The Log Of Dragonsong: Spring Milk Shake Cruise 1993 Day 1

Posted on April 3, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

In the Spring of 1993 I took a Cruise of several days in my 23 foot sloop Dragonsong. It was a needed break in a heavy schedule of working full time and going to Community College part-time. In those days sleep was optional, as available. This entry was written in retrospective at the end of a long day. This is my natural environment, swinging on the hook with the oil lamps glowing, a hot drink cup of coffee and maybe the radio keeping me company. I am a hopeless escapist.

May 20, 1800 EST: Departed Rhode River Marina, Edgewater, Maryland .

I slept in this morning so I got out the door later than I wanted to for the three hour drive to the boat. I got in the mood to play tourist in Annapolis.  The Nature Store, Fawcett’s incredible marine store, and some very interesting vessels at dockside. This is to be my beginning of the season shake-down cruise. The mission profile is simply to cross the Chesapeake Bay to St. Michaels and satisfy my craving for a chocolate milk shake at Justine’s. Not exactly the Holy Grail or Golden Fleece but still a worthy goal for a worn out scholar.

When I finally meandered over to Rhode River Marina I found it necessary to do some extra chores, such as, sort out the wiring for the cabin and running lights. I don’t like to go out unless I’m sure that I can see and be seen should I be on the water after sundown.

I shoved off about 6:00. I feel like I’ve slipped into island time but i don’t mind a bit. Hey who needs schedules and clocks and all that crap anyway. The wind was fair for Eastern bay but a bit light all the way to Bloody Point. The tide slowed things down a bit and it soon became apparent that this would finish up as a moonlight sail. As evening set in the wind came up nicely to hurl Dragonsong through the dark at what seems like break-neck speed as we played connect the dots on the map by following flashing red and green lights. Because of the darkness I played it safe and went the long way around the shoal at the confluence of the Miles and Wye Rivers.

May 21, 0100 EST: At anchor, Shaw bay, Wye East River.

Late into the night seems to be my normal schedule whether I’m studying for classes or escaping the grind by going sailing. Now I sit here tired and happy, anxious for the morrow and the promise of chocolate delight. Seems like a silly subject for a quest on mighty waterways. Maybe it’s not the milk shake as much as how I got to it that makes all the difference.

Swinging on the hook is all about the feeling of contentment to be had in a self-contained world. The area offers folk music programing on the FM radio from Washington D.C. and Easton, MD. So my ears are treated to good music which will season the atmosphere during my dinner. Beef stew tastes pretty good at 1:00 A.M. especially if you augment Dinty Moore’s recipe a little bit. I threw in a dash of tomato sauce and a dollop of Lowenbrau to give it a taste of sin. I think I will save demon rum for tomorrow night.

So ends this day

 
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Lake Sailing, Possible Dream In Your Own Back Yard

Posted on March 20, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

My favorite cruising ground is the Chesapeake Bay but  Puget Sound is what is available to me now. These are large expanses of water with varying characteristics of weather, topography and tidal conditions. They are not the kind of water I began sailing on. Like many people I began my sailing experiences on a lake.

Memorial Lake State Park in Lebanon County, Pennsylvania was a good place to start learning.  It’s 230 acres of water was uncrowded and peaceful.  There are the usual picnic tables and a launching ramp.  No gasoline engines are allowed which keeps the noise level down. Places like this have a lot to offer the recreational boater including a starting point for dreaming of bigger things.

As time went on I trailered my San Francisco Pelican to lakes all over Pennsylvania with excursions into, New York, Maryland, and several New England states. Trailering a boat is the road to variety. Conditions from lake to lake can vary almost as much as in coastal cruising. Of course there is no tide to deal with but wind conditions are strongly affected by local terrain and micro climates. Launching facilities can be anything from a paved incline between floating docks and designated set up spaces near to rest rooms to a dirt road that descends precipitously to the water. Be prepared for anything.

Memorial Lake is situated along the base of Blue Mountain at the northern end of Lebanon County. Mountains breed weather and direct wind patterns. The downdrafts on the leeward side of a mountain can translate to the sailor as sudden squalls. The mountain  blocked the long range view of the horizon.  Summer thunderstorms seem to appear suddenly and kind of leap over the mountain onto unsuspecting sailors.

