Sail the world on the cheap

LET’S SAY YOU’VE GOT the Walter Mitty dream. You’re itching to take three years off work and sail around the world. Never mind the reasons. What would it cost? How much would you have to pay for a boat that could take you, or two of you, or even three, around the world? Did you say $50,000? $75,000?  Was that $100,000?

Well, there’s one for sale right here, right now, in Puget Sound, for $16,000. She’s called Phoenix and she belongs to John Jannetty, of Vashon Island, Washington.  She’s a gorgeous-looking 35-foot sloop, launched in 1989. She’s a Colin Archer type with a full keel and attached rudder. She’s as rugged as they come, with all-bronze fittings from the famous Port Townsend Foundry, and the looks of a boat that was born for the ocean.

Why $16,000? Because she’s wooden. Because that’s the perception of her worth by people who don’t know boats. In my view, wood is the ideal boat-building material, and even more so for boats likely to make long voyages abroad. You can fix almost anything on a wooden boat with a few simple tools. Or you can get it fixed at reasonable prices by skilled woodworkers in foreign ports. And think about this: if you want to fix something to a wooden boat, inside or outside, a simple nail or screw will do the trick. You can’t do that with fiberglass. It becomes a major kerfuffle then.

Phoenix was built by a master craftsman at Upright Boatworks on Lopez Island. He used cedar for the planking and oak for the frames. Cedar, of course, is light and strong. Better still, it’s very resistant to rot.

Phoenix has a diesel engine that would be regarded by many “experts” as too small, a 10-horsepower Saab.  But what do the “experts” know? The Hiscocks sailed around the world in a boat that was probably much heavier, and they had a 4-horsepower engine. Some people, like the Pardeys, don’t have engines at all.  

There are advantages to small engines. You can start this Swedish-built Saab by hand, for example. It has that lovely old-fashioned heavy flywheel to even out the vibrations, and there is space all around it, so much space that you can actually get to every part of it without having to hang upside down by your toes from a hatch in the cockpit. Furthermore, she’s raw-water cooled, just like an outboard motor. No fresh-water secondary cooling system to go wrong. What could be simpler? And what more evocative than the noise it makes? Ker-pluff, ker-pluff, ker-pluff. It’s just magic.

John Jannetty admits Phoenix has some faults. Bits of her are in need of a lick of paint. And her bilge pump has stopped working through lack of use. There’s probably some dust in the bilges. But how bad can that be?

For some pictures that will make your mouth water and your heart flutter, go to:

http://seattle.craigslist.org/see/boa/5000276236.html

Today’s Thought

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.

— Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Tailpiece

Two definitions for you today:

Diplomacy — the art of letting someone else have your own way.

Nonchalance — the ability to look like an owl when you have just behaved like an ass.

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

Remembering the pasta sailors

PEOPLE ASK ME the strangest things. Just a while ago a reader in South Carolina asked me if I knew what a macaroni mate was. She had come across the phrase in some sea story or other.

I naturally said I knew what it was. “The mate of macaroni is cheese,” I said. “Everybody knows about mac ’n cheese. Especially teenagers. It’s their favorite food.”

For some reason she wasn’t satisfied, so I grumbled off to my bookshelves and consulted my old copy of The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea, edited by Peter Kemp. And there, sure, enough, was the definition of a macaroni mate.  It wasn’t quite what I expected.

A macaroni mate, apparently, was a man signed on as mate in a merchant vessel, but lacking the required qualifications and consequently not receiving any pay.

This name arose at the time of the Napoleonic occupation of Genoa and Leghorn in 1796. Many of the sons and favorite employees of the English merchants in those cities were this signed on in American merchant ships so as to avoid capture and imprisonment  by French troops, and also to avoid impressment at sea if their ships were stopped by British cruisers.

Impressment at sea was a legal hazard for British nationals serving in foreign ships, but British naval officers were unlikely to question the nationality of a man serving as a mate (or second in command) of an American ship. The rank of mate automatically implied American nationality and it wasn’t difficult for an Englishman to assume an American accent for long enough to fool his would-be captors.

So there we have the official explanation. As with spaghetti Western movies, it’s pasta that defines the Italian influence. I guess it’s just by chance that they weren’t called spaghetti mates.

Today’s Thought

I am not one to turn down macaroni and cheese, even late at night. I love Italian food. I love pasta . . . A refrigerator full of water and Gatorade? Honey, that's just not gonna happen.

