He who meditates is lost

ONE OF THE PEOPLE out sailing on the Salish Sea right now says he’s trying to decide how much he likes boating. He told a friend of mine that he has never done anything that can take you so fast from pleasure to terror.

My friend understood what he meant. She told him she once had an experience with a kayak that got her dumped in the drink unexpectedly. “I told him it was much like going from a feeling of confidence to incompetence in nanoseconds,” she said.

What’s wrong with these people? They’re the victims of pernicious psychobabble, specifically the oft-repeated injunction to “live in the moment.”

It took me a long time to figure out what living in the moment actually meant. I was not really sure whether I lived in the moment or not. I didn’t know what living in the moment felt like, compared with living outside the moment, either in front of the moment or behind it.

But it occurred to me eventually (I’m a slow thinker) that it was largely bound up with meditation, and that explained to me why people who are not natural sailors can go from happiness to terror in the blink of an eyelid; because, if you are a real sailor, you never live in the moment. You live in the future. And he who meditates is lost.

A real sailor is aware all the time of what could happen next. He or she stays ahead of current conditions and wonders what might happen if this or that occurred. A real sailor who sees a dark cloud on the horizon doesn’t take a deep breath of satisfaction and  think how beautifully it contrasts with the fluffy white clouds overhead. A real sailor imagines what could happen if that cloud is hiding a white squall. What would be the best way to handle the downburst gusts?  Would it be better to double-reef the mainsail right now? Roll the jib, maybe? Are the reef pennants in place? Can someone else steer while you do the reefing?  Are the jib furling lines free and ready to operate? What else might happen?

All the time he or she is afloat, the real sailor is thinking ahead, not living in the moment. There is never a time when you are under way when you can afford not to be living in the future. You must give full rein to your imagination.  That’s why, when the future arrives, you are neither surprised nor terrorized. You are prepared and confident.

On the other hand, those whose heads are idling in neutral, awash with the pleasures of the moment, will certainly experience fear and uncertainty when their surroundings suddenly change into the inevitable fury of the future.

Many of you will recognize this theory as an extension of my own Black Box Theory (quod vide), which, succinctly stated, says “the more I practice the luckier I get,” and explains why some boats survive storms and groundings when others don’t. Take no notice of those meddling non-thinkers who keep urging us all to live in the moment. If you’re a sailor, live in the future, and you’ll probably live longer.

Today’s Thought

The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. — Thomas S. Monson

Tailpiece

“How about a kiss, gorgeous?”

“Certainly not, I’ve got scruples.”

“No problem, babe, I’ve been vaccinated.”

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Some I keep, some I don't

SOMEONE WANTED TO KNOW if I had kept all my New Year resolutions. Well, now that the solstice is past, it seems safe to reveal that I never manage to keep all my resolutions. Heaven knows, I do my best, and some years I come pretty close, but I wouldn’t be human if I kept them all. I’d be some kind of nautical angel. 

To save time and arguments, and for the sake of easy comparison,  I use the same set of resolutions every year. Here they are, and you’ll see why some of them are difficult to keep:

► I resolve never to varnish again. I will abide by the John Keats Rule of Varnishing: A Thing of Beauty Is a Job Forever.

► I resolve to wear a harness and safety tether whenever my wife is watching.

► I resolve never to pee over the side again while we’re sailing, unless:

(a) The head is blocked again, or

(b) The holding tank is full again, or

(c) I think nobody’s watching.

► I resolve not to take along a gallon of wine every time we go for a sail, on account of what my wife says happened last time. (However, the cat, an innocent bystander, did recover quite well.)

► I promise, when on a cruise, not to eat all the chocolate before we broach any other supplies. The bitter criticism is not worth it.

► I resolve not to sail rings around other slower boats, unless severely provoked.

► I resolve never again to race people who don’t know we’re racing.

► I resolve (rather unwillingly) not to get testy and shout a little when my wife refuses to jump a mere 6 feet to the dock with a boathook in one hand and the mooring line in the other. Sheesh, every day on the sports networks you see people who can easily jump 18 feet. Grumble, grumble.

The end

Today’s Thought

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought

— Shakespeare, Hamlet

Tailpiece

Two blondes rented a boat and headed out for the day. They came across a beautiful secluded bay and spent most of the day there topless sunbathing. Next week they decided to go back to the same place.

"Did you mark the spot?" asked Blonde 1.

"Yup," replied Blonde 2. "I put a big X on the bottom of the boat."

"You dummy!" said Blonde 1. "What if we don't get the same boat?"

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

Copper is on the way out

THE WRITING IS ON THE WALL for copper-based antifouling paint. Washington has become the first state in the U.S.A. to ban its use on boats, with effect from 2018.

Antifouling paint discourages the growth of barnacles and plant life on submersed hulls. If you have a wooden boat, it also discourages marine borers from eating your planks for lunch. Copper became the most favored biocide after 1988 when Congress banned the use of tin-based paint, which proved to be harmful to shellfish. But now there is growing concern that copper, too, is toxic to many forms of sea life.