Many lakes created by damns as reservoirs sit in a natural valley and have a bowl shape or are a broad pathway between high bluffs.  The effect of this can be a confused wind pattern as the breezes are deflected by the shoreline walls.  you have to be on your toes looking for wind shifts.  This is good training in reading the water surface for squalls and catspaws.

Lake sailing can be very social in it’s own way.  Every lake seems to have a group of regulars who show up on Sunday or Saturday to relax on the water or race around the  buoys for bragging rights. Always look for the retired gentleman lounging by a laser eating a sandwich.  He’s a good source of local knowledge.

The launch ramp is a natural venue for conversation.  If your boat is a bit unusual you will attract a lot of questions.  My Pelican was a rare bird indeed in Central Pennsylvania. Home built boats in particular stand out everywhere.  Sailors were always trying to guess the type and landlubbers would tell me it looked like a miniature pirate ship. Well, what did they know? The mast wasn’t aluminum and the yard on the standing lug rig was as good as square rig to some.  I used to eat up that kind of attention.

Many lakes have a supervised swimming area where the kids can hang out. And a good snack bar and rest rooms are real pluses.  Opportunity for dockage varies widely. Memorial Lake had no docks, only a series of shoreline rails which you pull the boat up to and throw a padlock around. There were also canoe racks. The fees for using these were pretty reasonable.

One of the local characteristics gave me an interesting experience. The lake is on land that was once part of the Fort Indiantown Gap Military Reservation that is adjacent to the park.  The park sees few visitors on weekday mornings.  I showed up about nine o’clock with a nice breeze building from the west. As I was setting up my rig on the ramp a Park ranger came to me and told me to stay off the lake between eleven and twelve because helicopters would be landing on the lake. It sounded like a good show for lunch time entertainment.  I launched and settled down to enjoy a pleasant sail around the 230 acres of peaceful water.

Apparently the United States Army’s timing was not good or communications broke down as the steady beat of helicopter blades grew very loud.  It was only ten o’clock and the invasion had begun.  Three Chinook helicopters landed on the water off my port bow seeming oblivious to my presence. I immediately jibed and headed for a slightly more distant part of the lake to enjoy the maneuvers. The lumbering choppers sat down in the water and lowered there  stern ramps. All that was missing was squad of commandos exiting in rubber rafts or scuba gear. They took off after about ten minutes. very cool! They came back at eleven, on schedule, and did it again.

Besides entertaining military displays the Army through it’s Corps of Engineers has provided American citizens with quite a few lakes. Blue Marsh Lake near Reading, PA  has 1,147 acres of water, there are several launch areas with good facilities. The lake was officially opened for business in 1979.  I used to drive through the Tulpehocken creek valley everyday.  The Engineers bulldozed the heck out of anything that was scheduled to be submerged. the historic gruber Wagon Works was relocated.  It became a favorite spot for sailing because it was still relatively close by and it was a much larger span of water. One feels less like they are going in small circles all day.

Many of us dream of sailing around the world. The way the world is going that dream is be coming a dangerous proposition. Coastal cruising in the good old USA can be very expensive if you need a marina to keep your boat parked in between boat visits. Some of the pirates in this modern world own marine repair shops. If you can’t travel far, travel well. There is probably a lake near you waiting to take you away from it all.

 
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The Course We Steer Looking To Another Year

Posted on March 11, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

The swing of a compass in time with the easy motion of a well trimmed sailing craft is mesmerizing. The lubber line is a wandering, even elusive, target in rougher conditions.  The combined mediums of wind and water can present frustrating problems.  Sometimes it is easy to sense the timing and patterns of these forces but when things get confused trouble may ensue.

In general we tend to steer through an arc of plus or minus 5 degrees or a bit more. If you are consistent in the handling of the helm the variation will even itself out over the course of a passage. Steering by compass requires a strong focus.  It’s best accomplished when there is another crew member to keep watch for solid things that shouldn’t be bumped into.  When visibility is good we can reference our steering from selected landmarks or stars. Objects that don’t move are a great solace to the helmsman.

This is the part where I should reveal the inherent metaphors of navigation and living in a world of confused currents, strong tidal pulls and the rising tide of gas prices. That seems a bit weighty to me at 2:45 a.m. with another day of work in the cabinet shop looming so close. This week I renewed my hosting and domain names. Thus, Seaward Adventures has been afloat for one year. I have enjoyed every second and I hope my readers have gained something from my attempts at literary alchemy.

