We had an interesting sail last Saturday and I thought I would pass it on as sort of a cautionary tale. Three sailing couples were sitting on the dock smokin and jokin when one of the participants (me) suggested that we ought to go out sailing. The wind was blowing around 10 knots with a little gusting on top of that. One of our party looked at the clouds building to the south and said “I wonder when that storms going to get here?” The rest of us all doubted that any storm was coming so we decided to go out for the sail.
Now of the three sailing dudes one was what I would consider a very capable sailor the remaining two (including me and the owner of the boat we took out) were more of the novice/intermediate type. Away from the dock we motor, three guys’ three gals on a newer 32’ Catalina with roller furling jib and main.
After clearing the mouth of the harbor I relieve the owner of the wheel while he and the most experienced of the three of us make ready to pull out the main. I point into the wind and out comes the main. All the way out. I fall off to port and out comes the jib. All of the way out. We are sailing. I put the transmission into neutral and ask the owner “how do you turn this thing off?”, my boat has an Atomic 4 gas engine and on diesels I never can remember whether to pull the kill and then turn off the key of visa versa and this boat had a button not a pull so I was lost. We get the engine killed and a five minute discussion of the proper position of the transmission takes place. Do you leave it in neutral; do you leave it in reverse? I ended up leaving it in reverse.
We tack to starboard and then back to port, once more starboard again on to port (hey, we sail on a river and that means lots of tacks and jibes.). On this port tack I decide to come around a bit more and sail on a beam reach to the far shore. I look up river and see the heavier cats paws coming at us and so I say “Where going to get a good gust here in just a minute.” The storm I discounted on the dock was getting ready to pay us a visit.
I turn the wheel to port to point into the wind more when the heavier wind hits. From 10-15 knots to 25 -30 knots in the blink of an eye.
You might be familiar with two sailing rules that would have helped us. Number one “When in doubt, reef early and often.” And Number two “When in doubt, let it out.” Were we reefed? No, of course not. Did we let out the main sheet to spill the wind from the main? You must have us confused with people who don’t run around in circles and scream like children when the fit hits the shan.
Well we heal over till the rail just nips the water and loud crashing and scraping can be heard from the cabin as things that have never fallen off of their perch before are relocating with the help of gravity. I turn the wheel to point us into the wind and tell the boys (I have the wheel and therefore I must be the Captain, right?) “Let’s pull in the jib.” My crew jumps into action and after knocking each other around a couple of times Don has the furling line (sheet? I’m not sure) in his hand and is pulling for all he is worth. I can’t help but chuckle to myself as I notice the sheet to the jib is still securely around the winch. About this time my lovely wife sees me cackling like a mad man, both hands in a death grip on the wheel. It’s hard to maintain the steely resolve every Captain tries to project when ones wife has a life vest in one hand and her rosary in the other and is preying to Jesus like a snake handler at a the reptile house.
Finally one of my mates releases the sheet from the winch and Dons bloody hands continue to pull and pull and pull and nothing is happening. The furling drum is not moving. The jib is still flaying around and angry. Quickly John grabs a hold and they pull with all of their might and slowly, ever so slowly the gib inches onto the furler and then it stops. It mocks our grunting, bloody pulls as if to say “I will furl no more forever!”
Now it should be said that one of our number is a safety professional whose life work is protecting others. Safety first is drilled into him at every training session and meeting he attends. So who runs forward to the bow with out a life jacket? Why yes, Mister Safety. “We have a massive override on the drum” comes the report from the bow. Don, the boat owner doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to take the helm from me so I steadfastly stand my post with only the slightest of whimpers escaping in a rather rhythmic pattern. Finally one of us gets the bright idea “Hey lets start the engine.” I just know I would have thought of that pretty soon. Don reaches down and turns the key and pushes the button but the wind and occasional whimpers were so loud that I couldn’t hear the engine but the tach told me it was running and as soon as I realized it was in reverse and shifted into forward I actually had some control of the boat. Now Don’s wife says “Don honey, don’t you think you should help John?” So off to the bow sans life jacket as is our habit goes Don to see what help he can be at the pointy end of the boat.
Now that I was making way I had steering and this came in useful as the distant shore was no longer distant. Again using my Captainly authority I yelled to all who would listen “Hang on; I’m going to turn this sun of a gun around.” Hard to starboard went the wheel as I inched up the throttle hoping to get this part over as quickly as possible. Miraculously we did the 180, and now were heading down wind more or less, with our sails bouncing about useless to us as I kept the boat on a downhill course. Finally a cheer comes from the bow and the exhortation comes to furl the gib. My lasses grip the furling line and pull and pull and saints be praised the gib is stored.
That still left us with the big sail over our heads thrashing about like a fat man at a disco contest. Now Don, the boats owner had shrewdly labeled all his rope clutches so one would be able to tell at a glance which one was say, the main sheet, or that one is the outhaul. Wise, very wise. Unfortunately in Eastern Washington we have this thing called the sun that beats down on us mercilessly. One of the tricks said sun plays is to fade anything it shines its light upon not the least of which were Dons rope clutch markings. Another lucky happenstance is when they fit out a new boat they pretty much use white as the color of choice for all lines leading aft. In a perfect world one might be able to say “Release the green sheets clutch and pull in the headsail.” Instead we were told “It’s one of the white ones!” Helpful, to be sure, but as there were at least seven other lines in varying shades of white; one was left somewhat confused. Eventually we find the right “white one” and start pulling in the main only to have it get jammed up as it rolls up. But anyway at least it is stored and so we head for the dock.