It used to be easy to understand how copper worked. It was a poison, pure and simple, and the rule of thumb was that the more copper a paint contained, the more effective an antifoulant it was.

Now, new ecologically safe antifoulants are available, usually at much higher prices, but their modus operandi is not as obvious. There is vague talk of formulations with biopolymers and promises of photo-active technology, but the net result is a paint with a seemingly impossible mission—to discourage barnacles and slime without killing other forms of sea life.

Until 2018, however, unless new legislation changes things, there will still be four basic types of copper-based antifouling:

* Sloughing. This paint slowly dissolves over time, exposing fresh copper as it does so.

* Hard epoxy or vinyl. This is a scrubbable paint that allows the biocide to diffuse slowly through the skin.

* Ablative. This is usually a copolymer paint that acts by hydrolysis, or chemical reaction with water, and the scouring action of water flowing past the hull.

* Permanent coating. This is a coat of resin, polyester or epoxy in which millions of tiny pieces of copper metal are suspended, each one individually coated with a thin layer of resin and thus electrically insulated from its mates. New copper is exposed by scrubbing the hull every few months and it’s possible that this system could last the life of the boat. But application is a job best left to the professionals.

Today’s Thought

A ship is ever in need of repairing.

— John Taylor, A Navy of Landships

Tailpiece

There was an old lady of Worcester

Who was often annoyed by a rorcester.

She cut off his head

Until he was dead,

And now he don’t crow like he yorcester.

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Cross-country by ship

I WONDER HOW THEY’RE DOING over there in Sweden this summer. It’s been so very long since I was there. I must have been in an impressionable mood during that visit because I still remember very vividly how astonishingly beautiful the Stockholm Archipelago looked in the evening sunshine.

I had not anticipated tens of thousands of islands and islets stretching out 37 miles into the sparkling Baltic Sea, hiding 50,000 holiday cottages. But the greatest astonishment was the huge number of small sailboats busily plowing back and forth everywhere. Among them, I could see, were lots of wooden Folkboats with varnished hulls, many of them manned by a girl, a boy, and a dog.

I was told that the calm waters of the archipelago were subject to the Allemansrätt, or Everyman’s Right, a law that gives anyone the right to go ashore or anchor on any shoreline not obviously in the close vicinity of buildings.

It looked to me like a sailor’s paradise, but we had no time to go sailing; my wife June and I were there on journalistic business and we had to travel from Sweden’s biggest city, Stockholm, to the second-biggest, Gothenburg. It was not the usual kind of journey, however. We traveled clean across Sweden from one coast to the other by way of the Gotä Canal and the two large lakes, Vättern and Vänern.

We traveled aboard a wonderful little ship called the Wilhelm Tham, launched in 1912 and designed to squeeze into the narrow locks of the Gotä Canal. She was originally powered by steam, but later was fitted with a 600-hp diesel engine. She is still going to this day and runs on a regular schedule, carrying a maximum of 50 passengers in 25 cabins that are perhaps even cozier than the saloon of a small sailboat. She takes up to four days to complete a one-way run. It was a fascinating passage, a slow and stately procession through gorgeous pastoral landscapes and, on occasion, cruising above a village on an elevated aqueduct.

It was a visit we’ll never forget. And I often wonder what went on aboard those little Folkboats in the Stockholm Archipelago. Good job dogs can’t talk.

Today’s Thought

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill.

Tennyson, Break, Break, Break

Tailpiece

Swaying gently in the farmer’s field, the baby ear of corn turned to the mother ear of corn and said:

“Momma, momma, where did I come from?”

“Hush dear,” said mom, “the stalk brought you.”

How to cure mast vibration

HAVE YOU EVER experienced one of those times at anchor when a stray puff of wind hits you from abeam, and the mast starts shaking? It’s not a good feeling. I can tell you that from experience. You begin to wonder how on earth the darned mast has managed to keep standing all this time. You begin to wonder how close your mast has been to collapsing, if a little wind from the side can set it dancing like that.

The alarming effect of mast vibration can occur on almost any sailboat, but particularly on those with deck-stepped masts and insufficient fore-and-aft staying. The vibration is caused by wind eddies shedding alternately on either side of the mast, which theoretically oscillates at right angles to the wind.

In practice, nearly all such mast movement occurs when a moderate wind, up to about 15 knots, blows from abeam or thereabouts. When the natural frequency of the mast happens to coincide with the frequency of vibration, the mast can suddenly start shaking quite violently, rattling the whole boat and raising no small amount of alarm among her crew.

You can reduce the possibility of this vibration with an extra stay, such as a wire inner forestay or a removable baby stay. In a pinch, you can use a low-stretch line, made fast to the mast as high as you reach and taken to a bow fitting and hauled taut.

A more certain cure is to hoist in the mast groove a stiff (say 9-oz.) strip of sailcloth at least 4 inches wide. This will break up the regular vortices on the downwind side of the mast. But it’s also pretty certain, of course, that no one will want to go to this trouble.

Another way to improve matters somewhat is to tighten your shrouds and/or stays, thus increasing the downward load on the mast. That will usually reduce the fore-and-aft movement of the mast enough to give you some peace of mind, but I doubt it will help you sleep any better.

