaps more importantly, it demonstrated for them the desirable qualities that add up to seaworthiness in very small craft.

But now and then someone comes along and says: "What were you thinking? How can such small boats be seaworthy?" Well, they say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and that’s what most of these someones are equipped with.

It’s quite obvious that dinghies and their ilk can’t meet all the qualities necessary to claim seaworthiness for larger vessels, ones that can accommodate people in the shelter of a cabin. But sailing dinghies can indeed provide two of the most important qualities: to stay afloat and to keep their crews alive.

If these someones had done their homework, they’d know that tiny open boats have made remarkable ocean voyages that demonstrate their seaworthiness. I could mention Captain Bligh, for a start, and Webb Chiles, who singlehandedly sailed his open, 17-foot, Drascombe Lugger, Chidiock Tichborne, almost all of the way around the world. And then there was Frank Dye, who sailed his 16-foot Wayfarer dinghy hundreds of miles across the North Sea from Scotland to Iceland, and to Norway.

These sailors provided an element of seaworthiness that their small craft lacked, of course. They were all expert seamen. In fact, when faced with storms at sea, Dye, in his unballasted, centerboard dinghy, would take the mast down, set a sea anchor so that the boat faced into the oncoming seas, and then lie down on the floorboards and go to sleep. “There’s nothing much else to do,” he said. Except pray, perhaps.

In coastal cruising, much of the seaworthiness of a dinghy like the Wayfarer lies in its ability to run for shelter close inshore, to maneuver closely among rocks, and to land on a beach and be pulled up out of harm on inflatable rollers. Larger, less nimble yachts with deep keels would not dare close a shore like that in heavy weather; their only recourse then is to seek deep water offshore, where their seaworthiness will be well tested.

In at least one way, the smaller the sailing dinghy, the more seaworthy it is. That is when the worst happens and the boat capsizes. The smaller the boat, the easier it is for the crew to right her.

The well-found camp-cruising dinghy cannot sink — she has built-in buoyancy. With a sealed mast and boom for flotation, she cannot turn completely turtle, and so the crew can stand on the centerboard to right her. She will also have self-bailers that will draw all the water from the cockpit once she comes upright again and gains way.

So there’s no doubt in my mind that small boats can be seaworthy. They can’t provide the shelter and comfort of a larger vessel, admittedly, but their closeness to the water provides delicate insights and thrills unknown to those lofty someones who batter their way through the seas in their seaborne chariots, carefully insulated from both the sea’s danger and its intimate secrets.

Today’s Thought

There are many advantages in sea-voyaging, but security is not one of them.

— Sadi (Emerson, English Traits: The Voyage)

Tailpiece

“That’s a funny-looking dog you’ve got there.”

“What? I’ll have you know I paid $1,000 for this dog. He’s part terrier and part bull.”

“Which part is bull?”

“The part about the $1,000.”

Briton rues the waves

THERE WAS RECENTLY an interesting message on the Scuttlebutt forum run by the British magazine Yachting Monthly. It was posted by a member called  “jesterchallenger.”  He apparently keeps his boat on a mooring adjacent to a busy waterway, and there is something that drives him mad when he’s on board. It’s not the boat traffic. It’s the damn people. This is what he had to say:

“Sitting on my mooring on a Sunday afternoon, people seem unable to resist the urge to wave at me.

“Now, I'm a polite man, but after about 20 or 30 waves it all gets a bit irritating. Maybe I'm popular, but there's a limit . . . so if I see a potential waver I try and avoid eye contact.

“Worst offenders are husbands and wives — they always wave separately, one after the other. Couldn't they have a confab and have a joint wave? Then I've only got one wave to return, not two.”

Well, I must sympathize, jesterchallenger. It’s hard to contemplate anything more irritating than an undisciplined bunch of wavers, especially if you’re an Englishman and value your privacy.

