E- Boat Plan

Lesson 1

Its amazing what you can do with wood and rope, once you get the hang of them. That is, once you get the feel for what they can do.

The other day, I realized I was starting to get that feel. I didnt expect to get it, I wasnt waiting for it, but all of a sudden, there it was: I had a problem with my topsail yard and I thought, "Oh, a bit of rope fill fix that."

Not, "Oh, a $55 fixture from the Wizbang Marine Shop will fix that." No, just a bit of rope. I felt pretty clever. And intrigued to see how it would actually work. And thats where the trouble began.

I had two tasks on my calendar for that day: 1) Helenas first sailing lesson, and 2) install a few bits of hardware on the Blue Moon for the topsail. There was no doubt in my mind which was the more important task. Without Helenas interest, the topsail wasnt much use to me. And, as Helena loves to say, "You cant make a second first impression." I had my priorities straight.

And yet, the simple beauty of my new topsail rigging was so alluring... Id literally been thinking about it for 2 years. Bob -- the guy I bought the boat from -- had tried to explain the basic topsail hoisting concepts to me, but his explanation seemed highly unlikely to me. Surely no one in their right mind would come up with such a crazy scheme for hoisting a sail.

Eventually, I realized the broad outline of Bobs approach was correct. But the details... Oh, the details...

The essence of no-drama sailing is to make every part of the ship simple and fool-proof. And to make sure the crew knows how to handle each bit of gear surely and intuitively. With none of the loud, scrambled, wrong-handed mayhem that makes your cowering non-sailor wonder if shes going to ever see land again.

But that topsail seemed inherently dramatic.

Its a simple, triangular sail, laced to a 12 long pole (a yard, in sailing lingo.) This pole was as long as my main boom, and heavier built.  Hoisted on my shoulder, it seemed massive. Massive and nearly featureless. No wizbang fixtures screwed into it to make lacing the sail a little simpler. Just a long, white, featureless pole, tapered slightly at both ends to make it look like a javelin.

Its resemblance to a javelin was unfortunate, in terms of no-drama sailing. It was all too easy for me to imagine that yard plunging down from the masthead, piercing right through the deck, and punching a hole in the bottom. I figured first time I set it, we had a 50/50 chance of sinking.

Topsail laced to yard... I did figure it out.

Anyway, I will eventually devote an entire blog post to that topsail. Suffice to say I finally had figured out the 829 details required to prepare, hoist, set, adjust, lower, and store my topsail, and I was dying to try it out. I just needed to install the last few bits of required hardware on the Blue Moon: a cheek block on the end of the gaff for the topsail outhaul, a turning block under the gaff throat for the same line, and an eye-pad on the deck so I could store the yard vertically alongside the shrouds. Nothing complicated. Surely I could install those bits of hardware while giving Helena her first lesson, which was going to be pretty simple.

After some discussion, Helena and I had agreed that the first step would be to learn a few essential words, plus a few essential knots.

I thought she knew most of the words already, but I wanted to make sure she knew them cold: sails, mast, boom, sheets, cleats, tiller, hull, luff, telltails, bow, stern, port, starboard.

The initial selection of knots were focused on how to hitch a line to the different sort of cleats on the Blue Moon: belaying pins, normal two-horn cleats, and one-horn jam cleats. Also, coiling up lines, either to be stowed away or hooked to a belaying pin. I didnt expect Helena to be tying a bowline in a bight in the near future, but it sure would be helpful if she could belay a sheet or halyard to a cleat quickly and correctly.

These simple, basic skills would lay a firm foundation for the rest, and would give her a sense of confidence and usefulness on the boat.

So, the plan was to row out to the Blue Moon, where I would show Helena the basic knots and review the words with her while she practiced her hitches over and over again until she had them cold. Meanwhile, I could toddle around and install the few bits of hardware. I hoped to surprise my whole yacht club by hoisting my topsail that night, in the regular Thursday night race.

In short, wed planned a nice, relaxing day on the boat. No sailing, just a bit of hitching, talking, and installing. Probably take an hour, tops.

What I hadnt counted on was the 95 degree heat, and a wrathful sun that reminded me of my worst days in Florida.

While Helena practiced coiling a jib sheet the way I showed her, I started drilling holes in the deck for that eye-pad. Ive got a really nice old hand-brace that I enjoy using -- its so easy that I never even think of lugging a power drill onto the boat. And when it came time to install the pad, I had Helena turn the screwdriver on deck, while I held the bolt underneath with a pair of pliers. Much the simpler job with two people.

Helena wasnt quite strong enough to put the last few turns on the bolt, so we switched positions.

"From bake to broil," I thought. Down in the cabin, you baked like in an oven. On deck, you broiled. Ha-ha.

I chuckled to myself, putting on those last few turns, to make sure the eye-pad was good and tight.

By then, I was sweating profusely and a slight throb had developed in my head. Not heat stroke or anything like that... getting heat stroke on the mooring definitely does not fit in with no-drama sailing. But it sure was bloody hot.

By the time I got to installing the block on the end of the mainsail gaff, Id forgotten all about Helenas sailing lesson. I was trying to finish the install before I melted into a pool of elemental protoplasm, and Helena was trying to keep us both in a pool of shade, with a big golf umbrella that I keep in the cabin, for just that purpose. A kind of movable awning, if you will.

I had a headache, I was miserable, but I was determined to finish the job.

Two hours later, we finally finished installing those 3 bits, plus a few other last minute changes that I realized we needed. Helena had gamely pitched in and helped with whatever she could, but somehow the Lesson had been forgotten. And I dont mean Helenas sailing lesson. I mean the Big Lesson. The one I thought Id learned just last week. The one, vital lesson.

Its about her, stupid.

I dont know if Helena will remember how to coil down that jib sheet, but Im going to try very hard to remember the Big Lesson.

We try, try again...





>>> Next Episode: Lesson 2