Today’s Thought

The wind’s in the east . . . I am always conscious of an uncomfortable sensation when the wind is blowing in the east.

— Dickens, Bleak House

Tailpiece

A man is sitting in a pub having a drink and nibbling peanuts from a bowl on the bar when he hears a voice saying: "You look smart, that's a nice suit.'' He looks around but the bar is empty. Eventually the barman reappears, and the mystified man tells him what happened. "Oh, that would be the peanuts," says the barman. "They're complimentary.''

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

It's not all beer and skittles

ONE OF THE TRUISMS about long-distance cruising in a sailboat is that it’s not all beer and skittles, as many people imagine. It’s not all relaxing in the cockpit with a cocktail in your hand as the sun sets amid a flaming cloudscape at the end of a gorgeous day.

A famous cruiser from the last century put it in better perspective. Dr. Peter Pye said:  

“Washing your face in an inch of water, feeling the salt in your flying hair, the warmth of the sun through an ancient shirt, turning out in the night to silence a tin that rolls with the rolling ship, seeing the same faces from four feet across the cabin sole day after day, week after week — if these things don’t seem worth while, give up your dreams of the southern seas and take Mr. Weston Martyr’s advice and catch the nine-fifteen.”

That’s from his fascinating book, The Sea is for Sailing.  Yet, despite his description of the seamier side of cruising, Peter Pye and his wife Anne cruised the world’s oceans for 20 years and would have cruised longer had he not tragically died aged 64 during a minor operation in a British hospital in which a cylinder of anesthetic gas had been wrongly labeled. Furthermore, while he admitted that cruising was not for everyone, his own deep love of sailing overwhelmed the drawbacks, and his enthusiastic books attracted hundreds of newcomers to the sport of deep-sea voyaging.

Peter and Anne Pye bought a wooden 29-foot fishing boat in Cornwall, England, in 1931. She was in pretty poor shape, having been built in 1896, and she cost them £25. They converted her to a seagoing cutter and named her Moonraker of Fowey, a name that was to become famous in cruising circles.

Pye was a doctor, but not an ordinary doctor. After World War II, when the British healthcare system was about to be nationalized, he retired from medicine and decided to go sailing full-time. He was greatly influenced in this decision by a book called The £200 Millionaire, by the Weston Martyr mentioned above.

He and Anne covered many tens of thousands of sea miles, advising anyone who cared to listen that “log, line, and lookout” were more important to survival at sea than any number of modern gadgets.

The Sea is for Sailing, first published in 1957, describes Moonraker’s voyage from England to the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal and across the Pacific to the Marquesas and Hawaii. From there she set sail for Victoria, British Columbia, where the Pyes rendezvoused with Miles and Beryl Smeeton. Finally the Pyes took Moonraker back to England via Panama and the USA.

It’s a charming book, beautifully written, and copies are still available on the Internet from Amazon.com and other sources. If you’re a long-distance cruiser with ambitions of writing a book about it, this is how to do it.

Today’s Thought

 We sail with one hand in God’s pocket.

 — Anne Pye  

Tailpiece

A husband and wife at a hotel in Alabama asked for a 6 a.m. alarm call. On the stroke of 6, the phone rang and a voice said: "Hi y’all, this is your wake-up call."

The guest said thanks and put the phone down. A minute later the phone rang again and the voice said: "Hi, y’all this is your wake-up call."

The husband was annoyed. "But you phoned only a minute ago,” he said.

"Yeah, sure," replied the receptionist, "but there’s two of y’all."

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

Why do people cruise?

WHY DO PEOPLE go cruising the face of the earth in  small sailboats? I think most people cruise to find happiness, or at least inner contentment. But then we have to ask: What is happiness? Happiness is as elusive to find as it is to describe. I believe it’s the byproduct of working toward a goal. Happiness is serendipitous. It ambushes you while your attention is focused on your goal. If you deliberately chase happiness, it runs away from you. But if you chase a  goal, happiness sneaks back.

So what should a cruiser’s goal be? Almost anything you decide in advance to achieve through thick and thin. To sail around the world is a goal, but rather a grand one. Your goal doesn’t need to be that grand. It could be to collect certain rare shells from far-flung islands. To photograph six different kinds of whales in six oceans. To make a video or write a book. To retrace Slocum’s route and collect postage stamps from every country he visited. To climb certain mountains on certain islands. To take mid-ocean temperatures for the Scripps Institute. You're limited only by your imagination.

Having a long-term goal, a definite objective, gives purpose to a voyage, removes uncertainties, and resolves many decisions that otherwise become burdensome, contentious, and, in the end, lethal to congenial relationships.

So if you want a successful cruise, set a goal that everyone can agree on —and firmly never budge.

Today's Thought A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover that there is another behind it just as important.

 —Stephen Crane

Tailpiece

A man visits his doctor. He presses his leg and says: “It hurts here.” He presses his ankle and says: “It hurts here.” He presses his ribs and says: “It hurts here.”  He presses his nose and says: “It hurts here. What's wrong with me?

“Broken finger,” says the doctor.