My sailboat and learning a lesson. (Tales from the back of the pack).
In the movie the Avengers, Bruce Banner rides in on an old motorcycle and looks around and then states in an understated way, "Well, this is really horrible". The Wasp comes back with a kind of stupid, "I've seen worse".
Saturday, June 8th, we did the YRA Knox race. Anna was nice enough to send me a rather understated missive stating that it would be "windy" or "breezy" or something to that effect. So, this was our Nationals "tune -up". It was anything but. I allowed three hours to make it from Alameda to the race area. It wasn't enough. Dave asked if I would take the reefable mainsail, I said, "No one else would be using them". I figured we would have enough time to fine tune halyard tension just before the race, maybe do a few tacks and get my newish crew, Steve ready for the day.
In a word, it was "Horrible". My chosen route to the line was horrible, the wind strength was pretty extreme, the wave state only got worse. We broke stuff, were knocked down multiple times, were exhausted just getting to the line. It took us 20 or 30 minutes just to get around Point Blunt. The tide was ripping and the wind was on the nose. We put up the jib and were knocked down. We ran back down wind to drop the jib and started the motor again. We crawled around the point.
We made it to the start two minutes after the gun. We started and chased. It was hairy and the jib was correct on starboard, but looked like crap on port. I just couldn't get my head around it. We were headed on port and over powered, starboard worked a little better. We were nose down compared to the rest of the fleet. We did one lab but bailed part way through the second. The mainsheet traveller had broken the retention block off the end and was hanging halfway off the rail. I was going to abandon there and then. We pulled up next to Meliki and told them as much as my waterproof radio, had been submerged on the knock down ( I was loosing track of the number of "knock downs" at this point) and wasn't making noise anymore. I tried to call the race committee, no answer, we told Meliki we were done ( we had never really begun). Still we headed over to calmer circumstances and tried to regroup for the second start. We had a decent start, but once again we couldn't point very high, though we had good speed. When we flopped over, the jib back luffed along the leading edge, and the main just flogged. Slow, slow, slow. We went back to starboard and and after another mess, I pulled the plug. We bailed to Raccoon Straights. We had some calm sailing for a bit and I expected some calm in the lee of Angel Island. It was not to be though. The smartest decision I made that day was to aske Dave to drop the jib while in the relatively light air of the island. We could see the wind line up ahead and I wanted to have only the main up when we got there.
The sail across the slot, saw 40 knot winds with 50 knot gusts. The waves were 4 to 6 feet. As we pushed on, I could hear water in the rear bilge. I wasn't overly concerned until the overwhelming smell of gasoline pervaded the cockpit. I had to look then. The sloshing water had broken free the fuel tank, which was upside down and obviously leaking. I disconnected the fuel line and pulled the tank up.
The thing about sailing is that it really allows you to contemplate your predicament. It's not like cycling or technical rock climbing. Maybe it is like Mountaineering. You get to dwell on what can go wrong, what you will do, how will you try to keep yourself and crew safe. Really, the safest decision would have been to stay at the dock, or turn around at Pt. Blunt when it became obvious the crews experience wasn't up to it. I had overestimated the preparedness of the boat, my mistake and it could have resulted in much worse.
Once behind Treasure Island, we finally got some flat water. After the Bay bridge, we raised the jib. From there we ate lunches I had prepared and took stock. The engine was out, I hooked up the fuel, but couldn't prime line. Something was wrong. We sailed to the dock, a downwind slip. I had Dave unknot the jib sheets, but we still came in to hot. The whisker pole destroyed my dock box and bent the pole (rather nicely). It was par for the course. I left the dock thinking about selling the boat and only crewing in the future. The second guessing, the did I do a good job on the rudder repair, what about the rigging, will the mast stay in place?
I quit taking beginning climbers out way back when I didn't want 100% responsibility for another person anymore. I caught a mistake, once or twice on the final check. I just couldn't take it if someone was hurt on my watch. As we cleaned the boat and I bailed and mopped out the interior, those were the thoughts rattling around my brain. The bent boom gooseneck I took off to find a replacement. Dave washed the boat down, which he finds pleasing in a peaceful meditative way. Stave was off to his show opening and I piled into the car and shook my head at the pointless insanity of the day.
I got home and when my daughter asked if I would swim with her, I said "yes", out on my wetsuit and climbed in. I gaze dreamily at the humming birds and spend extra time stroking my dog. My wife hugged me upon our return and said, "I'm glad your all safe" and then said, "about the rest of it, I don't care". I am left digesting the experience, knowing I could have dome better, trying to take it easy on myself as I have never skippered in those conditions before. Still my mental acides are going to be working on this for a while.