You may be interested to know that this blog reaches across the globe. I have been amazed at the scope of one small blog. The analytics show visitors from every continent except Antarctica. That’s a goal for the upcoming year. As a young man I dreamed of building a boat and sailing around the world. Life has had it’s way with me and my travels have thus far been more limited than my youthful visions. I truly love sailing. It is indeed a type of soulcraft. Which just means that I do it because it is one of the things that I must do to stay on course in life. I read the scriptures, worship God, work with my hands, play at pirate games with my Grandson and write words on a blank page. Keep the deck mates, steady as she goes, the voyage continues.

 
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Simply Messing About Anytime, Anywhere, It’s All Good

Posted on March 2, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

I’ve gotten used to not having much snow about. When you get it hanging around for a week or so it makes you nostalgic for Spring. I see the canoe on it’s saw horses with a blanket of white and get chilled to the marrow. The antidote for the time being is to sit at my little desk with a hot cup of something and rub two brain cells together for a little internal warmth. Equally good is to sit by the fire with a favorite book that bears a philosophy befitting sunnier times.

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolute nothing — half so much
worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing… about in boats — or
with boats. In or out of ’em, it doesn’t matter. Nothing seems really to matter,
that’s the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don’t; whether you
arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never
get anywhere at all, you’re always busy, and you never do anything in particular;
and when you’ve done it there’s always something else to do, and you can do it if
you like, but you’d much better not.”

Kenneth Grahame’s passage from The Wind In The Willows has become a cliche among sailors.  Chances are you have it on a coffee mug or a tee shirt, but the meaning still holds up. There must have been a touch of Thoreau in Ratty. He places the idea of simplicity as a useful lifestyle in exactly the right setting, “in boats — or with boats. In or out of ’em, it doesn’t matter.”  We die-hard escapists are equally content with building or repairing a suitable craft, preparing for a day afloat or running before the wind with the sun shining on our backs. The smell of salty sea air blends well with wood shavings and spar varnish. The love of boats is as uncomplicated as hormonal attraction and as constant as the north star.

Snow also possesses a power of long term nostalgia.  Whirling white flakes remind me of coming alongside the dock in Rockland, Maine bringing a schooner into it’s winter berth.  The flurries were foretelling the early arrival of Jack frost.  A few weeks later I was driving from my home in Pennsylvania to Mystic Connecticut for a maritime history symposium through a determined snowfall.  My insistence on not putting Dragonsong on the hard before my birthday at the end of November gave me several opportunities to enjoy the magical silence of falling snowflakes while afloat.

I have spent my time this week driving in the snow and sledding with my Grandson. I also played about in the shop with a half model project and spent a bit of time at the drawing board planning a wee boat that might be built sometime before the bankers come around and strip me down completely. There is more than enough passion to go around in this world. It comes in a million different flavors. For me it’s all about boats, every bit of it, so it’s all good. This land-locked Winter day gave me snow and memories. Afterward there was indeed something else to do, if I liked but I’d much better not.  So, I didn’t.

 
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Death, Taxes and The Desire To Go To Sea

Posted on February 20, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

I often bridle at the seeming inevitability of things.  Why are “unavoidable” and “unwanted” synonymous?  It puts a negative spin on life.  One seeks some assurance of a life with rising prospects.  The company I work for frequently champions the phrase, “The only thing permanent is change.”  This blatant violation of the rules of logic never fails to ring the bell on my logical fallacy detector.  However, some folks think it looks cool on a tee shirt.  What really seems to me inevitable and, if you will, “permanent” is desire.

In myself the desire to have a boat and go sailing on a regular basis is unquenchable.  I am not alone in this.  The boat shows continue to draw large crowds in this time of economic strife.  History is populated by seagoing promoters of civilization. They explored the “New World” and made Columbus a household name.  Okay, some Jolly tars of yesteryear got a chance to spend some quality time with the girls of Otaheite.  However, that was not a normative example of the mariners life in the eighteenth century.

