A Little Boat Called Iris

Hawkestone Weekend - Race 4

2011-09-10T19:13:00.002-04:00

Our last morning in Hawkestone was cool and clear. Autumn had arrived overnight. Breakfast was good (as usual) and Chuck and I were well rested after turning in early the night before. It was a cool misty morning, and I put on my foulies not for rain, but warmth.

Around breakfast there was much talk of the previous races and who did what to whom and when and whatnot. We were back to normal yachty talk and excitement was everywhere. But it was cold.

After breakfast, flags were handed out for our performances in the previous races, and iris received 2 third place flags for her efforts over the weekend, and then it was time to discuss the race before us. The course was a simple diamond, nothing fancy, but the race committee wanted to get things started right away, so we hurried to the boat, hanked on the sails, and got out into the lake.

The start field seemed very busy indeed, with boats milling everywhere, so Chuck and I did our usual trick and went to the preferred end of the line, and hung out hove-to until the race was nearly ready to start. After what felt like 5 minutes, we slipped the jib across the deck, sailed into the fleet and joined the melee in time to get in on the pre-start dance.

We loosely followed the path of Trumpet in the pre-start, figuring he would know local conditions, and had a nice, relaxed sail. If one thing can be said about Trumpet's Skipper, it is that he has the most unhurried way of getting to the front of the fleet, doing magically what I stuggle and fight for in a most unrelaxed manner. With less than 30 seconds to go we were just behind trumpet, getting ready to cross the line. He did an S-curve to dump speed, and I decided to try a quick gybe-tack to do the same and get separation. the gybe went well, but on the tack we had lost too much speed, and the fleet coming to the line stole what was left of our wind. We faltered, struggled to regain our speed, and crossed the start well behind the erest of the fleet. Only one boat started after us. We joked with the committee boat on the way past that we would be pulling up their anchor with our keel. We were very close to them.

The only advantage to a late start is that you don't have to deal with other boats stealing your air or messing with your course. We used this to advantage, and fought to regain lost ground on the first leg of the race. This close reach had us catching up to some of the boats that were tangled in a heap from the start. Our challenge though was that we couldn't see the mark that was the first rounding of the race. Eventually, I just sailed as high of a course as I could and then fell to the mark once we saw other boats rounding it. The strategy worked. We were back in the mix with everyone else.

Our course to the second mark had us chasing the tail of the fleet, and as we struggled to catch them on a reach, we could feel a sweet spot where Iris seemed to hold her speed a little better. As much as we could, we held our course right on that spot, and found ourselves successfully attacking from the rear.

Through the remaining two legs of the race, we continued to narrow the gap between ourselves and the fleet edging closer and closer to the leaders on each leg, almost, but not quite catching up to our nearest competition.

At the finish we would be 10 seconds behind Sorcery, and 12 seconds behind Second Wind, and a minute and 15 seconds behind the winning boat. We took second because of some great sailing, but we could have taken first if it weren't for my poor start.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

The current results show Iris in third place right now. We are out of first place by 7 points and out of second by four. If either French Connection or Butterfly miss the Georgina Cup weekend, we may have a chance, but only a chance to snag first. If we miss anything, we are out of the running.

End of season is always close for us.

Hawkestone Weekend - Race 3

2011-09-09T13:14:00.003-04:00

Morning came too early. It always does after a yacht club party. It came with a breakfast of bacon and eggs with side trimmings of fruit and yogurt and everything else. We ate and talked and looked at the flat water of lake Simcoe and the weather warnings on the VHF and wondered how the race would go today.

A skippers meeting followed breakfast, and we were all informed that the race would start late. Folks pulled out iPADs and Playbooks, and instantly radar tracking of the storms was shown with exactly when they would hit and what the wind following them would be. a year ago this sort of thing would have been unheard of, but technology does great things, and sure enough the storms came, blew through, and right on time, the wind came up for the race.

Our course was shortened and simplified. We would sail to the weather buoy, round it, then come back to Hawkestone, rounding one of their race marks, and finally ending back in the club.We prepped the boat and lined up for the start.It was fairly calm in the start area, and we were stalled out right at the end of the line when the committee boat started the 5 minute countdown for the flying sail fleet.

Not wanting to screw up the start for the other fleet, I started the outboard, and motored out of the start box, then killed it and hauled the engine back into the raised position. This raised the ire of other boats around me. I thought nothing of it, and nothing came of it. None of the flying sail boats thanked me, but the white sail guys seemed to think I was looking for an unfair advantage. I shrugged it off and continued with my start sequence.

Our start in this race was one of the tightest we have had. We manged to keep ahead of the boats to windward, but the leeward boat was crowding us tightly. I headed up to avoid him, and very politely he pointed out how close we were to hitting him with out stern. I looked back, and there was about 6" of separation. I headed back down, locked in beside his boat, my start being controlled by his.

After a few seconds, he called us up, and we pushed up the boat next to us, and so on. In the end we started right in the front row of boats, but in a mediocre position. I still chalk it up as a good start.

We went to the weather mark doing fairly well, but somehow we did better on one tack than the other, losing whatever we gained each time we tacked. And our tacks themselves were sloppy, costing us boat lengths every time. By the time we reached the weather mark we weren't at the head of the fleet at all, but we weren't the last boat there either.

As impossible as it seems, I recall the trip back to Hawkestone as a windward leg as well. I may be wrong. Perhaps we reached to the weather mark or something like that. In any case, we worked hard at keeping our tacks to 90° on the way back to the club, and kept a few key boats in sight.

In the end we finished the race an hour after the winning boat from our division, French Connection, and 45 minutes behind our nearest competition, "Sorcery". A dismal finish. Despite my misgivings, we managed to get a third out of the 6 boats entered, and a reminder that we needed to work a lot harder in teh next race.

We were tired, and I tried not to beat myself up too much, but I knew we could have done better. After a hot dinner, we went to bed early, and started thinking about the final race of the weekend, scheduled for the next morning.

Hawkestone Weekend - Race 2

2011-09-08T08:00:00.004-04:00

Following our finish in the first race, we Hove-to and waited for the start of Race 2. Hoping we could repeat our success from teh first race, I thought about what my strategy should be and surveyed the bay leading to lake Simoce. The race would be a windward leg out of Kempenfelt bay, then across the top of Lake Simcoe on a shortened course leading directly to Hawkestone Yacht Club where a corn boil waited for us.

Our start was incredibly lacklustre. We not only started late, but we were in poor location and poorly trimmed. Slowly we headed to windward and began "climbing teh ladder" to work our way upwind and out of the bay. Since we weren't sailing fast, I started looking for ways to sail smart. At first I thought of success I had had in the past by running right to the edge of teh water before tacking on each upwind leg, but now I noticed that the wind was not very strong on the south side of teh bay. After trying that once, I decided to stick with the north side of teh bay and to tack as soon as I felt the boat decelerate, no matter whether Iris was being lifted or headed.

The strategy worked. In three tacks we had caught up to the fleet and worked our way into a comfortable position, crossing tacks with a few boats from the low PHRF fleet. As we continued up the bay though, the strategy fell apart. The wind was weaker in the north half of the bay than it had been. We lost some speed, the other boats regained their places, and we fell back. We left Kempenfelt bay with 4 or so boats behind us, and nothing to brag about.

As we continued across the north shore of lake Simcoe, the wind gradually fell off until we were sailing in "ghost mode" trying to hold our speed at 1 or 1.5 knots and hoping our momentum was unbroken. Iris moved silently through the water, and we sat very still trying not to disturb the tiny bit of motion we had.

I tried to hold wind lines coming from the shore, and avoid turbulence. Far out in the lake I could see other boats looking for wind, and I hoped that the shore breeze would pay off. It didn't.

Eventually the breeze died altogether, and I saw the other boats finish. Three boats were still behind us, but we had no motion at all. We bobbed in the heat, eventually allowing the whisper of wind still on the lake to nudge us over the line. Teh race comittee sounded their horn, and folks on the pier cheered us for our determination. We brought the boat in and tied up next to Allegro Andante.

The next boat would come in 45 minutes later, and the last boat nearly an hour behind us, as a thunderstorm pelted us with all of its fury. On corrected time, we finished fourth out of the five boats entered in the race.

We were glad we had made it ashore when we did. the night was spent merry-making into the wee hours, and then we retired to bed, waiting for a glorious breakfast the next morning.

Hawkestone Weekend - Race 1

2011-09-07T12:31:00.005-04:00

Its been a pretty poor sailing season for Iris so far. Life has gotten in the way of living, and she has sat far too many times when she would rather have been on the go. I made the promise that we would bring her to Hawkestone, and made sure we kept it.

Friday night Chuck, my 14 yo daughter and I sailed across the lake and tied off in Barrie Marina (aka "The Duckshit Docks"), a 15 minute hop away from Barrie.

In the morning we put-putted to the Barrie Yacht Club and tied up outside their harbour, then went ashore for breakfast and the skippers meeting. Since we have only done one other race this season, there was a lot of catching up to be done.We heard stories from previous races and learned how our stiffest competition was doing.

I am Canadian has retired his old boat, buying a new one, Sorcery. A couple new boats have shown up in our division, most notably, Butterfly and French Connection. French Connection sails from our club, Butterfly from Cooks Bay. Both boats are well sailed.

Following breakfast we headed out for the first of the races. The windward-leeward course would take us across Kempenfelt bay, and give us a chance to get things working before a longer race from Barrie to Hawkestone. We hanked on our sails and headed out.

IN the pre-start we tooled around back and forth waiting for the horn. As we tried to get to the preferred end of the line, I realized that we and most of the fleet were on starboard tack. This forced a dilemma. If I tacked to cross the line, I would be on port tack. Starboard tack has rights over port. The rest of the fleet was on starboard. I could get in serious trouble if I didn't work something out.

Then, as if on cue, most of the fleet tacked to port to go for the line. The port tack was preferred for the start. We were suddenly in the best spot of the entire fleet, close to the committee boat, and in good air, accelerating to the line. a horn went, my timer showed start time, the rest of the fleet was still flogging sails and hadn't pulled them in for some reason. We blasted past everyone, and hit the line with speed as the other boats pulled in their sails. Then a second horn sounded and timers on boats surrounding us went off just as we reached the line. My timer was set minute early, but since I had miss-judged the start, we were the first boat to the line, and were right on time, with speed. A happy accident.

We made our way to the windward mark on a close reach, and were met there by 4 other boats, Butterfly rounded first, followed by 2 low PHRF boats. Not realizing that Butterfly was my competition, I let him get ahead, and focused on the boats behind us.

We rounded the mark and reached to the leeward mark, losing a couple more places to boats in the other fleet, then headed back to what had been the windward mark. By now the wind had shifted, so the windward leg was actually a run. Rounding the mark, we realized that even more of the fleet had passed us, including most of our competition. In the last leg, we would get passed by the rest of the fleet, narrowly ending as the second to last boat to finish the race.

With the boats coming and going from the fleet this season, an interesting development has been that Iris is now the slowest rated boat in our fleet. This means that although six boats finished ahead of us, we still took third place on handicap, and were out of second place by only 20 seconds. Butterfly and French Connection, the two new boats had beat us. An interesting development for sure.

Not knowing we had taken third, we were happy with our start and pondered ways to improve our results for the next race. The Hawkestone race.

The big Install...

2011-05-13T22:02:00.003-04:00

I actually installed the stereo and faceplate and lighters and switch panel about a week ago, but I didn't want to post about it without a picture. Tonight I was out power washing the boat and I got a pic.

I'm really happy with how everything came together. The radio is kind of cheesy, and I have to make speaker boxes yet, but it all looks good and I can swap out pieces as need be.

Tomorrow is launch day, and having waited to post this means I am behind and will have a stockpile of stuff to post up over the next few days. I also have the boat in the lake and that means I can go play. Hmmmm - post here or play there. We'll have to see which wins out. In the meantime you can enjoy my new (but sprayed upon) panel, and newly varnished woodwork. One drawer is still waiting for its turn to be varnished, can you tell which?

2 Cigarette Outlets

2011-05-06T08:32:00.007-04:00

You might think that adding cigarette lighters to the panel would be a breeze. You might think that having executed such amazing woodworking and finishing, that having everything fit and the wires all go in the right places, you might think that after all that, that for me, adding a couple 12 volt outlets would like making a cheeseburger for a gourmet chef. Nearly insulting, but still worth of my time. If that's what you would think, I have other news.

First was the problem of finding the right 12 volt outlet. Finding a generic outlet is easy. There are dozens of them. Many are designed to hang beneath the dashboard from an L shaped bracket. Others are faceplate designs with a plastic or chrome tang that you put a screw through. The style I was looking for was one that screwed together in a sort of compression fitting hiding any mounting hardware. Making things more difficult, I also wanted the outlet to be lit such that I could find it at night.

It took much hunting before I found the right outlet. When I did, they were more expensive than I had hoped, but these things always are. I bought the last 2 on the shelf and dragged them home.

In order to mount the outlets I had to make a sort of bowl in the back of the faceplate. The outlets could be mounted through a board not more than 1/4" thick. I used a spade bit to remove the plywood from the back of the faceplate, until the point was through the wood, but the tangs of the bit had just exposed the Afromosia (which from here in will be called teak).

Flipping the board over, I got a smaller drill bit that barely matched the inside diameter of the lighted trim ring for the lighter. Holding the drill as straight as I could I got it up to speed, then eased it into the hole created by the point of the first drill. Immediately the bit grabbed, twisted in my hand, and dug in with one tang. Before you could say "Insert expletive here" the drill gouged the wood and shook the piece violently. I took the drill out and looked at the oddly shaped oblong I had made. The mark would show, but the outlet would still fit. I decided to fix the problem at a later date. No sense crying over spilt milk. I was much more careful on the second hole, and it went without problem.

Because the trim ring was lit, there was a small light bulb that stuck out the side of the lighter body, like a mole or pimple. I got a chisel, and working from the plywood back of the mounting plate, carved away space for the light to go in the back of the plate, hidden from view.

Now that I had a pair of cigarette lighters in the plate, I tested with a 9 volt battery, and to my pleasure, everything worked. I brought up the plate and showed my handywork to SWMBO. It is hard to describe the level of excitement she reached when seeing it. Oh well, I was happy.

Next step: the install.

In Which I Build a Faceplate

2011-05-04T12:34:00.010-04:00

Building a faceplate doesn't sound like an especially difficult thing to do. I mean all you need is a flat board that you can attach a bunch of stuff to. How hard is that? Well, let me take you back a few years, and maybe it will start to make sense.

In about 1986 I took woodshop in school. Each person in the class chose a project, chose their lumber and set to work building a small piece of furniture. I chose a table with a chessboard for its top. My teacher, using his kindest words, asked if I thought the design was a little simple considering the equipment at hand. I really liked the looks of the table though, so I stuck to my guns. Its a good thing I did.

Once this table/chessboard was complete, it wobbled on two legs, the crossbars were out of square, and the chessboard itself was the only thing worth mentioning. My final step was to sand down and apply a finish to the piece. I ran the board through a variety of sanding machines, and finally was done. In some places the chessboard was a full inch thick. In others it was barely 1/4". There were hills and valleys, and in general ugliness. I think it was eventually burned or thrown out, or used for a dog toy. The teacher suggested he would pass me if I promised not to take his class again.

For years I stayed clear of woodworking, until in a fit of stupid, I decided to build my own canoe paddle. I researched woods and discovered that basswood was the wood of choice for its light weight and springiness. It could be laminated with harder strips to give it strength and make sure it wasn't too springy. I laminated up a blank with cherry, ash and basswood. Then shaped the paddle with a hand plane. When I was done, the paddle had some oddities, but felt nice in the hand. I went for a canoe trip. The paddle, all three pieces of it, are sitting at the bottom of a rapid in Northern Ontario.

A few other experiences like these, and I pretty much agreed with that teacher. anything beyond basic screwing together of boards to make boxes should be avoided. The liquor cabinet has been on the to-do list for 2 years now. No coincidence.

But now I need to get this switch panel in place. I need to install the stereo. I need to get it done, and good weather is here and I should be out sailing, not fixing. In haste I rummaged around in the basement and found a piece of 3/4" exterior plywood. Maybe I would make a template and test the water.

I ran the plywood through the saw and cut it to size, then took it to the boat and traced the cutouts for the stereo and switchpanel onto it. Some quick work with a jigsaw and the holes were cut to size. A test fit, and the panel and stereo fit through the plywood and into place nicely. Now its time to work with teak.

A few years back, I bought the smallest piece of afromosia I could find to make a holder for my clock, barometer, and hygrometer in the cabin. The holder consisted of a hunk of wood with three holes drilled through and the dials pressed into place. That was woodworking at my level. What was left of the afromosia wasn't big enough for what I had to build. The price of teak caused heart failure, I could afford to screw up with the afrormosia, it was much more affordable. I cooked up a plan.

I set the table saw to 1/4" and cut long strips from the piece of afromosia. Then I cut down the plywood blank by 1/4" in on each side. Cutting the afromosia strips to length, I made a frame around the outside of the test piece of plywood, epoxied the frame to the ply, and waited overnight.

The next day I test fit the plywood piece again to be sure everything still lined up. It did, and everything felt pretty solid. Small happy dance.

Now I laminated more strips of afromosia to the face of the plywood. I made it a two step process so that my spring clamps could hold the board securely to the face of the plywood, and my bar clamps could hold the strips to each other. After the second day, I had a pretty good looking setup. The afromosia was all holding to the plywood and itself, and everything was solid. I ran the piece through the saw to clean up the edges, and apart from a little glue squeezeout, everything was looking great.

My next step was to clean up the epoxy squeezeout on the face of the panel. This had me very nervous. Using a power hand plane that SWMBO gave to me as a gift, I gently cleaned up the face of the plate, trying my best not to allow the plane to dig in or grab at the wood. I have destroyed many things with this tool. Being so careful paid off. The wood was mostly fine, with just one or two little gouges that would sand out.

Things were now getting nervous as I approached the stages where things normally head downhill. SWMBO's grandfather had given us a router table when he moved out of his house. I set it up with a 1/4-round bit, and ran the faceplate through it to radius the corners. Replacing the bit with a straight bit I cutout the spots where the radio and switch panel would go. Everything still looked great.

For my next step, I attached some heavy grit sandpaper to a 1X6 and used it to sand the faceplate smooth. The gouges came out. I switched to a finer grit and continued until things looked good. Ever mindful of my chessboard experience, I was careful not to dig in with sandpaper, and went easy.

Finally it was time to think about varnish. Up in the garage the faceplate joined the cupboards and got a coat of spar varnish cut with paint thinner. Then a number of coats of straight spar varnish until it started to shine, each coat with a light sanding in between.

With all the varnishing complete the plate has a nice slick look to it. It is all glossy and pretty. A quick test fit and it still fits the spot, and holds the radio and switches. Just one problem, the guys on the Catalina forum managed to convince me that some 12 Volt outlets would be a good idea to have near the panel. There is space for them. Maybe tomorrow I can alter the panel and mount them in it.

Wires Teach Woodworking

2011-05-02T07:16:00.002-04:00

The first step to rewiring the breaker panel was to make a list of all the electronica on board, all the stuff in the basement waiting to be installed, and to leave room for future expansion. The evaluation gave some insights that I had missed before. All the gauges in the cockpit are backlit. The compass has an internal light. I had a stereo system waiting to be installed. There was a spare circuit panel in the basement.

Examination of the circuit panel revealed that a number of circuits were duplicates that weren't necessary for me. For instance, there was a separate power lead to each gauge on the boat, all bonded at the panel. Rather than have 5 wires leading from one breaker, I was able to reduce it to a port and starboard run off the switch, then daisy chain the gauges one to the next. A great reduction in both the amount of wire and in the confusion at the panel, with no less risk of the gauges going dead. This same scenario played itself out a number of times.

After my paper sketches, I determined that I would install the second panel and run all the original Catalina circuits to it. That meant the mast lights, nav lights, and cabin would be on one panel, directly run to the buss off the battery switch. The original panel would now carry all the "accessory" loads and new stuff, which would include the stereo and a new GPS Chart plotter - three way gift from my Mom, SWMBO and myself. Really it is an indulgence I can't afford, but really wanted. The original panel would maintain its existing connection to the batteries.

In order to mount the new panel, I had limited choices. if I wanted to keep the panels together, I would have to move the 110vac panel to a new location on the galley bulkhead. a project that I didn't relish. I could mount the new panel near the batteries where I had already mounted a solar charge controller and switch for the shore power charger, but that space has proven less convenient than was originally anticipated. I considered a few other spots, and then it was suggested to me that others have mounted these switches on the face of the galley sink cabinetry.

The spot is very appealing as it is both close to the original panel and easy to reach from the cockpit, but I was worried about the wires contacting the stainless steel sink and arcing. after receiving assurances from a handful of folks who have gone ahead with mounting panels in this location, I got the saw going and cut the requisite mounting hole. A test-fit of the panel looked good.

I knew I would have to build a mount for the GPS Chart plotter, a welcome project after having seen both a fish finder and the handheld GPS re-enact world championship ping-pong matches in the cockpit footwell, sometimes with dangerous results. The stereo was another matter.

Mounting the stereo was vexing because it meant yet another permanent hole in the boat. It needed to be someplace that it could be killed quickly if a MAYDAY came over the radio or things were getting intense. I looked for a location as good as the one that had been suggested for the breaker panel.

I thought about mounting the radio in the vee berth, but that would not have been easy to reach to silence it quickly. I looked at the locker opposite the head, but that would have been, well, weird ("Let me sit down and choose a good station... I'll be out in a minute..."). After much consternation, I looked more closely at the area where I was mounting the breaker panel. There was space for the stereo beside the breaker panel, but the mounting depth would be really tight. It looked like I would be shy by about three quarters of an inch for the depth needed to mount the stereo. If only the sink drain weren't right there.

I grabbed a beer and did some thinking. My best thinking seems to happen with a beer in hand.

Recklessly, I grabbed the saw and cut the hole for the stereo, I would find a way to make it fit. Maybe by angling it under the drain or something. There would be a way.

With the hole I cut I sized it for the radio. I needed a lot of help to make it fit in there. First off, the side of the "Factory Ice melter" AKA the ice box, Catalina's poor attempt at refrigeration that sucked in seawater while underway, and cooled nothing at all had a bulge that protruded about a quarter inch into the realm of the stereo, then the sink drain still looked like it wanted to encroach.

I ground down the side of the icebox. The stereo could now get far enough into the hole to almost fit. a little wiggling and I came to rest solidly against the sink's drain. Dammit. The radio was proud of the face of the fibreglass by almost an inch. I angled it under the sink's plumbing and it sortof fit the way a Kawasaki sortof fits a Hell's Angel. I could do better.

I had removed the cupboard frames under the sink to refinish them and to make working on the wiring easier. I measured them. Nearly an inch thick. I needed an inch to make things fit. Could I build a faceplate to match the rest of the teak interior and mount the stereo to? My woodworking history thus far has included a chessboard that was immediately rejects by the king's rook, and every pawn, before the king even got a look at it. Something furniture grade and yachty would definitely be pushing the limits of reason. Really, beyond putting up shelves I was uncomfortable with messing much with the interior at all, and this task would really stretch things.

I looked at the stereo, I thought about Harleys. I thought about bikers. I went in the basement looking for some teak scraps I knew were down there. Time to learn woodworking.

Making the Connection

2011-05-01T09:27:00.003-04:00

Since the mast was wired OK and the anchor light worked, I could strike them from my to-do list, but to be truthful, I was no further ahead. I rummaged through my bag of odds and ends and found a 4-wire deck connector with both male and female ends.

Connecting the wires took all of 5 minutes. That part was easy, but I still only had 3 wires coming out of the deck. More rummaging came up with a spool of wire. I grabbed a drill and attacked again. The wires for the mast lights go through the deck in a hole right next to the mast. The hole is positioned exactly over the starboard bulkhead in the salon below decks. The first hole I drilled went into the bulkhead, and will never be of any use for anything. I tried again, this time angling the drill forward and aiming for the front edge of the cavity the rest of the wires were embedded in.

Success! The drill found the forward side of the bulkhead right at the ceiling. I snaked the wire into the hole and it barely fit. perfect size. Everything was looking rosy. Down inside the boat I fed the wire through the same hole the rest of the wires for the forward circuits on the boat used to get back into the salon. From there the wire was led aft along the hull, and then back into the dumpster under the cockpit.

All I had to do now was to connect the wire to the waiting breaker in the panel. I emptied the dumpster (fenders, docklines, more fenders, lifejackets, more fenders, more docklines, good god how did all this end up down here!!) and then in a move that is hard to describe I made my way down into the tiny space.

The forward bulkhead that separates this stowage space from the galley in the boat is the mounting surface for most of Iris' electronica. From the back of the wall a "snake's honeymoon" of wires tangle around each other competing for the pins on the back of 2 circuit panels (110 V AC and 12 V DC) the shore power connection and the shore power battery charger.

I folded myself in half and stared at the mess of wires. Had there been room to raise my arm I might have scratched my head. I started to think of all the stuff these wires were feeding. When Catalina built Iris there had been one circuit for the cabin, one for the running lights, one for the steaming light, one for the masthead light, one for the deck lights, and a final circuit marked "Accessories" for any add-ons.

We bought Iris because she was well equipped. I figured that in addition to the original equipment we had GPS, a fish finder, a depth sounder and gauges for speed, wind, and wind direction. We had an electric start for the outboard and a cockpit 12 volt plug. In addition to the original 6 circuits from Catalina we had added another 9 accessories between the previous owners and myself.

Looking back at the 12 volt panel, many of the switches had more than 2 branch circuits running off them. One switch had 5 connectors stuffed into a single crimp.There was only one switch on the panel that was empty. I extracted myself from the dumpster and went to the galley to check what it was labelled. It said "Steaming." Perfect! Just the thing I needed. I climbed back into the dumpster, went to hook up my new wire and realized that the fuse holder on the circuit was utterly destroyed.

Looks like its time to rewire the panel, and re-evaluate the 12 volt electric system.

You Light Up My Life...

2011-04-30T17:41:00.006-04:00

I have been putting off the combined task of repairing the masthead light (the anchor light) and rewiring the mast ever since the last attempt at a repair resulted in a swim in Doral Harbour following our anchor-light-removal-using-a-low-bridge-as-a-hammer on the Georgian bay trip.

A couple years ago I bought a new anchor light from Bebi Electronics of Fiji. It was a great buy on a pretty cool looking light from a grassroots business. I loved the idea of supporting small business, and the notion of an anchor light that would turn itself on at dusk and off at dawn.

The light arrived just before our Georgian Bay trip, but then I didn't have time to mount it. We nudged the bridge in the Trent Canal with just enough force to bend our masthead anemometer back, remove the windex, and break our old anchor light, providing the perfect opportunity to replace the old light with the new one from Bebe.

At the end of the canal we docked at Doral Marine to raise the mast and do repairs. Repairs included replacing the anchor light. Hanging off the transom of the boat, sometimes hanging from the mast itself, I tried to fit the light to the masthead. It slipped from my hands, and sunk to the bottom of the marina. Looking down, all I saw was mud and seaweed. I dove anyway.

I think it was on the third or fourth dive that I found the light, nudged it with my fingers and felt it sink further into the maze of seaweed and mud. I surfaced for air, caught my breath, and ducked straight down to get the light. Success.

Sadly the rest of the repair in harbour went as well. The anchor light never worked on that cruise and we used a light hoisted on a halyard for an anchor light. The only mast light that has worked with any success since then has been the steaming light - a good thing since we often head out at night, but rarely anchor on our own lake.

Last week I dragged Chuck out to the boat in the driveway and we began messing with the wires on the mast. A battery was liberated from the salon and put on the foredeck. Each wire was tested in turn. The connector to the mast was only a 3-wire connector. The mast has 3 lights and a ground. Either one of the lights wasn't working, or two were wired to come on together.

I connected a jumper wire between the negative battery terminal and the largest prong in the connector. A test light was used to jump between the positive terminal on the battery and the other prongs on the deck connector. As expected the only wire that showed continuity was the steaming light. Damn.

I looked up the inside of the mast to see if there were any hints of impropriety and discovered a fourth wire coiled inside the mast. Jumping between it and the positive terminal resulted in the deck light flashing on, then blowing a bulb. Bingo! I now had a steaming light and a deck light.

I wondered if its long swim in the marina had killed the Bebe Anchor light. Had I wired it backwards so the LEDs wouldn't light up? Were the wires broken when we hit the bridge? With only one light out instead of 3, I started working through the reasons the light wouldn't come on. Chuck and I worked through the gathering dusk trying to troubleshoot the light. Then a change...

You may remember that one of my earliest projects on Iris was the installation of a solar powered vent a couple years ago - well apparently I learn from my mistakes. Eventually. After about a half hour of fiddling, I had Chuck hold the leads on the battery while I went and put my finger over the photo eye on the anchor light. Bingo! Dazzling white light. All the circuits in the mast work just fine, but the connector between the mast wiring and the boat wiring is deficient. I seemed to remember having come across a connector in my rummaging through the boat stuff left by the PO. Hmmmm. I wonder...

Spring Maintenance

2011-04-29T16:30:00.002-04:00

Its that time of year again. The weather is warm and strong breezes are blowing. Iris is sitting waiting for launch in mid May once the marina is opened again.

We have received our slip assignment for 2011 - we will be on the big-boat dock this year which means we will have hydro at our slip. I don't know who our neighbours will be. Things look good. I like being the little boat on the big boat dock. It means we get all the amenities without the hassles. Much better than being the biggest boat on the little boat dock where we stick out and look awkward - like a teen who doesn't fit their outfit quite right.

Since the weather has improved, I have started down this year's list of projects. The top of the list right now include refinishing the interior teak and making the 12 volt electric system run a little closer to what Catalina intended when Iris was built.

The 12 volt system is mostly running now, but I will defer comment until I get the last of the bugs ironed out. The teak is ongoing.

For the interior teak I have elected to go the spar varnish route. In the past, Iris' teak was maintained through an annual (bi-annual?) treatment of teak oil. I found a recipe online to lift the oil using TSP, vinegar, and warm water in a vigorous wipe down. This seems to work. my rags are stained with oil and dirt built up over the years, and after being wiped down the teak looks dry.

After the oil is lifted, each piece is left to dry for a day or two, then sanded with 120 grit sandpaper and wiped again to remove the dust. A base coat of spar varnish is applied, slightly thinned with varsol, and again the piece is left to dry overnight.

Sanding and varnishing is repeated until a high gloss is reached - usually 3 to 5 coats of varnish, then the woodwork is replaced and another piece or two comes in the house so the process can be repeated. Large areas will get a satin finish as opposed to the gloss finish I am going for on the trim pieces.

Those pieces I have completed so far look really good, and the return on investment is great. for 30 minutes of effort each night, this is well worth it. I begin to wonder why I didn't do this earlier.

Mast Transport System

2011-04-27T19:26:00.008-04:00

It is spring again. Every few days we see another sailboat head down our road, pulled behind a behemoth of a pickup truck and headed for spring launch. If only we were so lucky. It will be weeks before Iris is ready for launch. In the meantime we work to prepare her, and try to squeeze in all our other obligations.

Many of the other folks who are trying to get boats to marinas have asked how we manage our mast during transport. Some folks lash their mast right on the deck, some have special fixtures on their trailers for the mast, and some take the mast in a separate load. On Iris we developed our mast stowage system as one of our first projects, and it has been of lasting value ever since.

The system we use was developed so that it could be part of our winter tarp structure. It sits high enough that the pop-top can be opened without affecting the mast while the mast is laid down. It sits 6" shy of being an over sized load on the trailer so it works fine for the trip to and from the launch crane. It is also secure enough that we used it during our transit of the Trent Canal without having any worries despite rocking and rolling from the wake of passing powerboats. It has been very good.

So what is the system? Well, it comes in 2 parts. First the mast-step support.

The mast step support is simply a stump that the mast rests on at the mast step. We made it by nailing a pair of 2X4s together, but were I to make another, I would simply use a 4X4. At the top of the 2X4s we formed a goalpost by putting 2 more short pieces of 2X4 outboard of the stump.

The second component is the transom support. This support is at the back of the boat and sits in the channel at the back of the cockpit footwell. it is formed with 2 2X4 uprights and a pair of crossbars. the upright supports are just clear of the cockpit drains, and go from there up on an angle to the pushpit rail. The top crossbar is set to hold the mast above the raised pop-top. A pair of tabs are set to hold the mast from sliding left-to right while underway.

