Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Springtime Sailing
After our disappointing first attempts at sailing Tri-oomph we were hurting for some success. Our first sail after replacing the rudder (the second time) gave us that. It was sunny and there was a strong, steady wind. Tri-oomph has a knotometer that sometimes works and it told us we hit 12 knots with the gusts, while we were averaging around 9. I was standing on the upwind ama trying to keep the boat flat and it felt like flying. We just cruised out for about an hour and then came back, because it was pretty cold, but damn.
Weeeeee!
We also went sailing with Cody's brother Ross and his kid, Wyatt, who was about 2 1/2 at the time. I love Ross. Seriously, he's great. He's also super smart, and he definitely knows more about sailing than me. But, when he said, "Can I try?" and took the rudder out of my hand 2 minutes after I'd taken the helm I almost pushed him off the boat (I may have a slight tendency to overreact. Also, I don't share well with others - symptom of being an only child). Then Cody gave Wyatt our safety whistle, and if you've ever been around a 2 year old with a noise maker you'll know how that ended. It was a stressful day. But still, we love taking people out on the boat.
One Saturday in May we decided to spend our first night aboard Tri-oomph. We headed out when I got off of work and sailed over to Plum Island Sound, about an hour away, and dropped anchor. It was pretty late and getting dark so we cooked some food and went to bed.
As it was our first time anchoring Tri-oomph for any length of time there were, of course, things we could have done better. We anchored right in the middle of the channel so the current was really strong all night. Trimarans like to do what we call the "Trimaran Dance" when anchored in a current. They swing back and forth on the anchor line, and not just a little bit. (We recently found a trick to minimize the movement - leaving the rudder down. I imagine monohulls don't move so much because of that big keel.) Also, our boat is noisy at night! Even tied down the boom moves around and creates a lot of metallic noises, and the wind moves through the backstay and creates an incredibly eerie howling noise. We found tricks to almost eliminate the noises as we spent more nights on board. Also, we've become smarter about not anchoring right in the narrowest area of a channel where the tide will be ripping in and out.
Also, the ocean is scary! I'd wake up hearing the water against the hull and pretty much thing we were sinking. It's one thing waking up in your tent and hearing a bear rummaging through your camping food, it's another thing thinking you're in a coffin sinking to the bottom of the ocean. But after more time on our trusty trimaran I've come to realize that she's not going to sink, at least not at random while we're sleeping.
The last part that made sleep difficult is the bunk situation. Our boat has two wing berths, a v-berth in the front, and a claustrophobic little coffin sleeper aft. We each started out on a wing berth - the port side berth is narrower, so I took that one. The previous owners didn't seem to have any trouble with the size of the bed, but I quickly grew uncomfortable and moved into the v-berth, but oriented myself so my head and shoulders were sticking out into the cabin so I could move around without hitting my shoulders on things. It was actually super comfortable. Cody, on the other hand, felt that the starboard berth was still too narrow for him. If he lays flat on his back his left shoulder hangs over the edge. After a couple of nights like this over the course of the summer we eventually switched spots, and he was much happier with the v-berth. (We're currently working on building a double berth that folds out across the cabin so we both have more room and we can snuggle.)
Anyway, after a slightly restless night of sleep we awoke to the most gorgeous morning, sunshine and a flawless view of Great Neck and Plum Island. Absolutely beautiful. Much like backpacking, there's nothing I find more joyful than waking up outdoors. We made coffee and oatmeal, and sat out on the trampoline in the sunshine. And then . . . ! Cody proposed to me, and gave me my beautiful wooden ring. How could life get any better?
Eventually we packed up and decided to head out and try out the spinnaker because we had a great steady breeze out of the North and we could go on a run back into Essex Bay.
Wanna know a great way to put a damper on a perfectly wonderful morning? Try rigging up a spinnaker that you've never used before and have no idea how to set up. In choppy waters. While you have to pee. After three failed attempts I found myself sitting on the bow trying to untangle our hopelessly tangled spinnaker from the forestay, bobbing up and down, cold, hungry, and with a full bladder (the camp toilet wasn't set up at the time). "Enough!" I said. "It's time to go home." But we were still happy and it had been a nice day on the water even without the spinnaker.
The tide was out and we had to anchor Tri-oomph at Conomo Point and call for a ride. The fun upshot of that was that when Tucker picked us up we got to tell him our exciting news!
One Saturday in May we decided to spend our first night aboard Tri-oomph. We headed out when I got off of work and sailed over to Plum Island Sound, about an hour away, and dropped anchor. It was pretty late and getting dark so we cooked some food and went to bed.
As it was our first time anchoring Tri-oomph for any length of time there were, of course, things we could have done better. We anchored right in the middle of the channel so the current was really strong all night. Trimarans like to do what we call the "Trimaran Dance" when anchored in a current. They swing back and forth on the anchor line, and not just a little bit. (We recently found a trick to minimize the movement - leaving the rudder down. I imagine monohulls don't move so much because of that big keel.) Also, our boat is noisy at night! Even tied down the boom moves around and creates a lot of metallic noises, and the wind moves through the backstay and creates an incredibly eerie howling noise. We found tricks to almost eliminate the noises as we spent more nights on board. Also, we've become smarter about not anchoring right in the narrowest area of a channel where the tide will be ripping in and out.