The sea does not weave it’s spell effectively for all.  There is an old proverb which states that he who would go to sea for pleasure would go to hell for a pastime. Ralph Waldo Emerson* observed, “the wonder is always new that any sane man can be a sailor.”  “Being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned,” was the opinion of Samuel Johnson.

Having just paid my taxes, it was a bad year, I find myself wishing to get on with boat acquisition activities.  With taxes out of the way and death not yet upon me I am left with the permanence of desire.  It’s a burning I can live with, a jail which can be endured.  I’ll take my chances on drowning and keep a weather eye out for just the right small ship to buoy up my attitude.

*Ralph Waldo Emerson, English Traits -(1856), Chapter II, Voyage to England.

 
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Boatbuilding In A Small Way

Posted on January 26, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

19 ft. Gunkholer catboat designed by Jay Benford.

Building a boat, even a small one, can be a large undertaking.  Everything being relative, the size of my budget demands a minuscule boat.  I remain in an extended period of constructive daydreaming.  My hands, however, want to be actively constructive.  I keep them busy by occasionally adding to my affordable fractional fleet.  It is made up of a few vessels that have fueled my imagination in the past and I am in the process of adding a new one.

Half models have been around almost as long as boats have been assembled from individual pieces.  Dugout canoes probably came along before planked craft.  They did not require much preplanning in construction as they are made from a single chunk of wood.  Even planked vessels did not immediately require the invention of drafting.  You can still see the practice of building by hand and eye  by skilled craftsmen in places were fiberglass is looked upon as frozen snot and many tools lack both power cords and batteries.

Lines of Swedish frigate Venus (1783)

The idea of building a model prior to piecing together portions of the local forest has it’s own time honored traditions.  The incentive to create more refined hull lines in search of speed and the commercial incentive to duplicate successful designs drove the practice into widespread use.  An advantage of wooden hull models over paper plans is that it is a more stable medium.  Paper shrinks to a surprising degree.  That is why we still use tables of offsets rather than picking up measurements directly from scale drawings.

The classic method of graphically representing the shape of a vessel’s underwater form may not be easily perceived by untrained eyes.  As a means of promoting a design to prospective purchasers of a ship or boat a model can’t be beat.  Some of the best historical examples of this are shipyard models made for approval by the British Admiralty.  These models which may still be seen in museums and private collections show a high degree of skill and artistry.  They were meant to impress the Admirals on both an aesthetic and technical level.  They often feature details of framing and timber work that look good but are not actually the practice that was carried out in the shipyard.  These models weren’t mean to be scaled off of in the shipyard.  That was probably left to more functional half models or lofting from offsets on paper plans.

Clipper ship “Comet” 1851

As a three dimensional representation you only need to carve half of a boats hull to provide the necessary data to express it’s shape.   Measurements can be taken off at the various frame stations and laid down on the loft floor were they can be properly adjusted for accuracy and fairness.  This is a search and destroy mission for errors that finds and corrects unwanted humps and hollows in the planked surfaces of a vessel.  The model may be carved from a solid block or from lifts that are sawn to the shape of individual waterlines at equally spaced intervals.

Wraith 1885

I have carved quite a few half models over the years.  They were a regular feature in my woodcarving business that I had during the seventies.  Most of my half models have been of the block variety using two species of wood such as mahogany below the waterline and pine above.  Most are finished clear but a few have been painted with detailed fittings added.

My latest build is a small display half model of L. Francis Herreshoff’s canoe yawl, Rozinante. The design has been a favorite of mine for many years.  I am using the lift method which I hope will show her graceful lines to best effect.  The model is fairly small at 12 inches long..  I used a library photocopier to enlarge the plans found in Herreshoff’s book Sensible Cruising Designs.  The copy machine method can introduce some distortion and I don’t have any idea of the scale that results.  I have no intention of being precise.  The model only has to look good on a wall and be basically representative of the boats shape.

Lifts for Rozinante half model

I cut the lifts from 5/16 inch stock with a bandsaw and will glue them together before carving with a selection of woodcarver’s chisels and gouges.  A good low angle block plane is also handy.  Final fairing will be done with with sandpaper.  Templates of several stations will be used to bring the model to it’s proper form.  Whether the model will include any features above the sheer line has not been determined.  I hope to scrounge up an attractive piece of Cherry or mahogany to use as a back board.