Made entirely with scrap lumber in less than an hour, the system has served us well. When I went to take these photos, I realized that one of the cross-pieces on the transom support was badly split and needed replacing, so I put on the triangle of 3/4" plywood you see in the photo below. I guess even a system as good as this needs some maintenance.

So far our only problem with this setup has been marinas mistaking it for scrap lumber and trying to dispose of it for us.

A Sailor's Winter...

2010-12-20T15:03:00.002-05:00

Winter for a sailor begins at haulout and ends with spring launch. Between is grieving and work, and not a lot of fun. Its a funny thing to look out your back window every morning and see "summer" sitting there wrapped in tarp, waiting for a robin's song and an early thaw.

Iris is coated in a light layer of snow right now, her mast lying along the deck, antifreeze in her veins and her heart barely beating. The sun sets over her, and an early sunrise makes the snow on the tarp sparkle like a thousand diamonds. She is sleeping.

I on the other hand, am very awake.

It is funny that retailers try to entice sailors in the off season. It is as if a boatshow or sale or seminar can replace a day on the water. Buy a can of varnish, you'll feel like its summer! It just doesn't work. I can't vernish a boat under a tarp in frigid weather. Looking at the ads of barbecues and cleaners and gear only makes the longing for a warm day out on the lake stronger.

The charter companies offer real winter sailing - but you have to get all teh way to the BVI's or Bermuda to enjoy it, and then you have to pay a full season's worth of fees for a week of sun. That's just not in the cards right now.

Some guys take up a winter hobby. There's ice-sailing, skiing, drinking, and hibernating as alternatives. Drinking is the most natural fit. That or sitting around around watching youtube videos while drinking. For me, a beer a day is about as much drinking as I get in on the off season, but I still don't have a real "winter hobby."

I've pulled the hatchboards off the boat and I think I'll strip them and refinish them. I want to have them engraved, but I'm not totally convinced on that either. I need to get to work with that project though or it just won't happen. I also promised myself that I would get the liquor cabinet done this winter, but that isn't looking too hopeful right now. Maybe I should just hibernate.

Needed: One Fat lady, Must have good voice.

2010-12-05T00:09:00.004-05:00

Waking up after a yacht club party always happens the same way. Someone is stomping around on the dock or clanging some gawdawful bell or cooking bacon. It is always too early, and often too loud for any reasonable person.

You roll out of your berth, hunt down a cup of coffee and a shower, and get ready for the day ahead. This day it was the last race of the season. We had already cemented our position in second place, and this showing was mostly for fun.

I sipped my coffee and watched the sun rise over a limp flag and a lifeless lake. No ripples, no breezes, not even a fish jumping. I ate a donut and waited for the skippers meeting. It was looking like a long day.

Judy had spent the night aboard and was here to stay, saying she would just leave as soon as the race was over to go and check on her Mom in hospital. I nodded and looked out at the lake, thinking of jobs at home that were waiting for me. I had a chicken coop to build, and a front entry to reno. I had a dozen reasons not to race a race that didn't count. Then the skippers meeting happened and just like that I found myself motoring out to the start line.

The wind at the start line was no better than the wind at the docks. Actually, to call it wind is to lie. We sat while our sails hung down like spaghetti fresh from the pot, and tried to figure out what we could do to get the boat to move.

The countdown went for the spinnaker boats, and they sat.

The countdown went for the whitesail boats and we sat.

Eventually one boat crossed the start and everyone cheered. Then another, then another. They would drift across the line, then head off in whatever direction they could. Any movement was better than sitting still.

We got across the start 20 minutes after the horn. There were still about 4 whitesail boats trying to reach the line, and one spinnaker boat sitting there. It was a disgrace.

Once iris got moving, we found that we could sail from puff to puff, never leaving wind to find wind, but hop-scotching on our momentum to move through the fleet. By doing this we managed to make up most of the time we had lost sitting at the start and catch up to the leaders in our fleet. Then the wind died. Again.

To say the wind died is to say that piece of fish that has been rotting in the fridge for a week and is starting to smell got worse. What I am saying is that we went from light and variable, to variable, to a vacuum. The wind just up and left.

I radioed the comittee boat asking for the course to be shortened, and was told that that wasn't in the cards. I looked at Judy. She looked at me. I thought about her mom and my chores. I decided there wasn't much sense in sitting this out. I radioed the comittee boat for a second time.

"Hey guys, I said, its pretty far to JP and moving at this speed I won't get done the race untill next week. Iris is retiring." It was my second DNF of the season, but I felt it was worth it. We motored to the slip, tied up, and headed home.

Less than a spectacular ending, but the rest of the season had been great. Our heavy weather races will not soon be forgotten, nor will the great parties and friends we met this year. Between that last LSIS race and haul out, there isn't much to talk about. Iris is now sitting in the backyard waiting for the spring to come, and I am absorbed in a dozen other tasks around the house.

I am hoping to post some upgrades and innovations that show how we get our boat working for us, mostly to give back to the guys at the C-25 forums, but beyond that there isn't a whole lot to report right now.

The Georgina Cup Party - 2010 Edition

2010-12-04T00:06:00.005-05:00

Sometimes it seems like the goal of Sail Georgina is to introduce all of the town to Mount Gay Rum. Or Maybe that is Mount Gay's goal and they use SGA as the vehicle to move their quest forward. Its hard to say. Either way, "Wasn't that a party..."

Everyone involved was more than a little concerned about the way the party would go this year. For starters, every establishment in town seems to have heard about the party the sailors throw at the end of the year, and it is getting difficult to find a venue that is a big enough ~~sucker~~ supporter to take the risk of hosting the event.

This year a local caterer offered to get the food together if we could find a hall. The marina next to ours offered use of their boatshed. We thought we were in luck. Then a large boat was dragged into the shed and the doors locked shut. Days before the event we had to find a venue.

A tent was rented, chairs were scrounged, BBQ's lit, and a backyard party evolved at the caterer's home. And what meal he Catered! Beef tenderloin medallions and Chicken breasts, glazed veggies with fried/grilled/spiced potatoes. A dozen salads and a billion dessert treats. It was a great spread.

A couple posts back I posted about the weather during the race. We had good wind all day. That wind was carrying rain. It was a wet evening. The tents were smallish. We made friends and huddled. There was only one way to keep warm and not notice the water. It came in a bottle.

Everyone was feeling pretty light headed by the end of the night, but it was a good party. Chuck and I got flags for our races (seconds, all) and we won some super amazing door prizes. Chuck got a Ronstan Rain jacket, and I got a gift certificate for the Rigging Shoppe. I still haven't gone shopping with it yet.

Judy, Chuck, and I spent the night on the boat and slept well. The next morning was to be the last race of the season. We needed our rest.

The Totally Integrated Sailboat

2010-12-03T09:05:00.005-05:00

I have been accused of owning every gizmo gadget, and doodad that is electrically powered possible by some of the traditionalists in our marina.

I think that is an overstatement.

I mean, sure I carry a GPS on board - but so does everyone else in the marina, and I have to admit that I did run out and buy an anchor light that automatically turns on at night, but that is just being safe. And I have spent hours trolling the Catalina 25 owner's forum while sailing in my mind, but I cannot say that I am totally teched up.

So when I saw this contest to win a laptop, I thought, what would the perfect on-board computer do, and what would it look like?

First the components would have to be tough enough to survive the conditions inside the boat while I wasn't there. Searing heat in the summer, and horrid cold in the winter. Hardened components would definitely be required. The system would have to be waterproof enough to handle the moisture that can build up in the hull, and be daylight viewable for the days cruising and at anchor.

Batteries would have to be long-life. Really long life. The battery would have to be able to survive a long crossing of the lake - 8 hours plus, while running GPS software.

Speaking of software, the laptop would need to double as a chartplotter, while also keeping a running inventory of gear aboard - especially food and first aid, fuel and water. I wonder if I could hook up a blue tooth probe to monitor fuel and battery levels. Hmmm.

Of course in systems monitoring, things could get really cool. In light of the recent Clear Lake Trial it would be good to have the laptop automatically turn on the running lights at sundown, and it would be groovy to have it log when it did it.

Of course racing software would have to be run constantly, maybe with a display on a remote monitor in the cockpit. Where is the mark? What is our tacking angle? How long till we get there? Can we go faster, stronger, higher? Man, I should join the Olympics.

Finally, what I wouldn't want. I wouldn't want the system to sail the boat for me. I still regale against autopilots and I still believe a race involves hand sailing and deciding for myself when to pinch and when to fall off. I don't want a computer making those decisions for me. In my professional life, we call this positive guidance. You can tell a person what is going on around them, but you never tell them what to do. Its the difference between a sign saying "Construction Ahead" and a sign saying "Follow Detour." One message gives you information to make the right choices, while the other makes the choices for you.

The most important thing the computer could tell me is to relax and enjoy myself, and remind me to take time to look at the sunset, share some appetizers, and enjoy the company of friends.

Months late is better than never - maybe?

2010-12-02T15:05:00.005-05:00

Seems I did the same thing last year. Strung along a tale of high drama right to the end of the racing season, then left everyone hanging until December to wait for the rest of the story. Well, holding true to tradition, here you go.

Between Hawkestone weekend and the Georgina cup there is a dry spell of 11 days without any real sailing activity. Sure a club race falls in there, but since it would be unfair to SWMBO and the kids to hide for 3 weekends straight, I usually try to make myself useful around the house that weekend. Useful by doing things like studying the season stats and calculating how I can win the season while SWMBO tends gardens and cleans out the gutters.

I had it figured out before going into the Georgina Cup. My choices to win the series were to either take both races with gusto, holding first place and beating Newfie (not a likely scenario) or to play the defensive role and hold up Newfie with whatever tactic would keep him from getting in first place. Or Second. And preferable not third either. Basically match race Newfie, let the fleet pass us both, and finish ahead of him.

Race day came, and so did Newf. He didn't have his usual crew and had friends with him. They were Russian. He was Newfish. I was with Chuck, and Judy was coming to help out. Until I heard she wasn't. Apparently Judy's mother was in hospital, very ill, and so I shouldn't expect her to come.

The wind was strong. Extra crew would be good. I knew I count on Chuck, but I wanted the extra person, especially after our previous experiences in strong winds. Finally I decided that whatever would be would be. Chuck and I would sail hard and beat Newf, let the chips fall where they may.

We lallygagged around the docks making small talk and waiting for a skippers meeting after breakfast. A lot of talk about the previous races and sail choices and tactics. The usual crowd had trickled into the harbour through the night and we saw Icarus and I am Canadian and Second Wind. Everyone was looking forward to good racing in a stiff breeze. Then Judy arrived.

To say I was surprised would not be the right words. I was surprised and elated. I was thrilled to have her, but I also wondered if she should be here. What if her Mom needed her? Where would her mind be? She assured me she was fine and that a break from the drama was needed and appreciated. We sailed off to start the race.

The Mount Gay Rum Georgina Cup is a 2 mile triangle course off Jackson's Point. Every September we get together to race this critical deciding race in the series and every year it delivers something different to the scrabble of boats that arrive. By this time, most of the contenders know who they are, but the host club (Sail Georgina) has some pretty good racers who join in as well. It ends up being a great mix with a pie of boats on the start line. This year's edition brought lots of wind, and 25 boats to the start line. Of the 25 boats we were only racing 6 in our class, and in those 6 the only boat we were really racing was Newfie Screach.

I explained to Judy that there were 2 ways for us to win this race. We both agreed that the start would determine what happened for the rest of the race.

We Circled the start line looking for Newfie. Newfie circled staying clear of us. Newfie went deep in the back of the start box, we cut across the front looking to steal his path. The pennants flew, the horns sounded. The race began.

Newfie Charged for the line, we turned in to join him, turning a little too early, we ended up missing his path, and crossing the start line abreast of him, but far to leeward. We tightened up our spacing in the race to the windward marker. A new boat, a Hinterhoeller Shark joined in our fun, and between the three boats we crossed, recrossed, and wove a trail through the water.

At the windward mark we were ahead of Newfie. Not by much, but by enough for him to be concerned. I tacked over early and we had to fight hard to make the rounding. Dammit. There went my lead.

I pinched up and tried to shoot the mark. The boat bumped the tetrahedral. We would have to do a penalty turn. I watched as newf rounded behind me. Once I had him in my sights I pulled into a spin, and did my penalty turn, coming out of it next to the little Tanzer.

A quick change of strategy, maybe I could hold him up and screw up his race, letting others by. I tried heading him off his course. He kept chugging along, passing us. This plan wasn't working. Switch back to plan A. Sail hard.

We regained some speed as Iris broad reached toward the gybe mark. By the time were there we were in the thick of things with Newfie and the Shark. None of us were more than a boatlength apart, and I knew that with PHRF the 2 other boats were leading me on handicap. I needed a strategy that would buy time on the next leg of the race. In the running leg, everyone worked together and we established a tentative lead on the 2 smaller boats, rounding the start pin barely ahead of both of them.

We rounded nicely, hardened the sheets and headed to windward, keeping a close eye on Newfie and the shark. The Shark followed Iris after we rounded the mark, but Newfie didn't. Newf headed up on the port tack while we stayed on starboard. Splitting tacks. According to just about every tactics book I have read since this race, in a close contest, you should never split tacks unless you know you have an advantage over your competition. Newfie heading off on port should have been a strong hint to me that I was headed off on the slower tack. I watched him sail away.

The shark and I fought hard back up to the windward mark, meanwhile Newfie cruised along close to shore. He tacked and I worked out his trajectory to the mark. He would arrive well ahead of us. Dammit. I had lost the race. Now it was just between the Shark and I. I watched Newfie round the pin. I looked back at the shark. I wanted to be up there with Newf. I tacked.

One of the things I have been very good about all season long is not tacking until the pin is lined up at just the right point so that hitting the mark or coming in high isn't an issue. Now for the second time in the same race I pinched up on the mark. I started getting frustrated. Iris shed speed like a snake losing its skin. We went slower and slower as we pinched up on the mark. Finally at the last minute, I shot the mark making it around, but barely moving. In the interim, the Shark had passed me, and Newfie had accelerated toward the finish line.

We worked hard on the final leg of the race, but knew we would never regain our position on Newfie. He ended the race four minutes ahead of us on straight time - five and a half on corrected time. The shark finished four minutes behind us, but because of handicap scoring, they beat us as well, but only by about 20 seconds.

Our fate was sealed. Iris had secured a second place finish to the season regardless of the results of the final race. We went to the post race party secure in our position and happy to be second, but wishing we had done better.

The party was great, despite a little rain. We ate well, and Chuck and I both won door prizes - a Ronstan Sailing Jacket for her, and a $25 gift certificate for me. At the end of the night we went back to the boat exhausted, and slept well, eager for our last race of the season in the morning.

Almost a Bride - but still a Bridesmaid. Hawkestone Race 4

2010-09-14T18:28:00.006-04:00

Dinner on Sunday night was a wonderful BBQ supplied by the crew of Trumpet. Its a lot of work feeding a full yacht club of hungry sailors, but somehow they pulled it off and everyone went to bed with full tummies. Well, almost everyone.

SWMBO had gone home during the race, leaving Chuck and I alone at Hawkestone. And after the Sunday race, we got a slip right in the middle of the club. To go to bed would be a waste of a great night. We went boat-hopping. I got a few beers passed my way, and then a few more. I was feeling alright. Chuck was feeling embarrassed. Eventually we ducked into the salon aboard Icarus, and dedicated ourselves to hanging out there. Soon 2 more friends followed. We had 5 adults stuffed into the salon of a 21 foot boat, and the drinks started coming.

I had a game on board Iris called "Bingo Bunch" and we started playing. The more we played, the more we drank. The more we drank, the more fun the game was. I am not sure how loud we were, but we were loud. Eventually, I was shuffled back to Iris by Chuck, and slept off the party.

I woke up early with a headache and dry mouth. Damn that Icarus - his Trojan horse had worked. I swallowed a few aspirin, and had a coffee. The fog cleared a little. I need to come up with a drink to get Icarus all drunk at the next race.

After breakfast, we had another skippers meeting, and got ready for the last race of the weekend. A modified Olympic course with a triangle and a sausage, and a hot dog -or half sausage, or extra leg. Everyone was confused.

Chuck and I motored out to the start area, and hove to. The VHF was working again, but our kitchen timer was decidedly dead. Luckily, the GPS was back. other boats came out and joined us. No one knew which direction across the line was the start. Everyone was everywhere. We just stayed hove-to and watched the mayhem unfold.

The committee boat put up a prep flag and then started the countdown - then aborted the countdown. Then started again, and aborted again. On the third attempt, the sequence stuck. The spin fleet started.

I sailed Iris up behind the committee boat, and pointed her in the general direction of the start. Newfie was nearby. So was Icarus. Another Catalina 25 was also circling the start. My instructions to Chuck we short.

"We have to beat Newfie for the championship, but we have to beat Allegro for respect." Since Allegro is the same design as Iris, racing her is a good measure of our abilities. In our first match with her, we won handily. Last year though, she had beat us like an old rug. Today was the rubber match.

I watched the flags on the committee boat and the time on my GPS. As soon as the whitesail countdown began I marked the time, and started lining up our approach. Chuck manned the sheets and I manned the tiller. The clock neared the start time, I watched the committee boat in case of a recall, we picked our spot on the line and sailed along.

When the flag snapped down, we were a little late and Newfie and Allegro were both ahead of us. Icarus was close behind. Apparently he had a headache too.

We sailed for the first mark, and got closer and closer to Newfie as we went. eventually we were close enough to speak with him. I called out.

"Sorry about that guys."

The skipper looked confused. "About what?"

"About whats gonna happen at the first mark if I hit you." I said. Newfie laughed, and we passed him just before reaching the mark, eliminating a mark rounding situation.

Ahead of us, Allegro rounded the mark, and ran into trouble. Her genoa backwinded, and she was having trouble finding the wind again. Chuck and I aimed Iris into the wind, and sailed close hauled to the second mark. Newfie followed only seconds behind. We tacked, and Newfie tacked, we pinched, and he pinched, we footed off, he footed off. It was boat to boat.

Eventually, we tacked to go for a course away from the shore, and newfie tacked toward shore. Our course carried to the mark with 2 fewer tacks. We were ahead of Newfie when we rounded, but only by about 2 boatlengths. We had worked hard to gain those boatlengths.

On the reaching leg, Chuck went up on the high side, and I tried to sail without making any corrections. Our course was the rhumb line straight to the gybe mark.

We rounded the gybe mark with Newfie's bow wave hissing through the water behind us. The Mainsail flipped across the boat, and chuck scrambled to get in position, then I realized that the there was no downwind leg in this course, just 2 gybes. We ran down to the bottom of the course on a broad reach on the opposite tack, and held Newfie back, maybe gaining a little on him.

At the bottom of the course, we would have to go from a broad reach to a close reach, and we couldn't afford to miss the tack. I made it clear to Chuck exactly how things had to go. We braced ourselves and waited.

When Chuck and I were racing in our first season at Sail Georgina, we used to aim to be able to spit on the race marks when we rounded them. We wanted to cut close, but keep speed. Here it was critical that the boat hold its speed through the reversal from a broad reach to a close reach. I wasn't sure how we would do.

The mark got closer and closer. Chuck scrambled from the cabintop to the cockpit. She released a turn from the winch and braced herself against the force of the wind in the sail. I asked her - you ready?

Steely eyes met mine, and a short nod.

"Release!"

The boat spun around the mark. The jibsheet flew through the pulley to windward, and came in on the leeward side. The ratchets in the winches hummed, and we were set back on our upwind course. We had pulled it off. A 180° course change around the emark without any loss in speed, and Newfie still behind us. But, Newfie was still right there. As precise as our turn had been, it wasn't enough to shake him.

We hadn't given him room to come up inside, and we hadn't lost speed, but "The Screach" had done exactly the same manoeuvre we had just as well. Dammit, we were gonna have to keep trying.

I held our course as close to hitting the final mark as I could without pinching too much, or falling off. The wind shifted and we played the sheets. Newfie was sitting off our stern, just waiting for his chance. I was determined not to give in. The two boats were closely matched, any mistake would be to give up the race. We had another tack, and then the finish line.

Chuck knew what we were up against. She perched on the cabintop calling out Newfie's position and moves. We sailed fast and hard, taking advantage of everything the wind gave us. And then we did it again, another 180° course change to head back to the finish line, with Newfie following us around the corner. His bow pulpit to our transom.

We sailed all the way down to the start line, and held him off every step of the way. Then we crossed, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. We had beat Newfie again, and this time on the short course. I knew that the difference in times wasn't enough to hold the win once our handicaps were applied, but boat to boat, on the course we had gotten the lead and held it.

Once handicaps were applied, we would come in second to Newfie by 26 seconds. Now that's not much time, but that doesn't matter, what matters is that through some hard work, good sailing, and a little luck, we put together a plan and pulled it off - and crossed the line in front of Newfie.

Because of those 26 seconds, Iris lost her first place standing in the summer race series. She now stands in second place by one point. In order to get back in first, and win the championship, all she has to do is beat Newfie. Twice.

The next Regatta is this coming weekend.

Helter Skelter... Hawkestone Race 3

2010-09-10T13:21:00.007-04:00

"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide,
where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
till I get to the bottom and I see you again
Yeah Yeah hey Yeah..."

Paul McCartney & John Lennon

On Saturday Morning, Iris was nestled in beside Tecumseh, quietly tugging at her docklines while a light breeze moved across the lake. I woke up SWMBO and Buddy, went for a stroll ashore, and came back to let everyone know breakfast was ready. Chuck had spent the night sleeping in the clubhouse, and was eagerly eyeing the breakfast that the folks at Hawkestone had prepared.

We all had a delicious breakfast of bacon and egss and sausage and fruit and yogurt and cereal and toast and bagels and all the fixings, toppings, and garnishes that can be imagined, then I went to re-rig a mainsail on the boat.

The ferocious winds of the previous races, our already torn sail, and the damage we had sustained were all on my mind, but so were the great results we had enjoyed. Today was going to be race 3 of the weekend, a long distance race from the yacht club to Maynard’s Shoal, and then around Thorah Island and back to the club. Last year I had finished this race in second place.

As I rigged the boat, the skipper from Icarus came over to lend a hand. We talked about rig tension, and sail choices, and the job went quickly. In no time I had the main on. The bell rang for the skippers meeting. I dropped everything and ran for the meeting. I would rig our reefing lines later. As I went to the meeting a light breeze rippled the surface of the lake.

At the meeting flags were handed out for our previous races. Iris was awarded 4 second place flags and 1 first place flag, bringing our total count for the season to 7 flags. Newfie handed Chuck his first place flag from the night race, giving her credit for his finish. I was a pretty proud skipper at the end of the ceremony.

From the flag ceremony, we moved into the details of the race at hand. The course was defined and procedures laid out. At the end of the meeting we were told the race would be starting in 30 minutes. That gave us 10 minutes to get out of the harbour.

10 minutes isn’t enough time for me to rig reefing lines. I looked out on the lake again. The riffle had built to small waves. I looked at the reefing lines sitting in the cabin, coiled them up and hoped I wouldn’t need them. The engine started on the first pull, and we were away.

The wind wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been the day before, and as we sailed out to the lake, folks lined Hawkestone’s breakwall waving and shouting to the boats as they passed. We cleared the club, headed out to find the committee boat, and settled into sailing. With the full main and 110% jib out, Iris was behaving quite nicely, and we were able to sail without much trouble.

I don’t remember much of the start sequence, except that we didn’t have a fantastic position, but it wasn’t awful either. Iris seemed a little blasé and neither inspired nor let down. She just sailed without spirit as we headed downwind toward the Maynard shoal marker.
The fleet passed us as we plodded along, and I soon saw Newfie and Icarus pulling ahead of us as we sailed along next to Canadian. He puffed on a cigar, and we did what we could to keep our jib filled. We really needed a whisker pole.

Our whisker pole was sitting at home, in 2 pieces, broken on the night race.

Chuck and I could both feel the wind building as we sailed, and the boats ahead of us were taking advantage of that wind in ways we couldn’t without a pole. I looked around the boat for a way to devise a pole.

Running below I grabbed a boathook, and extended it as far as I could. It looked about the right length to work for our jib, good thing we didn’t have a genoa up. I quickly fastened it to the jib and pushed it out over the water. Now I had to find a way to attach the inboard end of the pole to the mast, or risk being protested.

Using the spare halyard, I could attach the end of the pole to the mast, but I had to get the right knot on it to prevent the pole from sliding back inboard. In my mind I ran through the list of knots I knew. Rolling hitch, timber hitch, round turn and two half hitches, clove hitch – which one was best to attach a rope to a pole at a right angle? Would the load on the pole be axial or perpendicular if the sail was flogging out there? Could I tie it and have enough tail left to cleat the line off to the mast?

In the end I decided I was overthinking things and just tied a rolling hitch, then left it be. It worked.

The boathook flexed madly, but held the sail out, and the knot never slipped. We picked up a little speed and alternated between flying wing on wing and broad reaching. Canadian slowly moved aft, and we sailed away from him.

We reached Maynards Shoal ahead of Canadian, and barely able to see Newfie and Icarus ahead of us. Tobasco’s bright red hull was easy to see on the horizon, and a few of the other white sail boats were up ahead. One of the spinnaker boats, a Sonic 23, that had run into trouble was close by, recovering their sails after losing a halyard. They rejoined the race just as we rounded the shoal marker.

I handed Chuck the tiller and went forward to bring down the boathook. With Canadian and the Sonic nearby, we at least had folks to race, even if we were at the back of the pack.

With the boathook stowed, I took back the tiller and aimed Iris at the back of the fleet. As we came up to the wind, I could feel its intensity growing. The waves came up, and we found it increasingly difficult to hold our course as we sailed the gap between Thorah Island and Lake Simcoe’s East shore.

The water behind Thorah Island is very shallow, and as we sailed along the waves came up quickly. The Sonic struggled along behind us, and we worked the mainsheet feverishly to keep Iris on her feet. We watched the fleet turn and head west back toward the yacht club, and we continued sout, deep into the area between Georgina and Thorah Islands. The sonic tacked and headed back toward Hawkestone. Newfie worked his way along the south shore of Thorah. Canadian slipped further and further behind. Icarus was following Newfie. I wanted to time my tack to take as much advantage of the wind we were facing, and held on, waiting for the right time to tack over.

Then it was time. Chuck released her sheet, I hauled in mine. The main snapped across the boat, and the tiller went to leeward. We were aimed at the open water of Lake Simcoe, waves crashing over the windward side of the boat, troughs deep enough to swallow us. We headed out to the middle of the lake, and watched as Newfie sailed his course aimed at Strawberry Island on the north shore of the lake.

Shortly after we tacked, we saw Canadian lower her sails. She was out of the race. The Sonic tacked over and joined us. Then Icarus did the same. Soon we were sailing in a pod of three boats, Iris leading, followed closely by the Sonic, and Icarus close behind. We were baffled by Newfie, watching him sail north to our west, looking like he was going to visit Orillia. Later he would jokingly tell us he was headed for holy ground, looking for the Pope.

My idea was to hold a course in the middle of the lake. Here the winds would be strongest, but Iris had shown the day before that she was up for the task. I could dump wind out of the mainsail by playing the mainsheet, and out 110% jib had performed without issue in all the races. With our high freeboard, I wasn’t too worried about the big waves. Chuck was having fun getting wet from the waves breaking over the bow.

We Aimed to sail as close to the wind as Iris could, pinching just a little, and worked our way toward the centre of the lake. The Sonic set his sights on us and followed. Icarus surged along beside the Sonic and the three boats, sailing about 30 feet away from each other formed a triangle of solidarity, fighting the wind.

Behind us we could see Icarus trying different things to gain more boatspeed. He seemed to struggle to keep up with Iris and the Sonic, and eventually he footed off, heading toward the lee shore. We held our course, the Sonic pushing us along.

As we sailed thewind grew more and more intense. We rounded up once, then again. The Sonic gained ground. Eventually he was sailing behind us. A wave would raise us up and the Sonic would be below us, then we would fall into a trough and the boat would disappear entirely behind the wall of water, reappearing as he rose on the next cres, up above us.

Again and again the two boats changed places, appearing and disappearing from each other, barely a boats length away crashing down on the waves as the wind drove us toward our goal.

As we got closer to shore, I decided that staying in the middle of the lake would be fastest for us. Shoreline effects would act to funnel and swirl the wind, but in the centre of the lake it would be more consistent in terms of direction and intensity. I tacked, heading back out to the middle of the lake. The Sonic continued on its course for a few minutes, then tacked, following us. We would sail alongside each other for a mile or two before he decided to tack back toward the shore and calmer waters, leaving us to finish the race on our own.

As we recrossed the lake, Chuck and I kept an eye out for other boats. We were headed west, and the Sonic headed North. Far in the distance, barely a pinprick, we could see Newfie, and between the Sonic and Newfie, we could see Icarus. Being so far from them it was impossible to tell what they were doing, so we stuck to our own plan, holding our tack as long as we could, focusing on steering a straight course in the wind, and not allowing the boat to round up or the waves to push us around too much. The GPS ticked off the miles as we went.

Navigating by GPS I advised Chuck that we would only do one tack to get to Hawkestone. Since we were so far out in the lake, we would need to keep a diligent watch for the finish mark, and only make our move once it was about 100° off our course. The little dot on the GPS moved closer and closer to us. We watched the waves for a finish mark floating off our starboard side about 3 miles away.

Eventually I caught a glimpse of something orange off in the distance. Then Chuck saw it. We watched for it to be dead abeam, then overshot it. Finally it was time –TACK!

Iris turned, I lined up the mark, we looked down the shore and saw the Sonic coming towards us. Iris sliced through the water, making a beeline for the finish mark. We were high on the mark. I put the tiller over and pinched. A wind shift put us low on the mark; we fought to keep lined up. The mark got easier to see. Then it was defined. We were lined up on an orange barrel floating in the lake.

I checked the GPS – the finish mark was over a mile away but still on our course. We might make it, but would need a little luck.

I started putting a little extra space in the bank and tried to feather our course to make it to the mark without any extra tacks. The Sonic got closer and closer, eventually passing astern.

Down the shore I saw Icarus, and behind him Newfie making their way towards Hawkestone. The Sonic tacked and gave chase as we made for the line. I slipped Iris in behind the finish mark, rounded the mark, and finally rested. After the fury of the lake, the bay in front fo Hawkestone was like a millpond. Chuck and I exchanged High fives, took down our sails, and motored into the yacht club.

After the race we found out that Newfie had started taking on water someplace behind Thorah Island, and had to bail for much of the race. He had been heading for the closest shorelines in order to keep out of the big waves in the middle of the lake. When he tied up at Hawkestone, he was sitting about 6” low on his waterline. Canadian had suffered similarly, and abandoned race when he took on more water than he was comfortable with. In the end, only 3 boats in our class finished the race.

Iris finally took a first place flag from Newfie.

Iris Fights Back, Hawkestone Race 2

2010-09-09T10:01:00.000-04:00

With the first race behind us, and feeling pretty confident that we had won it, I worked quickly to strip the torn mainsail from the boat. I was working a little too quickly, and lost one of the screws that hold our mast gates, a pair of metal covers that hold the sail slides in place. The gates are supposed to be held by 4 screws, and now I was down to 2. Not a critical problem, but still, a problem.

I slowed down and starting thinking more critically. Without a mainsail, there was no need for a boom. An empty boom would just flop around in the wind, and get in the way. It may as well come off.

In a matter of minutes I had taken the mainsail, boom, mainsheet, and boom vang off the boat and stowed them all below. Chuck and I folded the main up, and headed back out into the raging wind under jib alone to face the race. We got some strange looks from folks on other boats, but het, there we were, and we were still in the running.

After a quick sail past the committee boat to thank them for waiting for us, we got some practice sailing with half a sail plan in wicked winds. We quickly discovered that going upwind was not a very good thing to try to do the way we were set up. We also struggled to tack the boat without the main sail pushing the stern around.

I got the boat set in a good spot for the start and we guessed the time by the flags on the committee boat. Our electronics were still soaked, and refusing to come on.

The one minute flag went up, and we turned for the line. I made “S-Turns” to blow speed and tried to stall the boat. We sailed closer and closer to the start line, then past the committee boat. Just once we were too far to make the line, the start flag went up.

Dammit.

We tried to turn the boat back to the line, but our tack failed. Another attempt, and another fail. Someone lost crew overboard up the bay. The committee boat started pulling up its anchor to assist with the rescue. We were 5 minutes late to the line and had to get between the committee boat and start float before they left.