Lessons learned? If you think a storm is coming your probably right. In strong winds always be thinking about reefing. Mark you lines so that a stranger to your boat can help should help be needed. The iron Jenny can get you out of a lot of trouble. If the wind is up, maybe everyone should have on a life jacket.
Now of the three sailing dudes one was what I would consider a very capable sailor the remaining two (including me and the owner of the boat we took out) were more of the novice/intermediate type. Away from the dock we motor, three guys’ three gals on a newer 32’ Catalina with roller furling jib and main.
After clearing the mouth of the harbor I relieve the owner of the wheel while he and the most experienced of the three of us make ready to pull out the main. I point into the wind and out comes the main. All the way out. I fall off to port and out comes the jib. All of the way out. We are sailing. I put the transmission into neutral and ask the owner “how do you turn this thing off?”, my boat has an Atomic 4 gas engine and on diesels I never can remember whether to pull the kill and then turn off the key of visa versa and this boat had a button not a pull so I was lost. We get the engine killed and a five minute discussion of the proper position of the transmission takes place. Do you leave it in neutral; do you leave it in reverse? I ended up leaving it in reverse.
We tack to starboard and then back to port, once more starboard again on to port (hey, we sail on a river and that means lots of tacks and jibes.). On this port tack I decide to come around a bit more and sail on a beam reach to the far shore. I look up river and see the heavier cats paws coming at us and so I say “Where going to get a good gust here in just a minute.” The storm I discounted on the dock was getting ready to pay us a visit.
I turn the wheel to port to point into the wind more when the heavier wind hits. From 10-15 knots to 25 -30 knots in the blink of an eye.
You might be familiar with two sailing rules that would have helped us. Number one “When in doubt, reef early and often.” And Number two “When in doubt, let it out.” Were we reefed? No, of course not. Did we let out the main sheet to spill the wind from the main? You must have us confused with people who don’t run around in circles and scream like children when the fit hits the shan.
Well we heal over till the rail just nips the water and loud crashing and scraping can be heard from the cabin as things that have never fallen off of their perch before are relocating with the help of gravity. I turn the wheel to point us into the wind and tell the boys (I have the wheel and therefore I must be the Captain, right?) “Let’s pull in the jib.” My crew jumps into action and after knocking each other around a couple of times Don has the furling line (sheet? I’m not sure) in his hand and is pulling for all he is worth. I can’t help but chuckle to myself as I notice the sheet to the jib is still securely around the winch. About this time my lovely wife sees me cackling like a mad man, both hands in a death grip on the wheel. It’s hard to maintain the steely resolve every Captain tries to project when ones wife has a life vest in one hand and her rosary in the other and is preying to Jesus like a snake handler at a the reptile house.
Finally one of my mates releases the sheet from the winch and Dons bloody hands continue to pull and pull and pull and nothing is happening. The furling drum is not moving. The jib is still flaying around and angry. Quickly John grabs a hold and they pull with all of their might and slowly, ever so slowly the gib inches onto the furler and then it stops. It mocks our grunting, bloody pulls as if to say “I will furl no more forever!”
Now it should be said that one of our number is a safety professional whose life work is protecting others. Safety first is drilled into him at every training session and meeting he attends. So who runs forward to the bow with out a life jacket? Why yes, Mister Safety. “We have a massive override on the drum” comes the report from the bow. Don, the boat owner doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to take the helm from me so I steadfastly stand my post with only the slightest of whimpers escaping in a rather rhythmic pattern. Finally one of us gets the bright idea “Hey lets start the engine.” I just know I would have thought of that pretty soon. Don reaches down and turns the key and pushes the button but the wind and occasional whimpers were so loud that I couldn’t hear the engine but the tach told me it was running and as soon as I realized it was in reverse and shifted into forward I actually had some control of the boat. Now Don’s wife says “Don honey, don’t you think you should help John?” So off to the bow sans life jacket as is our habit goes Don to see what help he can be at the pointy end of the boat.
Now that I was making way I had steering and this came in useful as the distant shore was no longer distant. Again using my Captainly authority I yelled to all who would listen “Hang on; I’m going to turn this sun of a gun around.” Hard to starboard went the wheel as I inched up the throttle hoping to get this part over as quickly as possible. Miraculously we did the 180, and now were heading down wind more or less, with our sails bouncing about useless to us as I kept the boat on a downhill course. Finally a cheer comes from the bow and the exhortation comes to furl the gib. My lasses grip the furling line and pull and pull and saints be praised the gib is stored.
That still left us with the big sail over our heads thrashing about like a fat man at a disco contest. Now Don, the boats owner had shrewdly labeled all his rope clutches so one would be able to tell at a glance which one was say, the main sheet, or that one is the outhaul. Wise, very wise. Unfortunately in Eastern Washington we have this thing called the sun that beats down on us mercilessly. One of the tricks said sun plays is to fade anything it shines its light upon not the least of which were Dons rope clutch markings. Another lucky happenstance is when they fit out a new boat they pretty much use white as the color of choice for all lines leading aft. In a perfect world one might be able to say “Release the green sheets clutch and pull in the headsail.” Instead we were told “It’s one of the white ones!” Helpful, to be sure, but as there were at least seven other lines in varying shades of white; one was left somewhat confused. Eventually we find the right “white one” and start pulling in the main only to have it get jammed up as it rolls up. But anyway at least it is stored and so we head for the dock.
Lessons learned? If you think a storm is coming your probably right. In strong winds always be thinking about reefing. Mark you lines so that a stranger to your boat can help should help be needed. The iron Jenny can get you out of a lot of trouble. If the wind is up, maybe everyone should have on a life jacket.