There is a soothing rhythm to be found in the movement of cutting tools as they cleanly part wood fibers.  The sounds are soft and inoffensive.  The scent of pine is a memory trigger that transport me to other days I have enjoyed in the same happy enterprise.  As the vessel takes shape beneath my hands it may set my imagination on a steady course among tree covered islands strewn with granite boulders.  The laughter of the bow wave  blown away by the following breeze is felt in the vibration of the tiller.

The very act of craftsmanship feeds the imagination and motivates creativity.  What is modeled by the hand is molded in the mind and a cycle of satisfying thoughts spins into existence.  On a winter day in my quiet shop a small ship sails in a waking dream and I am a builder of boats in my own small way.

 
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The Silent Boatyard At The End of The Year

Posted on January 10, 2011 by Chris Kleinfelter

Winter is the silent season.  Beaches are deserted, marinas grow quiet and cold weather puts a freeze on normal human hub-bub.  The Caribbean may be hopping this time of year but the Olympic Peninsula, where I live is not.  Around here I see that a lot of boats stay in the water year-round.  Back East, empty marina slips are matched by the crowded rows of naked hulls in the boatyards.  They are interesting places to visit, cozy in their closeness, silent as a church.

A boat on land is an ungainly creature. Sailboats with deep keels look unsteady on spindly metal jack stands.  One feels small standing in a forest of closely packed sailboats which have come ashore to roost for the winter.  It’s the perfect time to work on the bits of boat that aren’t accessible the rest of the year.  It can take  time to become accustomed to standing under the curve of the bilges which are in perpetual shadow and the overhanging weight of a craft seems ominously heavy.  To sailors the bottoms of boats are quite as interesting as the top sides.  This is where wood, fiberglass, steel or whatever joins water.  It is the divide between two distinctly different environments.  The geometry of this joining combines art and science in a timeless effort  to bring man into communion with forces beyond his direct control.

There is variety in this display.  A thousand curves in a single hull, flat lines and sharp angles, bulges and humps.  Here the water flows smoothly by and there it eddies and froths as turbulence takes hold.  Some bottoms are meant to be solid, hammering at each wave, shouldering the water aside or slicing decisively through a chop with with a saber-like stem.  Others are made to lift their skirts and dance to the rhythm of the tides.  I never get tired of  this sort of display.  I can spend hours walking through crowded boatyards.  They are certainly the best place for friendly conversation with fellow sailor folk.  The only downside is that the assembling of so much nautical pulchritude results from bringing another sailing season to an end.

Preparing for haul-out can be a somber ritual.  I have always delayed it as long as practical.  It is never accomplished before the first of December.  An upside to this way of doing things is that the last boats out are the first to go back in.  This made it perfect for launching by my annual target date of April 15.  I could celebrate having my taxes done by taking a shakedown cruise.  On a boat Fall cleaning is as important as Spring cleaning.  The process frequently unearthed an assortment of souvenir’s that held memories of pleasant days under sail or quiet evenings on the hook recharging ones psychic batteries.  I liked to have everything in good repair so that the first sail after launching in the spring wouldn’t be delayed.

A hundred small details attended the day.  They brought an air of ceremony to the task culminating in untying the vessel and leaving the slip for one last quick sail on the way to the travel lift.  I would head down the river and raise sails and run an out and back course past the familiar daymarks.  The trees wore the last brown remnants of the years leafy raiment.  You could hear the wind rattle dry branches as it stirred the piles of russet castoffs at their feet.  The air crisp and clean as it brushed across the water’s face had an affectionate bite, a last kiss of temporary farewell.

My goodbye wishes to the bay and the river were audible and private.  My appreciation of the blessing of sail was never more heartfelt than when I left it behind for a season.

 
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Sailing Towards Sanity

Posted on December 26, 2010 by Chris Kleinfelter

Ralph Waldo Emerson, “…The wonder is always new that any sane man can be a sailor…”

Call me insane. I can’t imagine not being a sailor. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. My Grandfather joined the Merchant Marine prior to WWII.  He survived the torpedoing of two oil tankers.  My Father went to sea  when a young man but was lured away from it by my Mother.  He was okay with that.  To each his own.