Finally, we just dipped below the start line, and crossed it legally, then turned Iris toward the fleet.

Being under powered may have been an advantage in the downwind race to Hawkestone Yacht Club. The boat that had lost its crew, had broached trying to go up spinnaker, and 2 people had gone overboard. One of the crew made it back on to the boat, the other was picked up by another boat. Iris chugged along like a freight train, surfing the waves and slicing a path toward big bay point, rarely being over powered, but always on the edge of control.

From Big Bay point to Long Shoal was a close reach, and we managed to hold a reasonable course, making time on the boats ahead of us. By the time we rounded Long shoal and pointed the bow at Hawkestone, we were back in the mix of things. The wind was strong, and waves were big, but Iris handled everything thrown at her without pause.

Other boats, especially those with full sail plans struggled against the wind. Canadian started the race, but dropped out shortly after the start line, still shaken from his near-sinking in the previous race. Second Wind, another of our usual competitors tore both jib and main sail, and was forced to drop all sails and retire just before reaching long shoal. Newfie Screach and Icarus carried on through the race, but we managed to pass them both on the way to Hawkestone.

Chuck and I shared the effort of fighting the wind as we sailed across the lake. She would drive allowing me to fix things as they broke, and I would relieve her when things were going well. The effort paid off. We crossed the finish line behind Icarus, but ahead of Newfie Screach, totally drenched, and with everything on the boat holding water.

Once handicaps were applied to our finish times, Newfie would come out ahead of us and Icarus behind. We were left with another 2nd place finish behind Newfie, but our time was very close to his.

In Hawkestone Harbor, we tied off to Tecumseh, plugged in the boat, and began to assess the damage we had suffered through the day. Everything on the boat was wet, from the V-berth to the transom, and up to the top of the mast. The wind howled and rain continued to come on and off through the evening. A double rainbow appeared over the finish mark, and as Iris quietly sat next to the Indian chief, Zephyrus abated.

I phoned SWMBO and told her we needed an emergency delivery. A second mainsail was in the basement, and if she could make the drive to bring it to us, we could do well the next day. SWMBO agreed, and a couple hours later arrived with the sail, and Buddy, who is always a hit at the yacht clubs.

Someplace between the finish of the first race and the BBQ following the second race, a rumor had started that the wind had torn our sail and boom off the boat together. When SWMBO arrived with the replacement sail, a few folks asked how I was going to rig it. When I heard the rumor I quickly set things straight. It’s funny how stories spread.

By bedtime, we had cleaned out the boat, hanging as much as we could to dry, and had taken the torn sails to the van for transport home. I hadn’t had time to put the boom back on and rig the new mainsail though. That would have to wait for morning, and be ready for race 3 of the weekend, a long sail around Thorah Island, in winds to match those from the day before.

An angry Zephyrus visits on the Long Weekend

2010-09-08T11:40:00.004-04:00

Sailing across the lake to Barrie for the Hawkestone weekend, I was worried that without a whisker pole or my biggest sail, I would come away from the long weekend with nothing but a sunburn and a long face to show for my trouble. I was hoping the party would at least be good enough to offset the looming race results.

Chuck and I sailed across the lake then motored up Kempenfelt Bay to Barrie Yacht Club, tying off to Newfie Screach shortly before midnight. The sky was overcast and the air was cool, but there was no rain. Hardly anyone was out on the docks, and it didn’t take long for us to retire to the boat. I slept lightly, not tired enough or calm enough to really get much rest, and then it was morning.

On Saturday morning the folks at BYC put out a breakfast not to be trifled with, and we ate our fill and then some. It was great. The usual suspects had trickled in through the night to compete in what looked some real sailing weather. We sat with crew we would soon do battle with, and discussed sail choices and tactics over hot coffee while flags snapped and whipped and whitecaps were tossed around the bay. The wind had arrived, delivered by Zephyrus, and it wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

At the skippers meeting the usual warnings and announcements were made. There were to be 2 races, the first, a windward, leeward course would take us up and down Kempenfelt Bay from BYC to the fountain in the public park twice. The second race would start shortly after the first, and be a race from BYC to HYC where a corn roast awaited us.

I grumbled about how poorly Iris did in windward leeward races as I prepped the boat. In these conditions though, at least the torn genoa wouldn’t be pressed into service, and I would be able to get away with not using the pole. I rigged the 110% jib, set the motor in gear and backed out of the marina.

Since BYC is a tight marina, and there were a dozen boats trapped behind me, I figured I would simply continue in reverse right out of the yacht club and into the bay. Big mistake. As soon as Iris met the waves out in the bay, the engine cavitated, and the force of the waves against the transom pushed her toward the breakwall protecting the yacht club.

I fiddled with the engine for a few seconds trying to get some traction in the waves. No luck. Try going in forward back to the club. That didn’t work either. Frantic messing with the throttle and still headed for the breakwall. Only one choice left.

I handed Chuck the tiller and told her to steer us away from the wall while I grabbed the halyard and pulled up the jib. The wind grabbed the sail, and Chuck held tight. Iris carved a beautiful arc in the water and sailed away from what would have spelled an early end to the weekend.

Iris move through the water beautifully, and was quite manageable under jib alone, but since this was a windward leeward course, we needed some kind of mainsail in order to get a better course upwind. After a few seconds thinking about it, I decided to go for it. I threw the tiller over, putting Iris hove-to, and asked Chuck to drive. “Whatever you do, don’t let the boat start sailing.” Holding a boat Hove-to is pretty easy. You simply keep the sails facing the wind so that they are backwinded. Anytime the sail starts to fill you shove the rudder over and show it to the wind, pinning it against its proper direction. By having the sail filled in the opposite direction to how it is supposed to be, the boat is stalled out, unable to sail, but moving at the same pace as the waves it is riding. It is a very comfortable way to sit out a blow.

Chuck held the boat hove-to without so much as a blink, and I went forward and shortened sail for the race.

Shortening sail, or reefing, means you make your sails smaller so the boat isn’t overpowered. In the wind we were facing, I wanted to be sure I was shortening sail as much as I could. Our racing mainsail has 2 reef points, which means you can sail with it fully deployed (when the wind is lightest), with a single reef (in medium winds), or with a double reef (for strong winds). Today I definitely wanted it fully reefed. The wind was whipping spray from the wavetops with such ferocity it stung when it hit your cheeks.

Once I had the reef set in the mainsail, I hoisted it up the mast, and we sailed away, making very good time, but still having good control of the boat. I was happy with my decision, and we started circling, waiting for the start sequence.

It wasn’t long before the committee boat arrived, and the “cat in the hat” flag went up. I reached for the countdown timer that we have used since we got the boat – a kitchen timer from Lee Valley. It was waterlogged from spray, and showed a series of strange symbols. I tossed it aside and reached for the GPS. It too had water in its display, and its batteries were dead. I turned on the radio hoping the race committee would be broadcasting the start. It squealed and made strange noises, then went dead.

Dammit. We were sailing without electronics.

We hovered near the line, depending on the other boats to get a good start, and went when they went. It worked out OK. We started with the pack and headed for the first mark, zigzagging toward Barrie, looking for the best route. Picking the route was tricky. If you went to the wind lines, you could be flattened by its ferocity, but if you stayed away, you got passed. We clued in quickly that by playing the mainsheet, and staying about centered on our target, we could hold a respectable course and minimize the times we got pushed down hard.

In the first leg we were pretty close to our usual group, fighting off Canadian and Newfie, holding on ahead of Icarus, and really just hoping for the best. WHAM! We’d get hit by gust and lay the boat down, then we’d see folk behind us lay down their boats. We were outpointing the folks who were sailing more conservatively, and we were being outpointed by folks who had better skills and gear. Regularly waves broke over the hull spraying the cockpit, and we watched the lee rail get doused lower and lower into the water as the wind picked up. Windows went under water. The winches were doused. The cockpit coamings went under. Iris refused to give in.

Canadian stumbled behind us, righting herself, then getting hit again and again. Newfie fought on behind her. We were leading our pack, and doing OK. Rain set in, hiding Barrie even though it was only a mile away. We struggled up wind, then sped downwind surfing the waves. The wind rang through the rig, not just humming or whistling. Ropes creaked and moaned, and the shrouds looked like steel bars they were so loaded with the wind.

It was on the second upwind leg that we were tested.

First the wind caught us unsuspecting, and threw Iris from a wavetop into a trough, holding her down hard. A wave broke and filled the cockpit. The gas tank floated up out of its locker, and the smell of gasoline filled the air for a moment. Chuck and I were both standing in water up to our knees. Then Iris struggled for a moment, swore at Zephyrus, stood up, and raced off.

Behind us, Canadian faced the same condition. Since his boat has less freeboard, when his cockpit filled, so did the cockpit lockers. When his boat righted itself, he took down his sails, turned on his engine, and headed home. He had almost lost his crew (I don’t think he uses tethers) and his crew had lost its nerve. Chuck and I were more resolved to continue on.

Zephyrus wasn’t very pleased though at Iris’ audacity. He decided to teach her a lesson. Not long after our knockdown, another puff took the boat to a new level of dismay. The 110% jib was overloaded. I didn’t see it, but Iris knew she had to spill some wind and spill it fast. The jib sheet suddenly rocketed forward, ripping the sheetlead out of its track. The pulley flew out ahead of the boat, dangling on its rope out over the water.

The wind at this point was clocked in the neighbourhood of 45 knots (+/- 80 km/h). I handed Chuck the tiller.

How many 13 year old kids are there that could sail a damaged boat in that sort of wind, and hold their course? How many could you trust to keep things together while you crawled out on the foredeck of a boat heeled at over 45° to the horizon, with spray and rain and a flotilla of other boats in close quarters? Chuck amazed me, and what happened next amazed me even more.

I crawled forward and retrieved the sheave, returning it to its place on the deck, then returned to the cockpit. Chuck refused to let go of the tiller. She pointed to the mainsail. “Dad,” she yelled over the wind, “You need go fix the main now, I think it broke too.”

Looking forward I saw that the mainsail had been torn from its track. Every sail slide holding it in place had snapped in succession, and all that was holding it to the boat was the headboard and the reefing line. Chuck had held us on course while the slides had broken, pelting her with plastic shards. Holding the course in that fierce wind with so badly deformed a main must have taken loads of strength and concentration.

I brought down the sail, lashed it to the boom, and headed back to the cockpit. While I lashed it down, I noticed that not only had the slides all broken, but the strength of the wind had torn the sailcloth 2/3’s of the way across the sail below the headboard. Since we were still on course though, and ahead of everyone else, there was no way we were going to quit.

One last tack brought us to the weather mark. Newfie was behind us. No one else was still around. We rounded the mark, and headed downwind to the finish. Sailing with only one sail, we had a hard time keeping ahead of Newfie, but managed to hold our lead. Canadian had retired. Icarus was noplace to be seen. We surfed and raged and fought to hold course while the wind shoved us toward the line. Then it was done. We had crossed the line. Newfie was still back there. We had done it.

Iris limped into BYC, and we radioed th ecomittee boat that we were doing repairs. They should start the next race without us if we weren’t out in time. Chuck and I high-fived each other, and I looked things over. If I just took off the boom, we might be able to get back out in time for the next race. She set off to visit friends, and I set to work.

A Busted Pole, a torn sail, and weekend of racing ahead

2010-08-26T17:43:00.004-04:00

Well, the total damage to Iris from the night sail has been tallied. The most painful pain from the adventure has to be the damage we suffered to our mylar tapedrive headsail. Whenever I raise that sail, Iris goes like stink. In light wind, that sail will make us move better than Exlax after a bowl of prunes. We pass boats with the big 155% sail, and are rarely passed by other boats in our class. But maybe not so much anymore.

In the night race that sail took a helluva beating. it was flailed out of control, whipped, snapped, and overloaded. The sail was buried in the water and raked across the spreaders. At some point in that race, the sail took more than it couild handle, and it looks like a spreader punched through it. It now has a tear about 8" long in its upper section. I may be able to patch it, but the sail will be of limited use now. Very unfortunate.

Our other challenge is with the broken whisker pole. I need to get to re-drilling it and cutting off the broken end. I think it will be useful, and possibly even better than it originally was. "Half a pole, half a pole, half a pole onward..."

This past weekend, the guys at the marina walked through tuning my rig with me, such that the mast is now more raked, and the boat more powerful than it was before the night race. Once the rig was tuned the challenge went up to beat "The Screach," a sworn enemy on the water and genuinely nice guy on land. I hope I can, but I'll have to do it with half a pole and minus my favourite sail.

Beyond that, Chuck has invited a handful of her friends to come sail the race with us. We better do well, preteen girls are hard to keep happy and I'll have to get off the course in a hurry, or be the uncoolest Dad ever.

DNF

2010-08-09T16:31:00.002-04:00

In the past I have said that DNF is the worst result you can get in a race. DNF points to poor preparation and judgement, poor seamanship, and a lack of the steely nerves needed to be a competitive sailor. I still feel that way, and I'm more than a little embarrassed to admit all those things came together to produce that result last night.

The night race has come to have a reputation for both magic and horror for me. It's like a blockbuster movie that moves from romance to chainsaw style decapitation, and does it without blinking. This year the switch was so smooth and quiet, it could have been deadly.

Let's start at the start. Crew selection. A few weeks ago I started lining up crew for the event. I had a crack shot skipper sign on, and some new crew, myself, and Chuck. It looked really good. The four of us could sail in two shifts, with reserve crew working as called on waiting for their turn in action. Then the spare skipper got called away on work, and my spare crew got busy with life. More folks were called upon, but by race day it was down to Chuck and I.

Then Chuck decided to give crewing with Newfie Screach a try. I had no problem with that since life experiences are great and everything, but it meant I was going alone.

I've single-handed Iris many times, and figured this would be no different, just longer. I thought I was up for the test, so I wished Chuck luck as she sailed off aboard "the Screach".

Before the race started, the weather radio was calling for heavy winds, but not until about midnight, so I put up my #3 jib. The working jib is a smallish sail that is used when the wind is strong, but not overpowering. I was being prudent and safe. Out on the lake, winds were light, and most of the fleet had big Genoas flying. I ignored them, after all, I was being the safe one.

In the prestart, I hung close to the line, and had a really good start, first or second over with a PHRF Lo boat right next to me. As soon as we were over the line, he started pushing me back into the starting area, allowing the rest of the fleet to pass us. I pointed out to him that I wasn't even in his fleet, and he replied that he didn't care, he just wanted to get in clear air and this was how he was doing it.

By the time the other boat was clear of me, I had been pushed back to the middle of the fleet. So much for my great start. With the smaller sails up, I was having a hard time catching up to the rest of the fleet. I couldn't even get a whisker pole up without losing ground. Things were bad, and I dropped back further and further as everyone else advanced ahead of me.

It wasn't long until a big Hunter 38 came up behind me. I felt a little like a chicken being followed by an ostrich as his huge sails stole all the wind I could get. And he sat there all the way to big bay point. By the time we reached the top of Kempenfelt bay, I was 3rd last, he was behind me, and a third boat trailed in the distance. Things were not good.

After we rounded Big Bay Point, The Hunter held his overlap, and started playing with me on the pointing leg of the race, eventually pulling clear of my boat and leaving me alone. I had almost caught up with "Shoal Mate" and felt comfortable in the gathering night. It nagged at me that the big boat had felt the need to mess up my race so much, abut at least I was still moving. Although I was moving very slowly, and the winds were very light.

I thought about the rest of the fleet so far ahead, and about the wind warning. When I had mentioned it ashore, I had been laughed at, and been told there was no wind in any other forecast. Tonight was about having the biggest sails to a lot of folks. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was losing because I had made a bad decision in my sail selection. I decided to go up in sail size and took down the 110% jib to put up my 155% Genoa.

I lost a little time in the sail change, but overall it went well. And I started gaining on the boats ahead of me right away. The big sail was hard to gybe, and it got hung up on the rigging a lot, but it was definitely better. I patted myself on the back as the boat picked up speed, and started running faster and faster.

Running wing on wing you can't really feel the wind the same way you do when reaching or pointing, so its funny how the wind can build without you being aware of it. I went from moving at 0.5 knots to 1 knot right away, and attributed this to the new sail. Then the boat speed climbed to 3, then 5, then 6 knots. Then I started surfing waves, and fighting the wind as it shoved the boat across the inky black water. Eventually I could feel the wind moving faster than the boat, and saw waves breaking around me. Then I knew I was in trouble.

To change a sail to a smaller size with crew is a formidable feat. It involves one sailor with steely nerves going on the bow, pulling down the sail, and then hanging over the water to undo hanks while the boat pounds up and down on the waves. A second person goes below to receive the sail through the foredeck hatch, and stows it below, while a third person holds the boat into the wind, fighting the seas and winds, always on guard in case anyone goes overboard.

All of this is done with the boat facing dead upwind.

I was alone in the boat facing dead downwind. To change the sail I would need to turn the boat around, then go below and open the foredeck hatch. With it opened, I would have to run above and pull down the sail. With the sail down I could undo all the hanks and shove it below, then run down a stow it, sealing the hatch. Once all that was done I could think about putting up a smaller sail. If I didn't change the sail, it would be a heck of a bumpy ride in the howling wind. I decided to take down the whisker pole as a first step before evaluating my chances of reducing sail.

I eased the sheet forward to release the pole, and the wind took over. In an instant, the sail was snatched from my control, the whisker pole whipped forward and wrapped around the forestay, broken and useless, impossible to remove without leaving the helm.

I ran to the front of the boat and released the pole from the mast. Once it was free I came back to the tiller, and got the boat back under control as much as I could. The big sail was pinned to the forestay by the broken pole, billowing in the wind and pulling theboat madly sideways and down into the water.

A second sprint to the bow pulpit and I got the pole off the forestay. I let it drag from the corner of the genoa in the water beside the boat while I ran to the tiller to regain control before the boat crash-gybed. The sail flaied in the wind, whipping the pole back and forth like a bullwhip in teh night. With every gust it threatened to smash through a side window, or hook on the shrouds as we pounded through the surf.

A third trip forward and I got the pole off the sail and the sheets untangled. I almost threw the pole overboard, but had second thoughts, and instead dragged it back to the cockpit with me. Once in the cockpit I hauled in the sheets and got the boat sailing under control again. With the big genoa she wanted to round up or lay on her side, but there we were, Iris and I alone in the night, fighting the wind to stay alive.

I was 0.4 miles from the downwind mark when I broke the pole and started my fight with the wind, but now I was far off course since the boat had careened to find an upwind course each time I left the tiller. I felt battered and beat up. My big genoa was still flying, and it was a fight to keep the boat on its feet. Iris and I shared some words and I swore at the big Hunter that had helped me lose focus earlier. Then I swore at the boat that had pushed me back after my great start. Then I swore at my own poor judgement for coming out alone in this weather.

Then I decided DNF was better than an obituary.

There was no way to do a sail change alone in this wind. I had already proved that working alone my best bet was to hold a course. Any course. As long as it took me out of the wind and waves. I looked at my GPS. The nearest port was Hawkestone Yacht Club. Its entrance is tricky though and in this weather I wasn't up to chancing it. Next closest was Lagoon City, Downwind on a reach, which would be a fairly reasonable ride, but would mean a much farther sail home tomorrow. Next closest was my home port - 8 mile on a close reach, a bumpy ride, but no tacks or gybes and with it being on the south side of the lake the waves should get smaller the closer I got. The finish line of the race was the farthest port from where I was.

I hove to and had a head clearing session with myself. Heading home was easy, but was it the right thing to do? How much was this series worth? I had just broken a $400 - $500 piece of equipment. How much more was going to break out here? Could I even reach the weather mark in reasonable time? Could I finish higher than last place with the lead I had lost earlier? Did all that matter? Could Chuck get home without me making it to Barrie? What was tomorrow's weather like? Would we have an equally miserable ride home tomorrow?

I got on the radio with Tabasco and asked if they could get Chuck home. They answered that they could - they had broken some stuff too, but thought they were going to finish. I thanked them, asked them to radio the race committee that I had withdrawn, then turned Iris for home.

A couple times after that I almost turned back. The ride home was bumpy, and Iris was definitely over-canvassed, but once in the groove, she behaved quite nicely. Iris buried her rails and nose regularly in the steep chop and breaking waves as she pounded out a rhythem across the lake. Together we made a beeline for the marina, and from 8 miles out never had a question about where we were going or how we were getting there. The boat struggled against the waves, holding her course nicely but never approaching hull speed, happy to get up around 5.5 knots but never much more than that.

The waves took on a personality of their own as I sailed across the lake, and the spray coming off the tops of them looked like hands reaching up to grab me and pull me off the boat. The saying that the water wants to kill you has never seemed so real as it did in my tired mind that night.

As I pulled into the harbour, I heard Newfie Screach on the radio with Tabasco talking about getting Chuck home, and I tried to hail them back, but I was too far out of range and the radio's batteries too weak. I tied up Iris, put on the mainsail cover, and left her a mess to be dealt with later.

I drove home and collapsed in my bed, sleeping like a stone.

In the morning, Chuck arrived at the door and I let her in. She went straight to bed as well after not having slept all night, and then SWMBO and I returned to the boat later in the day. The damage to the Whisker pole was worse than I had thought, but it looks like I may be able to cut the end off it and have a shorter, but serviceable pole. I am not sure. I still need to take out the genoa and see if it needs a repair or not.

So I have my first DNF in the LSIS series. I should have really kept Chuck on board if for nothing else than that critical sail change. I shouldn't have entered the race without the crew I had signed up at the beginning. I should have listened to the little voices saying to go with the smaller sail when I was alone.

I should have done a lot of things, I am also glad I at least gave it a try.

Its time to light the middle.

2010-08-04T17:12:00.000-04:00

"My candle burns at both ends, It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light." ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

So sooner or later, I figured there would be a collision between real life and sailing on this blog. Most sailors find themselves interpreting one through the other anyhow, and that collision made itself pretty clear back in the winter with my Changes post.

Here is what is going on right about now. We are navigating confused seas. The wind is blowing in from the east while the current is heading west. This is piling up waves that are hard to manage. At the same time, percussion waves are rebounding off the shores and tossing the boat about. I am working the tiller hard while striving to keep wind in the sails and not get pulled back by an 8 knot current in a 4 knot boat. And I'm not giving up and turning around, 'cause the easy way isn't always the best.

In the past there have been a couple choices I made that were right if for no other reason than because I made a choice. Changing Careers, staying in Brantford, Changing relationships, leaving Brantford and having kids are among those choices. Conscious control carries a reward of confidence and surety that going with the flow cannot offer. I made a choice like that back in December, and now I am working through its outfall. The choice was to leave a great employer and to stretch through new challenges. I left to work for the city, and then in short order leveraged that position for another with a third employer, where I am now.

All this change has resulted in a house of cards effect that hasn't stopped since. SWMBO has been recruited to come and work with me at the new job. Buddy is changing childcare to be closer to us while we are at work. We are also expecting a third kid. Chuck is discovering boys and independance. We will be selling the house (I L-O-V-E that house) and moving in the next year. I have a forced timeline to complete a series of renovations and projects that are only half started. Iris will either move this fall or next to Lake Ontario. On top of all that our chickens (yes, we have chickens) are getting to an increased demand stage as they mature enough to start laying.

Are we busy? Yeah. Just a little. Its a no-nonsense time right now. Too much to do and not enough time, or energy, or desire to do it all. I face my list at home, and know that getting stuff done means selling the house (I L-O-V-E that house) and that doesn't sound appealing. Hard to get your spirits up for something like that.

But you know, if I don't man-up and get going on all this, then the waves and currents and winds are going to push me wherever they please, and the decision I made in the first place just won't matter anymore.

So what is it? Tack? Gybe? Hold course? As I said to Jamie not so long ago, it doesn't matter much how that candle is burning out at the ends; its time to light the middle, or as Uncle Vince would say, "git'er done."

A Quick Update...

2010-08-03T15:37:00.003-04:00

I haven't been as fastidious about updating the goings on of sailing this season, but let me say things have been going well thus far.

I have been lucky to have good crew in Judy, and with her help in races 1-4 of the LSIS series, I have managed to hold on to first place in the White sail High division this far. So far on the season Iris has taken 1 yellow flag and 3 blue flags. But I am as nervous as a sheep with a lonely farmer.

Here is the thing, Newfie Screach hasn't been in winning form thus far in the season. He missed race one and two altogether because of work, then had his motor mount break on the way to race 3. He managed to make it to race 4 with a cutting board for a motor mount, and now is determined to sweep the season in order to maintain his place as the winningest boat on the lake.

I Am Canadian is also trying to broadside me with whatever he can. Canadian has two yellow flags to my 1, and just like last year, I find myself having to beat him in order to stay alive. How familiar does this sound - it doesn't matter how I place as long as I place ahead of Newfie and Canadian. Man, its like a replay of last season.

Now lets add to the stress. A couple new boats are looking at joining the LSIS series late in the season, and I can't be sure whether they are joining as spinnaker boats, or in my class. There are at least 2 that I worry about. And all this is keeping me up at night. All night. Ok well, it will keep me up all night on Saturday.

This Saturday is the Harris Steele Overnight race. The longest race of the season, and I don't have enough crew as of right now. I meant to ask around on the weekend, but the opportunity never presented itself. Harrumph. I thought I had a kick-butt crew pulled together for the race, but then the secondary skipper I had got called away for work, and my sure bet fourth didn't work out. I may end up going solo.

I hope there is a tonne of wind. Solo in light air would mean a very long race, and I can't be sure how I would fare. Whatever the conditions are, I need to finish ahead of Newfie and Canadian and whoever else thinks they are going to beat me. Dammit, I need more yellow flags.

A Room With a View

2010-07-29T01:40:00.005-04:00

Iris, and every other Catalina 25 and Catalina 27 that I know of, came with a deadlight mounted in the foredeck. A deadlight is a sort of skylight which has been used aboard boats since back when Columbus was around. There is a difference between the Santa Maria and Iris though. When the Santa Maria was fitted with her deadlights, a craftsman carefully formed a prism of glass which would scatter light throughout the chamber that the deadlight was in. Not so much the case with Iris.

At the Catalina factory, they fitted Iris with a deadlight of milky white Plexiglas, fitted to a cutout in the fibreglass deck. This deadlight has some common complaints from Catalina owners. The lights have a reputation for leaking, cracking, and generally not playing nicely with others. Catalina attached the deadlights with a bead of silicone sealant which was also famous for degrading in sunlight, and then being impossible to remove. Iris had symptoms of previous fixes, but the deadlight still leaked. I called the previous owner (PO) to find out what had been done, and if I needed to know anything before venturing to fix the problem.

ME: hey PO. When we sleep aboard Iris, SWMBO gets dripped on since I won't sleep under the deadlight. You think I should fix that?

PO: Maybe. Does she like being wet when she sleeps?

Me: No. Got any tips?

PO: Well, the first time I fixed it, I used 3M 4200 and the original deck plate.

Me: First time? You mean you had to do it again?

PO: Yeah. The fix didn't last long so I had to ramp things up a little.

Me: Oh. So what did you do?

PO: I got some silicone and gave that a try.

Me: How did that work?

PO: It worked for a while, but then it started leaking again. So I had to try something else.

Me: You did this 3 times!?!

PO: Yeah, I was getting a little frustrated after the first 2 attempts, so the 3rd time I gave it the 5200 treatment.

Me: You mean 3M 5200? The stuff that bonds so well you have to chisel it off the boat?

PO: Yeah, that's the stuff. Should never leak again the way I figure it. How does SWMBO like sleeping under there again??

So I was looking at a pretty daunting task to remove the old deadlight, install a new one, and doing it with materials that would allow me to revisit the problem next time the deadlight starts leaking (which it sounds like it may be next Tuesday). Speaking with the Catalina guys, they identified the deadlight as the biggest design flaw in the whole boat. Since the light is only 8" X 4" I am happy knowing there aren't any bigger issues.

In order to get the parts I had a couple options.

1) I could buy one online from Catalina direct for about $30 and then pay shipping and duties to get it home.
2) I could get a piece made from windshield glass for about $150 (I think the glass place thought I had sucker written on my forehead)
3) I could go to home hardware and get a chunk of Plexiglas and hope my skills as a craftsman were up to the task. (Lately they haven't been)
4) I could go to a local plastics place and get a part custom made.

I went with option 4. since this part is so small, I figured it was a good test for future endeavours (like having lexan hatch boards made up). Catalina yachts (Florida) was nice enough to send their shop drawing for the part to a friend, and I printed it and took it to the plastics place with a few customizations marked on the drawing.

The guy looked at the drawing, and scratched his beard. Then he looked at me like he didn't want to do the job. "You are looking at $45 in machine time, and about $10 in plastic." I said go for it, and waited for the phone call saying the part was done. it took about 2 weeks, and the call came. I am super happy with the new part.

In the photo you can see the PO's old clear Plexiglas deadlight, and my interpretation of the design. I had the plastics place put a little bevel on the edges all the way around, and got the light made from 5/16" plexi rather than the original 1/4" thickness. This was a compromise between the aftermarket parts now available which are thicker to resist flexing, and the original parts from Catalina which the deck is recessed to fit. Some folks who have bought the aftermarket parts have had issues with parts being too thick to recess properly into the deck on installation.

My first step in the repair was removal of the old deck plate. I was super worried about the 5200 that the light had been installed with. I have never worked with 5200 before but it is supposed to be the worst stuff in the world to try and remove from the boat. Carefully, under the watchful eye of another sailor, I started carving the sealant away from around the light. Then I slipped the knife in between the Plexiglas and fibreglass in the hull, and the whole deadlight popped right out. The photo at left was staged after the light was removed, and you can see the old 5200 on the deck of the boat. most of it just peeled away from the gelcoat like there was no good bond at all between the materials.

I spent some time cleaning the mating surfaces, then it was time for the install. The new light was marginally oversize, so using a grinder with a coarse flapwheel in it, I gently ground around the edges of the new light until it fit the hole properly. Earlier in the week, I had stopped in at "The Rigging Shoppe" our local(ish) chandlery during my lunch break and described the task at hand. There it was suggested that I try using "Boatlife" to bond the light to the hull. Boatlife is a hybrid caulk that isn't quite caulking and isn't quite silicon. It looks and behaves like silicon, but has the UV inhibitors of some of the other marine caulks in it. I goobered up the mating surfaces, set the deadlight in, and settled in to wait for the caulk to dry.
Rather than sitting around doing nothing, I went racing aboard Tecumseh, and by the time I got back, everything had set up pretty nicely. I left the bucket of water weighing down the plate overnight, and returned the next morning. Things looked good.

I dumped the water over the plate as a test, and the Vee Berth was not so much as dripped in. Here's hoping things stay that way for a while!

Embarassing in Any Language

2010-06-10T08:28:00.003-04:00

Since our start to the first Race in the Lagoon City Regatta was so poor, I got to thinking of ways to improve performance. The glaring issue was that when we gybed, the battens in the foresail got hung up on the forestay, hourglassing the sail (OK, that will sound cryptic to non-sailors - sorry). I wondered why we had the battens up there and made some calls.

Battens are put in a sail to stiffen a section of it, and flatten out the shape of the sail. They are flat sticks that fit into pockets of the sail, and can be tensioned so they have just a tiny amount of curvature to them.

I was sure that the battens were in the luff (leading edge of the sail), and couldn't figure out why a sail would have been built that way. A sail is supposed to have a shape like an airplane's wing:

With battens at the front of the "wing" shape, the sail would be forced flat at the spot where it is supposed to be the most rounded, negating its shape. Also, the battens tended to get hung up on the forestay, and when you tried to unwind them after the inevitable hourglassing, the battens would just flex, refusing to be pulled back in place.

I started asking around to see if anyone had seen this before. I asked everyone at Lagoon City, then tried the crowd at my home club, posting the question our club's email board. After that I asked at the Catalina Forums and emailed a local sailmaker. Finally in desperation I phoned 3 separate offices of the people who built the sails hoping they would have an answer for why I had sails with such a crappy design.

The sailmakers suggested that I go to the boat and take pictures to send them. I thought that sounded like a good idea, so off to the boat I went, camera in hand. The sail was hoisted the camera pointed out - and the battens were in the leech (trailing edge, flat part of the sail) where you would expect them to be.

The sail was wrapped be cause the sailor was doing a poor job, not because of the design at all. D'oh!

Iris takes flight.

2010-06-09T14:06:00.000-04:00

After winning race 2 at Lagoon, I dropped off my crew, had a bite to eat, and turned iris toward home. As I left Lagoon City, the sky cleared and the sun came out making for very pleasant sailing conditions. I was barely past the breakwall when I killed the outboard and hoisted sail. Iris took the wind in and carried on homeward. It was a great day for a sail.