-- Queen Latifa

Tailpiece

“What time does the day nurse go off?”

“She goes off at six and the night nurse takes over.”

“What does the night nurse do?”

“She wakes you up to ask if the day nurse gave you your sleeping pill.”

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

Beware the dreaded hinge effect

HAVE YOU EVER FELT the deck of a fiberglass boat “give” with your weight as you walk over it? Has it ever given you concern, because you were thinking of buying that boat? And did you come to the conclusion that if the springy deck can carry the load of your walking about on it, all must be well?

Ah, but it’s not, apparently. According to one of Britain’s foremost naval architects and surveyors, Ian Nicholson, no boat can be deemed seaworthy if it has flexible panels that encourage the dreaded “hinge effect.”

This is a condition in which the edges of the panel flex back and forth, giving rise to a series of approximately parallel cracks along the edge of a panel. The repeated bending eventually cracks the gel coat.

In his book, Surveying Small Craft, Nicholson points out that you’ll often see this trouble along each side of the bottom of a cockpit well. It happens where there is no cockpit grating is fitted to distribute the crew’s weight evenly over a large area, or where the grating is too flimsy for the job.

It is widely found where the cockpit sole is weakly supported or where the bottom beams are not carried to the full width of the well,” says Nicholson. “It is sometimes seen when these beams are spaced too far apart, or end too sharply.”

And here’s the big warning from the expert: “If the hinge effect is allowed to develop, eventually the whole panel will drop out.”

Nicholson says this is admittedly rare but is occasionally found in the bottoms of high-speed powerboats where the whole hull pants in and out at each impact with the sea’s surface. “The reversing strain, occurring thousands of times each day, soon cracks through the gel coat and then sets about fracturing the glass fibers.”

The hinge effect is particularly troublesome with sandwich construction, which is how many sailboat decks are built, and even some hulls. “If the outer skin does not continue to grip the core, the trouble may develop very quickly,” Nicholson adds. “The first indications of the hinge effect are, of course. the roughly parallel lines of cracks along the ‘hinge line.’”

So now you have been warned. Large areas of fiberglass, especially flattish areas, should be absolutely stiff under load. In the old days, we learned the hard way about metal fatigue when the flexing wings of Comet airplanes broke off in flight.  Fiberglass fatigue may not be as dramatic, but it’s not something you want to experience on your boat.

Department of Gobbledygook

This was published by Yahoo News, 12 March, 2015:

“From The American Register

“by Andrew Higgins

“In the finding that could significantly transform recognized opinions of the fact that world is effective, the workforce of astronomers brought by means of Chris Milne of the College or university of Az (UA) possesses identified that supernovae are not even, although diverse—a discovering that lifts concerns about how precisely significantly ‘dark energy’ is in your world in addition to just how fast your world is actually widening.”

Welcome to the wild world of computer newsgathering.

Today’s Thought

Whenever your preparations for sea are poor, the sea worms its way in and finds the problems.

— Francis Stokes

Tailpiece “Waiter! Get your thumb off that steak.”

“Very well, sir, but if it falls on the floor again it’s your fault.”

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

Two tips to keep lubbers quiet

IF YOU OWN A SAILBOAT, sooner or later one of your guests is going to ask you how to sail. Perhaps this has happened to you already. Perhaps you have racked your brains to think of a quick and easy way to describe it. And perhaps, as you started to explain, you realized what a vast subject this is, and how impossible it is to condense it to a few sentences. Perhaps you end up as most boat owners do by simply showing your lubberly guests how to steer, and giving them a point on the horizon to aim for while you attend to the sheets and everything else. That seems to satisfy most of them. They think then that they can sail.

But now and then you come across someone who is a bit more persistent, someone who rightly suspects there is more to sailing than steering, and who really wants to learn how to sail.

Well, there are a couple of tips that will keep such a person out of your hair and well occupied and, with any luck, foster in him or her a desire to sign on with a decent sailing school and learn properly.

Those two tips are questions:

Ø  Where is the wind coming from?

Ø  Which of the two kinds of sailing are we doing? — 1. Beating, or 2. Everything else.

Most experienced sailors know instinctively at all times which direction the wind is coming from, and most of us presume that landlubbers know this, too. But they don’t. Landlubbers hardly ever give a thought to where the wind’s coming from. It makes no difference to them.

