amazing/interesting boat stories

[jwaldin]

How about anyone who has had an amazing/interesting experience on a boat post it here. It should be really short say a couple of hundred words. We all could 'vote' on the best at some point say every couple of weeks.
I'm sure there are lots of budding Hiscocks out there. To get the ball rolling I'll start

[John Bell]

I wrote this story a couple of months ago. It originally appeared in Duckworks Magazine.

During the last two weeks of July, 2003, my family and I had the pleasure of cruising the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence River on the border of the United States and Canada. We were anchored in a small bay at Thwartway Island when we had the following encounter.


During the afternoon a man motored past us in an outboard utility and beached in the little cove where we were anchored. He got out and wandered aimlessly on the sand and pebble beach for a time. We paid him little notice until later when we saw him carrying an open nylon stuff sack that he was dipping some kind of powder out of with a little scoop, and very deliberately spreading it around on the rocks and sand, all around the perimeter of our little cove.

We speculated about what he could be doing. The best idea we could come up with was that he was spreading salt for deer that may be on the island. My curiosity burning, I hopped in the dinghy with my four year old son and rowed over to inquire what he was doing. As we got closer, I saw that he was a tall, lean man, about 60 years old. He had the look of an athlete, fit and vital. He kept to his task, sprinkling the mysterious substance. If he was aware of our approach, he did not acknowledge it with either word or gesture.

I called out to him. “Pardon my curiosity, but I just have to ask: what are you doing?!”

He looked up and gave us a smile. I think he knew we were there, and even expected the question. He may have even been hoping we’d ask, at least that’s how I see it now.

“I’m spreading my wife’s ashes…”

I don’t know what I looked like at that moment, but I felt myself go pale with the embarrassment and remorse of being so bold in intruding on his privacy. Realizing the significance of this moment, I was without words other than to splutter an apology for our intrusion.

“Not at all!” he replied, still smiling. “Please join me.”

Still speechless, I listened as he continued. This was his farewell after forty years together. This spot, this cove, on this island, in this river, this lake, was a very special place for them. They had shared many happy hours there with friends and alone. As he spoke, I could sense the bittersweet emotions of that moment. I could hear the echoes of laughter of summer evenings spent there with friends and family and see in my mind’s eye the romantic sunsets shared with no one but them.

And here I was, an uninvited guest to this man’s final farewell to his life partner. I struggled to think of something meaningful to say, something to convey my sorrow at his loss. My sorrow was not just at his loss, though. The realization that this time with my family, my wonderful wife and beautiful children in this perfect place and time is so fleeting, so brief, it added to my grief for him. His recollection for us finished, he returned to his task.

Unlike the rare few with the talent for saying just the right thing at the right time, what I said when he paused probably sounded hollow and trite. I ended with “You could not have a more lovely place to say goodbye. I’m sorry for the intrusion. I’ll leave you with your memories. God Bless You.”

With that, Evan and I rowed away, with me attempting to explain what had just transpired in a way that a four year old could understand. With the recent death of the family dog for reference, he understood the facts but not the significance. That only comes with age. We rowed over to the next cove, giving the man some space to grieve without our intrusion. A little while later, he got back in his skiff and motored away.

Even now I’m moved by the intimacy of that moment with this man, a stranger whom I’m unlikely to ever meet again. It’s a ceaseless wonder how in small ways we are all interconnected. I like to think that we were meant to meet at that moment. I was there for him to have someone to share this significant moment with. He was there to remind me of the importance of being in the moment with the ones you love, that our time here is all too brief, that we should immerse ourselves in the times we share as friends, family, and lovers.

Later that night, my wife Lori and I were treated to a memorable sunset which we enjoyed in each other’s arms. We sat together and marveled at the beauty of this place and reflected on our life together. We are truly blessed; thanks be to God!

As I went to sleep that night I was happy. I was glad to be in that moment in that place… That our time together still has no foreseeable end... That we still have memories to make together.

God bless you, sir, whoever you are. I’m glad we aren’t strangers anymore.