Isn’t it extraordinary how people will just presume that you want to be waved at? How are they being brought up these days? Why are they not taught manners? How would they like it if strangers just waved at them all day long without being asked? I mean, just waved, with no permission? People you haven’t even been introduced to? Great galloping gastropods, what’s the world coming to?

What gives these blighters the right to think they can wave openly at a respectable boat owner enjoying the peace and quiet of his own little craft?  They’re cads, sir, unlettered and unwashed. They deserve to have their hands permanently bound behind their backs to prevent recurrences of this provocative mischief.

And as for the husbands and wives waving separately, well, I am at a loss for words to convey my disgust. I feel for you, jesterchallenger, old chap.  I don’t know how you keep your sanity when they wave separately, for god’s sake. To require you to wave twice to one passing boat is simply beyond the pale and I, for one, would not blame you if you were to get out the old shotgun and blast away. I mean, how much trouble would it be for them to synchronize their waves, for goodness’ sake? Not that they should be waving in the first place, of course, if they had any sense in their stupid heads, or any vestige of the rules of social propriety. 

It’s hard enough in these days of crowded anchorages and idiot newcomers to find the enjoyment that used to be part and parcel of sailing. Of course, one does one’s best to maintain a stiff upper lip, but surely it’s time that the authorities took notice of the unwarranted distress caused by these thoughtless oafs who can’t keep their arms under control. Unrequested waving should be banned by law. He who waves should pay the price, dammit.  And let it be a steep one.

Today’s Thought

Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther:

and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.

— Old Testament, Job, xxxviii, 11

Tailpiece

A touring Brit entered a restaurant in darkest Africa with great caution. He found a table without fuss and sat down quietly.

When the waiter came, he asked timidly: “Do you still serve Englishmen here?”

“Yes sah,” said the waiter enthusiastically. “Rare, medium, or well done?”

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

Skating over the stormy seas

THOSE OF YOU who pay proper attention to this blog will remember that spiders have learned to sail the oceans just as yachts do. Well, now I have discovered what they live on—tiny bugs called sea skaters, or ocean striders.

These little insects are relatives of the pond skaters or water striders that are able to walk on the surface of the water without breaking through the “skin.” But whereas the pond skaters are basically landlubbers who never stray far from terra firma, your average sea skater is, by comparison, a hairy-chested sailorman who lives in the open ocean, filling his ample belly with plankton.

I have seen these little fellows on a dead-calm day in midocean, with their feet spread out in a roundel of pools as they press down on the surface tension, and I have wondered how on earth they manage to survive out there when the wind starts to blow and the water becomes rough. Very few insects look more fragile than sea skaters, but Nature has obviously equipped them with the means to survive even the largest plunging breaker.

In fact, I read recently that Miriam Goldstein, of the University of California in San Diego, has been studying sea skaters, and she says that they even have a little “life jacket” — a bunch of hairs on their body that trap a bubble of air, so that if they get sunk by a wave, they pop right back up. “They’re amazing,” she says.

I must agree with her. I can’t imagine what kind of social life they live out there, skating away over the world’s oceans, probably hoping to meet up with another interesting sea skater of the opposite sex someplace, sometime. But I expect their little lives are enlivened by the fact that, at any moment, they’re likely to run into one of their mortal enemies, a spider disguised as a little yacht under a silk cloud of spinnaker, and ever ready to gobble them up.

Today’s Thought

Nature is a rag merchant who works up every shred and ort and end into new creations; like a good chemist whom I found, the other day, in his laboratory, converting his old shirts into pure white sugar. — Emerson, Conduct of Life: Considerations by the Way

Tailpiece

“Filthy pictures, sir?”

“Good grief, no.”
“Filthy pictures, sir?”
“No, no, go away!”
“Filthy pictures, sir?”
“Leave me alone, you’re far too young. Shoo!”
“Filthy pictures, sir?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake . . . okay, okay . . . how many d’you want?”