With the sails up I was clipping along at 4 to 5 knots and almost asleep. The boat was sailing herself as though she knew exactly where to go and what our goals were. I had more to eat, and fixed little things here and there, and enjoyed the ride.

As we sailed, the wind grew stronger and Iris showed more and more eagerness to get home. About two-thirds of the way across the lake we were cruising at hull speed, and the wind was growing stronger as we broad reached along.

By easing the main, I took advantage of the freshening wind and our speed climbed from 5 to 6 knots, and eventually we were sitting at hull speed. I angled off the wind a little and felt a surge under the boat and a shudder. Iris was surfing.

In the past I have only ever surfed canoes, so my frame of reference in the gnarly world of the surfer dude is very limited. After my exhilarating trip from Crates to JP this spring I had asked the guys on the Catalina forum about surfing our sailboats, and they described what to do – bring the boat to hull speed on a wave, ease a little downwind, pump the sails, and ride the waves. It was what I was doing right now.

By surfing you overcome the laws of physics that hold a sailboat to a given hull speed. You no longer push the bow wave of the boat, but rather ride on top of it. While surfing I watched Iris go from 6 knots to 7, then with coaxing to 7.5. It took a load of work and careful helming to get to 8 knots, but by then I had a handle on the angle to hold the helm at, and the way to set the sails, so I was able to climb up to 8 knots. Sustaining the boat at 8 knots was tricky. The waves want to move the boat around and the helm has less control, but it was do-able. In fact so was 8.5 knots, but I maxed out at 9.2.

9.2 knots in a sailboat that is designed to go only 6.3. I was pushing my boat at 146% of its design speed, and it was comfortable doing it. Some of the guys on the Catalina forums have reported speeds in excess of 10 knots in the right conditions. I need to try that.

I surfed the boat all the way from Georgina Island into JP harbour, and dropped the sails in the outer harbour, then eased Iris into her slip and packed up. Somehow it often seems like the trip home is the best sail of the weekend for me.

Day 2 of Lagoon, and things start to click…

2010-06-08T10:44:00.000-04:00

So after my first day of racing, I was determined not to let things get messed up on day 2. Around the clubhouse in the morning there were murmers of concern with the weather patterns. Winds were supposed to bein the high 20’s gusting to th e30’s. Wind was forecast, It was a damp cold outside that numbed your fingers fast. Some people abandoned the race, preferring the safety of a car ride home, and some went out and re-evaluated their boats to make sure they were up for the task.

I decided to risk the race, but not my kid. If stupid is going to hurt someone it should be me. Chuck rode home with SWMBO and buddy, and I settled in to singlehand in the storm that was brewing. On the dock I set a reef in the main and hanked on our 110% - the same sail as the day before. Then was offered crew, an experienced sailor without a boat to ride on. It sounded great. We got everything set, started the outboard, and headed to Lake Simcoe.

The wind was howling and whitecaps were here and there as we left the breakwall to face Lake Simcoe. Once the sails were set, I left the outboard down to give us a little drag and be sure we weren’t being too far overpowered. Iris bit into the wind, and we were sailing along very nicely. Soon we were in the start sequence, and keeping an eye on our competition. The clock ticked away, and the flying sail fleet took off – all piss and vinegar as they crashed through the waves, slicing the foam and tossing it aside. It was our turn.

I got Iris into a nice spot on the line, circles a few times and kept an eye on the clock. With 30 seconds to go we were approaching the line nicely. 10, 9, 8, 7 CRAP! The wrong flag was up – we were exactly on time to cross the line by my stopwatch, but a minute early by the committee boat. Somehow we had the wrong horn for the pre-start signal. I tacked away, lost too much momentum, and ended up in irons, once again agonizing as the entire fleet sailed past us.

Eventually I got Iris aimed back at the course, and as with the day before we worked to catch up with the fleet.

The course today was “2 triangles and a sausage”. This means that there would be 3 windward legs, 4 reaching legs, and 1 running leg. The 110% sail had performed really well in the windward leg the day before, and I had tweaked a few things for better reaching performance. The running leg was a crapshoot, but I figured that if I crossed my fingers just right it might work out. We put on our game faces and set to work.

My crew was amazing. He timed the crossing of the jib so that it never got caught in the forestay – not even once. And he wasn’t afraid to go forward to tweak things when needed. We outpointed most of the fleet, had very few early tacks, and apart from a couple of my strategies that could have been better, the race went really well.

We did direct battle throughout the race with Icarus, eventually finishing ahead of her. With Second wind we weren’t quite as lucky – we swapped tacks a couple times, and had a good lead on her to the finish, but I tacked early on our final approach giving her the advantage, and letting her slip by in the last minute of the race. Tobasco was a similar story. We had one crossing with her only feet off our bow, and then matched pace. For most of the race she was within range for us, then on the final reach and run we left her far behind. Somehow though, she outpointed us and got to the line ahead of us by about 3 minutes.

In the end we beat all of these guys on our handicap, and came in first in our division though – a far cry better than any of our previous Lagoon City showings. Things are feeling pretty darned good right now!

LSIS Race 2 Stats:
Distance Covered: XX.X Statute Miles (Slip to Slip) - Tracklog incomplete
Time on course: 2:24:40
Corrected time: 2:07:10
Time out of 1st Place (Corrected Time): 0:00:00
Iris was on course 0% longer than the first place boat.

Lagoon City is in the books for 2010

2010-06-07T10:35:00.002-04:00

On Friday after work, Chuck and I headed up to Iris as fast as we could after our chores were done and SWMBO was hugged. Loaded up the boat, and pointed her at Lagoon City. We left JP at 18:33 (Chuck has that engraved on her brain for some reason) and after motoring without event all the way across the lake, we pulled in to LCYC at 21:15 just as the sky turned dusky. We were treated to a slip with power right in front of the clubhouse, and greeted by friends.

As the darkness quickly closed in on the club, we barbecued some dinner, and visited friends. Everything was great, and we quickly settled in to the Yachtie Life (food, drink, and weather reports). After catching up on everyone’s winter it was time for bed, and we retired to Iris for the night.

The mosquitoes were awful but we did our best to get some sleep despite them, then were up bright and early for scrambled eggs and sausages, race registration, and the skipper’s meeting.

The first race was to be the Thorah Island distance race. (You can see last year’s report here: http://littleboatiris.blogspot.com/2009/06/racing-as-if-we-were-cruising.html ) In our first 2 attempts of this race our record stood at “couldn’t reach the finish line” and “came in so far behind the last place boat that a special standing had to be declared.” If previous performance was an indicator, I didn’t expect much out of this attempt, but then hope springs eternal, and I had had that incredible sail bring in the boat home from launch. Maybe this year would be different. At least that was what I kept telling myself as we nosed our way out to the start line.

The sail selection for the race was dead simple. With strong winds blowing spray off the tops of the waves, tree branches whipping back and forth and rain in the forecast, everyone was going down a sail size. We hanked on our 110% jib without question. There is just one problem with this sail – I had never used it before, and it has battens in its leading edge. I didn’t think much of that at the time, but would soon learn about flying a headsail with battens.

As we did our pre-start dance the boat was handling well considering the wind, and my crew (Chuck) was doing a great job of helping out where needed. Then someone sailed by and told me I had a twist in the foresail. I looked up from under the main, and sure enough – the jib was hour glassed I ran forward to tug it free, and the battens just flexed, not letting the sail untwist itself. No problem, I ran back to the cockpit, gybed the boat and as we went around the wind, it pushed the sail back around the forestay, untwisting it.

The clock ticked away, and finally we were into the heat of the pre-start. With less than 2 minutes to go, I noticed that the sail was once again twisted around the forestay. No problem, I would sail the start, then find a good spot to gybe again.

The clock ticked down, I was hot and early on the line. Needed to pull a donut and burn speed. If I went through 360° clockwise, I would open up space on the line for another boat to squeeze me out. To go counterclockwise would protect my position, counterclockwise it was. I warned Chuck to hold on and that we were going to spin around, and then we went. Around the boat spun. The main snapped across the centre of the boat, the jib wrapped itself around the forestay a second time. Crap. A double hourglass, no way to undo it, and the fleet bearing down on us from behind. To make matters worse we were still early on the line.

I held a straight course, and went over the line early. The fleet parted around us, and continued up the course. I turned iris toward the end of the line, spun her around to untwist the foresail, and then restarted the race, giving myself a 2:30 penalty before the race even started. I was both the first and last boat to start the race.

With much hard work, Chuck and I made our way to the windward mark. It was a long slog, and we did our best to stay as close to the wind as possible, outpointing as many boats as we could all the way. Slowly we caught up to the back of the fleet. We passed Gryphon (who we later found out had torn a sail and was forced to retire from the race) and we passed another boat whose name I don’t know. Then with much hard work we caught up to and passed Icarus. Almost at the windward mark we were hot on the tail of Second Wind.

In order to pass Second Wind, I thought I would push them off the mark, and pass inside. I pinched up Iris, and approached the mark, wedging myself in between Second Wind. Then the wind shifted and we were low on the mark. The boat lost speed. Then it lost more, and then we were drifting sideways as the wind howled through the rigging. The boat refused to turn. The jib back winded, wrapped itself around the forestay, and laughed at me.

It was only after Second Wind and Icarus had rounded the mark that we were able to sort things out. The other boat we had passed was close behind as we finally rounded the mark, and made a beeline for Thorah Island, trying to hunt down Icarus and Second Wind.

As we rounded the back of Thorah, I took a long route, not wanting to be caught in the shallows that surround Thorah Island as the waves crashed around us. I knew I could take a shorter and faster inside route, but that would risk hitting bottom in the troughs of the waves that were all around us. The other boat that was chasing us elected to take the riskier shallow water route, and I kept a close eye on them as they slowly caught up to us. I was demoralized, but kept on sailing. Eventually, the unknown boat tacked out from the island, an dI thought they had lost their stomach for sailing in the shallows, then just as suddenly, they turned 180° and were headed straight towards the island in some very shallow water. I was worried, but there was nothing I could do for them without risking my own boat.

That was about when I heard a call on the VHF – a distressed vessel calling for the coastguard to lend assistance. I was worried that the distressed vessel was the one behind us. Listening on the conversation, I realized that it was unlikely the two boats were the same one, but for the rest of the race I spent as much time looking behind as ahead, and hoping all would turn out well.

After the race, the skipper told us that his furler had jammed, and he had to free it, no emergency at all. I was relieved.

We plodded along for the rest of the race. I was grumpy. I had a bad start followed by a bad mark rounding and generally felt like the race could have gone much better. We finished, tidied up the boat, and headed to the clubhouse. At the Yacht club, SWMBO was waiting with Buddy, so that was nice, but I had to tell her I wasn’t an ubersailor, and tell her how bad the race was. Then I drank too much beer and complained loudly to everyone about how poorly things had gone.

Mid whining, I felt a hand on my back. It was Icarus’ skipper. He leaned over and whispered in my ear – "you took second."

I guess it wasn’t such a bad race after all!

Sunday Racing to follow...

LSIS Race 1 Stats:
Distance Covered: XX.X Statute Miles (Slip to Slip) - Tracklog incomplete
Time on course: 3:49:21
Corrected time: 3:21:36
Time out of 1st Place (Corrected Time): 0:15:23
Iris was on course 8.26% longer than the first place boat.

Work Night.

2010-06-02T13:33:00.003-04:00

Tonight I head up to the boat after a little yard work. It isn't scheduled to be a fun night on board though.

I really need to scrub the decks. At the marina where the keel repairs were done, they left the boat parked under the eaves of a building with a barn swallow problem. There are a lot of stains to be worked out. I have ammonia and other cleaners on board, I hope that at least one of them works. Then I have non-skid cleaner to hit the non-skid with after that.

Inside the boat, I have to go through all the cubbies and drawers and remove the extra stuff in them. For the winter we just pulled all the drawers out and stored them in the basement. Full. That means I have about 4 spatulas, a dozen spice jars with a variety of spices, 8 sets of tongs, and who-knows-what-else stuffed into the galley drawers. Most of the rest of the boat is cleaned out. I mean, sure, I have the A-Frame for raising the mast, and all the tools for rigging her still aboard, and 2 full sets of sails, a billion life jackets and too many fenders, a spare fuel tank, and a dozen rotted docklines, but I think that's all reasonable. Or not.

I wonder how much of this "stuff" I can fit into the Volvo.

Back in the Saddle

2010-05-31T14:21:00.002-04:00

Its been a long and interesting winter. SWMBO is just as much a Mom as you could hope for, Buddy has started using more words and stringing together phrases. Chuck has developed from a kid to a preteen, and my career has taken a new path. Iris has been fully repaired by the marina, and after some haggling and haranguing, I managed to get her hull polished and new bottom paint on her. The boat went in the water a little later than last year, and I missed the first club races of the season since our launch date kept getting pushed back.

Iris was launched on Friday. Then on Saturday afternoon I sailed her up to Jackson’s Point from Cook’s Bay. It was a great sail. As I rigged the boat and set things straight aboard her, the wind was fresh and building. Power boaters at the marina were asking why I wasn’t out there, and I was hurrying myself along for fear I would miss the best conditions. Over the lake I could see kite-boarders skimming the surface as the wind pulled them along.

After spending about 2 hours prepping the boat, I was ready to go, and with a couple tugs on the starter, the outboard came to life. Iris pulled away from the dock, and the season had officially started.

By the time I reached the lake, most of the power boaters were coming in. I imagine the waves were too rough for the smaller boats, but a couple of the big boys stayed out. I carefully hoisted my jib, thinking I would sail under reduced canvas, but it seemed so mundane that I put the mainsail up almost immediately afterwards. With the old cruising sails, Iris was less than exciting to handle, and I was greeted with heavy luffing as the old sails flapped along the back foot or so of their surface. Then the wind built.

All the powerboats in Cook’s bay headed to their marinas and the only boats left out on the bay were a handful of sailboats, most sailing under main alone. Iris was happy to fly a full suit, and I was happy with her. For a little bit she heeled hard, and let the wind push her around, so I eased the mainsheet until she stood up nicely, and with all the luff worked out of the sails, we shot out of Cook’s Bay and into Lake Simcoe. For most of the sail we heeled at about 10°. Sometimes that was pushed up closer to 20°, Never did she try to round up or fight me on the rudder.

A little excitement came up on Cook's bay when a Rhodes 22 on starboard tack crossed under Iris as we flew by on port, but there was enough separation that a quick wave, and a shout hello was all that was necessary.

The trip to JP included 2 interesting surprises. First, as the wind and waves built on the crossing, the water would break over the bow, sweep up the boat, and crash down on the mainsail. Both the jib and main were soaked to the height of the reef points from waves coming up and over the boat, but the cockpit was completely dry. It was like I was in a tunnel that the water couldn’t penetrate. Eerie, but cool.

The other surprise came about 2/3rds of the way through the trip. I looked down at the GPS in my hand while on a broad reach with quartering seas and very consistent wind (a rarity for Simcoe) and the speed by GPS was over 8 knots. Maximum theoretical hull speed on a Catalina 25 is 6.31 knots. The boat has a displacement hull, and is not supposed to plane. I figured it was a blip in the GPS, so I kept an eye on the screen. The speed dropped to 6, then came back up over 8 knots, and sustained itself for about 10 minutes before dropping off, and coming up again. I would explain this away as GPS error if it only happened for a quick blip and was over, but because it was sustained, I have no idea how it was possible. Was my un-surfable boat actually surfing? Did the keel repair give me a different underwater profile? Was my rig tuned that well on my first sail? Was the wind, waves and point of sail in harmony so perfectly that I could pull this off? And finally, how do I repeat this?

It was a great first sail, and the boat feels like a friend again. Here’s to a new season and all of its possibilities!

Life is full of changes.

2009-11-13T12:47:00.002-05:00

This blog has been quiet for a bit, and will likely continue to be so for the next couple months. Here are some very brief story enders for those who have followed along.

Iris finished the sailing season in second place just behind Newfie Screach and just ahead of Canadian.
We had the boat pulled out of the Lake brought home. We aren't sure how we will be repairing the damage to the keel, but it is repairable. I need to research this further.
Chuck is still on crutches and likely will be until close to Christmas. Our health coverage from either my or SWMBO's work insurance did not cover our costs due to her injuries.
Depending on our summer plans next year and the schedule for our repairs, we may or may not launch Iris next season. This decision is up in the air right now.

Thanks for following along. I will resurrect this blog or kill it altogether once life has settled out somewhat, but right now is not the time to be posting. Thanks to those who have encouraged me to update it through comments and emails!

Damn the Butterflies!!

2009-09-18T18:22:00.000-04:00

Almost there. Almost. Tomorrow is LSIS #10 - The Georgina Cup. Whichever boat is first across the line on straight time wins the cup. Likely it won't be Iris, it will probably be one of the spinnaker boats, but then there was that race back in the spring where we beat the spin fleet on corrected time, and Newfie beat the spinnaker boats to take the cup once too. Anything is possible.

What I do think is possible is that we beat both Canadian and Newfie across the finish. I am optimistic. I have great crew, and it looks like the wind is in our favour. My fingers are crossed.

On Sunday we have the last race of the season - LSIS #11 - Georgina short course. Its a quick triangle-sausage around the buoys. Wind is predicted to be light for it as well, but with a little rain. We may do well, I don't know what to expect.

My hopes are high, but these damned butterflies just won't let up.

A Strange Sort of Problem...

2009-09-17T22:03:00.000-04:00

Some months ago friends of ours moved to the UK, and asked that we store their car for them since we have room. We parked the car in the lower driveway and didn't think much of it. Last time the car moved was around Iris' launch day back in the spring.

Now we have one regatta left in the season, and then Iris comes home. To bring her home we will hire a pump out and clean her tanks at Kon-Tiki Marine, then sail across to Crates Marina and have her hauled out of the lake and put on her cradle.

With Iris safely up on her cradle, and the cradle on its trailer we'll hire a tow truck to pull her home. At home she will be stored where our friend's car is parked today. Obviously, the car will need to be moved to the other driveway.

I can't seem to locate the car keys.

Unless we find a way to levitate or move either the car or the boat, this represents a problem. Hopefully in the next 2 weeks we can find the keys, otherwise; I'll need to call a locksmith to start the car, or have the tow-truck relocate it when he brings Iris home.

Right about now I'm kicking my own butt. I shoulda never put those keys "someplace safe."

Jitters

2009-09-14T15:01:00.011-04:00

Hawkestone is a week past. I'm really happy with how we did. 2 thirds and a second. Iris is still in first place in our division, and we are headed into the last regatta of the season, hosted by my home club, and usually well attended by local racers. Its great to see everyone out enjoying a day on the water. I hope they stay home.

As much as I love the guys from my home club, and as much fun as it is to sail against them, they cause me much concern. First, I haven't made it to any of our races this year, I made a deal with SWMBO at the start of the season that I would cut back on the sailing this season, so I have only been racing LSIS events, and that means no Thursday night Beer-Can races, and no "off the schedule" fun races.

Since I haven't raced against the guys from my home club, I totally don't know what to expect from them on the course.

In order to defend our 1st place standings in the club, I need to get a first place finish in both races this weekend, and Newfie Screach needs to get 3rd or worse. In both races. Newfie is hard for me to beat. Newfie is from my home club.

Since things are points based, its not a matter of finishing 2 places ahead of Newfie. I have to get a first place finish. And Newfie has to take the points for third or worse. I need a miracle for that to happen.

I'll need a second miracle if a few of the other tough to beat boats from our club show up. In particular I am concerned about "Stardust", "Summer School", and "Desiree", all of whom can really boogie in the right conditions. If any of them beat us across the line - well, there goes our first place finish.

To beat these guys, I have made a grid of the things that would work as offensive tactics...

Summer School	Announce a Windsurfing Competition on the other side of the lake
Desiree	Anything shiny will distract him.
Stardust	Hire him as a photographer for something far away from the marina

If I don't finish in first it becomes a battle for second. To take second place I have to beat "I am Canadian". As long as I finish ahead of him, and in the top 3, I think I'll be OK. I think.

I've tried to recruit the skippers from some of the other boats, and no takers. I am not sure how I can beat all these guys, but there must be a way.

I'm open to ideas. Whether I beat them on the water or off it doesn't matter, I just have to get around the pins faster than anyone else.

The jitters have set in.

Inter-web-net Thievery.

2009-09-12T14:45:00.000-04:00

it appears that SWMBO has started a storyline on her blog that is very similar to my telling of our summer vacation. Just one major difference. Her story is illustrated.

Go check out the "Raven's Rook" blog for a better telling of the story and lovely photos (I think I look like Gomer Pyle in her pic of me at the helm).

Link is in the sidebar under blogs I follow.

Sorry Kiddo...

2009-09-11T22:03:00.003-04:00

Chuck has been "lumping" around ever since her cast was put on in Parry Sound, gradually getting more comfortable with her crutches and regaining Independence. Yesterday, we were straightened up on that.

Our first visit to the local bone doctor yesterday was a disaster. The technician who takes care of putting casts on and removing them commented that the cast was really beat up - that it looked like it had been worked too hard. he cut it away, threw it out, and replaced it with a fibreglass one. Chuck chose a green cast with a blue "candy-cane stripe" to it as a replacement. I mentioned to the tech that we were more than halfway through our time with a cast on, so things couldn't be so bad.

He looked at me like I was crazy. "how long do you think this is staying on her?"

"They said 4-6 weeks in Parry Sound. This is week 2, so we are either at the halfway mark, or close to it."

The tech moulded the cast and forced the bones back into place with his hands. He never looked at me, just shook his head and made the correction. "4 - 6 weeks is very optimistic. Expect 3 months or more."

3 months would mean Chuck has to be on crutches until Christmas. It means that she won't be sledding, or skating. It means she may miss the annual class trip to "Snow Valley" for skiing and tubing. Crutches in the winter means we will have to be careful whenever there could be ice around. She will come home from school, and won't be able to start a fire to heat the house (we heat exclusively with wood) since you can't carry an armful of logs while on crutches.

3 months on crutches is not what we were expecting.

The tech sent us into the X-ray lab to get an update on how the bone is healing. Chuck was brave, and got her pictures taken, and then we sat and waited to see the Doctor. We were called into a private exam room.

Proudly Chuck told the Doctor how she could get around, up and down stairs, doing the dishes, carrying her own stuff around school, even participating (in a diminished role) in phys ed. The doctor turned the tides on us.

"Your fracture is worse. you need to sit still and do nothing. Nothing at all.You need to be driven to school. No bus. No phys-ed. No stairs. No hopping on one foot. Never let the baby near by. Never stand if you can be sitting. Lie down if you can. Always elevate the foot. Stay indoors. If need something to do, read. Anything more is too much."

He showed us the x-rays, and it was plain to see that the bone had moved from its original position, and was definitely looking worse. Chuck and I were both surprised.

We are hoping the cast will come off around Christmas. I think that's the best gift Chuck will get this year. Right now she is kinda happy in her queen of the world role, lying on the couch having us bring her drinks, but I bet she will be tired of it in a week or less when she realizes just how little there is to do lying on your back with your foot in the air.

Hurry up and get those bones growing Kiddo, we're going to run out of dishes soon!

Hawkestone Regatta

2009-09-08T18:21:00.001-04:00

Well, after our many “adventures” on vacation, I had to get myself psyched up for the annual labour day weekend regatta. 4 races in 3 days, and as of the day before the races I still hadn’t put the boom back on the boat. Too busy licking my wounds, and fixing stuff around the house that had been neglected in our pre-vacation preparation.

Friday night, I took all the “Camper-crap” off the boat, and got her close to race ready, put the boom on, and motored across the lake to the Barrie Marina. Arrived at 2:30 AM and joined the raft-up, then crashed.

At 07:by-God-30 some prick woke up the fleet for breakfast. I stumbled to the clubhouse for coffee and eggs, then returned to the boat and realized I hadn’t checked the rig since raising the mast. A quick tweak here and there, and the rig was close to right for racing, then it was off to the skipper’s meeting.

At the skipper’s meeting , I received my flags for previous races, a first, second and third, and felt pretty happy with myself, then it was the instructions for today’s race. The day would start with a windward-leeward race, followed by a medium distance race to Hawkestone Yacht Club. Due to light winds, courses would be shortened if necessary.

I don’t remember much of the windward-leeward course. I think I started middle of the pack, and worked hard to hold position, but this is usually my worst race of the season, so I didn’t expect much. Some of my fiercest competition (“I am Canadian”) finished ahead of me, but I was happy when I finished the race in what looked like a decent position. After the race, I hove to and waited for the start of the second race.

Race 2 was the distance race from Barrie to Hawkestone Yacht Club. Only 6 boats were entered in my division, but I hoped I would do well in this one. In light winds, Iris tends to do well, and our tacking angles and strategies were working OK. The race would have a struggle to windward in Kempenfelt Bay (about 15 miles long and only a mile or so wide) then we would skirt the North shore of Lake Simcoe to reach HYC.

The race committee blasted out the pre-start warning, and I moved to the preferred end of the line, getting ready for “the ultimate start sequence” I thought I had it too, until, with less than 2 minutes to start, I realized that I was on the leeward end of the line, in the dirty air of every boat in the race. I ended up crossing the line behind the rest of the fleet. A dismal start, with both classes beating me through the start, and heading up the bay ahead while I sat alone, trying to get traction in their dirty air.

I tacked over to port tack, and clawed my way to windward. I decided early that going up the bay, I would only tack once I was so close to shore that I could read addresses, or that the air was failing due to shoreline features. While on each tack, I made sure I was as close to the wind as possible without losing speed, and used my compass to hold a true heading. Last year in the night race I had taken in excess of 30 tacks to make it up Kempenfelt Bay This time I was making much more progress with much less work. By the top of the bay I had worked my way through more than half of the fleet, and was ahead of every boat in my division. I was ready to celebrate.

As I cleared the bay and got into Lake Simcoe proper, the wind began to fail. As it dropped, the boats behind filled in until they too sailed into the dead calm. A light rain fell, a tiny breeze blew on and off, the sun was hot and humidity filled the air, and we sat.

In this part of the lake a current pulled the boats along at 0.3 knots (GPS) and careful steering could get you up to 0.5 knots, but there was no hope for us to finish the race before the allotted 7:00 PM curfew. Still we sat.

For hours we drifted across the top of the bay until HYC came into view, then the RC sitting on shore waiting for us, and the tetrahedral that marked the finish. With half a mile between the 7 boats waiting to finish, and the finish line, the speed on my GPS dropped from 0.3 to 0.1 – in the wrong direction. I was actually drifting away from the mark.

There was no way any of the boats in my division would finish in time.

I took a dockline and quietly tied it to a bow cleat, then went back to the cockpit and took off my socks and shoes.

Dockline in mouth, I dove off the bow and started swimming toward the line. Everyone laughed and one of the other boats took pictures, and protested me, it was all in fun. Everyone knew this race would not have a finisher. Sure enough we were still sitting out there within a half mile of the finish when the RC called the curfew and packed it in.

I took Iris straight into HYC since SWMBO and the kids were waiting, but the boats that sat out the calm ended up finishing about an hour later. For me 7 hours of going nowhere was more than enough.

The party that night was good with some great guitar playing and drinks and food, but after getting to bed so late the night before I was mostly tired, and was glad to curl up in my berth. Too bad the baby had other plans. He whined and cried until SWMBO brought him to our bed so he could kick and squirm and keep us up all night.

At 07:by-God-30 some prick woke up the fleet for breakfast. I stumbled to the clubhouse for coffee and eggs, and met my crew for the day – Peter. Peter is a dinghy sailor who has sailed on the coast and places between, but has little racing experience. I though we’d have a good time.

Right after breakfast I ran for the Men’s room, and was seated comfortably when the call went out for the skipper’s meeting. I hurried hard, but by the time I got out and joined the gaggle, I had missed the first 5 minutes. This would turn out to be critical. The course for the day was handed out, and everyone headed to their boats. We got Iris away, and were out and set for the pre-race circling. Peter settled in nicely, and I gave him the run-down on the boats we were up against.

All of our best competition was out, and the course wasn’t one that I particularly relished. We would be sailing from HYC to a channel marker for the Trent seaway, and then we would set a course to round Thorah Island – a part of the lake with a renown for light winds and shallow water, before returning to HYC for dinner. Once again there was a 7:00 curfew, and once again provisions were made for a shortened course due to light winds. Out in the starting box was Icarus, Newfie Screach, I am Canadian, Lake Effect, and Second Wind – all boats that are fighting to beat us out of our current first place standing.

At the start we circled about as usual, and tried not to get pushed out again. With 2 minutes to start we spun the boat in a tight donut and came out right next to Icarus. 30 seconds to start, and we were leeward of him at the pin end. 10 seconds to go and we pushed him up into the pin, forcing him to circle back.

5 seconds and we were next to the pin.
4 seconds and we were at it accelerating
3,2,1 – at the line, across it and accelerating with no one to windward. No black flags, no second horn, no recall. I finally got my perfect start. The rest of the white sail fleet was dueling it out behind us while we sailed in clear air, with the spinnaker fleet up ahead of us. And we were accelerating.

We put time on the rest of the fleet most of the way to the first mark. About 2/3s of the way to the mark, the fastest of the PHRF lo boats passed us, but most of our own fleet was way behind. Then we headed for the Island, and kept our position pretty well with only 3 PHRF-lo boats ahead. Going around the island though, proved to be our undoing.

On every tack we seemed to lose ground, and before long more boats were ahead of us than behind. It was absolutely frustrating watching them pass us one after the next as we blew tacks, failed to trim to conditions, had tacking angles way over our normal 90, and generally gave away the race. Peter was trying hard, but I wasn’t giving the sort of guidance he needed to make the boat move. Eventually, we were reduced to sitting with the rest of the boats in our own class, rather than sailing with the class ahead of us.

Then the wind died, and the water got skinny.

Our batteries were low, so our depth sounder and fish finder weren’t working. I sent Peter on the bow to watch for rocks, but with low wind it was difficult to get good steerage anyway. We picked our way through the shoaling waters on the back of Thorah Island at 2 knots or less, and then sat and waited for the wind to fill in. I began doing the calculations for how long it would be before we got in, and whether we would make it before the curfew.

The rest of the boats came up from behind. I worried.

Then a breeze came up, and we took off with the other boats getting further and further behind. We were making time on them, and would certainly finish before them. Behind us was Canadian and Second Wind, and a couple others. We had a chance if we could just get this last leg perfect.

The boat accelerated with the wind and the water hissed as it sheared off the bow. We heeled nicely and sliced our way to the finish line. I made sure we were lined up perfectly between the mark and the lighthouse at the entrance to HYC, and we dove toward it at breakneck speed. Now the rest of the fleet were getting up to speed and some of the faster boats were challenging us. Dammit this would be tight. Perfection. If ever there was a time I needed perfection, this was it, and dammit, I was getting it. I told Peter not to let up in speed until we heard the horn at the finish. On PHRF we needed every second we could get.

We crossed the line at full speed, but I didn’t hear the horn. Maybe I had missed something. I looked at Peter, he looked blankly at me. The horn finally sounded, and I looked behind me. The rest of the boats had rounded the end of the line and finished, crossing the line in the opposite direction.

I swore, gybed, and fought back up to the pin to round it and cross the line, adding about 5 minutes to what would have been our time. The instructions for finishing the race had been given while I was in the washroom at the start of the skippers meeting. Peter hadn’t heard them, I didn't even know, and there was so much separation between us and the boat ahead that I hadn't seen their finish.

Supper was provided by HYC, and I got a lot of comments on our non-conventional finish, but it was OK. There was a lot more to the race than the 5 minutes at the end. Next time I’ll be more judicial in my choice of times for restroom breaks.

That night we hung out on Tecumseh and enjoyed their company, before going to bed. The next morning was a flag ceremony followed by the skippers meeting for the last race of the weekend. I wasn’t expecting much at the flag ceremony since the windward-leeward race wasn’t (in my opinion) one of my better performances, and the fiasco at the finish in the distance race had pretty much dashed my hopes for placing in that race. To my surprise Iris took third in the windward-leeward race, and third in the Thorah Island race though. To my dismay, Newfie Screach beat us in one of them and I am Canadian beat us in both, tightening up the race for the cup. We are now only 1 point ahead of Canadian.