[jwaldin]

When I was 10 years old we lived in Alberta. My father got it in his head that he wanted to sail across the Atlantic. He bought a British built ketch sight unseen off the back page of some sailing magazine-----lying at Gulf Juan 3 miles east of Cannes. Mom Dad Beverly and I fly to Nice- cab ride to Gulf Juan-walk past the boat a few times-the only picture he had of 'Puffin 111' was the 1"by1" add. We move aboard. First time we go sailing was the day the Leonardo da Vinci cruise ship went aground on the beach at Cannes (see photo in Life magazine). Oh yes it was rough. The old radio direction finder came adrift below and no one could go below to secure it for fear of it killing them!
A couple of months later when Dad was hand filling little primar pots on the motor with gas and using ether to start the motor the boat exploded and burned out the interior. No one was hurt. We moved ashore. When we went to Engand for Christmas a storm hit and 'Puffin' came adrift-smashed into the Aga Khans boat across from us then she sank.
Dad bought her back from Loyds-had her raised-put on a freighter to Vancouver-then by rail to the Ghost damm where he rebuilt the interior over a few years. He lined the interior teak hull by screwing and glueing in plywood.
Then by truck to Vancouver. The story of how the boat made it through the snow sheds may come later. From Vancouver to Mill Bay-sailed her for a few years. He built a ferro cement boat to replace Puffin (another story). Sold Puffin. She ended up a derelect sitting on a cradle in a field. Vandals finished her off. Not quite the end of story.
Years later Kathy and I were working as 'Artists-in-Residence on an Alaskan cruise ship. We went to the ships library-picked up a coffee table book about Vancouver Island and there was a photo of Puffin sitting in the field on her cradle. The caption below said "These old boats could probably tell some interesting stories". The End

[ion barnes]

J, could Puffin have been layed up in Mill Bay just behind the shopping center on the road to Shawnign lake? Some details I have heard are very similar.

[ion barnes]

J, got your message on the T-bird thread. About twenty years ago, I crawled around her. The house had been removed sometime before. I was in a sailing class and someone made the comment of its history as an ocean traveller. As Paul Harvey would say "Now you know the rest of the story". Thanks Ion

[jwaldin]

Thankyou John for sharing a beautiful moving experience. I wept as I read it. 'Here and now'. Every moment is a gift.

[cs]

I'll offer up this one for now.


Just got back from my second sail and this is what I learned.

Lesson #1. Don't try to sail to windward on a lee shore After a hour and a half of trying to get upwind and only making about 200' progress I decided to shoot out into the middle of the lake and than try from there. Out there I found a lot more wind and made it back to the dock in only 30 minutes. I guess sometimes it is better to sail away from your destination and get a better angle of attack.

Lesson #2. Fix that jamming centerboard that I talked about last time. Had to go into the water twice to un-jam it.

Lesson #3. Don't plan anything in the evening if your going sailing in the morning. That 2 hour trip back to the dock through a monkey wrench into everything I had planned (including lunch). But this was way more fun. BTW anybody got one of those peanut butter and jelly sandwichs. I'm hungry!

This is more of a question. I had someone tell me one time to keep your sail 90 degrees to the wind. Now I found that if the sail closer to parrell with the centerline of the boat it seemed to have more power. When I noticed this I was trying to sail close to the wind. Am I suppossed to do this all the time or just when sailing close to the wind? This is only the second time that I have been sailing so every day is a learning experiance.Chad

[skuthorp]

These form a couple of weeks back
http://media5.hypernet.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php?ubb=get_topic;f=6;t=001780

[ion barnes]

Thanks John, I too was overwelmed, touching and a task that one is called upon to do once in awhile. All the more relavent if you have been called.

[jwaldin]

The 90 degree theory is only that. There are endless variables that will effect your boats performance. A very few are: the hull shape (not just below the load water line). Remember when your boat heels the underwater shape changes moment to moment. The sails you have and how high or low you fly them changes the center of effort affecting your boats ablilty to point (into the wind). Mast rake effects lee or weather helm. On small boats where the crew sits affects performance. The best way to get the best out of your boat is to get out there and sail and sail and sail. Read, make notes and take the notes with on the water and refer to them and try things like controlled jibes-that sort of thing. Being able to do controlled jibes is one sign of a good sailer. That manuever is very important to master.
Have fun.

[Noah]

Here are a couple of posts about my first year with my Free Folkboat...