Although my life has been suffused with water it is not the sea alone which calls to me.  Above all the siren’s call has been borne mainly on the wind. It is like a beautiful, mercurial, woman.  She has no more flattering raiment than the flowing curve of a crisp white sail.  To be deprived of the wind’s embrace is the best way I know to lose one’s mind.

A day of sailing in a steady breeze with all canvas pulling like a freight train is the ideal situation.  Ideals are elusive.  Often the wind is absent and can’t be had for any amount of trying.  Sometimes it leaps off the scale and overwhelms all vessels within reach.  It pays to develop a good sense of local conditions.  There is a time to reef and a time to go back to the marina or launch ramp.  Of the two extremes I have always found a bit too much wind to be more satisfying than no wind at all.  Maybe that’s because I have not come close enough to drowning.  I have come through some storms that tested my mettle.  Surviving is a sort of reward all on it’s own.

Nobody ever brags about coming through a horrendous calm.  The only terror in being becalmed is the danger to your finances as blocks and sheets flog about in the rolling induced by leftover swells wearing out expensive gear.  When you reach the point of slatting sails and jerking sheets making you crazy there is no point in going on.  Start the engine or break out some oars.  Go home and put the day out of it’s misery.  The sea is just as cruel a mistress when she deprives you as when she is overly generous and ill-mannered.

The mind is at it’s best in it’s best loved environment.  I am least sane when tied firmly to the land.  There is anger in the very soil and the immovable rocks are unnerving in their stubborn solidity.  The press of so-called civilization bears the contaminant of confusion.  When I consider the corrosive nature of  politics and the subtle seduction of the money lenders  I wonder how any sane man can remain on the shore.  Take me down to the water to cleanse my weary soul.  Bear me up on  angels wings, trimmed to run before the wind.

 
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Pointed At Both Ends, What A Concept!

Posted on December 22, 2010 by Chris Kleinfelter

I was just cruising the web looking at boats and having a moment of appreciation for double-enders.  This timeless hull form was not so much developed by the mind of man as simply assembled organically by the hands of natural craftsmen.  The first people to stop digging the guts out of logs began to lay planks edge to edge.  The Phoenician’s got the concept and they went pretty far.  The Norseman turned it into an art form worked by hand and eye.  Archaeologists are still finding traces of them in unexpected corners of the world. You have to admit the Vikings were on to something.  Having both ends of the boat shaped the same is pragmatism at it’s finest.  Especially when you are building with broadaxe and adze.

In the time-line of maritime progress the transom is a later development.  It is more complex in construction and serves it’s purpose above the waterline only.  It provides a broader deck and wider cockpit aft.  This provides a more spacious lazarette to store essential gear.  If the bilges of a boat are it’s basement, a lazarette is the attic.  They collect an amazing array of gear both nautical and nondescript.  Check yours, you’ll finding at least one thing you haven’t seen in the last decade.

Most sailboats are double ended from the waterline downward. A basic concept of sailboat design is not having the transom immersed creating drag induced turbulence.  In heavy weather the transom presents a target for waves to commit blunt force trauma against.  Having been shoved in the ass by many a following sea I can see the utility of having the back of the boat shaped much like the front. Transoms do have some practical values.  They are ideal for displaying the name of your pride and joy and you can mount an outboard and swim ladder.  The prettiest transoms are the elliptical masterpieces constructed by the best boat-wrights and the the small vestigial transoms seen on classic yachts with long counter sterns.

Double-enders can be both seaworthy and beautiful yachts.  Some of my favorites are Pinky Schooners, the Maine Peapod, Iain Oughtred’s Caledonia Yawl (and variations),  L. Francis Herreshoff’s Rozinante, Antonio Dias’ Beach Point 18 and Harrier, Albert Strange canoe yawls and the many designs they have inspired over the years.

All of these examples confirm the notion that form follows function.  My studies of yacht design have proved two things to me: I suck at math and ugly boats aren’t worth the kindling they’re made of.  Somebody once said “Boats that look right are right.”  Many modern sailboats look like nothing more than a stack of high priced Tupperware.  And just as form follows function it is also allied to purpose.  The classic Tahiti Ketch designed by John Hanna is a blue water work horse but will go nowhere without a capful of wind.  The best hull for a given purpose needs a rig to match.  It seems that the ketch and yawl rigs are ideal.  See the aforementioned  Beach point 18.  In smaller boats the lug sail has proved itself.  Oughtred’s designs feature them to good effect and they have a proper salty look.