The last race of the weekend was to be a short course around the buoys right at HYC. I circled the line, got an OK start, and tried in the light winds to pull off a good race. All the way through the race though I was blanketed by a pair of Hunter 28.5’s (Lake Effect and Second Wind) and at every mark rounding had at least 3 boats to contend with. I was keeping an eye on Newfie Screach and I Am Canadian behind me, and trying to get ahead of them, but match racing tactics were being employed against me at every turn. Then Icarus sailed up behind and made things even more complicated.

I was being headed up by 3 boats who all have PHRF ratings 20 points or more less than mine, while the guys I owe time to were making on me from behind. I had to get out of there.
Eventually I got ahead of Icarus, and Lake Effect opened up a gennaker, putting him ahead of me. Now it was just me and Lake effect, but we had caught up to Peanca – a boat in another class who thought it would be fun to play games. Once again, caught in a 3-boat fight with match racing tactics, I was forced to leave my plan to get clear and sail my race. The only boat I was really concerned with was another Catalina 25 “Allegro” who I had beat last year, but was now cleaning up on me way up ahead, however if these low-PHRF boats didn’t stop messing with me, I would be in trouble very shortly.

Luckily, the RC shortened the course so that after a final windward leg, the race would be done. As I rounded the final mark with Second Wind and Peanca, The high PHRF boats were pointing high for the finish, while I aimed low on the mark. The separation this gave meant I was no longer being harassed. Trouble was that while I was fighting with Second Wind and Peanca, Icarus had rounded the last pin ahead of me, and we were crossing very closely.

To my starboard, Second wind was pinching high to make the finish without tacking, while Icarus was crossing ahead of me, and Peanca fell behind. Altogether, about a half dozen boats crossed, recrossed and did hard battle in the last mile of the course to get to the finish first.

In the end I crossed the line ahead of I am Canadian, Newfie Screach, Icarus and Second Wind, but behind Allegro and Lake Effect. On PHRF, I took second, with Allegro taking first – that’s 2 Catalina 25’s in the top 3 positions!!

Monday August 24, 2009 - The Return Trip: Part 2

2009-08-28T16:06:00.000-04:00

Big Chute Marine Railroad to Jackson’s Point - Home at Last

Monday morning came with a forecast of clear skies, light winds, and no wind at all in the evening. Perfect conditions to end our marathon sprint back home. When the staff arrived at the marine Railroad we were ready for our lift, and alone we went across.

The staff, all on the port side of the boat said they couldn’t see any damage on our keel as the boat rose out of the water, but that water continued to leak out of it all the way across the railroad. Possibly, water was being held in the cracks. We will have to have the damage assessed by a professional. We touched down on the up side of the railroad, and the engine refused to start. In his book “The Boat that Wouldn’t Float” Farley Mowat referred to his engine as the Bullgine. I think ours is a stage worse. I think it’s a Bludgeon. Eventually I got the right wrist action on the starter cord, the right cusses, or the right position on the choke, and the engine came to life. We headed upriver toward home.

The currents in the narrow channels seemed a lot stronger as we went upstream, and often the knot log would read 6 knots while the GPS read 4. That would mean about 2 knots of current. Often the current would grab the keel or the nose of the boat and push us around. I could feel the rudder jumping in my hand and hoped that my jury rigged solution to the lost cotter pin from the grounding would hold. It did. Every time we entered one of these spots, usually labelled as rapids on the chart, we called a securité and hoped for the best. Our VHF had lost its charge, and the on-board radio had a stub for an antenna. We weren’t receiving much in the way of radio traffic so I can only assume that we weren’t sending well either.

We reached the Couchiching Locks, our last lock in our trip at about 2:00. The staff remembered us, and asked where the baby and Chuck were. We shared the story with them, and they were amazed that we had come all the way from Henry’s in 2 days. Folks in another boat that were picnicking ran to help us away, and offered help. I’m not sure what they had in mind. We respectfully declined their offer, and put-putted through the rest of the system to Atherly Narrows.

Cutie and I had discussed her catching a ride from one of the marinas at Atherly Narrows back to Barrie, but since we reached the Narrows at 4:30, and would be at our home port before sundown, we decided to stay the course. The engine pushed us through the current at the narrows, and we nosed our way back into Lake Simcoe.

As much elation as I had felt at our escape from Simcoe some 11 days earlier, I now felt relief as I was back on “my” lake. Iris ploughed through the water and we watched the North shore slip away as the south shore came into view. It takes 3 hours to cover the 16 miles across Lake Simcoe from Atherly Narrows near Orillia to Jackson’s Point, and I counted down each mile as the GPS locked onto our home port. Eventually we were passing more familiar landmarks. Big Bay Point, and Kempenfelt Bay, the Weather Buoy, Thorah and Georgina Islands, Fox and Snake Island came into view. We kept our bow pointed at the Sutton Water tower, and the GPS track pointed at “SGA Race Mark 1”, and tried to make out the marina, or the resort, or the B&B next door as we crossed the lake.

At first the lake was lumpy, and the ride uncomfortable, but as the weather had predicted, things settled down the closer we got to the marina. As we reached it the wind was calm, and folks ran to our slip to receive our lines. We had squared everything away, and after tying up ran to the van within 10 minutes. We were at the house in half an hour, and got a call away to the kids.

The kids were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Grandma and Grandpa had spoiled them, and Buddy was just on his way to bed. The best medicine, it was decided was that we should go to bed too, and come get them in the morning. Which we did.

As I write this, Chuck is “lumping” around on her crutches, she’s figured out how to go up and down stairs, get herself into and out of bed and the bathroom, and is completely mobile. Buddy is his old self, and things are almost normal. We need to go and unpack the boat, wash down the Barbie Dream Boat and return it to its owners, raise the mast and take Iris for a hard sail to better judge the extents of damage from the grounding, and unpack and clean up.

As a bonus, I have another 10 vacation days to do chores around the house. The blessings never end.

Sunday August 23, 2009 - The return Trip: Part 1

2009-08-28T11:02:00.000-04:00

Sans Souci to Big Chute Marine Railroad

We got out of bed at 7:00 on Sunday morning. After cleaning up, and a breakfast of butter tarts and coffee, we cast off lines and headed away from Henry’s. We had no fixed travel plans, and our only goal was to get as far as we could, as fast as we could to get home to the kids.

Iris has a max speed determined by the laws of physics of 6 knots (6 nautical miles per hour), however; the closer you get to that speed the less efficiency there is since you push a greater bow wave. For that reason I try to maintain a speed of around 5.5 knots, otherwise, whatever gain you see in speed is lost to the need to refuel. The exception to this is of course that when under sail, or when motor sailing, you can increase efficiency since the wind supplements the fuel use. On this trip though, we felt it best to hold to the inside channels, so sailing wasn’t ever much of an option.

I knew it was 38 nautical miles from Henry’s to Doral, where the gear to store our mast for the Trent canal transit was stored, so based on a speed of 5.5 knots, we should be reaching Doral in about 7 hours. Allowing an extra hour for the unexpected, I was thinking we’d arrive around 3:30. Give a few hours to lower the mast, disassemble the Barbie Dream Boat and stow it, square things back up, and get back underway, and it would be the end of the day. We’d get an early start the next morning, and be back to Lake Simcoe in 3 days, home in 4.

Then as we motored and I studied the charts, I started picking out efficiencies. We had been using the inside channels on our northbound trip. It was very relaxing and scenic, but now there were a number of corners we could cut by using the outer channels. A few minutes here and there could add up. Plus we had a tailwind, even without sails flying; this would increase our range since the wind was moving faster than the 5.5 knots we were travelling at.

We noted the anchorages we had stayed at as we moved down the bay. “That’s where we turned off for 12 Mile Bay – There’s the entrance to Indian Harbour – That’s the channel that leads to Beausoleil Island.” Every hour we recorded our position, speed, heading, and other information in our log book. We made sure to check the bilge for water and record that it was dry, just in case water was working its way up from our damaged keel. Early in the afternoon we found ourselves passing the entrance to the Minicog channel from the large-craft channel headed to midland – with Penetanguishene bay clear to be seen on our starboard side. It looked easy to spot now that we had been watching channel markers and navigating through tight spots for a week. We were nearly back to Doral – and ahead of schedule. In a day we had covered the ground that had we had used a week to poke around in northbound.

I handed Cutie the tiller and started disassembling the boat. As we went, I took the boom off the mast and stowed it below. I took our plow anchor off the bow and stowed it in the aft lazarette, replacing it with a light Danforth that fit better in the anchor locker. Cutie called out wake from passing boats and ticked off our position as we passed channel markers.

At about 2:15 we pulled up to the gas dock at Doral. We were far enough ahead of schedule that I was optimistic we could get the mast down and continue on our way if we worked efficiently. I handed our empty gas cans up to the dock staff and told them we’d be back for them as soon as we got the mast down. Upon hearing about Chuck (after they asked where our kids were) the staff gave us carte blanche to use the facilities and get back under way.

We returned to the slip we had used on our earlier visit, and found the mast support waiting for us under the neighbour’s picnic table where we had left it. Using our normal technique (no A-Frame) we lowered the mast and lashed it to the deck, and then an hour and a half later returned to the gas dock for our gas cans (now filled). After a quick exchange, we headed back out into Midland Bay. As we moved through the bay we tried to hail Fidelity on the VHF, but she never answered. They must not have had their radio on. No matter we couldn’t have stopped anyway.

After a little confusion, we found the bifurcation buoy that leads to the Potato Island Channel. This is a very tight channel that we had been led through by the folks aboard Dream Time when we first entered Georgian Bay. Now we were on our own. To be safe we issued a series of securités as we neared the narrow channel “Securité, Securité, Securité, 25 foot sailboat with spars lashed to deck entering the potato Island Channel from west headed toward Severn lock in approximately X minutes.”

We had heard other boats making these calls on our trip, but had never considered it until the folks on L’eau Rider explained to us how much of a difference it made to them knowing whether a boat was in a channel or not, especially a tight channel like this one.

As we made our final call, another boat headed in the opposite channel asked us to repeat our hail, and just as we entered he came into view. As soon as he saw us entering, he turned away from the channel to wait to enter until we were through. Unfortunately, another boat just ahead of him didn’t pay attention to his radio. We met him at the narrowest part of the channel, and were distressed to see that he was towing 2 jet skis on a 15 foot line. The jet skis were drifting straight into our path.

I called out to the skipper that I needed 4 feet of water and couldn’t move. I was quite prepared to hit the jet skis since there was no stopping and no turning in the channel. The skipper pulled in the lines on the toys, and we cleared them by a foot. I had to bite my tongue.

We thanked the other boater for waiting and giving us space to clear the channel after hearing our hail.

After Potato Island Channel, we made our way to the first set of locks on the Trent Severn, and after a short delay were lifted through, and entered the Gloucester Pool. We noticed that many more boats were reducing wake for us as we continued calling securités at each narrow channel. Just after the big Chute Marine Railroad closed, we pulled up to the blue line, and tied up for the night.

We were 20 minutes late for a ride on the railroad, if we had been a little quicker getting up in the morning, or a little faster with the mast, or if we had found the Potato Island Channel more efficiently we might have made it one lock further. As it was we had to be content with our progress – and we were.

We went to dinner at the restaurant at Big Chute Marina, where the service was fantastic, the food simple but good, and the conversation was about getting home. Home has such allure and comfort when things aren’t going well, and we wanted to get the kids back, and be sure all was well and be a family. We thought we could be home the next day if we worked hard. We might have to cross Simcoe in the dark, we might have to split up, and let Cutie off the boat at Atherly Narrows where she could get a ride to Barrie and get her van to go fetch the kids, but one way or another, home and tomorrow were together in every sentence.

Saturday August 22, 2009 - Regrouping for a Retreat

2009-08-28T06:00:00.001-04:00

Parry Sound to Sans Souci via Water Taxi

On Saturday morning, FIL and MIL arrived just as we wrapped up breakfast. I strolled down to the Wal-Mart to find Chuck some pants that would fit over her cast, and we started clearing out the hotel room. Chuck was loaded most gingerly into the in-law’s van, and they suggested that they take Buddy also. Cutie and I decided that with him away also, we could move faster. We loaded all of Buddy’s things into the van, and then they drove us back to the water taxi. When we arrived, the folks at the marina asked Chuck how she was doing, and we enjoyed an air of celebrity. The water taxi arrived at 11:30, and half an hour later we were back at Sans Souci. We had planned a week to cover the country that this 300hp boat had just covered in 30 minutes. It was lovely from the water taxi, but as we passed through bays and inlets I wondered what we could have found poking about in our sailboat and exploring more closely. It didn’t matter now. We had to get home. Fast.

The folks on the taxi learned of our situation, and all wished us well on our trip home. The dock staff at Henry’s greeted us as we walked back to Iris, and told us that the owners wanted to talk with us before we left. We told them that would be great, we were going to eat lunch and regroup before leaving so there would be plenty of time.

The folks at Henry’s were kind enough to give us free dockage while we were in Parry Sound, and asked how Chuck’s leg was, but by the time lunch was done, and the adrenaline simmered back down to a normal level, Cutie and I were both exhausted. We declared ourselves unfit for travel, and went to bed early. I got up late in the afternoon to pay for dockage for the night, and we decided we would leave early the next morning to head home. That night we slept the sleep of the dead. Chuck and Buddy were both in the in-law’s care, our boat was secure, although damaged, and we needed the rest we got.

Friday, August 21, 2009 - Bliss Leads to Calamity, Disaster, and Abandonment

2009-08-27T19:57:00.000-04:00

12 Mile Bay to Hole-in-the-Wall to Sans Souci to Parry Sound

It is amazing how bliss led to calamity which led to disaster which led to abandonment without any connectivity between the events except the date they occurred on.

We felt pretty good as we threaded our way back out of our anchorage to 12 Mile Bay. We had successfully navigated some pretty tight channels, and now we had found our way into and out of an unmarked anchorage. Heck, the unmarked spot was free of all the hassles we’d had in the marked anchorage, and was way better. We decided to keep an eye open for more chances to leave the tramped out paths of conformity. Damn the red line, let’s have some fun! Our first opportunity to do that was hole in the wall channel.

Hole in the wall is a narrow channel with a tight entrance. To get into it, you leave the main channel and navigate a rock-strewn bay, then make a tight S-turn into the channel which runs 20 feet deep, but has steep sides to it. The channel is only about 12 feet wide, but has plenty of water. It is supposed to be nearly mystical to pass through.

We left the channel and motored through the boulder field to the entrance of the channel. Chuck was up on the bow and watching for rocks. Cutie was perched beside me tending to the baby. I was looking for the channel and curves up ahead.

Chuck pointed to a rock beside us, and as I told her we needed to know about the rocks ahead, not beside us, calamity struck. We hit. Hard. The boat lurched to a stop, throwing everyone forward. Chuck held on and stayed aboard. The baby rocketed forward on his tether, but landed on his lifejacket. Cutie hit her knee off the bulkhead.

As quickly as we identified that no one had any serious injuries, the boat spun 180 degrees, driving the rudder into the rock that had just stopped the boat. I felt the tiller twist and rise out my hand as the pintles came out of the gudgeons, and instinctively I fought the sidelong push on the rudder. Then the pintles came out of the gudgeons, and the rudder was no longer attached to the boat. I pulled it back aboard, passing it to Cutie, and my mind worked overtime in damage control mode.

No one was hurt. The boat was straddling the rock. The engine had stopped. We were adrift. First priority was to get the boat clear of the rocks. Then I would have to get steerage. Things were not yet so desperate that I would risk hailing a passing boat on the radio, since to bring them closer would risk exposing them to the same troubles. I took a look at the outboard. The throttle cable had come out of the engine, but was still attached. I could get it running, but would have to hand feed gas to it. If I could get it running, I could try to steer with the engine, and get us clear of the rocks.

After half a dozen pulls, the engine started. I put it in reverse and spun off the rock. Once we were well clear, and I couldn’t see any other rocks nearby, I threw out an anchor and rode, letting the chain and rode burn through my hands until I felt it hit bottom. Then I grabbed the rode well ahead of where the line was paying out, and cleated it off. With no idea of how much scope we had out, but fairly confident that we would swing away from the rocks, I ran back to the cockpit and reattached the rudder using the gnarled cotter pin that had just failed, saving the rudder from breaking in half on the rocks.

With the rudder reattached, I got Cutie to drive while I took up the anchor. She held us off other rocks in the boulder field until I had the anchor back up in its place, then I came back to the cockpit and drove while she spotted rocks on the bow. Eventually we made our way back to the channel, and followed the red line to safety. Safety was Sans Souci, specifically the Docks at Henry’s Fish Restaurant. The whole ordeal of running aground and getting back to the channel had taken less than 20 minutes.

We had originally planned on being at Henry’s a day earlier, but our lovely anchorages and slothly pace had set us back by a day. Our exuberance for leaving the well-tramped route would have led us to another marina to recharge the batteries. We had actually removed Henry’s from the agenda altogether, but now we knew it was nearby, and had good docks and lots of traffic, if we needed help, we figured there would be someone there to lend a hand.

We arrived at Henry’s just as the lunch rush was dying off. Cutie took Buddy and went to find swim goggles so I could dive and inspect the keel. I took off the rudder and started patching the corner of it where the rock had done its damage. In retrospect the damage to the rudder wasn’t life-threatening, but the rudders on Catalinas have a history of failing when water gets into the laminations so I wanted to get it out of the water, dried off, and sealed up before the water penetrated any deeper.

While I worked, another sailor stopped by with an Australian Shepherd to chat. Chuck played with the dog and offered to take it for a walk. Its owner thought that sounded fun and off went the dog and girl on a path in the woods. About 20 minutes later they returned walking down the path. I saw them coming and turned back to my work, then heard Chuck call out – “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

She sounded excited, like she had found a frog or cool rock or something, then she became more intense. “DADDY! Ouch! I heard it POP!” I ran to her as I realized there was something wrong.

I did not see Chuck’s fall. I saw her walking back on the trail, and then saw the dog come into the clearing and heard her call out. From what I understand, she had lurched forward, missed her step, and twisted her leg as she stepped into nothing where a ditch ran across the trail. There was no mark, no blood, and no hint that anything was wrong, but as I talked to her and cradled her leg a lump formed and grew about halfway down her shin.

Cutie knelt beside me, and a lady from another boat ran over. The dog’s owner held buddy, and the restaurant owner offered ice water and blankets. The lady turned out to be a nurse, and using supplies from a third boat, she splinted the leg, and identified the break as a green-stick fracture. The owner of the restaurant called in an emergency water taxi. With the leg splinted we made Chuck as comfortable as we could, and said soothing words. She tried to be brave, but shock set in, and worry was all over her face. Likely it was all over mine as well. Suddenly the damage to the boat wasn’t so important.

As we were loaded onto the water taxi, we were told by a number of people that the emergency room at the Parry Sound Hospital was very slow. We should tell the nurses that Chuck was in “Extreme Pain” and then we’d get treated more quickly. This was told to us by the staff at Henry’s, the Water Taxi driver, the cabbie who took us from the water taxi to the hospital, and other people in the waiting room. With that many folks all using the same trick, I figured the staff in the ER must have heard the same, and opted for what I think was a better plan. We told the truth.

Within 20 minutes of walking into the emergency room, Chuck was in a bed. I told the triage nurse that the splint was administered by nurse who was at Henry’s. Since the splint was put on by a professional, they didn’t want to remove it, figuring it had been done right, and that Chuck was properly attended to. I think they made the right choice. Chuck disagreed.

She was in obvious discomfort, and kept telling me that the splint was tight on her leg, giving her pins and needles that hurt more than the break. Every nurse who came through saw tears and thrashing fists and short breaths. A few took me aside, and I just told them that I thought it made sense to be in pain with her leg being broken. I also hoped that the doctor would be able to look at it soon since her discomfort was awful. I avoided the words extreme pain.

Over the hospital intercom, I started hearing pages for 2 doctor’s names to the ER. One of them showed up, looked in our spot and said he’d have a treatment room cleared out right away. The other was the orthopaedic specialist. She unwrapped the splint and sent us for x-rays in the space of about 5 minutes. As soon as the splint was unwrapped, Chuck settled down. As she settled, our case lost its urgency.

The x-rays revealed a green-stick fracture just as the nurse at Henry’s had predicted. Chuck got a cast, and we had to figure out what to do next. Rule 1 with the cast was to keep it dry. Nothing on a boat stays dry for long. We found a hotel room, and thought up action plans on the way across town in another taxi.

Chuck needed to go someplace without stairs, with a quiet environment, with someone who could come and get her today or tomorrow. If we couldn’t find a spot, Cutie, Chuck, and Buddy could get a cab to Barrie, and then take Cutie’s van home. If we could find a spot, Cutie and I could take the boat home, and then go get Chuck. We budgeted 4 days to get home, so whoever got Chuck would have to have a week free.

Since Cutie’s parents are retired, and their house has a main floor bathroom, with space for a bed in their front room, and because they are closest to Parry Sound of anyone we thought of, they were our first choice. When we called and explained everything, their only question was, “Should we get her tonight, or in the morning?”

We spent the night at the hotel in Parry Sound, and had McDonalds and Swiss Chalet for dinner. The girl at the front desk had much compassion, and plied us with 4 of all the free stuff (shampoo, combs, razors, etc.), spare bedding for Chuck, and offers to get or do anything we needed. She was a very kind person.

In the night, Chuck moaned and cried a few times, and thought she was falling out of bed. Cutie and I slept as much as we could, but mostly we wished we had just spent another night on 12 mile bay, and not ever left the perfect anchorage.

Wednesday August 18, 2009 - Discovering Bliss

2009-08-27T15:43:00.001-04:00

Indian Harbour to 12 Mile Bay

I woke up to PP driving his dinghy out to retrieve his second anchor. To his credit, we never hit in the night. Actually, if we did, I slept through it. PP was out in his dinghy, coiling anchor rode when the boats finally did come together. I scrambled up on the bow, and fended off his boat. He yelled at his wife. I asked the kids to go find Mommy. Designer wife couldn’t figure out how to work the winch from the fly bridge. I held the boats off each other until PP came and pulled his bow anchor in. Then they left.

Bliss.

We had breakfast, and got our day underway at a leisurely pace. Only travelling a few hours a day means we can sleep in, have big meals, and not worry about meeting schedules. With PP and the cuss pot both gone, things were actually peaceful in the anchorage. We left at 10:00 before that could change.

Just north of Indian Harbour, we went to King Bay Marina to get milk, and much deserved ice cream cones. We had handled PP with decorum, and it was good to be away. King Bay Marina looks like it could use a little more business or maintenance. The docks were like a labyrinth, and the store was mostly clad in plywood. Some of it had been painted.

We looked at the milk, but it only came in 1 litre cartons, and cost as much as PP’s boat. Instead we bought gas (out of pity really, we didn’t need it), and ice cream, and mortgaged the house to pay for it. After sitting on the dock to eat our ice cream we were on our way at 1:30, and arrived at 12 mile bay around 3:30. 12 mile bay meets Georgian Bay at O’Donnel Point. Around here there are dozens of spots to drop the hook, but many are quite exposed. Most folks go to an anchorage just inside the point called Wani Bay, but I wanted to go up the bay to a spot that looked interesting, but inaccessible on the charts. I figured we’d just prowl around in the deep water, and if things looked hopeful, we’d go inside the potential anchorage for a closer look.

When we go to the target spot, another boat was already anchored there. Surely if they could get in, so could we. I nosed the boat gingerly between the bleach bottles that marked rocks at the entrance, and carefully picked my way through the minefield to the deeper water of the anchorage. Past the rocks, the bottom turned to fine sand, and deepened to around 10 feet, before coming up in a beach. We dropped anchor, and Cutie asked if I had seen the other boat.

Me: “Of course I saw the other boat” (In my head – it’s a tiny anchorage, how could I not see the other boat!)

Her: “But did you look at the other boat?” (In her head – How can he not be noticing this? OMG!)

Me: “Yeah, it’s some guy and his girlfriend.” (In my head – Gees, they have a right to be here too!)

Chuck: “Can I go swimming?” (In her head – Nice beach!)

Her: “Only on the side of the boat away from the other boat. Honey, do we REALLY want to stay here?” (In her head – SAVE THE CHILDREN!!)

At about this point I glanced over at the other boat and got the full meaning of Cutie’s message. A big red ass was all I saw. It was badly sunburnt. It wasn’t pretty. Flabby 60 year old men should not parade about in the nude. At least this one had on a thong. A very tiny one. The only thought that entered my mind was “How will he put pants on without that burn causing some discomfort?” I would make a terrible nudist.

Within half an hour the nudists left, which provided relief to us. I felt a little bad about breaking up their party, but if you wanna be naked, you should probably expect interruptions. And if you are a flabby 60 year old man with a big butt, you should probably bring extra sun block. When that starts to peel...

Our anchorage in 12 Mile bay was everything we had come looking for (plus nearly naked retirees!). Sand beaches, bare rock, twisted pines, fish and quiet. There was room for maybe 4 boats. Maybe. 2 should be rafted together.

After we had been there for a couple hours a second boat came into the anchorage. He had an 11 year old and 13 year old aboard. They played with Chuck, and we explored the backwaters of the anchorage, went swimming and had fun. This was definitely the high point of the trip. Good company at a beautiful spot, and peace and quiet. We could have stayed forever. We stayed for 2 days.

On our second day in the anchorage we got reports of tornados hitting towns close to home, so we sent off quick messages on our neighbour’s computer to let folks know we were OK. We had some rain, but no severe weather, and in fact we had been having a great time. The other boat (L’eau Rider) was out of the same marina as “All the Right Reasons” who we had met at Doral back at the start of our trip. His kids hit it off with Chuck, and we were likely playing cards while the tornadoes were ripping apart York Region.

On the evening of our second night, L’eau Rider shared with us, and we had a combined dinner, with everyone crammed around his salon table. After that we went on his back deck and swapped stories until way too late. It was after midnight when we piled into the Barbie Dream Boat and headed back to Iris.

It was another night with amazing stars. I felt lucky to be part of the world.

Tuesday August 18, 2009 - A Change of Scenery

2009-08-27T07:25:00.000-04:00

Beausoleil Island to Indian Harbour

We left Fryingpan bay under threatening skies, and ready for rain. It never came, so we count ourselves lucky. As the day wore on, the sun grew in intensity, and we took up our usual positions. Chuck on the bow, Cutie in the cockpit with Buddy on her lap – port side, and I driving on the starboard side, further back in the cockpit.

It was a short hop from Fryingpan Bay to Indian Harbour, only about 2-1/2 hours. That is good since it means the kids aren’t stuck sitting all day. We know we are taking the most leisurely pace ever to do this trip, and we are content with that. We cruised into Indian Harbour just in time for lunch, and dropped the anchor. The only other boat in the harbour was a sailboat that was just in the process of heading out.

I took our dinghy (aka “the Barbie Dream Boat”) over to them to say hi, and ask about holding and whatnot. With this being our second night at anchor, I was still a little nervous. It turned out they were having trouble with their outboard on their dinghy.

The engine was an Evinrude 9.9. I have had to swear at mine once or twice, and their problems sounded very familiar. I suggested an easy fix. They looked at me sceptically, but tried it. The engine roared to life, and they said thanks, mystified that it could be fixed so easily. I assured them that I had no idea why turning the flywheel a couple degrees works either, but that I had done the same thing more than once to get mine started. They left and we were alone in the anchorage.

Taking the Barbie Dream Boat back to Iris, I was pondering my luck. Fryingpan was supposed be packed, and we had gotten a dock, and had a nice time. This harbour was supposed to be even busier, and here we were alone. A half an hour later, one powerboat was way over on the other side of the anchorage. I could handle sharing the space with one boat. I lay down to take a nap.

It’s hard to say how long I slept before Cutie shook me awake. She was worried about another boat that had come into the anchorage. I came up on deck, and we were up to 3 boats anchored, and this one setting his hook. Cutie told me that he had tried to anchor multiple times unsuccessfully, and now was over here trying again. At best he was 30 feet from us.

His boat was a 42 foot fly bridge, very shiny and new, with a designer wife out front and 2 kids in designer clothes on the back deck. On the back he had a RIB for a dinghy that was worth more than our boat. Hereafter he will be referred to as Pompous Prick – PP for short.

I pointed out to him that he was awful close to us, and that he may want to allow more swing room for his boat since sail boats move differently than power cruisers. PP said not to worry he’d set an anchor watch, and we wouldn’t have to worry. Then he went inside and turned on his AC and generator, leaving us to listen to the noises created so he could enjoy nature from the bowels of a boat as big as our house.

We settled in, keeping a wary eye on PP’s boat, and had dinner. Then he came over in his dinghy and invited us to go watch the sunset with him. Taking the olive branch, we scrambled into our life jackets, and rode out to see the sun go down. On the way we were delighted to hear about PP’s cars, house, boat, private schools for his kids, how his wife would never have to work, and how to choose only the best tenants for his various rental properties. PP had much to be pompous about. When we got back to the boat, he took us aboard his boat so we could see first-hand what a cruising boat looked like. It looked like a lot of leather and chrome. Cutie and I both agree that we would rather be in our little boat and in touch with our surroundings than in the floating house PP showed us. To his credit, PP passed on the laundry room, in favour of a third stateroom, since he wanted to be roughing it. He did have 2 fridges though since having to go below to get a beer was too inconvenient, and his stereo was “exquisite.”

When we left PP announced that he was going to set out a second anchor for peace of mind. I pointed out that this would totally change his swing pattern and that we would run the risk of hitting each other in the night. PP said he wasn’t worried about that. I decided I wasn’t either. His boat was worth a million and a half (by his figuring), mine is worth $10,000. He had more to lose than I did. I slept well.

The whole time we were in Indian Harbour, there was traffic through the harbour. Since the anchorage is just off a main channel, the parade of boats provides wake to shake everyone up on an unscheduled interval. This makes life aboard interesting. What was even more interesting was the boat that decided to anchor in the channel, and then yell at everyone passing by that they were making too much wake. Chuck learned some new uses of new words. The guys at anchor would yell at the cruisers, who would yell back that they were in the channel, then the guys at anchor would start swearing, and the cruisers would swear back.

Indian Harbour didn’t get a second night. Before we were in bed we decided we’d leave in the morning.

Sunday, August 16, 2009 – On Vacation and Loving It!

2009-08-26T15:15:00.002-04:00

Midland to Beausoleil Island

We chugged out of our slip and up to the gas dock in no particular hurry. After getting all our gas cans refilled, and paying for the slip, we handed over close to $100 to the folks at Doral. I still can’t decide whether this was a good deal or not. On the one hand, they treated us really well, gave us use of the facilities, tools, and had a really nice pool, but on the other hand, that’s a lot of cash to hand over for 2 tanks of gas and a dock to tie up at. All-in-all, I think I’d go back but only stay one night on a free pass.

From Doral we headed over to the Midland town dock since we needed to refill the cooler with groceries. The town dock has a “free parking” policy if you are coming for a short stop to spend your money. It’s about a 15 minute drive from Doral to the town dock, which is right at the base of Midland’s downtown. On the way over I was thinking that on our next trip, maybe we could head straight over to the town dock to raise our mast. As soon as we arrived I could see that this was a bad idea.

Midland is a town in transition. At one time it was a shipping port, but apart from an aggregate business, that has mostly dried up. The town docks were built years ago to serve great lakes freighters, but today they serve mostly tour boats and cruisers. What was once a single slip for a cargo ship has been retrofit as a series of finger docks for small boats with a nice little parkette up 8 feet above with picnic tables and gazebos. Since the docks were designed to allow big boats in and out, there is no break wall, or other features that would slow the boats coming in. The wake and wash at the Midland dock was the worst we would see at any dock we tied to.

We tied up nose in, and instantly a gaggle of tourists came from the parkette and looking down at the boat started taking photos. The tour boat was tied up behind us, and folks standing on her rail, waiting to leave on their cruise did the same. I felt like I was in a glass house. A glass house that was bucking and rocking on some pretty rough water.

Since the grocery store in Midland is quite close to the dock, we left Chuck in charge of the boat and Cutie and I headed to town, we got our provisions, picked up a couple books, and headed back in under an hour. There were signs all over town for “TugFest” – Midland’s tugboat festival. Hopefully those boats fared better at the town docks than we did.

Out on the water, we headed for the main channel. There was a lot of boat traffic out in the Midland area, and a lot of them were sailors. Many were very big boats. We motorsailed a little, but mostly we motored rather than sailed. Soon, we were looking for the Minicognashene Channel.