* I said good-bye to my dad who had been helping me all weekend, parked my car, grabbed a big pail of Sawdust and headed off to the dock. It had been a hell of a day. Vanessa was pretty pissed that I had spent all weekend consumed by one thing, and not paying attention to her. She came up for a long (and much deserved weekend for her) thinking that it would be lots of smooch-ums and good times. I on the other hand was at the very end of 1 month of hard labor.
*********** I love projects…well, I’m not sure that I love them, but I’m drawn to them. They are what get me through each day, and each month, week, or year.* This was just another in a long list of fairly ambitious projects that I have undertaken. Some are successful, and some haven’t quite gotten finished. Anyway I have been restoring a 1958 Nordic Folkboat that I got for free a couple of months ago. It is a 25 ft lapstreak beauty of a little sail boat. They are simple, Spartan, and sail well.
By the time I had walked down to the dock I was totally discouraged. I had done my thing, and gotten this bug out of my system, but I had also pretty much given up. My boat was still leaking like a sieve, and after 3 days the wood had no intentions of swelling further. A quick check of the AC Zimmer pump showed that last night hadn’t made a bit of difference. It was a beautiful Monday, but being Labor Day, the dock was active and happy boaters weren’t going to let a little wind get in their way of having fun. Did I mention that it was blowing like hell? Point Bay Marina faces South West, and if the wind is blowing just right, there is a good couple of miles of straight water for the waves to build up some size. Today the marina was taking a pretty good pounding, and my little red boat was getting the worst of it.* The air was clean and dry.
*It used to be that springtime, April or sometimes March if the seasons are quick, was my favorite time of year. Who knows, maybe next year it will be. But right now, that turn to fall is a wonderful thing to feel. Almost as if on queue the sun took on the golden glow that marks its transition from overhead, to low on the horizon. (I know it doesn’t happen all of a sudden, but all of a sudden you notice it.)
*********** Especially on the lake the golden light transforms something beautiful, into something magnificent. But anyway the wind was blowing like hell despite the sun, so it was hard to get a feel for the day. I was already sick of bouncing around on the dock by the time I had the boat kinda ready for a quick outing. My idea was to head across the cove, and hangout in the lee of the land. I didn’t have a chart, and I hadn’t wired my depth finder yet, so I was going to “feel it out.” I got the outboard started with two pulls, and let it idle down. I uncleated the stern line, readied the bow line slowly pushed the boat off the dock, un-cleated the bow line, and jumped aboard. It was a clean get away, and I was happy that I made it look easy. (though I have been around boats, I haven’t had much time at the tiller of a low heavy keeled sailboat {the Folkboat has 54% of her weight in the keel})
First I headed east, and was going to go into what the guy at the dock called the “toilet bowl” he made it sound pretty easy to get into, and I thought that would be plenty calm. As I sat on her back deck it felt good to be at the helm of my own boat. Despite weighing around 5000 lbs the little Mercury 7.5 hp outboard moves her at a good clip. She was being pushed around a bit by the waves (around 2ft) but sailboats are only really happy when they are under sail. As I got out I realized that there were two islands between me and the toilet bowl. I only remembered one, so it made me kinda nervous. There are a couple of reefs in the bay, and I didn’t want to stick my boat on one of them. I brought her around and headed west towards the mouth of the bay. It was much wider there, and I knew I would have plenty of room right up to the shore. It took about 30 minutes for me to go the mile or two to the other side, and I headed for a bunch of big powerboats the were rafted together. I figured if they were ok, there should be enough water for me. I moved in close to shore and dropped my anchor in about 10 feet of water. *I found out later when I raised the anchor that it was mud and weeds.
*********** I felt better being “on the hook” and safe. I was still nervous being alone in my boat, though really there was no need. I worked on a few things, and tidied the cockpit up. The boat is still a total mess, with tools, pieces of wood, and other crap kicking around on it. There doesn’t seem to be enough room on her for all my tools, and something is always in the way. Actually I think that this is true of any boat, and the only answer is to keep her shipshape. Maybe next year I will be able to do the same.
*I filled my battery box full of sawdust, put on my bathing suit and got ready to jump over. I was still a little cold from the hard wind that was out on the lake, so I decided to take it easy for a couple of minutes. As I was looking around I realized that most of the people on the powerboats nearby were naked. Something about being out on the lake makes having no clothes on seem really appealing. I pulled my shorts off, and lay in the sun counting the number of times my bilge pump cycled on and off. (5 minutes on, 20 off, or roughly 1 gallon of water every 2 minutes) I noticed hidden under a seat a couple of beers that had been left from a few days before. Though warm it hit the spot, and I put the others into the bilge for later. One of the good things about having a leaky boat is that you have a bilge full of water. On mine the float switch is set up so that there is around 10 inches of water in the bilge. Just enough to cover a beer… those Scandinavians are always thinking…
