Ruby starts outboard

Yesterday Ruby started the outboard motor.   This accomplishment is no trivial matter.  She is limited by both arm strength and arm length such that even when she is able to pull the cord, she cannot pull it far enough.  Some of the other cruising families have push button starters for their dinghies and the kids are able to take the dinghy to visit friends all by themselves. It is like having the keys to the family car. So Ruby had been trying with an air of determination for several days to start ours.  But after 20-30 she was exhausted and would announce that this was impossible.

When she finally got it, it was because she literally flung her body and landed on the metal seat which mounts athwartship (crosswise) where I happened to be seated.  The look of astonishment, when she heard it purr to life was precious. She had crashed in a heap between the seat and the inflatable tube.  If the landing hurt the pain was completely blocked by her emotional reaction to what she had accomplished.  

She remains proud of her accomplishment.  While she has only been able to repeat this feat once more, with similar body-flinging technique, she remains proud of her accomplishment, keeps working at it and confident she can gain consistency. She tells me she was motivated by just the desire to do it.  Then she admits it will be good to be able to visit the other kids on her own.    

Squalls

I could see the first squall coming.  It was a characteristic tall black cloud with rain below it.  They’re tall because of the vertical air movement within them, but we can do science later.  Our weather router has advised us to aim west of these squalls because they are moving NE and will cross in front of us.  This one seemed to have a trail of followers so I tried to race it.  And lost. The rain on the water created a misty layer and gave the water a grey quality.  On my skin it felt like hail.  I had too much sail out so tried to run (go downwind) with the storm in which direction the apparent wind, the wind that I feel, is less.  Once things were under control I was able to think of the weatherman’s advice and steered my way out of it. For some reason behind the storm the water was a vivid blue. And my bed was soaked.

The second squall was at night.  My radar picked it up 4 miles away as a red blob ahead.  It looked like it was going to pass.  Trouble was more red blobs kept materializing.  Pretty soon I was boxed in.  I had  already put in my third reef which reduced the size of my mainsail as small as it could go.  The sail was flat and the traveler was down.  Unfortunately I still had the genoa up.  The Solent, my midsized head sail, had been up earlier but the halyard was chafing at the top (something which I knew to check on because it has happened before).  I had not put up the stay sail (next smaller sail) because I was still feeling weak and dehydrated from diarrhea that had kept me up the night before.  So I furled the genoa several more turns.  I don’t like to reef by furling because it distorts the sail and reduces performance, but at this point i just need to reduce sail are quickly.  I did not go as far as I should have.  As the winds started to pick up I sat below, looking out the companionway.  The winds peaked at 44kts.  And remember that wind strength increases by the square of its velocity, so 44 kts is four times stronger than 22kts.  And a kt is 1.1mph.  If i could have spared a hand I would have videoed waves on the low side washing into the cockpit.  The boat is creaking and moaning.  I’m all geared up but I’m not going out there.  First of all I’m not sure I’d be able to bring in more sail without breaking something.  Second, if I try to steer the boat downwind I could lose control of things and make things worse.  And it simply looks scary out there.  But at a break in the wind, meaning a dip below 30kts, I went out, clipped in (secured to the boat via a tether) did what i could and hurried back to shelter.

With the sail reduced I just sat below with Tolkien. From where I read I could peak at a monitor with wind speed, the boat’s relative position to the wind and the boat’s compass heading.  Periodically she’d land off a wave with a bang and a shudder would go through the hull.  Until i disconnected it the propane alarm kept goin off, telling me my sensor has been flooded.  And of course the radar would set off alarms about the next one coming.

The Calms

The calms are worse than the storms.  Without wind, my sails have nothing to lean against. The movement is random and unpredictable as ocean swells, today from two different directions, toss me around.  The boat rolls from side to side, she pitches forward and back, the bow yaws from side to side.  She also heaves up and down, surges forward and sways side to side.  The force of the waves is relentless.  Mother Nature is as unforgiving as ever.  

Before I took the sails down the random movement of the boat created its own wind upon them. As much as I tried to keep them full with the little wind still present, the rolling of the boat created stronger wind.  The boom would swing from side to side and bang when it reached the limit of the main sheet.  The genoa would collapse as it rolled with the wind and then fill with a clap as the boat rolled back.  It felt like nature was taking a hammer to the boat, trying to tear it apart.  

Eventually the purist in me decides the sail has to come down and its time to motor.  At this point, however, I’m frustrated and when I start the engine i flip on the autopilot, forgetting that I also have the windvane engaged.  A creaking in the steering alerts me that these two powerful mechanisms are fighting to control the rudder.  That battle would not have ended well.  

At least in a storm I would have every tool imaginable to control the power in the sails and the movement of the boat.  Now I have one — the motor.  Its loud and it vibrates the boat, but the forward thrust at least stabilizes one degree of motion.  And its not like I have much choice.  There is a storm coming in two days and I have to travel 250 miles to get out of its way so I have to average 5mph.  

Bon Voyage

Good morning from the good ship Gryphon.  I seem to have had a fast first night given that a catamaran who was 2 miles ahead of me is now 6 miles behind.  The view as I ascended the companionway this morning was fantastic with the grey-blue of the ocean, a light blue sky and the orange of the sun not yet over the horizon.  The vastness is humbling. 