The Minicog is one of the escape routes to go from the main body of Georgian Bay (Midland bay actually) into the 30,000 Islands and the inside channel. Cutie and I had agreed that we would motor Northbound while she was aboard with the kids, and that I would sail home. Since a deal is a deal, we had the sails down, and were heading for the inside to motor our way to Pointe au Baril. The Minicog would take us out of the sailing waters and into the motoring areas. The trouble was finding the channel.

Minicog is a skinny little channel that twists right after it starts, and looking forward to where we thought the channel should be all we saw was a jumble of rocks. A few powerboats came out of the channel, and gave us a clue where it was, but I was more than a little nervous. One of the big tour boats out of Midland was up ahead of us on about the same heading though, so I figured that if they could sail these waters we’d be safe as long as we kept on about the same track... Then they came on the radio.

“Securité, Securité, Securité, All stations, All Stations, All Stations, 120 foot vessel entering the Minicognashene Channel from Midland northbound in approximately 5 minutes.” Since they were going where we were going, we could just follow them through the channel. Navigation has never been easier. It’s not hard to pick out a 120 foot boat from the rocks.

The Minicog channel was neat, but not really noteworthy. We went through, and came out on the other side, then turned toward Beausoleil Island in Georgian Bay Islands National Park. Our goal was an anchorage on the north side of the island labelled Honeymoon Bay.

We never actually went into Honeymoon Bay. We drove by, and it looked like there was a bay there, but outside the bay, a pile of boats were anchored with folks cliff diving, playing music, and generally having a good time. It looked too crowded for us, and our good time wouldn’t have matched theirs anyway, so we continued on our way to the next bay.

The next bay was Fryingpan Bay. We had been warned that this bay was very busy, and the charts show only 2 feet of water, but we found the bay nearly empty, with 20 feet of water in the middle of the bay, and about 10 feet at the docks maintained by the park. We tied up next to a bevy of powerboats, and called the place home.

Fryingpan Bay had docks, fire pits, picnic tables & shelters, garbage disposal, a beach, and walking trails. The cost to us was $22.50 a night ($0.90/foot). Our neighbours were friendly, and we had a nice stay. It was good to be away from things, the bay was quiet, and the company was good. One of the other boats even had kids aboard so Chuck had some playmates. We stayed 2 nights, one at the dock, and the other at anchor.

I was worried about drifting in the wrong directions, so I spent our night at anchor sleeping in the cockpit. I would wake to check our position every couple of hours, and make sure our jury rigged anchor light was working. The stars were amazing, and I wanted to get the family up to look at them, but I didn’t think they would appreciate being dragged out of bed. I think the night sky on Fryingpan Bay will stay with me for a long time.

Vacation Update

2009-08-26T15:13:00.000-04:00

Since we left Midland, we have met with a number of experiences both good and bad. I am writing this entry from the comfort of home as a retrospective. We were forced to cut our vacation short due to a serious injury and damage to the boat, but things have settled back to routine now, and all will be fine. Let’s pick up where we left off – heading out from Doral in Midland.

So Long Midland!

2009-08-16T07:33:00.005-04:00

Doral has been quite nice. We stayed an extra night since we had to get the mast up and try to fix the masthead instruments. They have treated us really well here. The service department loaned us tools, the folks at the gas dock gave us a slip next to the pool and playground for the kids, our package from West Marine was waiting for us when we arrived, and the showers have nice hot water. Its almost heaven. The only disappointment was that the lineup to get into the restaurant was an hour long when we went for dinner. We cooked at our slip instead.

One of the tenants of the marina has offered to store our mast holder for us until we come back, and that is a big help. We will need to stow the A-Frame and small support that we had put in the mast step, but I think that we can manage that. We have also managed to move our load around so that we can sort of get around the boat. I mentioned to SWMBO that the only way to make space on the boat will be to eat our way out of being overloaded. Meals should be pretty hearty over the next few days.

Last night we met some folks on their boat "For All The Right Reasons" and had a nice chat. They are power boaters out of Port Severn, and good folks. He is a crane operator and she works in sales with Flags Unlimited. They had some good stories to share, and we stayed late. Their boat was really nice inside - very spacious and not overstuffed like ours!!

We have spoken with Patti on the VHF a few times since we arrived, but we haven't managed to cross paths with her yet. Maybe we'll find her today. I wonder if we'll have a chance meeting with Stardust out here.

Our plan for the next few days is:

Sunday August 16th: Head to an anchorage on Beausoleil Island
Monday August 17th: Anchor at Bone Island
Tuesday August 18th: Anchor at Indian Harbour
Wednesday August 19th: Anchor at Twelve Mile Bay
Thursday August 20th: Spend the night at Henry's at Sans Souci (Dockage)

I am hoping there will be internet at Sans Souci, but I kind of doubt it. After Henry's our next night with dockage will be at Parry Sound, which is planned for the 24th or 25th.

Tucked away at Doral

2009-08-14T23:09:00.007-04:00

I'm writing this from the Vee berth, in a great slip at Doral Marine Resort in Midland. Our trip down the canal was mostly without incident, although there were 2 tense moments. Ok, one of them was an incident. We almost didn't clear a swing bridge. What happened was that the boat cleared it, but the masthead instruments (even with the mast lying on deck) didn't. Looks like we're short an anemometer and wind direction doohickey for the masthead. If anyone has a spare...

In any case here's the log for Day 1 & 2.

August 13, 2009 - Day 1: Jackson’s Point to Swift Current

08:50 – With Iris sitting about 3” lower than usual we declared ourselves ready to depart. The day before had seen us provisioning the boat, lowering the mast for the Trent River transit, and shuttling vehicles. We got to bed in the wee hours of the morning and slept in until 8:00. Now it was adieu to our marina, and hello to vacation.

12:00 – Under power at 5knots all the way from Jackson’s Point with barely a breath of air on the water. We just reached Atherly Narrows at the north end of the lake. This is new ground for us. After going through the narrows we will be leaving Lake Simcoe for the first time. There is a lot of powerboat traffic in the area. I wish they would slow more for us since their wake is a problem, especially with the boat rigged the way it is.

14:45 – Arrive at lock 42. This was our first time going through a canal lock, and the process was surprisingly easy. The staff is top notch. We should have bought our permit before entering the lock chamber, but they locked us through, then took payment after. The grounds are very nice. We stayed for lunch and didn’t leave until 4:15.

17:20 – We have reached the north end of Sparrow Lake and it is starting to get late. We are looking for an anchorage for the night. On the rail bridge we suffered our first casualty of the trip. I thought there was room to fit our rig under the bridge, but our wind instruments caught on it. The masthead unit will need to be replaced. Too bad since we just refurbished all the gauges.

19:30 – Tried a promising looking anchorage at the bottom of a chute, but a rock shelf and inadequate swing room meant we had to continue on. Tried lantern marina, but it had already closed for the day. The shadows are getting long and we need a spot to tuck into. Since the next lock station is less than an hour away and there is still at least an hour of daylight, we are heading there.

??:?? – Arrived at swift Locks, and tied to the wall. Buddy has gone stir crazy, he is glad to be on his feet. Pork souvlaki, fried potatoes and broccoli for dinner. It is very quiet and peaceful here.

August 13, 2009 - Day 2: Swift Current to Doral Marine, Midland

10:40 - Depart swift current after a breakfast of bacon and eggs with a little onion fried up for flavour. First boat into the locks! Stopped at the bottom to talk to folks who were upbound, they were from Gilford! Swift current locks arevery high. and SWMBO felt a little claustrophobic in there. Chuck skipped this lock so she could take pictures. The ride down was very smooth.

Some of the channels we traversed today were very narrow, and some had strong currents. Few other boaters respect us - or each other through the channels, and we are often rocking and rolling from the wake of passing boats. We have noticed that the law of tonnage tends to apply with regards to wake, and sometimes in tight quarters I find myself hoping a speed demon will miss the channel and tear out his outdrive.

We have not touched bottom yet, although we have been forced out of the channel once or twice due to wake.

12:08 - Arrive Big Chute. I was nervous about bringing Iris across the marine railroad since I have heard both that the passage is difficult, and that the operators can be careless in handling your boat. Wrong on both accounts. All the way through the Trent System, the lock staff have been first class, both in their care of our vessel, and in the service they provide. We had to wait for a full cycle before there was room for Iris on the rail car, and then we were the first boat loaded on.

We were told to go straight up the centre of the car, and keep the throttle up to pressure the load strap. Then a second sling was placed under the belly of the boat, and Iris was set to go. A few adjustments. and more boats loaded behind us, and we were off. The girls sat up on the bow, while I watched the baby in the cockpit. The car rose up out of the water, stalled for a moment on the brink of the hill, then descended to Gloucester pool below.

At the bottom we found space on the dinghy dock since all the other docks were full, and with some expert handling, we crashed the dock, and put some beauty marks in the gelcoat, just where we wanted them. We nosed around the lock station to look at the displays of local history, and went to the marina/restaurant next door for ice cream before heading out. I promised everyone that at the next lock we'd just go right through without stopping to be tourists.

Depart Big chute at 14:30

15:55 - Arrive Port Severn Lockstation

Between Big Chute and Port Severn were many

beautiful channels and backwaters. It would be easy to leave the mast at home and spend a week just poking around the backwaters, slow but beautiful as the folks on a trawler we met at Swift Current said,

Never stopped for much more than a pee break at the locks. These locks were much tighter than the others we have been through. I was nervous about bringing the boat out, but it went well.

In the lock there is a beautiful Gunter-rigged sailboat named "Dream Time" the owners are very friendly. This is the first sailboat we've found with its mast up, and only the third other sailboat we've seen so far.

18:25 - Doral Marine Resort. We followed dream time from the Port Severn Locks all the way toTiffin Basin. When leaving the locks we finished our second fuel tank and had to hook up the third. This meant a few minutes of frantic activity in the cockpit.

I also found the Georgian Bay chart confusing since the markers are only numbered on the inset chart, and not the main chart. While trying to figure out the chart, I nearly left the marked channel, and the folks on Dream Time stepped in and guided us through. When Dream Time issued a securite that two sailboats were entering Potato Channel - a particularly tight spot between port severn and Midland, someone came on the VHF with a very loud "WOO-Hoo!! Watch them rock & Roll!!" We were a little nervous, but nothing came of it.

When we reached Midland, we took a moment to thank Dream Time for their help, and then motored on to Doral. We also hailed Patti (from the night race) on the VHF, and she told us that we may be able to cross paths tomorrow morning.

A day Behind Before we've Left...

2009-08-11T10:44:00.005-04:00

{EDIT: Another potential holdup... I just found out that we may need to go to see family in Sudbury before heading out. This would push us back by another day. I will update tomorrow AM after a family conference.}

The nice thing about DIY vacations is that the schedule can be flexible. We are taking advantage of that.

I thought it would be good for SWMBO to stop in and say hi to her grandparents before we head off, and while down in the city, she can swap our 2 monoculars for pair of binoculars. Hopefully they will stay intact.

While she is in the City, I will pack the boat and build a mast crutch. Our revised plan is to leave Jackson's point tomorrow afternoon. This would mean the following plan:

Arrive JP tonight and (mostly) pack the boat.
Go back in the morning and install the tether for Buddy, Build a mast crutch, and buy the rest of the groceries while SWMBO goes and gets new Binoculars and sees Grandma and Grandpa.
Finish packing the boat.
Cobble together a mount for the fishfinder.
Drop off a vehicle in Barrie.
Hug SWMBO and head off.

If things go well tonight; which is to say I leave work on time, and we get things figured out for packing, and we get a decent grocery list together, we should get out around noon tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Our plan as it stands right now is:

Wednesday the 12th

Noon-ish: Leave JP headed for Orillia
Drop Mast in Atherly area
Tomorrow evening: Arrive Orillia, possibly stay at Washago/Severn Bridge.

Thursday the 13th

Early: Leave Washago and head down the canal
Late: Arrive Gloucester Pool

Friday the 14th

Early: Leave Gloucester Pool
Mid-Morning: Arrive Doral Marine Resort & plug in.
Raise Mast
Call Patti
Check in with the family.

The butterflies are growing. I'm getting a little more excited...

Night Race 2009

2009-08-10T16:19:00.006-04:00

I am tardy (again) with importing our GPS log, but I need to do that, in the meantime, here is a brief synopsis of this year’s night race.

At first glance I would say it wasn’t as magical as last year. Last year there was moonlight glinting off the water, this year there was lightening making clouds glow. Last year there was a light, warm breeze, this year there was a threatening tone to the winds that never let up. Certainly it was a different race, but at the same time, it held its own magic. Let’s get on with the story.

We held a short crew meeting, everyone got their stuff on the boat and introductions were made all around. On board we had Patti, who owns a boat on Georgian Bay and sailed on Iris a bunch last season, Matt who had never sailed before, but was eager to learn, Luis who owns a Grampian in our club, but as a new boat owner wanted to try other boats out, Chuck, who has been mentioned here before, and myself. 5 adults on a 25 foot boat for a night-long race. I was worried about crowding.

The race started with the shortest skippers meeting in the history of skippers meetings. Everyone was handed a set of race instructions and told to read them. As with last year there would be no shortened course, no time limit, and no shore support.

I asked what the Race Committee would do in case the weather deteriorated to thunderstorms since the forecast looked pretty bad. The answer was simple – it’s up to you to decide when conditions are no longer amenable to sailing.

The start of the race was pretty uneventful. We started off really deep to stay clear of the spin fleet, then came up to the line staying well below most of the white sail fleet who were vying for the pin. It was a beam reach off the start, and we didn’t have the best line position, but we were there early and with speed, so I was happy. The trip up K-bay to Big Bay point went without trouble, and we reached the point about halfway back in the white sail fleet. Since we were only competing with 6 other boats (one was going to retire immediately after starting just so he could hold his position in the standings, and then we would have a fleet of 6 boats including ourselves) it was easy to keep track of the competition.

On the way up the bay everyone settled into position. Patti went up on foredeck and walked Matt through trim calling, I drove, Luis rested for the late shift, and Chuck kept up lots of lively banter. We turned the corner at the top of the bay, and headed toward Fox Island, watching out for Long shoal, and keeping an eye on the boats ahead, and behind us. Ahead was Newfie Screach.

Newfie is a great sailor, and one of the guys we always try to mark our progress against, also ahead was Lake Effect. Lake Effect sails out of LCYC, and is a very good sailor. Marking our time against those two boats would be a good indication of how well we were doing. With our 155% genoa flying, we bit into the building wind and pointed like a setter, going for the island.

We had taken an inland course, more so than some of the other boats, and it seemed to be working well. As they tacked over we watched them, and soon we saw Lake Effect was going to cross us. It was going to be a tight crossing, and I began to wonder if I should fall off to avoid a collision. Then I realized that we had made time on him, and lake Effect would be crossing behind us on port tack, if we held our course on starboard. Little firecrackers went off inside me and I smiled to myself as I watched him fall just behind us. Up ahead Newfie tacked over to make the island. I decided we would follow his course.

We dove down behind the island, deep, and then tacked to follow Newfie on his approach to rounding it. Just one problem though, He had tacked over early, and wasn’t going to make it. Newfie put in extra tacks, and we held course. On the lifts it looked like we would clear the island, but when the gusts ended, we looked like we wouldn’t. If we had held our course, we may have made it with inches to spare, but we’ll never know. I put in the same tacks Newfie did, and rounded the island with room to spare.

We followed Newfie up to the weather buoy that was the northeast mark in the course. On the way the wind continued to build and we enjoyed a strong showing from the boat. As the night deepened we watched the boats behind us getting closer. Eventually the waves were too much for Iris and as she ploughed into them her speed would drop from 6.7 knots (GPS) to 2.5 knots. We were having a great ride down the waves, but didn’t have the power to climb back up them. The motion was rough, and shortly after we were passed by “The United Nations Boat” we rounded the weather buoy to take the steep seas and heavy winds on the nose, over powered.

At the speeds we were doing, I was hoping the boat would hold on and get us to K-Bay without too much trouble. I was also thinking we had too much sail up, but I didn’t want to trade off our position. We were heeled to 30° regularly, and rainwater and spray were on all of us. It wasn’t a pleasant sail. Patti was up on the rail, and chuck sitting beside her. Matt and Luis were handling the sheets back in the cockpit, and I was fighting the helm through the weather. United Nations was up ahead, and Lake Effect was bearing down on us from behind. I was pushing hard, trying to hold our position in a tough condition.

Each wave threw the boat up in the air, where she would pause for a moment before being caught by the wind, thrown violently to leeward, and land in a trough to come back up and face the next wave. The cycle repeated itself again and again, and the crew was starting to look a little green.

I don’t know why, but on one of the cycles, Patti lost her handhold on the shroud. As the boat rose up she was shaken from her seat on the cabin top, slid back across it as the boat heeled, and slammed back first into the leeward shroud. She folded in half, slid onto the side deck, and sat there in a crumpled heap.

I turned the boat into Irons, as Matt or Luis (I don’t remember which) rushed forward to help her back to the cockpit. Patti came back, in shock and pain. I am thankful that she got stuck on the shrouds and didn’t go overboard in those conditions.

We turned back toward our destination, with Lake Effect breathing down our neck, and offered Patti all sorts of painkillers. She declined and rested instead.

In short order I decided it was foolish to continue putting this strain on the boat and crew, and handing over the tiller, I went forward to do a sail change. Tethered to the shrouds, I prepared to bring down the big Genoa. Patti released the Halyards, and Chuck went below in perfectly miserable conditions to receive the sail and stow it. I don’t know how she managed not to get seasick down there. I passed down the genoa and hanked on the storm jib. In the process I lost the jib halyard, and watched it swing out over the violent water.

It took about 6 tries before we the motion of the boat brought it close enough for me to catch it, and then we went up with the storm jib. In the process, we dropped to third last place.

Chuck, like a trooper stayed below until I handed her down the old sail and got the sheets on the new one. She is such a great kid!

With the storm jib on, the boat was much better behaved, but still suffering from the motion. All the up-close work on the foredeck had got my stomach churning, and in short order we had three of our crew of 5 on the lee rail chumming the fish. Luis and Chuck ran the boat while we tried to regain control of our stomachs. With the smaller sail up, we regained our position on the United Nations, and were looking pretty good, but when we reached K-bay that all changed.

In K-Bay there was no wind.

It felt like we were sitting on a millpond. Barely ahead of us we could make out 2 boats, and behind us we could see the lights on boat that we guessed were United Nations and Lake Effect. Far behind we could see the bow light of Icarus. With no wind, and our tiny storm jib, they were gaining on us. I needed to put up more sail. I also knew that our slow-motion sail changes meant we would lose a lot of ground.

For what felt like a long time I debated it in my mind, and then I decided to just get on with it. Chuck went below again as I went up front, the big genoa went back up the forestay, and the little jib went down below. Chuck came back out of the cave, and we all huddled for the rest of the ride to Barrie. In the time we lost to the second sail change, every boat in the field passed us. We were the last boat home, 2 hours behind the first spinnaker boat.

One of the boats that got in ahead of us had notified folks that we had had an accident onboard, and Patti reached the harbourmaster on her cell phone. A spot was waiting for us against the wall, and folks came over right away to help Patti off the boat. She was in a lot of pain, and had spent much of the race with her head against the cockpit coamings trying to sleep off the hurt.

It turns out that Patti came away with a badly bruised tailbone and some bruises on her arms and back. That's a lot better than the story I would be telling gif she hadn’t gotten caught up in the shrouds. Matt (who had never sailed before) is taking lessons this week, and Luis has offered to come out on Hawkestone weekend to crew. As for Chuck, well she sailed back with me on Sunday under perfect blue skies, close reaching all the way from Kempenfelt bay to SGA. Perfect conditions.

Tommorow SWMBO and buddy and I head to Georgian Bay, so things can’t be all that bad.

Oh, and on handicap, we took 3rd place which means we hold our first overall position!!

LSIS Race 5 Stats:
Distance Covered: XX.X Statute Miles (Slip to Slip) - Tracklog incomplete
Time on course: 7:34:00
Corrected time: 6:47:31
Time out of 1st Place (Corrected Time): 0:35:21
Iris was on course 8.67% longer than the first place boat.

Fingers Crossed for West Marine

2009-08-07T06:51:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure how many times I've gotten soaked through while out on Iris this summer, but it is more than twice. There was the miserable sail to Barrie. The race and subsequent sail home from Cook's Bay. At least one good shower in Lagoon City, and multiple waves over the bow in heavy wind. I have gotten very wet this summer.

I'm not complaining, because a wet day on the boat is better than a dry day spent cutting the lawn, but still, it would be a little more pleasant to go sailing if I had a way to stay dry.

While doing our vacation shopping we saw that West Marine had some wet weather gear on sale for a reasonable price. Too bad the smallest they had in stock was an XL. I weigh in at a medium-small size, and it looked like I was playing dress-up in my Dad's clothes when I tried on the foulies.

I asked the clerk about smaller sizes, and she reassured me that the rain gear was available in smaller sizes, but that there would be none coming in before our vacation starts. I should try the Barrie store and pick it up before the Night Race. I called.

According to the Barrie Store, the soonest the gear would be in was the 14th. I'm slated to be basking at Doral Resort that day. Patti, who is coming on the night race said she would lend a hand with delivery to Midland, but the truck arrives on the 14th - there is no guarantee that the jacket will be offloaded that day. Harumph.

Another call to West Marine and they suggested that I mail order the jacket on a rush delivery. I called the USA distribution centre, and they think the Jacket could be ordered today to arrive at Doral Marine Resort, where we are scheduled to be on the 14th ahead of our arrival. A quick call to Doral and they said they would be willing to hold the package for me to pick up on arrival, as long as I guarantee that I will be staying there overnight.

Someplace in America, a yellow rain slicker is being put in a box with my name on it, headed for Doral Marine Resort. Let the race begin...

All Crewed Up...

2009-08-06T10:24:00.004-04:00

Within the bounds of my frantic planning and harried manufacturing (This week I've made screen hatchboards, and anchor rode, and an A-frame - that's more industry than I've engaged in in months) there has been a nagging doubt about finding capable crew to fill in the gaps in my sailing plans over the next month.

With both a night race, and a long sail down Georgian Bay to face, I needed folks I could depend on, and feel comfortable with, and I was getting concerned that I wasn't going to get the right people. My fears are now allayed.

For the Night race I will have 3 boat-owners aboard, and Chuck to lend relief. Patti sailed the night race with me last year, and was incredible with both her spirits, camaraderie, and boat handling skills. She is taking a weekend away from "her baby" ~ a Catalina 34 ~ to come sail Iris. Luis is a member at our sailing club, and has his own Grampian 26 which he sails with his wife and kids. And then there is Chuck, who said she'd come, but only if she gets to sleep sometimes. Looks like we are set for the night race with a crew of 4, which means that there will always be at least 2 adults on deck.

Sailing G-Bay was a bigger issue. I am confident that we will reach Pointe Au Baril, however coming home alone, while being an exciting proposition was a little more sketchy. "Lost at Sea" doesn't look good on a tombstone, and my confidence was flagging somewhat. Then I found out that Eric, who was going to help me sneak through the Trent Canal back to Lake Simcoe couldn't get away for that part of the trip. I was concerned.

FIL has tentatively volunteered to come down the canal (I think he wants to see the Marine Railroad up close) but I needed a concrete stand in who was dedicated to the trip and excited to come along.

Enter Peter.

Peter is a small boat sailor, and since he is experienced as a dinghy sailor will have a keen weather-eye and be adept in handling the boat when things get dicey. He also races on a C&C 30, and so is familiar with the goings-on of a keel boat, which although easier to sail than a dinghy, has its own quirks. Peter has sailed in the Parry Sound area, and is eager to go out on Georgian Bay. It looks like I'm all set for crew!

Now I need to polish off the last of the packing list (6% to go!) while SWMBO makes up our "Boat Cards." Then its just a matter of stripping Iris down for the night race (head out tomorrow night), and repacking her for our vacation.

AN UPDATE- Another person has stepped up to lend a hand on the night race. With Mat on board we will have a full crew, and will be a power to fear!!

Frantic planning gets much done.

2009-08-04T12:37:00.002-04:00

This past weekend was a long one. The Civic holiday is the only long weekend when retail remains open around here. We made good use of it, but apart from taking measurements, we never got on the boat all weekend. That’s probably just as well since the Civic weekend has an ages-old tradition of being when every crazy there is comes out of the woodwork and climbs aboard a boat.

We went shopping instead. Our packing list is now 91% purchased with only a handful of things left to get (mostly available within a short drive of my office), and should be completed within the next 3 days.

We got Rubbermaid bins and have started sorting things into them. Some are more full than others. We haven’t begun to think about food.

The Anchor rode has been measured out in 7 foot intervals and marked for safe use. As long as the water is no more than 14 feet deep, we are set. I need another 10 or 20 markers to finish the job. I also did an AMAZING eye splice – around a thimble – which displays my marlinspike seamanship most proudly. I should get a photo of it on here. I am almost tempted to try and back-splice the fraying ends of my dock lines.

An inflatable dinghy has been offered for our use, and we have arranged parking/bus transfers. I built a screen hatchboard (washboard) insert for the companionway, and I think it fits - testing pending.

Despite my deep concerns about preparedness, it seems like things are coming together. Now I have to keep up the momentum, and make sure stay on track.

One thing we still need: a firm commitment for a person to help bring Iris back through the Trent Canal on the homeward journey. Is anyone available for a 2-day trip from Severn inlet to Barrie (Sept 3-4th)? If you can hold a line and take instruction, you meet the qualifications.

Dinghy Testing.

2009-08-01T13:44:00.000-04:00

Last night we took the hardshell dinghy we've been loaned for a test-tow. Wow. What a debacle.

After reversing nicely out of our slip, the dinghy was released so we could pull it behind the boat. The engine was put in forward, the dinghy spun sideways, and pulled the stern of Iris toward the dock. We nearly hit all the boats on our dock, and bounced the dinghy off one as it dragged along sideways behind us.

The fellow who loaned us the dinghy had warned me that one of the oarlocks wasn't working, but that he had jury rigged it so it would be fine. It wasn't working for me. The oar that did have a working oarlock didn't have a retaining pin, and kept slippin gout of the oarlock. I would get one fixed, and the other would fail.

We rowed around in circles for 5 minutes, then SWMBO made a "suggestion" that we go back to the boat before we drifted off and got in trouble.

We reboarded, and buddy threw himself on the cockpit floor and threw a tantrum. Then with him screaming, SWMBO pulled in the anchor and we motored back to our slip. A member of the club came over with suggestions of how to do things differently next time, but no one was in the right frame of mind to hear it.

I need to go back out and rethink this. Its not rocket science.

BTW - Buddy kept on cryin gthrough the night, with a few breaks for naps. I think he must be teething again, but when I dropped him off at the sitters this morning, she said her kid was upset and cranky as well. I wonder if they ate something that disagrees or are coming down with something. Anyway, a screaming kid can really get in the way of communication and boat handling.

9 Days and Too Much to Do...

2009-07-31T18:30:00.002-04:00

We are on the home stretch before our big trip to Georgian Bay.

If you had asked me 2 months ago how things would look by now, I would have smugly replied that there would be a line-up of packed Rubbermaid bins in the front hall, each labelled with their contents, the boat would be tuned and ready to go, our charts would be marked and the transits into each anchorage plotted and ready for transfer to the GPS.

All the marinas would have reservations, our lights and new gear tested and in place, and our food packaged by day, with a shopping list for each port of call. Everything would be installed, in place, and lined up ready for packing into the boat. Instead, we are still trying to work out the basic kinks in preparation for the trip.

The packing list is coming along nicely. Its a month late, but as I type this, SWMBO is wrapping it up.

We haven't bought our new gear yet, let alone tested it.

Nothing is packed.

I still have to install the tether point for buddy, get the new chain hooked up properly, and change the bulb in our steaming light.

I haven't built an A-frame.

I've marked the charts for where the anchorages we want to use are, but I haven't got a clue about how to get into them. I haven't found secondary or tertiary locations in case the wind is coming from the wrong way.

I did call the marinas to make sure we would be able to get in and get spots. They tell me I'm over-planning this, just show up - there will be room. I have a hard time with that since I don't like surprises. "Surprise! Your batteries are dead and you can't plug in!" That would really suck. Tonight I have to get a haircut, cut the lawn, and then I can look at starting to pull the stuff together that's on the packing list and refine my shopping list. I'm also hoping to get down to the marina to get a tracing of our hatchboards so I can make a screen insert.

It should be a busy weekend.

Half a Chain... of Chain

2009-07-30T16:52:00.007-04:00

Ok, so the title is cheesy. A chain in surveying is a measurement 66 feet long. I just bought half of that... in chain. Get it?

Anyway, I've been in the hunt for high quality anchor chain at low budget prices lately. The stuff at Home Depot and Canadian Tire says "Imported by: COMPANY" but doesn't say where from. When I Googled the company names I get websites that say they both manufacture and import chain and cable. Again, no hints of where.

Now I'm fairly patriotic, but that isn't the driving factor in my chain dilemma. The driving factor is that Chain made in ISO countries tends to be more dependable than chain made to ISO standards in non ISO countries. As it was explained to me, some places try to hit the top of the standard, and maintain consistency, while others are just happy to be within the bracket.

When your family is depending on this chain to hold you in place you want to know that it is at the top of the standard. Every link. You want to be sure that the chain was made to spec and accurately tested and reported. Around here that means it should say "Made In Canada" or "Made in USA" on it. In big letters. It should also be graded, and marked with the grade. I think stuff made in Europe would be fine too.

Chain of unknown origin can be had for cheap. Chain that is tested and proven is more pricey. I don't do pricey well.

The car that keeps on breaking was broken down (again) last week, and being that it is completely weird, it needed custom fasteners to hold components in place. I needed to go to an industrial supply to buy screws of strange sizes. 4 of them. While I was there I noticed they had chain and shackles there.

It was labelled "Made in CANADA." Each link was stamped with its grade. the price was reasonable. I had my source. Finding me chain is the first good thing I the piece of crap car has done for me. Oh - and pulling the boat straight on the trailer that one time.

How much chain to carry is an interesting question. According to the bible of small boat handling; "Chapman Piloting: Seamanship & Small Boat Handling", you need 1 foot of chain for every 1/2 foot of boat as a minimum. For Iris that would mean a minimum of 12-1/2 feet of chain. BUT... More chain allows the anchor to dig in better, and 12-1/2 feet is a MINIMUM. Since the chain is heavy, it drags the anchor across the bottom of the lake, forcing the flukes in, so more is better.

To figure out how much chain and rope you need out to anchor overnight, you need to complete the following math:

(Freeboard X 7) + (depth of water at high tide X 7) = 7:1 scope

Aside: In bad weather/strong currents/exposed anchorages, this is usually changed to a 10:1 scope ~ (Freeboard X 10)+(depth of water at high tide X 10) = 10:1 scope

Since I'm too lazy to actually do the math, I got to thinking about cutting the work in half. Our freeboard (height from the top of the water to the bow of the boat) never changes, so I could round it to 4 feet, and be pretty sure I was safe. 4 X 7 = 28 feet. I can mark the anchor rope at 28 feet and automatically add on the (depth of water X 7) part to it. No problem. Now how to mark it?

AHA! I could just be extra safe and get 28 feet of chain (rounded up to 30 feet for an extra degree of safety). Now when I go to anchor I automatically let out all the chain as the freeboard part of the equation, and then let out (depth X 7) of rope (sailors call it rode). Bingo - Half the math, and all the pleasure!

The weight of the chain to buy is a little more specific. Since the chain is there to weigh down the anchor, dampen shock loads to it, and slow the movement of the boat, you want to be sure it is heavy enough to do its job. You also want to be sure it won't be too heavy and hard to handle.

In Chapman's it suggests that 1/4" chain is adequate for a boat like Iris. I wanted to be sure that on Georgian Bay, where things can get bad we would be held well, and the weight of the chain would really dampen our movement, so I went 1 size up to 5/16"

After all this thinking and hunting, I bought 30 feet of 5/16"Canadian made chain, cleverly asking the clerk for half a chain... of chain. She didn't get it.

Tennis Ball in a Sock???

2009-07-29T17:55:00.024-04:00

I need to start this post with a thank-you to all the people who emailed me packing lists so that I could round out mine and be sure nothing was left at home.

One of the lists we got had "Tennis ball in Sock" on it. This was the same list that differentiated between white underwear and coloured underwear, so I know this person is detail oriented. I just can't figure out why you need to pack a tennis ball in a sock. If you travel with a dog, maybe. But this person didn't have dog food on the packing list (I checked).

Maybe the dog eats people food.