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

http://www.everythingabout.net/articles/biology/animals/arthropods/insects/bugs/water_strider/water_strider.jpg

Stand by for an arachnid invasion

OH DEAR LORD, here we go again. As if sharks and octopuses and giant squid and sea snakes and poisonous puffer fish weren’t enough to scare the pants off us, now scientists are telling us that spiders inhabit the oceans of the world, too.

Worse still, they know how to sail. In a new study published in the journal Evolutionary Biology, researchers claim that spiders use their legs to harness the wind so that they can sail just like a yacht.

“We’ve now found that spiders actively adopt postures that allow them to use the wind direction to control their journey on the water,” explained Morito Hayashi, of the Natural History Museum, in London.

The spiders take on postures described as elaborate and acrobatic, raising and contorting their legs in different directions and angles to take advantage of the breeze. (Sounds an awful lot like my old crew trying to raise the spinnaker.)

What’s more, they even use sea anchors to heave to whenever they want. They simply spin a bundle of silk and pay it out on a long line.

The British researchers conducted their experiments with 325 adult spiders collected from small coastal islands, where they presumably had plenty of time and space to practice their yachting skills. So if you’re out sailing and you hear a tiny voice scream “Starboard!” at you, for goodness’ sake go about at once.

And next time you feel something move on your bare leg during the midnight watch out at sea, check to see if it’s a wolf spider, or a black widow. I don’t want to panic you, but you’d better make your will because you’ve got about half an hour to live.

Today’s Thought

 The mere apprehension of a coming peril has put many into a situation of the utmost danger.

— Lucan, De Bello Civili

Tailpiece

“And what is your name, my good man?”

“James, madam.”

“I’m not accustomed to calling my chauffeurs by their first names. What is your last name?”

“Darling, madam.”

“Very well, drive on, James.”

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

Do you disclose all her vices?

AS I LOOK THROUGH the advertisements in Craigslist I am struck by how many boats for sale are described as “perfect,” in “turnkey condition,” ready to step into and be sailed away into the glorious sunset.

It makes me want to ask you a personal question: When you sell a boat, do you confess all its sins? Do you tell the prospective buyer about the leaks, the engine problems, the weather helm, the soft spots on the foredeck?

Do you misremember when the rigging was last replaced? When the bottom was last anti-fouled? Do you have a story carefully made up about why you want to sell this boat?

What I’m really asking is whether you should divulge to a prospective buyer everything you know about your boat. Well now, I beg you to humor me for a moment. If you’re a man, try to imagine it’s your wife or girl friend you’re trying to sell.  That’s not hard to imagine. They have a lot in common.

Let’s be honest. Lovers have secrets. Some things are private, intimate, known only to the two of you. Such things should surely stay secret. There is, after all a code of honor even among the meanest thieves.

And there is a line when you are selling a boat, a line that separates not only truth from  lies, but also separates what a buyer needs to know from what he really can’t reasonably expect to know if he has any sense in his head at all.

You alone will know where that line is. Your conscience, of lack of it, will be your guide. Some of us have a more developed conscience than others, of course. But that’s for the buyer to judge. Nobody said buying a boat was easy.

Personally,  when I’m buying a boat, I never ask if she leaks. I have never owned a boat that didn’t leak somewhere at some time. I don’t want to hear the seller telling me she never leaks. I want to be able believe with all my heart what he said about the engine being brand-new and the sails being replaced only last year.

In the end, I guess the boat seller’s creed could be summed up reasonably this way: Don’t ever tell an outright lie. But tell the whole truth only when sorely pressed.

Today’s Thought

Advertising is the greatest art form of the 20th century.

— Marshall McLuan, Advertising Age, 3 Sep 76

Tailpiece

A man moves into a new apartment and invites a few friends around for a housewarming drink. One of his friends notices an old hammer hanging on the wall. "What's that dirty old hammer doing there?" he asks.

"Oh, that's not a hammer, it's a talking clock. Look, I'll show you."

He picks up the hammer and starts banging it against the wall.

A voice comes from next door, shouting: "Fer chrissake keep it down in there, it's half-past goddam eleven!"

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