A time machine could take you back to more famous examples such as the Colin Archer designed Redningskoite and the Danish Spidsgatters.  This month’s Woodenboat magazine features an article on Scotland’s Loch Fyne Skiff’s.  The plumb stem and steeply raked stern post look like they were meant to take on heavy seas.  The raked mast with dipping lug sail is weatherly and mounted out of the way of a working crew. The lapstrake planking accentuates the lines of the hull as they sweep gracefully from stem to sternpost. Honest craftsmen imprint their work with an understanding of how their product is meant to be used.  With wood aesthetics aren’t forced because beauty is organically grown from truth.

 
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Singlehanded Sailing And The Tao Of Independance

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Chris Kleinfelter

Although I am often unaccompanied by other people on board I never sail alone as I count the boat and it’s most important parts to be equivalent.  Each sail is a crew member.  They are fantastic conversationalists, if you’re listening.  Their speech is more plain than most people’s.  Big boats need the assistance of a crew and a wallet to match.  Small ships are more peaceful and they have no complicated social rhythms to drown out the call of the sea.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy sailing with people at all.  I have sailed on schooners with 30 people aboard and enjoyed the company for a time but I was always happy to get back to my little 23 footer.  Solitude is a virtue.

220px-Tinkerbelle_by_Robert_ManryI grew up as a nerdy kid who never bore the burden of popularity.  It is necessary to be a team player, as needed, but Independent activity suits my personality better.  As a bookish boy I haunted school and public libraries.  I discovered sailing through the printed page.  The first book to capture my interest in the sea was Tinkerbelle by Robert Manry, an editor for the Cleveland Plain Dealer.  Manry was a bit of a dreamer tied to a desk who escaped from the rodent relay on a little 13 foot lapstrake sailboat.  His imagination lead him to the idea of making a transatlantic crossing as a sort of bucket list/grand gesture adventure. Initially he planned on doing the voyage with a friend in a 25 foot fiberglass boat.  The friend and his boat dropped out of the plan so Manry built a cabin and deck with self bailing cockpit on Tinkerbelle and eventually wound up in Merry Old England without drowning.

When I moved to Washington from Pennsylvania I made part of the journey as a pilgrimage.  I knew that although Manry had died in 1971 Tinkerbelle was preserved in a museum at the Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio.  I stopped there to pay my respects and was amazed at the tiny vessel.  Like sailors everywhere I am guilty of anthropomorphizing boats.  Tinkerbelle seemed to possess a special stalwart character and unique charm.  It was well worth stopping by for some alone time with a very memorable little boat.

The story entertained and inspired me.  Although I couldn’t quite conceive of undertaking such a voyage myself I knew right away that someday I would take up sailing as a primary activity for life.  I steeped myself in nautical literature and lore throughout my high school years.  As I settled into adulthood I found the means to turn my vicarious voyaging into waterborne reality.

“Nothing in the world
is as soft and yielding as water.
Yet for dissolving the hard and inflexible,
nothing can surpass it.”
Lao Tzu

Although sailing proved to be a very social sport I never hesitated to go out on the water for lack of a crew.  I have found the very best crew to be people who are comfortable maintaining a companionable silence.  Listening is a game for quiet folks.  In the scriptures there is a frequently repeated phrase, “He that hath an ear, let him hear.”   The senses are opened up at sea in a way that I don’t quite get on land.  The mixture of aerodynamics with the fluid power of water creates  a combination that is both invigorating and calming, all at once.  Lao Tzu spoke of water as an irresistible force behind the softest substance. It has a lot to teach us.

I look at an America’s Cup boat and the crowd on deck is like Christmas shoppers at the mall.  Introducing new sailors to the delights of the sport is a joy and a privilege.  Spending time with an experienced old salt who stands ready to pass on a new wrinkle in the art of seamanship is of great value.  What I value the most is time spent in communion with just the boat in full contact with wind and water.  At such times the soft, yielding, water can dissolve my heart of stone.

Special note:  For those interested in following up on the story of Robert Manry and Tinkerbelle there is a website dedicated to their memory.   The Robert Manry Project is well worth a visit.

 
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