What would motivate you to pack - individually - a tennis ball in a sock, and itemize it so you wouldn't forget it? Is it used as an anchor float? Do you put it in the dryer when you reach port to prevent your clothes from clumping? Do you play tennis while aboard? Do you throw it at passing vessels in a massive game of tag? Does the colour of the sock matter? What about the colour of the tennis ball? Do you need matching shorts? I cannot honestly think of a reason to pack a tennis ball in a sock for a sailing trip. I have tried to think of a reason to do it, and can't.

SWMBO and I ran through every scenario we could imagine for it, and have come up empty. I am open to suggestions of what the tennis ball in the sock does that I haven't considered yet. Right now we are assuming that it is OK to pack tennis balls and socks separately.

My most plausible use is that it gets put in the bilge, and if you see the tennis ball/sock float past you in the cockpit, you will know the boat is sinking.

Incidentally, I haven't done it yet but our "Sailing your own boat packing list for cruisers" or whatever it should be called so Google will find it needs updating because there were some Very Good suggestions that came out of my begging for help in various online venues.

We are in process with the compilation, and currently have over 300 items in the unculled list. Our evenings consist of lovingly asking questions like: "Do we already have shampoo on the list?" or "Do garbage bags fall into galley supplies or cleanup? How about Ziplocs? Should we have a separate plastic bags section?"

Some of the ideas I got in the packing lists reminded me of the "50 reasons to bring a condom on a canoe trip" discussion I was once part of. It is amazing how versatile a condom can be. You honestly do need one on a camping trip - not just to prevent babies.

Condom uses I can remember:

Prevent babies
hold approx 1 gallon of water (water pail)
Can be fitted directly onto water filter
make a pinhole in receptacle tip to irrigate wounds (with the clean water you filtered into it)
tourniquet
slingshot shooter part thinggy
rubber band
surgical glove
to make replacement seals for fuel bottles
the foil wrapper was good for something I can't remember
rubber makes good firestarter
Bungee Cord Extension
Waterproof Storage
etc.

Anyway, tennis ball and sock ideas anyone? Toss 'em in the comments section and lets see what sticks.

A call for Crew - Night Race August 8-9th

2009-07-24T18:24:00.001-04:00

It looks like we will be short a couple folks for the night race. Ideally we should have 3-4 people on board for it, but right now it looks like Patty and I are the only ones confirmed.

The race goes from Barrie Yacht Club, around Lake Simcoe, and then back to Barrie Yacht Club and starts on the 8th of August, ending on the 9th.

In a perfect world, 3 people would be on deck and one sleeping at all times.

If we only get 3 people for crew this time around, then we will have three on deck for the start, and then send one person to bed right afterwards, rotating a person out of the watch every 2 hours or so. This way everyone should stay well rested no matter how long the race runs.

Remember, we are in first place overall right now, and we can't afford to miss this race! We need you!

3 'Round Tuits Pt III

2009-07-22T05:51:00.000-04:00

With the Playpen tested and the COB pole in place it was time for the final tiny task.

Imagine yourself on a sun-drenched beach, girly drink in hand, warm breezes blowing through your hair. You are likely lying down. You probably don't want to have to swim to lie down, and probably fibreglass isn't a good thing to lie on. If you are lying in the sand, you will have to wash off, and that's like work, and no one wants to have to do that.

You need a hammock.

If I could rig a hammock on Iris, it would save me the hassle of swimming to a beach and stringing it between 2 trees. It would also mean that I was closer to the drinks that are aboard.

I took our backyard hammock off its frame and looked around the boat for likely places to hang it. The immediate place that came to mind was from the mast padeye where we would attach the whisker pole when sailing, forward to the forestay at the bow.

By attaching the jib halyard at the bow, I was able to hold the hammock in place on the forestay, and adjust its height. The mast padeye held the other end of the hammock nicely, and when I lay down in it, the whole thing was tensioned just right. All I needed was a margarita.

On Sunday afternoon, I rigged the hammock and SWMBO gave it a try. I may never get to lie in it again. Now I need to locate a second hammock and attachment point. Maybe from the boom? Maybe if I go from the forestay to the shrouds I could put 2 hammocks up beside each other. Hmmmm. More testing required.

3 'Round tuits Pt II

2009-07-21T21:48:00.002-04:00

Spotting a person who has fallen off a boat is a difficult thing. If waves and weather conspire against you, it can be damned near impossible. Sailing with 2 children aboard, we have higher probability of facing a crew overboard (COB) situation than most of the other sailors we know.

We hope that teaching the kids good safety practices will prevent us having a COB, but things happen, so preparedness and safety are very important.

In order to be as safe as possible, SWMBO and I have both taken Canadian Yachting Association (CYA) accredited course, and either one of us could, if needed, perform a crew overboard manouever in order to recover lost crew. BUT you can't rescue a COB if you can't see them. Thats where the COB pole comes in.

A COB pole is quickly deployed buoy that is thrown overboard the moment you notice a crew member has fallen in. The buoy has 2 purposes. First, the COB is to swim to the buoy, which has an internationally recognized symbol for crew overboard flying at the top of it. Any passing boat *should* recognize that the person is in distress, and stop to recover them.

The second feature of the COB Pole is that it stands about 6 feet high in the water, and is of bright colours. In heavy seas, even if it drifts, the COB pole should be much more visible than trying to spot a bobbing head down at water level.

Mounting the pole on the pushpit was easier than I expected. It just took 2 hose clamps to put a holster in the railing, and the thing is ready to go. Now it is perched on the transom at the ready.

Of course Rule 1 is still that no one is allowed to fall in.

3 ‘Roud Tuits Pt I

2009-07-20T19:01:00.000-04:00

There are things that you know will make life better, but you procrastinate, forget to do, or what have you. This weekend I decided to take 3 of those things off my list. They were all fairly benign, small tasks that really would only take a minute, but would make life easier. The first was Buddy boy’s sleeping arrangements.

When he’s aboard Iris Bud sleeps tucked between SWMBO and I, which is to say he sleeps with his feet in one of our ribs and his head on the other one’s face. Sometimes he kicks. After about an hour of this, SWMBO will take him and put him against the hull since she is paranoid that in his sleep Bud will fall out of the vee berth and onto the floor.

I am usually supportive of this since it means bud is trapped between SWMBO and the hull and can no longer kick/smother me. SWMBO says she doesn’t sleep well while on the boat. I wonder why since I wake up well rested.

In order to help SWMBO sleep better I keep saying we should check to see if Buddy Boy’s playpen will fit on the boat. If it did, then he could sleep in baby-jail while SWMBO and I snuggle in the vee berth. Of course I never think to take the playpen to the boat with me. Last Friday I finally remembered to take it.

The playpen fit in the salon with about 6” for SWMBO and I to shimmy into the vee berth. Perfect! Since it fit, SWMBO agreed to spend the night aboard! BONUS!

Only one thing… we couldn't find a pacifier for buddy, and if he saw us he stood up in the playpen and wailed with his arms stretched out. He didn’t think he should have to go to bed. SWMBO and I sat out in the cockpit for about an hour waiting for him to fall asleep while the wailing continued in the boat. Finally, it stopped and we thought that maybe it was safe to go back in.

Using our best secret agent moves we slipped into the vee berth via the fore-hatch, and were met by Buddy boy standing in the playpen staring at us with big eyes. Busted.

At least he wasn’t crying. Yet.

As SWMBO and I got the blanets laid out in the vee berth, she came across something hard and plastic – BINGO! We had left a pacifier on board last time we had buddy there.

10 minutes later, buddy was asleep, but SWMBO and I stayed up at least an hour longer fighting over who got more blankets and who was hogging the bed. Anyway, the playpen fits onboard, and now we can sleep in peace – as long as SWMBO doesn’t steal the pillow.

Packing & Shopping List

2009-07-17T07:34:00.004-04:00

*THIS LIST HAS BEEN DEEMED INCOMPLETE AND WILL BE UPDATED SHORTLY - STAY TUNED*

When I was a kid, we took a trip via mobilehome from Kitchener to PEI with a variety of stops along the way. I still remember my Mom bringing boxes and boxes of assorted sundries out to the camper and stashing them away in every hidey hole and cubby she could find. Eventually the motor home was packed and we trundled down the road - only to realize we had forgotten something, and would have to pick it up at the next town. Then we'd have to cram whatever it was into some other spot in the caravan and continue on our way.

When we take Iris to G-Bay, it will be just like that, only there will be more stuff to bring, less places to buy forgotten stuff, and greater implications if we miss some crucial piece of equipment. Oh, and it will be a 20 minute drive from the marina to the house for whatever we forget - if we catch it before we cast off our lines and head for the unknown.

To avoid unwanted surprises I've started a packing list. I just realized I entirely forgot a tool kit... Stuff we still have to buy is highlited red.

First Aid and Emergency Supplies
First Aid Kit - Cockpit	First Aid Kit – Salon	Benadryl	Sunblock	Afterburn Cream
Aspirin/Tylenol	Chapstick	Zinc cream (nose)
Safety Gear
Handheld VHF and chargers	Handheld VHF battery adaptor	Search Lights and charger	Headlamp	Handheld GPS and cable
Extra fuel tanks	Charts	Dividers	Ports Guide to Georgian Bay	Batteries (AA, AAA)
Radar Reflector	Cell Phone	Cell phone chargers	Binoculars	Fibreglass repair kit
Bungs for through-hulls	Underwater epoxy	Sewing Kit
Rigging & Boat Supplies
Dock Ropes, spare cordage	Shore Power	110V extension cord and adaptor	Mast A-Frame and mast supplies	Dinghy (outboard, fuel tank, pump, repair kit, oars)
Screen Hatchboard inserts	Boom tent/tarp	Kellet, line, and swivel snaps	Spare Parts (Anchor Chain, Shackles)	LED click-it lights (cabin)
Bungees	Bucket (2 if there is room)	Burgee
Cooking & Galley
Butane Stove	Butane fuel Cells	Primus Stove	Naptha Gas	Water filter
Collapsible Water jug	Corn skewers	Non-stick pots and pans	Coffee Press	Coffee
Coffee mugs	Kabob sticks	Metal spatula	Plastic spatula	Plastic spoon
Tongs	Silverware	Drawer-liner place mats	Plates, saucers, cups	Measuring cups
Folding colander	Pan/BBQ spray	Cheese slicer	Hot pads	Dishtowels
Napkins	Paper towels	Bio-friendly dish soap	Dish sponge	Wine glasses
Salt and Pepper	Ketchup, Mayo and mustard	Knifes – cutting and bread	Chip Clips	Garbage Bags
Mini spice rack	Lighters	Medium zip lock bags (with a few big ones stuffed in)	Nalgene Bottles (6)
Creature Comforts
Roll of quarters for showers	MP3 Player and charger	Bath towels	Toilet paper	Heater
Solar Shower	Sleeping bags and pillows	Laptop	Cameras (Disposable, old digital, new digital)	Small umbrellas
Mosquito netting (forward and companion-way hatches)	Mosquito spray (Muskol) and Avon Skin so Soft	Citronella lamp oil	Mosquito coils	Play pen (check fit)
Swim toys (noodles, goggles, polypropylene line and Type IV Cushions	Hammock (mast to forestay – check fit)	Journal	Deck of cards	Mini board games
Waterless hand cleaner	Soap	Shampoo	Toothpaste/toothbrush	Diapers and wipes
Laptop	Hair care (for the girls)	2 favourite CD’s (each)	2 Favorite movies (each)
Clothing
Beanie and gloves and warm socks	Rain gear (coat, pants, hat, boots)	Boat shoes	Clothes pins	Sunglasses
Sunhats (Tilley)	Chuck Rubbermade	Mom Rubbermade	Dad Rubbermade	Buddy Boy Rubbermade
Rubber gloves/work gloves for anchor chain etc.
Ashore
Backpack or fanny packs	Stroller (umbrella)	Baby Backpack	Walking Sticks
Fishing
Minnow Trap	Fillet knife	Fishing poles	Tackle box	Fishing license
Landing Net

Looks like maybe SWMBO and I should plan a shopping trip...

Whatever you spot that I may have forgotten - post a comment to remind me. Its a long walk home for a cheese grater.

One Fine Pig.

2009-07-16T07:27:00.001-04:00

Maybe you have never been to a pig roast. Maybe you have never combined the three key elements of manhood (Fire, meat, alcohol) into a daylong orgy of the senses, or maybe you wish you could but you need an excuse. If that's the case, you should join a sailing club, become the social dude, and put a beast roast on the schedule.

Really roasting a pig has very little to do with sailing, but its fun, can be done at the marina, and I put it on the sailing club schedule, so it qualifies for the Iris blog. Besides, I left the pig alone long enough to sail a race, so it has to count as a sailing adventure.

This was not my first pig roast, but it had been a few years since I had done one. In the time between I had moved and rules had changed, but the key elements were still the same.

There are only 3 ingredients to a successful pig roast.

A pig
Fire
Alcohol

And the recipe is pretty is pretty simple:

Start the fire
Rotate the pig over it
Drink alcohol

Once either the pig or the alcohol is done, its time to eat. If you are drunk enough you won't care how the pig is cooked, and if you still have some booze once the pig's cooked, then you have something to wash the meat down with.

The thing I messed up with on this roast was the timing. Previously the roasters I had used were open-topped. This one was a big kettle that sealed shut. Since it sealed shut the pig cooked in half the time I had expected. Dinner was scheduled for 5:00 PM, but Wilbur (you should always name your pig) was cooked by 1:30.

What can you do with the extra 3.5 hours? Get more alcohol would be a good thing, but instead, I stood around worrying. We took the pig off the roaster and covered it to keep flies away, and while we waited I paced, wrung my hands, and acted like things were perfectly fine. It was pointed out to me that you can't really screw up a pig roast, so I calmed down long enough to set up tables and get the serving area laid out as guests started to arrive.

Then I put Wilbur back on the roaster for 10 minutes just to warm him back up. Not long after going back over the fire Wilbur showed his "fall off the bones" goodness by breaking in half. Yup, just behind his head, same spot as last time. Good thing I had secured him to the spit at multiple points.

We took him off the fire, slid him onto the table and then the skipper from Newfie Screach and I sliced the meat away from the carcass.

Dinner was a great success. The members of the sailing club brought every kind of bread and salad you can imagine to go with the meat, and there were half a dozen different kinds of pie, cakes, and cookies for dessert.

We were lucky with the weather too. The rain held off until everyone was done dinner, and then poured. It helped with the cleanup. You've never seen folks run so fast to get things put away.

All in all it was a great event. And in the words of Charlotte, Wilbur was Terrific!

More High Tech Stuff

2009-07-15T07:01:00.002-04:00

Ok its not rocket science, its a fishfinder.

Our depth sounder has been notoriously unpredictable since we first launched the boat. It is great for locating weeds, and lets us know (with some accuracy) if the bottom is between 20 and 60 feet down. Anything deeper, and the depth sounder reads zero. Anything shallower, and I don't trust it since it oscillates between zero and an accurate reading.

Hardly ideal.

The depth sounder is the only SR Mariner instrument we haven't had rebuilt. SR has done a great job on all the gauges, but I don't have the cash on hand to get this last one rebuilt before heading to G-Bay. G-bay has some very interesting rock formations that are better admired with things other than the keel.

In the basement I had a fishfinder that I had been meaning to install forever.

Last week during my bouts of disease I installed the fishfinder, and now a week into operation I am duly impressed. The fishfinder does some cool stuff.

It finds fish (whoda thunk!)
It finds the bottom of the lake (my slip is between 5 and 6 feet deep!)
It warns if the bottom is less deep than it oughta be. (BEEP!)
It warns you if the house batteries are dying (BEEP!)
It tells you the water temperature (Ok, since I mounted the sensor inside the hull, it tells you the hull temperature, but lets not get picky)
It gives me more buttons to push (I like pushing buttons)

While Judi and I were racing at the Women's race the other day, I spent a lot of time playing with the fishfinder. At one point there were about 30 fish under the boat! Judi told me that putting out a trolling line would slow down the boat, but it looked like we had hit the motherload. I gotta get out there with a fishing pole.

Installing the fishfinder was surprisingly easy. In fact there are only 3 steps to it:

Solder the power wires to a power source. Since the fishfinder needs to be near the companionway, and the radio needs to be near the companionway, that one is a no brainer, they are both on the "accessories" switch on the panel as well, which makes sense to me.
Mount the transponder. Get a toilet bowl wax seal and find a good spot on the bottom of the boat. There is some debate as to what counts as a good spot. I chose right under the companionway, aft of the keel. Some guys say that you should mount it forward of the keel so you see what you are going to hit before you hit it, but I think I am happy with where it is located since the bow would bounce out of the water in heavy seas, causing the transponder to lose its reading. Besides my reflexes aren't up to the millisecond you would have to respond

Clean the hull, press the wax onto it, and press the transponder into the wax, ensuring that no air is trapped in the wax.
Find a good spot to screw the display on so you can monitor it while sailing. I chose the back of the lower hatchboard. I just flip the hatchboard around so its facing me, and I'm set to go. Plug all the wires in, and you will be finding fish in no time!

The only complaint I have with the electronics I've added is that the wires can be unruly. To that end I think I'll add a second 12V outlet to the boat so the GPS can be plugged in closer to the companionway. With that done, I think I can handle the setup as-is.

Am I an inland sailor?

2009-07-14T06:08:00.001-04:00

I often read derisive comments about inland sailors. You know, the ones who wouldn't know a cup of saltwater if they drank it, have never been run down by a ferry, and don't know the last thing about catching codfish. (I think you use old running shoes for bait, but I'm not sure on that).

I have also read all kinds of things about sailors who are "posers." The guys who walk around in sperry docksiders and can tell every difference between Gull foul weather gear and Gill foul weather gear , but can't tell the difference between a beam reach and being hove to. I would have a couple of lobster traps piled at the end of the driveway if SWMBO let me, does that make me a poser?

I am a lake sailor. The last time I sailed saltwater was about 20 years ago on a boat owned by the Canadian Navy. It was a wild ride, but that was 20 years ago, and I had no intention of taking up sailing.

My little boat sails my little lake and I'm happy. The lake takes about 4 hours to cross in any direction from my marina. In 4 hours you can get some incredible weather. I've ploughed through waves as high as my mast on my little lake, and I've sat and baked for hours, but I've always been able to fire up the outboard and be home in, well, 4 hours.

View Larger Map

Now a lot of salty sailors I know have never gone on a 4 hour sail. They go daysailing to a nice anchorage and drop the hook, then they sail back. The round trip is less than 4 hours. The nearest reasonable anchorage I know of on our little lake is... yup you guessed it, 4 hours away. And after you've sailed that far, you have earned your bottle of wobbly pop. Sure we have a beach that we sail to about 30 minutes from the slip, but you can't anchor and have lunch there - its way too exposed.

We have 2 ferries on our lake, but I have never crossed paths with them. Seems to me you'd be pretty dumb to, and besides, the water is too shallow where they cross. Why do people play chicken with ferries anyway? As for being run down by big boats, well some of the "Carverminiums" on our lake are pretty brutal. I wonder if container ships have the same respect for sailors as drunk rich guys who think that when it comes to wake, more is better.

I think the closest I can come to "real" sailing would be to leave the lake and see new water. This summer we will do just that. Exactly a month from today, I should be leaving the Trent Canal and entering Lake Huron. Georgian Bay to be exact.

View Larger Map

Now G-Bay is not salt water. And there are no tides, but there will be the traffic and anchorages and buoyed channels. There will be navigation by sense of smell and chartwork and wide open water ahead with who knows what beneath. The thought of the trip makes me antsy with excitement and nervousness and all those good things that adventure should do.

Before we head out to The Bay I need to make a few minor modifications to the boat. I need a tether point for Buddy Boy. I think I need to upgrade our GPS (not sure though). I need to repair some leaks and find some stowage and buy some foul weather gear. And I need to make sure that everyone on the trip is equipped to enjoy it.

And then while sipping *Insert Drink Here* in some hidden anchorage with nothing but stars above me and stars below me, my arm around SWMBO and the kids asleep; I'll know the difference between being a sailor on my little lake and being a sailor on a Great Lake.

And the fishes that swim beneath us will be the same. And the granite we sail past will still be gneiss, and the boats that sail past will be bigger, but they'll still be filled with sailors who are doing the real thing, not talking about it. And we will laugh and swim and pound through big waves and drift and smile.

And those guys who are the salty sailors will still be sitting at their keyboards saying they are better than us inland sailors. But I'll be doing what I love, and I won't be reading what they type, and maybe thats better.

Enjoy your keyboards guys.

Ladies at the Helm.

2009-07-13T10:32:00.002-04:00

I went to a pig roast and a regatta broke out.

I told SWMBO that I wouldn't be racing on Saturday. She wasn't very interested in the Ladies at the helm race that our club was putting this past Saturday, and without SWMBO, I couldn't very well enter Iris in the race. Instead I organized a Pig Roast so that when the ladies got in we could offer them dinner.

Rain was in the forecast. There was a wind warning on the lake.

I got up early with speared pig in hand and headed to the marina. Who wants to go sailing in the wind and rain anyway.

Got the fire going under the pig and looked at the lake. The wind looked good. The rain didn't look like we would get hit hard. I went back to watching the pig turn on the spit. Then a volunteer showed up to do the cooking. Then another.

I went back to Iris to do some chores while other folks cooked for me.

Talk on the dock was that a lady was looking for a helm. The lady turned out to be Judi. Judi has sailed Iris before. I suggested she just take the boat and see how things went. Judi wasn't about to go sailing on my boat without me. Then Tim said he would step in if help was needed on the pig roast.

Judi took the helm, and we were racing.

4 boats entered the race. Ourselves, Newfie Screach, Tecumseh and Moonshadow. Since we were a last minute entry, there were no tactics and no planning, just go sail. Judi is able to handle Iris like its her own boat. and she does a good job with her.

We got to the start line right behind Newfie, and worked to keep him in our sites throughout the race. At the start we were ahead of Tecumseh and Moon Shadow. About halfway to the the first mark we were passed by Tecumseh, but didn't pay it much attention because she has a much higher handicap than we do. For the rest of the race we tried to hold our position against Newfie and Tecumseh, and did a pretty good job.

The wind was just about perfect, strong enough that the boats kept moving, but not over powering, and it felt good to be out on the water. We never got the rain. In just a little over an hour, the race was done, and I apologised to Judi, but we had to get back to the pig right away. I had to be sure the cooking was going well.

We sailed back to our slip, and I ran to check on things. While I was away, Judi packed up the boat, and put everything away! Holy cow, she's hired! in the end we placed 2nd in the race, tied with Tecumseh. Not bad for a last minute entry!

Weekend Update (Not from SNL)

2009-07-09T10:33:00.001-04:00

I have been remiss in not updating here in a whole week. This is a brief update:

Friday July 3rd: An amazing sail from SGA to Lagoon City. Made this trip an hour faster than expected without ever bothering to raise the jib. Winds were strong out of the southwest and pushed Iris across the lake at 5.5 knots all the way. SWMBO met me at LCYC where we spent the night along with Tabasco and her crew. Felt a tickle in the back of my throat and tried treating it with the best medicine available. Appleton’s Extra Old Stock.

Saturday July 4th: Said buh-bye to SWMBO and Buddy as they headed home, then sailed to an anchorage. White caps were all around on the lake and the winds were a steady 25 knots. Under main and 60% storm jib did hull speed and above all the way from LCYC to Snake Island where we planned to anchor out. We were met on the way by Dolce Vita who came to anchor with us. We rafted the boats together and set about relaxing. The anchorage was a bad choice as we were buzzed by jet skis, fishing boats, water-skiers, tubers, tour boats, cottagers, Carver-miniums and every other watercraft imaginable. Eventually the wake from a passing boat busted one of the lines I was tied to Tabasco with. The tickle in my throat progressed to a scratch, which I treated with more of the same medicine (Appleton's). We broke up the raft and headed to JP, an hour’s sail away where we tied the boats into their slips. Had dinner and went home. Felt a little gunky.

Sunday July 5th: Woke up with definite cough. Being manly I tried to ignore it. Went to boat and installed fish finder. Felt awful. Went home and to bed. Treated cough with unmanly real medicines from the drugstore.

Monday July 6th: Deathly ill. Never left my bed. SWMBO offered TLC. She must love me after all.

Tuesday July 7th: Repeat of Monday’s performance, but not quite as deathly ill.

Wednesday July 8th: Returned to work. OMG email is overfilled, work is backlogged. I may never catch up.

Home again, Home again...

2009-07-02T18:30:00.000-04:00

After the driving rain in LSIS Race #4, I wasn't sure about sailing home. The Volvo was sitting at the marina where I was, and the van was sitting at our home marina. Whether I sailed home or drove home it would work out the same.

I dropped off Judi and looked at the sky. It was cloudy everywhere. The rain was still coming down, the wind was quite strong, I thought about the car, I thought about the rain. I didn't want to pay to store the boat here until I could get back. Cheapness won out. I decided that since the weather was crappy I would just motor home.

After thanking Judi for her help at the races, I nosed Iris out of the marina, and into the wind on Cook's Bay. The motor chugged merrily along and the clouds cover went from dense to patchy. I decided to hoist the mainsail to help things along.

With the main up I was sailing quite nicely on a beam reach. Hmmm. Maybe I should let the genoa fly as well... Then I shut off the engine.

Iris jumped from 5.5 knots to 6 when I pulled up the engine, and for the rest of the sail back to JP we skimmed across the lake. This was her victory lap after a great weekend. We flew the length of Cook's bay, between Fox and Snake Islands, and all the back to JP at 6 knots. Pretty good. As we came out from between the islands I adjusted course to close hauled, and sat up on the high side to take a look around. It was perfect sailing weather. The wind had stayed when the rain left, and the sun even peeked through every now and again.

Iris ate up the miles back to JP. As we went I could see Tabasco and Blue Sky and Moonshadow sailing up ahead. I would be the last boat back, but that was OK. I was tempted just to stay out and play in the wind and waves.

by the time I was back in my slip, word had spread about the Saturday race, and I had folks congratulating me all around. It felt good. I went aboard Moonshadow for a quick lunch, then got help from a few other folks to button up Iris so I could get to Chuck's birthday party.

That was when I realized that SWMBO had the keys to my van. I had 2 choices. 1. Sail back to Cook's Bay, and drive the Volvo home. This would take hours, but be a load of fun. 2. Get a ride home and trade the Volvo keys for the van keys. Tabasco's skippers offered to drive me home to get my keys.

I unlocked the house, threw my keys on the table, and grabbed the spare key to the van, then got Tabasco's skipper to drive me back to the marina. At the marina I jumped into the van, and drove back home - I would quickly change and shower at the house, then meet the family at the birthday party.

All in a rush, I ran from the van to the front door and slammed into it. OUCH! The sucker was locked. I pulled out my keys, and... the spares only had keys for the vehicle, no house keys. All the doors were locked. I took a quick look at the second storey window that was open, and decided that I would save falling off ladders for another day.

I drove to the birthday and arrived soaking wet from the rain I had sailed through. What an intro. Everyone got to hear about the weekend races. Oh, and I arrived just as the cake was being served. Perfect timing!

LSIS #4 - Racing Like We're Racing Pt. 2

2009-07-01T08:16:00.005-04:00

Sunday dawned with dead calm air and rain in the forecast. LSIS #4 looked like it was going to be a bomb. Around breakfast everyone was wondering if there would be a race. We had our yogurt and bagels, and joined the glum faces at the skippers meeting.

The race committee shared the instructions and gave a reminder about safety gear and the need to be sure everything was right on your boat before heading out. It was a grim reminder of the events the day before. Folks all nodded; a few who hadn’t heard the news gasped, and then we went to race.

At the marina we had formed a raft of about 12 boats jammed into the space allotted for 5, so it took some time for the raft to break up and get out of the marina. Because of our great results the day before, we were the second last boat out of the raft. One of the boats leaving the marina ahead of us got stuck in the channel and held things up a little longer. Sometime between the skippers meeting and the raft breaking up, the rain front arrived.

At first the rain was falling nearly straight down, but it didn’t take long for it to start slanting, and the wind continued to build. It was the sort of strong, steady breeze that Lake Simcoe is famous for not having. It was perfect for racing sailboats.

In a repeat performance of Saturday’s pre-start, we headed for the wrong spot on the lake looking for the start line, and then found it just in time to start with the fleet. Judi set the timer, and we got our position set. We were going to be early to the line, so we pulled a donut, and got positioned. Icarus, who we were sailing against, came around us as we circled. I’m not sure what he was doing, but he went to the back of the fleet before turning back to the line.

We approached the race start with speed, right on time. To our windward side was I Am Canadian, leeward Newfie Screach was up higher on the line. I pushed Canadian up as high as I dared, and tried to push him over, but it didn’t work well. Eventually I gave up and just drove my own race, leaving him to his own devices. In a heartbeat we had passed Canadian, and were off to the first race mark, Newfie trailing right behind us.

The wind was blowing strong and steady as we rounded the mark, and I was looking forward to a good reaching leg, but as soon as we rounded, the boat wanted to round up.

I held her as long as I could, but then she rounded up even herder. It was a battle to hold the boat, and Newfie was getting past us.

I pulled back harder, feeling the tiller flex in my hands, and the boat rounded up again. I decided that maybe a reef would be a good idea.

Judi took the tiller while I put a reef in the main, and the boat settled down. Trouble was that now we were only doing 5.5 knots while Newfie was doing 6 and clearly getting away from us. We were holding our position against Canadian though.

At the top of the reaching leg we had a lot of time to make up on Newfie. As we rounded the mark to run down to the windward leg, I shook out the reef, and worked the jib to maximize our drive. It would be tough to catch Newfie.

For the rest of the race we followed Newfie around the course. We got close to him, but never passed, and as we approached the second reaching leg I talked to Judi about reefing again.

“Let me show you a trick” she said, and I became the student.

Sailing is a game of inches, but I tend to think in miles. Judi took the mainsheet and played it out an inch at a time until the sail was on the verge of collapsing. Doing this allowed the sail to drive the boat forward without the wind pushing it over and rounding it up. All along the reaching leg Judi played the sail out for the gusts, and drew it in when the wind eased off. I had learned this in sailing school, but had let the lesson slide. Now it came back. It worked. The second time around the course, the boat never rounded up at all.

Throughout the race the rain pelted us, but the winds were perfect. The water that splashed up from the lake was warm, but the rain was cold. Every “ying” had its “yang” and all in all it balanced out to a great race.

We finished the race in second place, 3 minutes behind Newfie. I think we lost those 3 minutes when I was fighting the tiller and rounding up. Next race, I’ll have another weapon, and maybe I’ll be able to catch him.

Right now we are first overall in LSIS White Sail High PHRF division. We'll have to keep holding off Canadian and Newfie if we are going to maintain our position.

Course and Stats to be edited in later.

LSIS Race 4 Stats:
Distance Covered: XX.X Statute Miles (Slip to Slip)
Time on course: 1:39:14
Corrected time: 1:29:04
Time out of 1st Place (Corrected Time): 0:04:19
Iris was on course 5.09% longer than the first place boat.

LSIS #3 - Racing Like We're Racing, Pt. 1

2009-06-30T13:47:00.005-04:00

You just can’t do that in a Catalina 25…

This post could also be called “Feeling like a 15 year old boy caught in a sorority pillow fight,” but I don’t think SWMBO would approve of that title.

Saturday’s race was… amazing. I’m not sure where to start, so I’ll go from the beginning. The beginning was around 6:30 AM when I woke up and reluctantly dragged myself out of bed.

Last year in this race I had hit long shoal, blown multiple tacks, and ended up so far back from the leaders in the race that the committee boat has radioed to me to verify that I was still racing. As I pulled my clothes on and drove to Barrie, I was expecting a repeat performance, hopefully minus finding the bottom of the lake.

I had no crew, the boat’s rig was nicely tuned, but her interior was a shambles from the late night sail to Barrie, and I was groggy from Chucks Birthday party that had kept me up until the wee hours of the morning. I parked the car, went and unlocked the boat, and drove it from the Government docks across to the Barrie Municipal marina where the skippers meeting was scheduled to take place an hour later.

While milling about waiting for the meeting and enjoying breakfast, I met up with Tabasco’s skipper. Apparently she had extra crew who would be willing to sail on Iris with me if I needed a hand. I tried to hold back the smile. This was great news! I was worried about exhaustion after my late night, and extra hands would definitely be a good thing.