So when your would-be sailor demands to be shown how to sail, ask him or her to point into the eye of the wind with an outstretched arm. If your pupil seems puzzled, point to a flag, a plume of smoke on the horizon, a cloud moving overhead, or the direction of the wavelets. Tell your pupil to feel the wind on the face, or the back of the neck, and don’t be satisfied until the response to your often repeated query: “Where is the wind?” is automatic and correct.

Then explain that it’s of paramount importance to know where the wind is coming from because no sailboat can sail directly into the wind. Demonstrate the 90-degree “no-go” zone to windward, 45 degrees either side of the direction in which the wind is coming from, and explain that by zig-zagging to and fro across this no-go zone, you can actually fetch up at a destination that lies directly into the eye of the wind. That should keep them occupied for some time as they digest all the implications.

The second tip is an explanation that even some experienced sailors have never thought of. It’s the simple fact that you can divide sailing into two kinds, beating and everything else.

When you’re beating, or trying to sail as close to an opposing wind as you possibly can, you keep the sails firmly sheeted and you trim the boat to the wind. In other words, you use the rudder to keep the sails correctly trimmed. As the wind changes slightly in direction, you change the direction of the boat to ensure that air is flowing freely and correctly over the sails.

On the other hand, for every other course, from a close fetch to a dead run, you aim the boat on a straight course toward your destination, either heading for a point on the horizon or steering by compass. And, as the wind switches, you use the sheets to trim the sails to the wind. 

Beginners are often puzzled about when to pull on the sheets or ease them, or when to use the rudder to luff or pay off. Now you can explain it in a couple of sentences. Use the rudder when you’re beating. Play with the sheets on every other course. That’s not all there is to sailing, but it’s enough to keep a beginner quiet until you’re at anchor and sundowners are being served.

Today’s Thought

Swallow all your learning in the morning, but digest it in company in the evenings.

— Lord Chesterfield, Letters, 10 May 1751

Tailpiece

“What happened to Gloria?”

“She swallowed some coins and had to go to the hospital.”

“Wow. How’s she doing?”

“They’re keeping an eye on her but the doctor says there’s no change yet.”

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

What to do about fog

WHEN THE CLOUD COMES DOWN to water level we call it fog. Fog is very scary stuff and it can happen at any time of the year in our coastal areas. In fact, on the West Coast of the United States, fog occurs frequently from the Strait of Juan de Fuca, north of Seattle, to Santa Barbara, down south in California.

On the East Coast they experience fog from the Canadian Maritimes right down to Long Island Sound, New York. On average, these coastal areas experience areas of fog about 10 percent of the year, and some particular areas are blanketed in fog for twice as long. 

As I said, fog is scary. What can you do about it?

Actually, there isn’t much advice to give about getting caught in fog that isn’t covered by common sense. If you see a fog bank forming ahead, and you have a chance to turn back to a safe anchorage, do so. It’s the seamanlike action to take. Unfortunately, you don’t always have that choice.  You can run into a thick bank of fog at night without even seeing it. Been there, done that, didn’t like it.

Fog is treacherous. Go slowly and listen very carefully. Your ears are your eyes in fog. If fog catches you out, try to get into shallow water and anchor there. Once again, oftentimes that’s easier said than done.

If you have radar, use it, and practice often. Use AIS if you have it, also, but don’t expect everybody else to have it, especially that 40-foot ferro-concrete ketch with the long metal bowsprit that’s bowling along under power toward you.

You should raise a radar reflector as high as you can, so that other vessels with radar sets will see you. And you should be meticulous about making the right sound signal every two minutes or less. I have noticed that too many skippers are very lax about this. I have even traveled on a Washington State ferry that made no sound signals in thick fog, presumably relying on radar and clearance from Seattle Traffic Control, which can’t possibly tell the ferry if a small craft, invisible to radar, is in its path.

If you’re sailing, the correct signal is one long blast and two short blasts. That’s also the signal made by a vessel not under command, or restricted by her ability to maneuver. The same signal comes from a vessel engaged in fishing, or towing or pushing another vessel.

If you’re under power, the fog signal (and the signal in any kind of restricted visibility, by the way, including rain or snow in daylight) is one long blast every two minutes or less.

And one last tip – take along a horn that you can blow into. The fog horns that work off cans of compressed air don’t always work. I can vouch for that. I can also tell you that blowing the damn horn as loud as you can every two minutes is a pain in the you-know-what. You can’t go anywhere or do anything that lasts more than one minute, fifty-nine seconds. It puffs your cheeks out and raises your blood pressure. It makes you dizzy and produces black spots before your eyes. But it’s better than being run down at sea. So do it.