I am posting this without proofing, otherwise I might never post it.
Saturday, June 8th, we did the YRA Knox race. Anna was nice enough to send me a rather understated missive stating that it would be "windy" or "breezy" or something to that effect. So, this was our Nationals "tune -up". It was anything but. I allowed three hours to make it from Alameda to the race area. It wasn't enough. Dave asked if I would take the reefable mainsail, I said, "No one else would be using them". I figured we would have enough time to fine tune halyard tension just before the race, maybe do a few tacks and get my newish crew, Steve ready for the day.
In a word, it was "Horrible". My chosen route to the line was horrible, the wind strength was pretty extreme, the wave state only got worse. We broke stuff, were knocked down multiple times, were exhausted just getting to the line. It took us 20 or 30 minutes just to get around Point Blunt. The tide was ripping and the wind was on the nose. We put up the jib and were knocked down. We ran back down wind to drop the jib and started the motor again. We crawled around the point.
We made it to the start two minutes after the gun. We started and chased. It was hairy and the jib was correct on starboard, but looked like crap on port. I just couldn't get my head around it. We were headed on port and over powered, starboard worked a little better. We were nose down compared to the rest of the fleet. We did one lab but bailed part way through the second. The mainsheet traveller had broken the retention block off the end and was hanging halfway off the rail. I was going to abandon there and then. We pulled up next to Meliki and told them as much as my waterproof radio, had been submerged on the knock down ( I was loosing track of the number of "knock downs" at this point) and wasn't making noise anymore. I tried to call the race committee, no answer, we told Meliki we were done ( we had never really begun). Still we headed over to calmer circumstances and tried to regroup for the second start. We had a decent start, but once again we couldn't point very high, though we had good speed. When we flopped over, the jib back luffed along the leading edge, and the main just flogged. Slow, slow, slow. We went back to starboard and and after another mess, I pulled the plug. We bailed to Raccoon Straights. We had some calm sailing for a bit and I expected some calm in the lee of Angel Island. It was not to be though. The smartest decision I made that day was to aske Dave to drop the jib while in the relatively light air of the island. We could see the wind line up ahead and I wanted to have only the main up when we got there.
The sail across the slot, saw 40 knot winds with 50 knot gusts. The waves were 4 to 6 feet. As we pushed on, I could hear water in the rear bilge. I wasn't overly concerned until the overwhelming smell of gasoline pervaded the cockpit. I had to look then. The sloshing water had broken free the fuel tank, which was upside down and obviously leaking. I disconnected the fuel line and pulled the tank up.
The thing about sailing is that it really allows you to contemplate your predicament. It's not like cycling or technical rock climbing. Maybe it is like Mountaineering. You get to dwell on what can go wrong, what you will do, how will you try to keep yourself and crew safe. Really, the safest decision would have been to stay at the dock, or turn around at Pt. Blunt when it became obvious the crews experience wasn't up to it. I had overestimated the preparedness of the boat, my mistake and it could have resulted in much worse.
Once behind Treasure Island, we finally got some flat water. After the Bay bridge, we raised the jib. From there we ate lunches I had prepared and took stock. The engine was out, I hooked up the fuel, but couldn't prime line. Something was wrong. We sailed to the dock, a downwind slip. I had Dave unknot the jib sheets, but we still came in to hot. The whisker pole destroyed my dock box and bent the pole (rather nicely). It was par for the course. I left the dock thinking about selling the boat and only crewing in the future. The second guessing, the did I do a good job on the rudder repair, what about the rigging, will the mast stay in place?
I quit taking beginning climbers out way back when I didn't want 100% responsibility for another person anymore. I caught a mistake, once or twice on the final check. I just couldn't take it if someone was hurt on my watch. As we cleaned the boat and I bailed and mopped out the interior, those were the thoughts rattling around my brain. The bent boom gooseneck I took off to find a replacement. Dave washed the boat down, which he finds pleasing in a peaceful meditative way. Stave was off to his show opening and I piled into the car and shook my head at the pointless insanity of the day.
I got home and when my daughter asked if I would swim with her, I said "yes", out on my wetsuit and climbed in. I gaze dreamily at the humming birds and spend extra time stroking my dog. My wife hugged me upon our return and said, "I'm glad your all safe" and then said, "about the rest of it, I don't care". I am left digesting the experience, knowing I could have dome better, trying to take it easy on myself as I have never skippered in those conditions before. Still my mental acides are going to be working on this for a while.
I am posting this without proofing, otherwise I might never post it.
Comments