Judi came aboard and lent a hand putting new split rings into the turnbuckles, then stowed her gear and got familiar with the boat. She was easy going and fun to talk to. It was going to be a good day on the water. With loads of experience, Judi would able to take over if I needed a rest, and she would be able to offer tips to help us go faster. We strolled over to the skippers meeting and got the race instructions.

There would be an upwind start across the Barrie waterfront, and then the fleet would turn and beam reach down K-Bay to big Bay Point. From there we would sail south into Cook’s Bay, and end the race just outside of Kon-Tiki Marina. Everything was the same as last year. I told Judi about my concerns with long shoal, and she agreed that we should make sure we were clear of it. Then we started the outboard, got away from the dock, and headed out into K-Bay.

Before the race there was some confusion with where the start line was, but eventually we figured out which boat was the committee boat, and which mark was the start mark. I hear a car honk faintly on shore, and then saw the spin fleet turn toward the start line.

“Judi, did you just hear a horn?”

“I’m not sure, I think I heard something”

“It looks like the spinnaker fleet is starting.”

We sailed over closer to the start, worked our way into the pack, and got close to “Blue Sky,” another boat from our home fleet.

“Do you have the start time?” I asked.

“Yup,” the skipper called back, “On my mark its 2 minutes to start… MARK!”

I didn’t have our timer in hand, so his mark didn’t help much. About 30 seconds later I found myself fumbling with the timer trying to figure out how much time had passed. I looked at Judi and said “We’ll just follow him.”

Following Blue Sky was a great idea. He had a great start, and we were just below him on the line, in the first wave of boats over. 100 meters later, a little green Tanzer 22 just ahead of us, Newfie Screach was hunting us from behind and “I am Canadian” one of our fiercest competitors was right by us. It was a tight pack.

As we moved along, the Tanzer was causing me trouble. He was dead ahead, and I didn’t want to be in his draft, but the wind was gusty, so passing to his windward side would be difficult since he could round up in a gust and hit us. Passing to leeward was tactically a bad choice, but would give me more control of my boat, and less concern about his. I decided to pass to leeward.

As we came alongside the little boat he started bearing off the mark, and diving a lot lower than I would have liked. I let the boat slow a little, and then tacked behind him, aiming for the mark that would start the reach along K-Bay to big bay point.

I don’t remember what boats were around us when we reached the mark. I do know that hot on our heels was Newfie Screach and I Am Canadian. The little green Tanzer was close by as well. Ahead of us we could see Tabasco, Blue Sky, and My Excuse. Ahead of them was the spinnaker fleet.

As we sailed up K-Bay, it was hard to decide where to go. The wind was patchy, and at some points the near shore winds were strongest, while at others the mid-lake winds were better. We passed and got passed as we worked up the bay, trading places with some boats as many as 3 or 4 times.

Eventually we were ahead of most of the boats we had started with. Blue Sky and Tabasco were ahead, and the spin fleet ahead of them. Not sure of where the winds would be best any more, we decided to follow the spin fleet, and cut across the bay on a long angle. Off our port side the green Tanzer was staying closer to the north shore of the bay, and we marked our time against them. Newfie was behind us a fair ways, but he would surge ahead whenever he hit good wind. We couldn’t guard our lead, and just hoped we were sailing in the strongest wind.

Ahead of us, Railin was sailing close to shore and seemed to be doing well, so we followed over to where he was. Suddenly we realized he had stopped moving and was sitting still. Up ahead at Big Bay point, most of the spin fleet was sitting with slack sails. Close in to shore Tabasco and Blue Sky were fending off each other, drifting with no wind. It looked like the doldrums.

Judi and I had a brief discussion, and then decided to move out further from the shore and see if there was more wind away from the point. The little green Tanzer was becalmed, then put down his engine and turned to go home. Another boat followed him back to Barrie. Moving under 1 knot, we pressed on.

Eventually we built speed up to 2 knots, and turned toward the point again. Our speed was enough. We sailed between the becalmed boats. I asked Tabasco’s crew if this was the lunch stop, then we laughed, and moving at under a knot got clear of Big Bay point. We were in Lake Simcoe, and a different wind system.

Tabasco, Blue Sky, and a number of other boats were becalmed at big Bay point for over an hour. The spin fleet, ourselves, and 2 other white sail boats would get past the point, and form the lead group racing to the finish line. The second fleet, consisting of the boats that couldn’t escape the point would sail a completely different race.

As Iris cleared the point, Judi and I looked at each other in amazement. We were keeping up with the boats 2 classes ahead of us. You aren’t supposed to be able to do that in a Catalina 25.

We sailed southward along Lake Simcoe’s west shore and could see the spin fleet having definite problems just ahead of us. The wind was very patchy, and would blow in from a different direction with different intensities with every gust. Then it would disappear altogether, leaving you to drift on whatever momentum you had from the previous puff. Difficult conditions to set a spinnaker in.

We were the last boat in the pack, and the only boat in our class to have cleared the point. Although we were behind the pack, we were able to find a real advantage to our position. First we were sailing with boat a class ahead of us, second, they were flying spinnakers.

We began reading the wind by using the spinnakers.

The boats ahead of us were mostly grouped together, and we could see the chutes fall flat when the wind died, but more important, we could see which boats in the spin fleet kept going. By heading where those boats were and imitating their trim, we were able to maintain our position, and even gain on some boats. Some of the boats were having definite problems keeping their chutes flying properly since the wind was so inconsistent. Even those boats gave us hints though.

Eventually one of the boats in the spin fleet was definitely in trouble. His chute was streaming out horizontally from his masthead, and the boat spun downwind as the skipper, a friend who I knew was sailing single handed, tried to recover the sail. About 15 minutes later the skipper issued a pan pan stating that he had run aground, and couldn’t extract himself. His boat stayed aground for half an hour before a swell lifted him off and he sailed away.

Meanwhile we continued following the spin fleet deeper into Cook’s bay, wondering when the second fleet would appear from behind Big Bay Point. It would be quite some time. When the boats did appear, they were sailing east instead south since the wind that had filled in was from a different direction.

We continued into Cook’s bay, and eventually heard a pan pan issued from a second boat. Following this call, there was much confused discussion on the VHF. The boat had sunk. We weren’t sure what had happened, but the crew had been rescued and was on shore. Apparently everything had happened within minutes, and the rest of the fleet was trying to raise help.

We were too far away to be of assistance, and so continued on into the depths of the bay, keeping an eye on the spin fleet ahead of us. They were definitely getting away, but if we could just keep the boat at hull speed on the fresh, steady wind that had filled in, we would be fine. Judi and I kept knocking on wood and pinching ourselves since we couldn’t believe the results we were having.

We were the first boat in our division to cross the finish line.

The second place boat, Newfie Screach wouldn’t reach the line for nearly 45 minutes. Third place was almost an hour behind us.

I am elated with our win, it is definitely a high point. I can’t wait to get the flag. Somehow I need to pay Judi back for helping to get this.

On my club’s racing forum this message was posted lat night, it came as a surprise to me, but made me feel even more impressed with our win:

“Carl you are right Iris had the best corrected time on Saturday.
the best flying sail corrected time was 3:49:39 ( <-- Spinnaker fleet, race boats) the best white sail low was 3:44:01 ( <-- Big boats) Iris's corrected time was 3:32:30 !” ( <-- Little boat)

LSIS Race 2 Stats:

Distance Covered: XX.X Statute Miles (Slip to Slip)
Time on course: 3:56:44
Corrected time: 3:32:30
Time out of 1st Place (Corrected Time): 0:00:00
Iris was on course 0.00% longer than the first place boat.

Course to be edited in later…

LSIS #3 & 4 Pre-report

2009-06-29T09:28:00.004-04:00

This Post is about 80% hearsay, 15% speculation, and 5% eyewitness. Nonetheless it stands as a warning. I can't give a race report until I get this out of the way.

The sailing this past weekend was very interesting. 29 Boats started, one sank, one ran aground, and about 23 finished.

The start was interesting with good wind for about half an hour, reducing to inconsistent puff that would be the norm for the rest of the day. At one point there was no wind at all, and boats waited over an hour for the wind to fill back in. When the wind did fill in, the boats which had been becalmed so long felt a great need to get back into things and many choices were made that may be being regretted today.

A Pearson Flyer that was being single-handed in the spin fleet(gutsy) was having trouble with its chute. both spin sheets were lost, and the sail was flying out from the masthead. The skipper turned the boat downwind to try and recover the sail, but things didn't go as planned. by the time the skipper had recovered the sail, the boat had run aground.The skipper got on the radio and shared his predicament with the fleet, and then tried for the next half hour to get off the shoal, eventually freeing himself.

Whether this situation is related to the events that followed, I can't be sure. I do know that the Pearson was going downwind with main and jib when he ran aground.

The rest of the fleet was beam reaching - broad reaching in the shifty winds looking for "pockets of power" and struggling to keep going. When the winds filled in they were vehement, but just as quickly they would die off.

[Hearsay] An O'Day 32 was moving nicely under spinnaker in the region where the Pearson was when she hit bottom. The O'Day hit with such force that crew flew overboard.[/hearsay] The skipper called out a pan pan, and said he was taking on water and needed to recover crew.

[hearsay] Within 5 minutes, the O'Day was lost. [/hearsay]

She capsized, then turtled. When she was inverted in the water her keel was missing. It is believed that she hit a submerged object shearing the keel off. The only people who know for sure were not at the post race party. Everyone aboard the O'Day had on life jackets. They were recovered within minutes by a power-boater. 2 sail boats diverted from the race to lend assistance.

Scary lessons:
1. Coast Guard never replied to the pan pan.
2. The local police boats never came to the scene until half an hour later (not sure of exact time).
3. No one is sure what was hit, or even if anything was hit. It may have been a shoal shown on the charts, it may not have been. The keel may have simply fallen from the boat. There were no buoys in the area.

Blessings, preparation, what have you.
1. No lives were lost. Everyone aboard was wearing a life jacket.
2. The skipper was sober, he isn't much of a drinker (this is speculation but from his character he isn't the type to be drinking out there.)
3. The power-boater - who didn't have a VHF - recognized what was happening and immediately came to help. His boat had low freeboard and a swim platform making recovery easier than had it been a sailboat.

You can take your own lessons from this. When we got back to the marina at the end of the race, most of the fleet was checking their keel bolts. Many are looking into better mapping software for their GPS's. SWMBO is more convinced than ever that the boat is unsafe for the kids.

Iris was too far ahead of this boat to help, in fact we only got portions of the chatter on the VHF. I'll post my race report on my blog once I get everything processed in my head.

A great sail to Barrie...

2009-06-26T15:12:00.002-04:00

I got to the harbour last night just in time to see the last of our club's racers leave for the start line of the Thursday night series race. One of our members was patching the fibreglass on our sailing school boats. I rigged Iris and headed out past the breakwall. This would be my second passage to Barrie this summer, and I expect there will be at least a few more.

just at the end of the breakwall, I hoisted sail, nosed the boat into the wind and switched off the outboard. The light breeze was just enough to push the boat to a 5° heel, and the water gurgled nicely under the transom. It was going to be a heavenly sail.

I watched the racers start their race, and saw "Blue Sky" and "Tecumseh" head out in front of the pack. Not far behind them Tabasco was leading the rest of the fleet. I was on a course to cross the fleet at the windward mark, and I held my course watching them get closer. It was fun to be in the spectator's seat for the race.

Soon I was close to the pin, so I bore off letting the racers cross ahead of me, and then hardened back up aiming for K-Bay. As I travelled, the wind seemed to die off incrementally so that my speed and distance to K-Bay always worked out to 1-1/2 hours no matter how close I got. 6 miles out I was cruising at 4 knots. 5 miles out I was doing 3-1/2 knots. 4 miles away, I was down to 2.5 knots. I was enjoying myself though so I sat back, enjoyed a cold drink, and watched the ripples move across the lake.

While I was sailing Chuck and SWMBO were out shopping for summer toys. Chuck was getting a new bike, SWMBO was buying bathing suits. Once the stores closed they were going to come and meet me at the municipal marina in Barrie. Of course they didn't care how slow or fast this trip was going, and I didn't care how long they spent shopping. Everyone would have a great night.

As I finished my drink, the sun began to set. It wasn't a magnificent sunset, but it beat work, and I thought it was nice. then it started to cool off. Then I realized the time.

This time of year, the sun sets around 9:30 or 10:00. The stores close at 9:00. It would take SWMBO 1 hour to reach Barrie from the mall. I was still 2 hours from the municipal marina if I was travelling at hull speed. The wind was moving me away from the entrance to K-bay. If I kept sailing, I would get to Barrie around 2:00AM.

Uh-Oh.

I pulled the ripcord and started the engine. The throttle failed (again) but its gotten to be second nature to fix, so I fixed it (again), and even managed to do it while the engine was running. Soon I was in the mouth of K-Bay making my way toward the city of Barrie. The night deepened as I went, and eventually the glow from the setting sun gave way to a sliver of moon and a myriad of stars. The lake is really beautiful on a clear night.

I set the throttle on the outboard at 5.8 knots, just below hull speed, and let the engine push us into Barrie. In short order I had the sails down and the cover on the mainsail. Then I got out the docklines and fenders and got them ready for deployment.

the wind was right on the nose of the boat all the way down the bay, and after I was done readying the boat for docking, I grabbed a blanket from the quarter berth and wrapped my legs in it. Shorts were a bad idea for a night outing.

About 2 hours after firing up the outboard I was in the bottom of K-Bay with the BYC entrance beacon flashing beside me. I continued past it, keeping to the right of the city's lights laid out up ahead. Every now and then I scanned the shore and the water ahead with my spotlight, partly to see if there were any obstructions, and partly in case SWMBO was up there waiting for me. I was just over an hour late.

As I closed in on the harbour, a car on shore started flashing its headlights every now and then. I guessed that must be SWMBO. I guessed right.

Soon I found the beacon for the breakwall, throttled down and eased my way into the harbour. I found an open dock next to a floating condo, docked, tied off, and set straight to work putting everything away. SWMBO was there in no time.

Apparently their shopping trip had gone overtime (Wal-Mart is 24 hours) and she was afraid that I was waiting for her when she arrived. In the end she had only been waiting for me for about 1/2 hour. Lucky.

Now that the boat was tucked in, tied off, and pretty much secured, I climbed into the van and our very sleepy family headed home. 12:30 is too late on a weeknight! Today I spoke with Eric who lives in Barrie, and he will be stopping by through the day to check on Iris and make sure she's OK. Tomorrow morning, we're off to the races...

A Second Voyage to Barrie

2009-06-25T10:43:00.002-04:00

It looks like we will be moving Iris to Barrie tonight in preparation for the next LSIS race. Tonight is also race night at our home club. This presents a tough decision. Do I race the home fleet, and then head to Barrie, and hope that I get home before midnight, or do I skip the home race and just go to Barrie.

I'd like to do the race first so that I get another shot at improving tacking angles, fine tuning things, and prepping the boat for the big event, on the other hand, the time that would be spent racing could be spent dockside, tinkering.

On the other hand, once I get to Barrie and call SWMBO to come drive me home, I will have about an hour to fine tune things on the boat. Maybe the best plan is to race at home, sail across, and then tinker while I wait for SWMBO.

Its a tough decision.

LSIS #3 & #4 KBYC to Cook's Bay

2009-06-24T18:22:00.000-04:00

The next 2 races in the Lake Simcoe Interclub Series are this coming weekend. I haven't quite figured out how I will make my calendar work for them, but I have to be there.

Friday night, Chuck is having some friends over for a sleepover. SWMBO would appreciate support in caring for the girls, and I don't blame her. That means tha tI have to get Iris to Barrie either on Thursday night, or very early on Saturday morning, or "hire" someone to deliver her for me.

So far I don't have any crew so going over extremely early on Saturday would be difficult since it will be a long day of racing. Going up on Thursday and leaving the boat there makes the most sense so far. If that fails I'll have to find a delivery skipper, and I've never tried doing that before. Whichever way it goes, it could get hectic in the hours right before the race.

I should really get down to the marina sometime between now and th eweekend and clean the boat out to be ready for the race.

Messing about in Boat

2009-06-23T17:53:00.001-04:00

After the Mayor's cup on Saturday I thought it would be fun to play around with the start/finish pin, so I hovered nearby until I was sure that all the boats were off the course, and then I tried different approaches to "recover" the pin.

The first few attempts were a standard MOB recovery. Sail off for a few seconds, then tack around and approach on a close-hauled course, stalling the boat out as the pin came alongside. I found that using this approach, I usually stalled out early, and stopped the boat when the pin was just off the bow, then drift away from it.

After this I tried coming up on the pin on a broad reach, and releasing the sails as I came alongside. This way, I could Vane the boat away from the pin or toward it by releasing one sail or the other (release the main, and the jib would push the front of the boat away from the wind, release the jib and the main would do the opposite) Using this technique, I could get really close to the pin, but control was pretty poor, although the drift was slow enough that I could snag the pin with a boat hook.

My last attempts were coming at the pin with the wind behind me. Using this approach, it was only possible to dump wind from the jib by allowing it to blow out in front of the boat, and the main would keep driving the boat forward. I could sheet the main on centre, but it still wanted to catch the wind somewhat, and this technique was really poor.

It was a good way to spend half an hour, and let me see the way different things on the boat worked under different circumstances. I felt it was time well spent. By the time I was done, playing , the boat was a mess of lines and sails, but I didn't much care since I had the pin on board and was headed to my slip. I sailed into the harbour entrance, dropped the sails in a heap, and slid toward my slip.

Someone called from the main dock that I was trailing lines, which I appreciated and I cleaned things up before starting the outboard and motoring into my spot. On the way I called out to have some skilled help bring me in since I had no fenders out.

I was surprised by the reaction when I reached the slip. One of the more advanced racers in the marina confronted me with:

"What the f*&k was that s$#tshow out there? You trying to embarrass the lot of us?"

"Pardon?"

"That was a f*%^ing disgrace. You should be out of the f&^$%ing club"

Apparently I had endangered lives and embarrassed the club by messing about beyond the break wall and then coming in under sail. This sailor thought I was lucky not to have hit another boat. I was more than a little taken aback.

When I pointed out that in returning to the marina I never lost way, and had complete control of the boat all the way in, and no boats had come or gone from the marina since the race, the other sailor had no response, but the whole reaction really surprised me.

In my opinion, the very best place to learn your boat is within sight of the marina. If I had endangered anyone that particular afternoon, the only person that would have been affected was myself. If I ever get stuck out there with an engine failure, I now know I can sail into the harbour. If I lose a crew overboard, I know what points of sail to approach from and how my particular boat will react. I know how long I can hold the nose of the boat on a point before she will fall off, and how quickly I can pull the tight circle to get back to a point after falling off it.

If I am an embarrassment to the club, so be it. I think I'm a better sailor for taking the time to mess about.

Racing in the Rain

2009-06-22T19:07:00.005-04:00

The Mayor’s cup was this past weekend. As noted in my previous email, it was a Pursuit race, so I got a head start on all of the fleet except 1 boat. I had spent a respectable amount of time playing with the rig on iris before hand, and was trying to capitalize on that. The mast was in column, aft lowers loose, and forestay slack. Things were tensioned to a hand feel of “about right,” and I had the course and wind pretty much down.

The downside was that I was sailing alone, and really could have used a spare set of hands, especially on the downwind leg of the race. No worries though, I was working with what I had available, and this was a fun race, it didn’t count toward any kind of championship at all. Because the race was just a fun race, I put up our cruising genoa rather than the racing one.

I circled the start a couple times, watched “Newfie Screach” start ahead of me, and then took my turn with “About Time” and “Desiree” starting right behind me.

The Start of the race was just off the marina breakwall, and there was good wind there, but the headland that protects our marina makes a definite wind block. About 100 yards after the start, all momentum was lost until we cleared the windshadow of the point.

The winds were behind the fleet from the point all the way to the island that served as the only marker in the race. The trouble was that they were coming from different angles, and would switch from being dead astern, to astern from port, astern from starboard, and always at the wrong angle to the boat.

I watched Newfie slowly slipping away, but I was getting ahead of About Time and Desiree. Then the big boats started, and Desiree did something very clever. Rather than messing with gybing the boom back and forth on the wind shifts, she took off for the north side of the island, running a hot angle, and gaining on the rest of the fleet. In short order she was ahead of everyone, and doing great.

Meanwhile Newfie had stalled out in a dead spot up alongside the island, and Tabasco had caught up to me. The crew on Tabasco and I were having a pleasant conversation across the water when The radio crackled.

“Sail Georgina Fleet, this is Desiree”

I looked over at Tabasco. “Do you guys want to get that, or should I?”

“Get what? Nothing came across our radio!”

I picked up my handset and replied.

“Desiree, this is Iris, go 11”

Desiree had hailed the fleet on channel 16 which is an emergency and hailing channel, and shouldn’t be used for conversations. I was moving the conversation to channel 11 which is a better spot to chat. Desiree answered back:

“Iris, this is Desiree, our radio doesn’t have 11. Can you go 26?”

“Desiree, this is Iris, going 26”

I switched the radio over, knowing that channel had a special designation, but not able to remember what it was. We were met on 26 by the Coast Guard.

“Desiree, Desiree, Desiree, this is Prescott Coast Guard. You are on a duplex channel and the other vessel will not hear your transmissions.”

I turned the radio back to 16 back there Desiree hailed again, and gave along winded explanation of his situation.

He had no charts on board, the mapping on his GPS was inadequate, and being in the lead, he didn’t know where to go. Which Island was Fox Island, the big one or the small one?

I radioed back that Fox was the island that Newfie Screach was just going behind and hung up my mike. I had no interest in carrying on a conversation on 16 and getting the coast guard telling me to shut up.

Desiree took off toward Newfie Screach, passed in front of him, and then took off in some bizarre direction.

Meanwhile Tabasco and I were talking back and forth and watched Newfie drifting around the island, being followed by a Viking 28 (Blue Sky?). Far behind us was another boat, “Little Bit.”

We made our way around the Island, and Desiree finally figured out where he should be, and changed course to follow Newfie Screach around. Tabasco and I continued to chat all the way around the island in a total drift match. We compared GPS speed and were envious whenever the other boat would get above 1.5 kts. There was a light drizzle in the air, and no heat from the sun, so although the going was slow, at least the weather was pleasant. It really stinks to drift in the heat of the day with swarms of bugs. I would rather have drizzle anytime.

All the way around the Island I stayed on the inside course where the wind was lighter, thinking the current should be stronger. This was a mistake. When we came out of the island’s wind shadow, Tabasco caught good wind about 15 minutes ahead of me, and took off like a shot. I finally got the wind in my sails, and at about the same time, the drizzle changed to rain. I put on my hood, hardened the sheets, and started my pursuit of the fleet. With only two boats behind me, I had a lot of catching up to do.

The wind was now quite steady, and I was able to get close to it on this upwind leg. I held a course, tacking as little as possible since each tack costs time, especially when travelling alone. The rain was quite heavy, and visibility would go from poor to bad. The rest of the boats would appear and disappear ahead of me through th erain and mist. I was quite happy with how the boat was performing. I was getting closer to the wind than I had previously, and my GPS was giving me happy thoughts. The only problem was the rain.

I was entirely soaked. The light drizzle earlier had worked through my outer clothes, and now the rain was getting into my under layers. I was shivering, and doing my best not to let the cold affect my performance. being alone I had no choice but to bear the conditions and continue on. The nice thing about sailing alone is that you have chances to try different things without endangering anyone. You also have no communication issues, and no one to blame but yourself.

Since all those things were with me, I experimented a little on this leg. I tried sheeting the genoa to the cabin top winches to get inside sheeting. It worked but the sheets needed a lead to prevent overrides. I also played around with weight placement, GPS settings and other stuff. It was a great day of testing tweaks to keep the boat moving faster toward the finish.

I was pretty sure that I was in last place as I ran this leg. About Time has new crew, and wouldn’t want to stick it out in the rain. Little Bit is new to her owner this year, and likely didn’t want to stick around for this either. I kept playing with tweaks, and having a great sail in the steady wind, and trying to ignore the rain.

On a southward tack the wind gusted, and sent the boat hard over. The speed jumped, my course held, and the rudder felt “just right.” It was amazing to feel the power of the wind move through the boat. Then I got another gust. And another. This was sailing!

I couldn’t keep the hood up on my raincoat anymore since the wind blew it off as soon as I put it on. Oh well, I was already soaked. Iris pulled hard and with the wind in our teeth we powered along. All of a sudden I could make out Desiree up ahead of me, sitting flat on her lines. I had wind, and she didn’t. Now it was a pursuit race! Could I beat her to the finish?

I held the good wind as long as I could then tacked northward back out into the lake. I needed to be precise in my next tack. Remembering the dead spot where the point blocks the wind, I would need to run out into the lake far enough that I could tack back in toward the harbour without getting caught. I would also have to watch Desiree to make sure that she didn’t do anything to alter my plans.

Desiree saw me, and she started coming out toward me. I was pretty sure I was ahead of her, but in a close tacking match, I am never sure, and the winds off the point could screw up everything in a heartbeat.

I held my course, lined up the point, lined up the finish, lined up Desiree, waited, watched, tweaked, and did everything I could to ensure that I would finish ahead of the other boat. Then it was time. Now!

I pulled the rudder hard over, drew the sails across the boat, and headed down to the finish. I had to hold the compass on a course of 180 degrees magnetic or better to clear the point and have a straight run at the finish line. I saw Desiree tack over. She was early and would have to throw in extra tacks to clear the point. I crossed ahead of her.

I cleared the finish line about 5 minutes ahead of Desiree, and saw About Time coming out of the rain under power. I was second last, but had a great day of sailing.

The most rewarding thing was that I was able to get the boat to hold a course nearly at 90 degrees on each tack. That is something that has never quite worked right for me before.

This weekend is LSIS #3 & #4. Looking forward to it!

Mayor's Cup Race
7 Boats Started
5 Boats finished
Iris: 4th Place
Course Sailed:

Race Predition: Doom and Gloom

2009-06-20T06:41:00.002-04:00

The Mayor's Cup race is this morning, and although I am trying to maintain my positive outlook on it and all that, but it isn't looking very pretty.

The race starts at our marina with a staggered start. We will likely be about the third or fourth boat to start. I can handle that. From the start it goes to Fox Island, a small island 6 miles from the marina. The boats are to go around the island, then come back to Jackson's Point.

According to sailflow, the first leg will be dead downwind. By the time the big boats start, we should be about 3/4 of the way done this leg. Forecast winds are to be very light at our start, building through the race. An advantage for the fast boats.

Second leg is about half a mile of beam reaching if Sailflow is right. According to sailflow the wind should rotate almost 180 deg. right around when we round the island, making it another run back to our marina. If that wind shift hits early or late, it could have a drastic effect on the race. I will have to watch for it.

By this time the big boats should be breathing down our neck.

If its wing on wing all the way back, then the best we can do is hull speed and we will not beat the planing boats. If the wind is late in shifting, or doesn't shift, then we will have some skill involved here. If this were a reaching race I would be much more optimistic since Iris does well on that point of sail.

The forecast is for 10mm of rain. Maybe some fair-weather folks will drop out. Tonight I'm going to loosen up the aft lowers and forestay. I need to be tuned for a day of running, and that means the mast needs to tip forward.

On the upside, SWMBO offered to crew for me. Not sure if that will stand if it rains, but I'm glad she offered. If the weather is miserable, I may encourage her to go swimming at the pool down the road or something.

Reefer is the Wrong Word.

2009-06-19T18:05:00.002-04:00

Last night SWMBO and I went to the harbour for some tinker-time. I hauled along the MOB pole, but the real goal was getting the reefing lines right.

Last season we put the reefing lines in, but only used them once. There were a number of occasions where to put a reef in the sail would have been the prudent thing to do, but the lines worked so poorly for us that we just didn’t bother.

Putting a reef in your mainsail does the same thing for the boat as putting a smaller jib up. It reduces the area of the sail that is exposed to the wind. If you go out sailing, say to Barrie, at night, in a storm, fearing what the high winds are going to do to you, a reef should be high on your to-do list.

Since there is less sail area up, the boat won’t heel as much, which means you will have better control of your course. It also means that if something does go wrong you have less sail to bring down, and less force to fight with the wind pushing the boat around.

A reef is supposed to be simple to put in, once the boat is properly rigged. On our boat, the reefing line goes from an attachment on the boom, up to a grommet at the back of the mainsail, then back down to a block on the boom. From that block, the line goes forward to another block at the front of the sail, then up through a second grommet at the front of the sail, and then down to the deck, coming back to the cockpit through the deck organizer and cleats that hold all our halyards.

When its time to put a reef in the sail, you release the halyard cleat, and let it out while pulling in on the reefing line. This gathers the bottom of the sail in around the boom, while sliding the top of the sail down the mast. Once the sail is lowered to the desired reefing point, some small shoelace sized line is used to secure the extra sail material to the boom, preventing it from catching the wind. You'll never guess what knot you use for this... yup a Reef Knot. Iris has 2 reefing points in her racing mainsail and one in her cruising mainsail making it possible for us to reduce our sail area from calm day full sail, to borderline weather reduced sail, to extreme weather tiny sail.

Basically a good reefing system converts our 2 mainsails into five different sizes. Combine this with our 5 choices of foresail, and we have a very versatile arrangement.

The trouble we had with our reefing lines last year were twofold. First they were incorrectly installed, and weren’t tested until needed. That was my fault. The second problem was that the blocks attached to the boom were too far forward for the sail to be properly positions when reefed. To remedy that we drilled new holes in the boom and moved the aft block further back on the boom by about a foot. I just eyeballed it, but when we tested reefing the sail in our slip, it looked a lot better, and everything worked really well.

Now we need some heavy weather to go test it. Next on the list will have to be installing the MOB pole.

Embracing Electronics...

2009-06-16T22:46:00.001-04:00

So a couple guys at work have got me thinking about tinkering with electronics, which is likely a good idea since all things electrical confound me.

For a first project, I’m thinking about patching together a countdown time for our race starts. The idea is to have 10 strips of LED’s that light up, one strip per minute for a 10 minute start, or 2 strips per minute for a 5 minute led.

If that works I may try to get super fancy, and have 10 LED’s per strip, such that for the last minute each led lights up individually, one LED each 6 seconds (10 minute start) or for the last 30 seconds, one LED each 3 seconds (5 minute start).

Now just to add a level of complication… I am thinking it may be cool to add in some music with a strong driving beat, positive message, and element of excitement. I’m thinking of this one, but I need to add 1:30 to the end of it for 10 minute starts, and chop time off it for a 5 minute start.

Any Ideas out there?? For the 10 minute I could add a countdown to the back end of it, but I'm not sure how it would sound. For the 5 minute, maybe I should find another shorter song.

Crud.

2009-06-15T18:36:00.000-04:00

So this past weekend we were at a wedding from Saturday through Sunday. No Sailing time at all. Before we left though, I slipped up to the marina on Friday to get in some rig tuning and a test sail.

The Friday sail was wonnerful, and after we got in, I went and talked with other folks around the marina, and hung out till after midnight. I figured SWMBO wouldn't mind since she was hosting a girlie thing at our house that involved white wine and macrame (or something like that).

Anyway, sometime after midnight, I realized how late it had gotten, so I stumbled down the dock, buttoned up Iris and headed for home.

Fast forward to Sunday dinner time when we got home from the wedding...

The phone rang about 1/2 hour after we got home. It was the Commodore of the sailing club... Apparently I left the VHF radio turned on full volume all weekend. Of course after midnight on Friday no one was talking on it, but through the rest of the weekend, everyone in the marina had to listen to the noise from my slip.

Oops. We made an emergency trip to the marina and shut it down - 2 days after it should have been shut off.

A different Kind of Race

2009-06-14T15:10:00.000-04:00

Iris is entered in "The Mayor's Cup Pursuit Race" from Jackson's Point on this coming Saturday (June 20, 2009). This annual race has a staggered start from the breakwall in front of the Jackson's Point Marina, then goes across the Georgina waterfront and circles Fox Island before returning to the Marina. This is a fun charity race, with proceeds going to the "Georgina Cares Fund" to sponsor sending less fortunate kids in camps and sports.

As Iris is one of the smaller boats entered in the race, we get a head start. Actually I think there will be 2 other boats that start ahead of us. The rest of the fleet will be released from the starting area according to each boat's PHRF rating (Performance Handicap Racing Fleet, or optimum speed rating for short). This is the only race of the year where the order of the boats finishing is actually the order for the trophies.

I am hoping to have 3 or 4 crew for this race again, but so far its just me single-handling the boat. If you are available to crew, please send me an email, phone call, or smoke signals.