The one eventful thing during the night was that my wind vane came untied from the steering wheel.  When this occurred the boat headed up slightly and the sails began to flog.  Part of the art of steering with the wind vane is to have the sails balanced so that the forces on the sails keep the boat in a straight line without much rudder correction.  It was because I had tried to achieve such balance that the boat only headed up 30 degrees and luffed.  She did not tack.  It was a bit cold when I went up to address that issue so I took the short cut and just switched to electronic wind vane (the autopilot steers to a wind direction rather than a compass heading).  I did not go on deck to clean up the lines and this morning from the bathroom window I noticed that the jib sheet was wrapped around a mooring cleat.  

I also have noticed that I tied my second and third reefing lines too far forward on the boom.  I will need to retie those when the boom is closer inboard. The problem is that when I go to put in one of those reefs I will not be able to get the sail flat because I will not be pulling effectively on the clew (the aft corner). Having the sail flat depowers the sail which is the point of reefing. It is not a big fix but I need the boom trimmed closer inboard  I have been on a deep reach all night but the wind is veering (moving clockwise) so I have brought the boom in closer already.

I have made radio contact with Zipporrah this morning.  I have not heard from Yeah Baby since a text at 0115. Currently 48.5nm to my Gulf Stream entry point which is 35° 30’N, 74° 20’W. Making 7-8 kts. Arriving at that waypoint by 1500 Atlantic time would be ideal per our weather router.

View our position (tracking)

You can view our position and our track with this Tracking link.  It also shows my race to Bermuda in June

The link for this site is https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Gryphon

Safer at sea

Sailboats are safer at sea than they are close to land.  In my experience people find this concept counter-intuitive.  It was true the other night, however, and as a result we spent the night sailing.

We intended to leave Jewell Island, just off Portland, earlier than 8am this morning, but a conversation over coffee about better kitchen storage distracted us.  We thought we still had time to  make it to Portsmouth, but winds were light and this boat does not motor very fast.  As the winds built they were directly against us.  We tried sailing and we could go faster, but not in the right direction.

We eventually admitted to ourselves that it would be dark when we reached Portsmouth and we’d never been there before. At the southern end of Maine safe harbors are further apart. We did have the option of York but at the tidal current can make its narrow opening flow like a river.  There was also a big swell, remnants of a distant storm, that would complicate any landfall today.  We called the York Harbormaster who admitted he had not been “out” to see the swell, but if we made it there in an hour we should be able to make it in against the ebb tide.  If it took us two hours, however, the tide, which was bigger than usual at 11 feet, would be faster than we could motor.  

I remained concerned about  that the tidal current and the swell might affect my ability to maneuver and getting near the rocks would wreck the boat. A couple times I mentioned the option of staying out all night but it seemed Kate was not ready for that idea.  I told myself it would show good compromising skill if I could stick to the plan, maybe it’d be fine and I wouldn’t need to subject everyone to a bight out. I set out fenders, untied the anchor so it was ready to deploy and cleared the cockpit of all nonessentials that had accumulated over the course of our long day motoring.  My apprehension grew as we got closer. The setting sun made it difficult to see the navigational buoys, but the white spray each time a swell hit the rocks was easy to make out.  

What I had not articulated clearly, when I had mentioned to Kate staying out all night, was that I did not feel safe entering but felt perfectly safe staying out all night. The forecast for the next several days was for light winds and it was even supposed to be warm.  With only a few minutes to go Kate says I told her I was “scared shitless.”. Once I got this out Kate agreed we should turn around.

Ruby was concerned and cried. She refused to sleep in the v-berth because she remembers me saying that it gets bouncy up there on offshore passages. Leif was fine about it, but then he inhaled his dinner and threw up. But after we settled down and read some stories they both slept 12 hours. Kate relieved me from 1 to 4am and I slept every minute of it.

By morning we were south of Boston. A long day of sailing for this crew is 8 hrs and we now we had several of those out of the way. The winds died in the morning but the Cape Cod canal, which changes its direction of flow based on the tides, was not going in our direction for another 6 hours so we just drifted towards it and played cards in the cockpit

Boom repair

I woke the other day at dawn to ruminating, anxious thoughts about what would have happened had the boom broke in the gale during the return from Bermuda.  If you can’t imagine the possibilities, just as well.  The damage that led to failure must have occurred at that time.  It is simply dumb luck that it waited to break fully until I was near shore in benign conditions.  Now I have no welding expertise but, after working with the John Williams yard for three days, I am confident that we built a considerably stronger connection.

Here is a picture of the new gooseneck, the attachment between the boom and the mast.  You are looking at the front of the boom.  Note that there is a solid plate on the forward end of the boom.

We also built a new pin, the piece with the hole at the
top, because the old one was nearly worn through

This second picture shows the old gooseneck (from the other side) after it broke off.  It was only attached to the front end of the boom by four tabs, two of which you can see.  The initial design had openings in the front of the boom so lines could pass through, accommodating the previous reefing system, called single-line reefing, that I have replaced.  The tabs are what broke.  The plate will be considerably stronger than the tabs were.

This next picture shows the end of the boom after it broke off.  You can see where the tabs attached.

This next picture shows the gooseneck as seen from below.  You can jut make out the black sheaves (round pieces) that the lines are fed over.  The metal pieces are dividers between the sheaves so that the ropes do not jump from one to the next.  The axle for the sheaves goes through the plates and into the sides, helping tie the whole structure together.