Today’s Thought

He that bringeth himself into needless dangers dieth the devil’s martyr.

— Thomas Fuller, Holy War

Tailpiece

“I’ve found out why production has slowed down since we got that second computer.”

“Good. What’s wrong?”

“The big computer’s shoving all the work on to the little computer.”

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

No more lies about size of waves

THE COMING OF SPRING in the northern hemisphere ushers in a sense of renewal, a sense of refreshment and commitment to improvement. Spring always makes me want to be a better person than I was, which, admittedly is not difficult. This new sailing season I shall, once again, attempt to follow the Ten Commandments for Sailboat Owners:

1. Thou shalt not lie about the size of the waves, nor yet of the speed of the wind which hath assailed thee.

2. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s gorgeous Hinckley nor his adorable wife.

3. Thou shalt not curse the weather forecaster unless severely provoked.

4. Thou shalt not pour scorn upon the Coast Guard boarding party, yea even though thine potty be legal.

5. Thou shalt slow down both in the marina and the anchorage; neither shall thine junior offspring run amok in the outboard dinghy.

6. Thou shalt not stamp thine foot, nor beat thine breast, nor rent the air with thine fists when thou receivest thy bill for engine repairs, for it frighteneth the children

7. Thou shalt not laugh openly at thine seasick mother-in-law.

8. Thou shalt not neglect to switch on the cooling water before starting the engine and blame it upon thine spouse.

9. Thou shalt not lie about when last thou changed the engine oil.

10. Thou shalt honor thine foredeck crew, and refrain from assailing them with raiséd voice, for they are the salt of the earth.

And one more for the helluvit:

11. Thou shall not allow thine halyards to smite thine mast, lest it arouse sleeplessness and bitterness among thy neighbors.

Today’s Thought

We must do the thing we must

Before the thing we may;

We are unfit for any trust

Till we can and do obey.

— George Macdonald, Willie’s Question

Tailpiece

“What happened to your ear?”

“Well, I was ironing my shirt when the phone rang and I accidentally put the iron to my ear.”

“Bummer. And what happened to the other ear?”

“Well, I had to call 911, didn’t I?”

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

Mayhem at the masthead

IN THE INTERESTS OF FREE SPEECH, a whistleblower for VigorLeaks recently intercepted the following  letter to our local office of the Social Security Administration:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I would like to apply for Social Security disability benefits. This is what happened:

I was employed as a yard hand at the local marina. My boss told me to replace a burned-out light bulb at the top of a mast on a 45-foot cutter. Having drawn a suitable bulb from the Stores Dept. I proceeded to the boat. I had no help to get up the mast but hit upon the idea of filling two large plastic buckets with water. I tied them together and winched them to the top of the mast on the main halyard.

I then secured my bosun’s chair to the halyard with the thought that the weight of the buckets would help me ascend mast.

Unfortunately, as I cast off halyard, I discovered that the weight of water in the buckets was considerably more than my weight. I therefore shot up the mast at high speed.

Unfortunately, my right shoulder crashed into the spreaders and became dislocated and heavily bruised. At the same time, the descending buckets hit my left shoulder, cracking the bone and causing considerable pain.

Upon my arrival at the masthead, two fingers of my right hand got jammed in the pulley, causing one to be broken and the other to be badly squashed. I had no time to install the new bulb because the buckets, having hit the cabin top, fell over on their sides and emptied themselves. I was now considerably heavier than the buckets, and began descending at a rapid pace.

Unfortunately, on my way down I met the buckets coming up at high speed, causing severe contusions and bruising, and fracturing two ribs. I slammed heavily onto the cabin top, breaking a toe on my right foot. And then I must have lost control of my senses because I let go of the halyard.

The buckets now descended from top of the mast at high speed, one delivering a blow to my cheek, which was badly cut, and the other hitting me squarely on top of the head, which rendered me unconscious until a nice lady from one of the other yachts, having seen me bleeding and heard my screams, gave me first aid and called 911.

My boss says he doesn’t think I will ever be fit to work on boats again, at least not for his boatyard. I would therefore like to apply for disability and look forward to hearing from you.

[Name withheld to avoid embarrassment. -- Ed.]

Today’s Thought

There is no person who is not dangerous for someone.

— Madame de Sévigné, Letters

Tailpiece

“Where’ve you been?”

“Riding.”

“Horseback?”

“Yeah, half an hour ago, they tell me.”

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