I finally decided that I was ready to jump into the water, so I put on my shorts. By this time there were other boats around, and I didn’t want to offend. I put on the two dollar K-mart swim goggles that I bought earlier in the day (before I got the speeding ticket) What the hell do you say to Cops when the have you pulled over. I always try to be nice and very polite, but I have never found a way to break into conversation with them. I have heard that you really need to, but what the hell should I say to officer straight pants while he is watching me fish for my registration in a glove box that is filled with crap… Plus my dad was sitting next to me, which really sucked. There was nothing that he could do, and somehow it just didn’t feel right. **** always comes in piles. I will fight it though. That seems like my best chance at getting off, and by jaysuus it is my right as an American!!! Should I be mocking America on Labor Day? Did we really win any rights? The average American works more hours now than they have at any other time in history.
So I jumped over, and grabbed the battery box. For some reason I was very jittery about diving around my boat, and my first attempt at the saw dust distribution was a total failure. I got out and rigged up an oar with a Tupperware container tapped to one end. If you are wondering what the hell I was doing with sawdust, it is used to stop leaks in old wooden boats. If you empty out a container under the keel, as the sawdust floats up it gets sucked into the cracks and fills them. The idea is that once it’s in there it will swell, and become tight. So the oar rig worked well, and I emptied about 15 gallons of sawdust under my boat. To my amazement it actually worked. Most of the leaks had stopped, and that water wasn’t coming in anymore! For the first time in a number of days I felt like I had actually accomplished something, and that I might actually be able to keep her in the water. I then dove in and tried to apply some “slickseam” which is a waxy substance to the places where she was leaking. I wasn’t very successful with this, and it is hard to apply underwater.
I came back aboard, drank one of the beers I had stored in my bilge, and contemplated what to do. After while I decided that there was only really one thing, and that was to go sailing. I bent on both the sails, and got them raised while still on anchor. It took some doing, and some running back and forth between the tiller and the mast to get everything straightened out, but I did it. At first I think that the whole sailing thing is better accomplished with two people…anyway it is a good way to get to know your boat.
I motored out of the lee, but quickly I had more air than I could deal with. I was on a broad reach heading back to port going at hull speed when all hell broke loose. The track on the boom that holds the sail started to pull out. First one screw, then another. Luckily the track was still holding though badly bent and pulled up about two feet from the boom. I brought her up into the wind, and started the motor. The wind had really started to pick up by now (probably 20 –25 mph with big whitecaps) The sails were luffing like hell, and beating me, the boat, and everything else up. At one point I looked back and saw one of the battens in the sail go flying off in the wind. (I guess I will need to replace that one) I decided to head up to one of the islands and hopefully be able to drop the sails there in relative calm, but this was a dumb idea. As I headed towards the island I couldn’t get into the lee without tacking a couple of times, which was out because of the broken boom track.* When you hear about sailors is bad storms you really need to think about what wind means with really big sails. They have so much force that it is simply amazing. It is so much stronger than you can imagine. So the boat is shaking its-self apart, the backstay was loose, and I was getting a little panicked. I was heading for the island, but it offered no safety, and probably lots of danger, and it was very rocky around it. I fell off into the wind, and stopped luffing. Basically I needed to run close hauled in order to miss the island that was approaching very quickly. All to soon I found out the main sheet was tangled around the traveler, which meant that I couldn’t let out the main sail nearly as far as I wanted to. At this point I was in real trouble. If I kept going into the wind I would run straight into the rocks on the island. If I fell off, the wind would fill the mainsail, and I risked breaking the mast, boom, tearing the sail, or knocking over the boat. All this because of a tangled mainsheet. It is too long right now, and the very first thing that I’m going to do before I ever try sailing her again is trim it to the right length. I ended up bracing myself and taking the full brunt of the wind. I had the rail in the water and lots of speed, and I still went very near to the island. Luckily the boom track held, and nothing broke. After a couple of minutes of this I was back near to where I had anchored, and I managed to drop and tie down both the sails, but more importantly take a much needed piss. I apologized to my boat for being un-prepared, a poor sailor, and a fool. I hope that she forgives me.
The motor back to the marina was uneventful, and docking in large waves wasn’t all the bad. A few more dings in her paint, but hey its only paint. The sawdust that had fixed my leaks had gotten knocked out by all the pounding, and she was back to her leaky old ways.
At least I got one sail in this year, and it only cost me around $1000. Hopefully I will have the gumption to fix what is wrong, and try my hand next year. For the time being she is going to get pulled out, and I’m going to start on the rest of her problems. I have learned that don’t go sailing when everything isn’t shipshape, ready to go, and don’t cut corners (like not tying in your battens) *