Also, the ocean is scary! I'd wake up hearing the water against the hull and pretty much thing we were sinking. It's one thing waking up in your tent and hearing a bear rummaging through your camping food, it's another thing thinking you're in a coffin sinking to the bottom of the ocean. But after more time on our trusty trimaran I've come to realize that she's not going to sink, at least not at random while we're sleeping.
The last part that made sleep difficult is the bunk situation. Our boat has two wing berths, a v-berth in the front, and a claustrophobic little coffin sleeper aft. We each started out on a wing berth - the port side berth is narrower, so I took that one. The previous owners didn't seem to have any trouble with the size of the bed, but I quickly grew uncomfortable and moved into the v-berth, but oriented myself so my head and shoulders were sticking out into the cabin so I could move around without hitting my shoulders on things. It was actually super comfortable. Cody, on the other hand, felt that the starboard berth was still too narrow for him. If he lays flat on his back his left shoulder hangs over the edge. After a couple of nights like this over the course of the summer we eventually switched spots, and he was much happier with the v-berth. (We're currently working on building a double berth that folds out across the cabin so we both have more room and we can snuggle.)
Anyway, after a slightly restless night of sleep we awoke to the most gorgeous morning, sunshine and a flawless view of Great Neck and Plum Island. Absolutely beautiful. Much like backpacking, there's nothing I find more joyful than waking up outdoors. We made coffee and oatmeal, and sat out on the trampoline in the sunshine. And then . . . ! Cody proposed to me, and gave me my beautiful wooden ring. How could life get any better?
Eventually we packed up and decided to head out and try out the spinnaker because we had a great steady breeze out of the North and we could go on a run back into Essex Bay.
Wanna know a great way to put a damper on a perfectly wonderful morning? Try rigging up a spinnaker that you've never used before and have no idea how to set up. In choppy waters. While you have to pee. After three failed attempts I found myself sitting on the bow trying to untangle our hopelessly tangled spinnaker from the forestay, bobbing up and down, cold, hungry, and with a full bladder (the camp toilet wasn't set up at the time). "Enough!" I said. "It's time to go home." But we were still happy and it had been a nice day on the water even without the spinnaker.
The tide was out and we had to anchor Tri-oomph at Conomo Point and call for a ride. The fun upshot of that was that when Tucker picked us up we got to tell him our exciting news!
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Trial and Error and Error
After our awesome first trip aboard Tri-oomph we were eager to get out again and really sail, so we headed out the following weekend with a nice stiff wind. Everything was going great, Cody at the tiller and the main sail flying. Woooo hooo! I took the tiller so he could haul up jib. We were moving on a pretty good tack with strong wind and it took a little muscle to hold her where I wanted her. I was thinking, "This is going to be difficult to do for a long time . . . "
And it happened.
Crack! Pop! Crack!
And suddenly I was holding a tiller handle that had dissociated itself (via breaking off) from the rest of the tiller. I was like -
That's the new tiller. Yeah. New tiller, same problem. Slightly less freak out, same sad return to shore.
After informing my much more ocean-worthy friend Jenny about our ongoing tiller woes she sent me a message saying something like, "[Our super experienced sailing friend] Gary's dad always says you want the tiller to feel light and easy. If there's a lot of tension on it you need to adjust your heading or your sail or something. At least that's what he says." It was a super tactful way of sort of suggesting that it was maybe user-error. (A good friend will always find a way to tell you when you might just be sort of an idiot, and a great friend will make it patently clear without being a jerk about it.)
We built a new tiller, bearing in mind that we (I) might be responsible for the continued cracking of apparently sound tillers, but also deciding we might as well beef it up. We doubled up on the plywood, applied lots of gorilla glue, and put lots of silicon on our bolt holes. And! With a new skill (that of not man-handling the tiller) in our arsenal and a nice beefed up tiller we made it through the entire summer with no tiller-related grief.
And it happened.
Crack! Pop! Crack!
And suddenly I was holding a tiller handle that had dissociated itself (via breaking off) from the rest of the tiller. I was like -
We're gonna die!
Cody, who is less of a spazz, climbed into the cockpit and grabbed hold of the rudder itself to hold us from running aground on some shoaling, while I got a grip on myself and climbed up to drop down the main sail.
Ha. Haha.
Well, we reasoned, the plywood was old and there was some rot where the bolt goes through. We just need a new tiller. It's cool.
So we did this.
We built a new one out of marine plywood donated by our good friends. We modeled it off of the old one. Should be great, right? Right?
Right???
That's the new tiller. Yeah. New tiller, same problem. Slightly less freak out, same sad return to shore.
After informing my much more ocean-worthy friend Jenny about our ongoing tiller woes she sent me a message saying something like, "[Our super experienced sailing friend] Gary's dad always says you want the tiller to feel light and easy. If there's a lot of tension on it you need to adjust your heading or your sail or something. At least that's what he says." It was a super tactful way of sort of suggesting that it was maybe user-error. (A good friend will always find a way to tell you when you might just be sort of an idiot, and a great friend will make it patently clear without being a jerk about it.)
We built a new tiller, bearing in mind that we (I) might be responsible for the continued cracking of apparently sound tillers, but also deciding we might as well beef it up. We doubled up on the plywood, applied lots of gorilla glue, and put lots of silicon on our bolt holes. And! With a new skill (that of not man-handling the tiller) in our arsenal and a nice beefed up tiller we made it through the entire summer with no tiller-related grief.
It's currently hanging above the stove 2, coats deep into what we hope is 7-8 fresh coats of spar urethane.
Lesson - if things are breaking you're probably doing it wrong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)