[Noah]

(I posted this on 9/11)

I was dawdling in the car listing to the **** that was unfolding on NPR. I could see the mast of my boat bobbing around in the distance, but the hull was hidden by trees. It had been the longest that I had left her (around 24 hours) I walked across the yard to fetch the cart, and as I was walking back I took a quick look at my boat. I found my Folkboat still floating, but just barely. I still had two planks above the water, but they were disappearing fast. I sprinted across the yard, grabbed the extra battery and took off for my dinghy. I threw the battery in, and was off. *If I had a slower Dinghy she would have been lost. Instead I have a 12 ft Whitehall skiff that has never been rowed so fast... I made the 100 yards to the boat in record time. There was nothing like an easy landing once there. I lept aboard with the battery in my arms. I reached down and grabbed the old battery, yanked it out of the water, and threw the terminals on the new one. Bilge pumps still didn’t kick on. WTF? I manually switched on one pump, and let it do some work. Realizing that I never plugged the 2.5" hole for the diesel exhaust because I will be putting it in next year, I tore off my shirt and stuffed it into the hole. Next I tore up one of the floating floorboards and got hold of the old exhaust hose. I pulled with all my might and finally it came free. It got it up in the air so water wasn’t coming in at a tremendous rate, and reached down to get the other bilge pumps working. I clearly remember looking down through 3 ft of water and seeing the float switch in the down position. I pulled it up and the 1100 GPH pump went to work. .
So basically she had a 2.5-inch hole 1 foot below the water, and she still hadn't gone down. After I had the big hole plugged I started bailing like Hell. I mean really bailing. I used a battery box, and I have never moved more water in my life. The cockpit floor was easily 1 1/2 feet below the water. They say that nobody bails faster than a scared sailor. You may disagree or think otherwise, But I don’t think that any mechanical pump could have beaten my on that day. *I still can't believe that she is afloat. I must have just gotten there at the moment the exhaust hole went below the water.
After things were slightly stabilized and the water was going down slowly I realized that there was still a ¾ inch hole in the port side that was leading to nothing. A couple of days before I had pulled the hand pump in order to work on it. I grabbed that end of hose and got it above water as well. I then went back to bailing. Because she is old and wooden, most of the topside planks hadn’t swelled up yet, and I’m sure that water was coming in at a pretty good rate though the seams. My answer was to keep on bailing like hell. I don’t know how much water I moved, but it had to be around 1000 gallons total. Maybe more.

If anyone is familiar with the Folkboat the water was level with the seats in the cockpit. That left exactly two planks, or about 6" of freeboard left. *Down below there was two feet between the water and the cabin top. There is normally 4 feet of room between the cabin top and the bunks, and the bunks are another foot above the highest point of the bilge. We are talking about allot of water.

Initially I was scared that she was going to go down with me on her. I didn’t know if there really would be suction or not. I was also scared to reach into the cabin bilge to get to the pump switches. *I meant going through 3ft of water to get to them.

I don't understand why she got that low in the water. The bilge pump needs to run for 4 minutes every hour, which is allot, but not terrible. I do have two batteries, and two bilge pumps. I installed a completely new system including float switch, so I now have 3 systems, but I'm still sleeping on her each night.
After my heart stopped pumping, and I could actually breath, and trust her not to go down I started to clean up. I’m not sure anyone ever realizes how heavy foam rubber cushions get when they are in the water. Those buggers must have weighted around 150 pounds each. I think it will take a steamroller driving over them to squeeze all the water out.

After all this she is getting pulled on Saturday. The one leak is coming in around the front Keel bolt under the mast step, and my next job is to replace all the bolts. A couple of them have been replaced and look pretty good, but still I really need to do it.

I guess it gave me something to think about for the last couple of days.