Suddenly there was wind...

Another day of sailing come and gone.

Leaving the marina, the winds were light, but forceful enough to make about 3 timid knots. It helped to move the traveler windward - I guess it must have loosened the foot of the sail, increasing depth of draft, hence maximizing the airfoil effect of the sail curvature. It wasn't an exciting ride, but after two previous sails where even light airs were as rare as a duck in a desert, the gentle embrace of steady breeze was at least satisfying. That being said, the wind was blowing almost due south. Our point of destination was, as you might have already guessed, due north.

After impatiently tacking through light winds in our effort to make it to Maury Island the air went progressively stagnant. Although still a little early in the day, we made the most of the time we had and unpacked the food! (There's nothing quite like a picnic lunch on quiet boat in serenity of the middle of the Sound!) I luffed the main, backed the jib and tied the tiller leeward just in case the breeze returned. We then sat back and enjoyed lunch bobbing up and down in the calm waters. 

Although "sailing" hove-to, we made no progress whatsoever. When motor-driven boats passed, the boom would swing wildly from side to side as we rocked back and forth. I secured it midships to keep the boom from giving one of us a really nasty headache not expecting what was to come next.

Suddenly a wind raced gracefully over the water the water, filling the main and (as I had the sail secured) heeled the boat over to about 20 degrees. I didn't see it coming, but once it hit, it was impossible to ignore. Lunches slid from starboard to port as I lunged for the mainsheet. A quick tug released the main and the boom sped to leeward. Grabbing the tiller, and with my wife and youngest son working the jib sheets, we were able to put the boat on a beam reach in a steady wind of what was probably 15 kts. Finally, some action!

The water off Brown's Point was a garden of sport fishing boats, so we were careful to keep to deeper waters. The spritely Martin pulsed with each wave that it crossed and the sound of water over the hull kept no secrets - we were moving quickly! Lyuda, my wife, had never sailed in such conditions, so she was excusably frightened by the experience, but soon learned to relax and enjoy the ride.

Quartermaster Harbor was ahead, but unfortunately we were running out of time, so we decided to to use the time we had left to practice tacking and jibing. We made it as far as the buoy that marks the southern tail of the east passage and lapped the open waters.

Docking, the most anxiety producing component of the the sailing experience for me, went perfectly. I'm getting more and more confident each time out. And better than that, my wife (who previously was frightened just to climb aboard a boat) has caught the bug. Suddenly, she's talking about sailing down the west coast.

This is a good sign.

July 27 Sail on the bay... Very little wind, but a great time...

July 27, 2011: it was a great day for sailing despite the failing winds.

From 9:30am until 11:30am very light winds carried us at a tame 3 -5 knots from Commencement Bay out and around Brown's Point.

We crept patiently along under only the power of the mainsail for the first couple of hours. Then, inversely proportional to our nautical ambitions, came the grim doldrums. The tell tales died, and drooped limp and lifeless as the waves from passing tugs tossed the disabled Martin 242 like a cat swats a spider across the linoleum.

We tried valiantly to catch a occasional breeze to haul us back to the marina, but finally, as a last resort, we were obligated to fire up the outboard to make our 2pm return.We finished the sandwiches and rehydrated as we hovered above the salty depths.

A curious sea lion kept an eye on us from behind the boat like a bashful mermaid as we sat lifeless and silent in the middle of the sound and then disappeared with revving of the engine.

Close to the marina, with about 40 minutes to spare, the wind decided to tease us again, so we trimmed the main, unfurled the jib and did circles around the bay until time ran out.

I had my father go head to wind. My wife furled the jib. Once the jib was snugged away, I asked my 9 year old son to lower the main while my wife and I flaked it over the boom. It was a confidence builder for both of them and I think they enjoyed taking an active role in crewing the boat.

Though we hoped for more action, the forgiving winds were the perfect opportunity to teach my wife the finer points of sail trimming and by the end of the day, she was comfortable on the mainsail and headsail. That's real progress, especially considering she was too frightened to even board a docked boat only a few short month ago.

Lesson of the day - when turning into the slip, do not simply drop the engine into neutral - it's not enough to completely slow the boat and keep it from bumping the the dock. Instead, hit reverse, gauge your decreasing speed (to avoid stopping short) and go to neutral to glide into the slip as gently as a wool sock into a boot. It is a far kinder thing to do fo the boat.

I wish I would have remembered to try increasing the draft to help our progress in the light winds. Oh well, it was good just to be on the water again. Unless something unexpected happens, I probably won't be able to get back out until my ASA 103 class in late August.

"We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!
Yo ho! Yo ho! It's a pirate's life for me..."

Sailing Commencement Bay July 16, 2011

Ahoy mates!

As planned we boarded the 24' Martin "PDQ" on the morning of July 16, 2011.

I almost cancelled; the rain was falling. However, we decided to drive out to the marina and decide what to do only after looking at conditions on the water.

When we arrived, the bay was blanketed in a fog; a condition of much greater concern than was the rain. As the boat was paid for and ours for the morning, we decided to head over to the Poodle Dog, a local cafe, and wait out the weather.

After a couple of cups of coffee and splitting an order of biscuits and gravy with my son, we headed out again. Exiting the cafe, we were bedazzled by how quickly conditions had improved. The clouds were slowing breaking up, with brilliant, white highlights beckoning us on. More importantly, the fog had dissipated and the bay was empty of boats - ours for the taking.

After introducing my sister to the basics of what I needed from her to crew the boat (and doing a little refresher with my wife and kids), we were off. Exiting the dock went brilliantly - with none of the problems that I experienced last month. There were boats docked on either side of the channel, so exiting the marina produced a fair amount of anxiety, but ultimately, we made it to the bay without incident.

Now, never in my life have I ventured to Puget Sound beaches and not experienced wind, so it seemed odd that my second time out without an instructor was as windless as the first. Clouds of smoke from the factory across the bay formed perfect vertical columns, ninety degrees to the horizon. Occasional gusts spun the masthead fly around, never finding clear direction. But we decided to raise the main anyway.

All went smoothly except for failing to notice that the previous charter had reefed the main on my initial hoisting of the sail. Occasionally, we'd catch a breeze but mostly we cruised along like a turtle in the sand - making about 1-2 knots at the most. It wasn't very exciting, but it did help build confidence in my ability. It also helped to alleviate my wife's fear of the water, so I guess our befriending the doldrums has served its purpose. I do miss the wind, though.

Next trip - July 28, leaving dock at 8am.

Take good care, me-hearties!

First time out on a sailboat without a coach or class mates

Saturday, June 25, marks the occasion of my first sail without a person with experience on board.

As anticipated, the most difficult part of the experience was leaving and returning to dock.

My first attempt to back out of the slip was a disaster. After an embarrassingly difficult time finding the mainsail halyard shackle (it turns out it doubles as a boom topping lift), I started the outboard and began to back out. I tillered to starboard to move the stern port, but I had apparently waited too long to begin my turn.

My fear was that I would smack the bow into the the dock (on the starboard side) if I started my turn too early. So I waited until the shroud was lined up with the end of the dock before I pushed the tiller hard to starboard. The boat that was docked behind me grew frighteningly close, and it was obvious that I wasn't going to make it. My father was with us (my wife and two kids, as well), and I asked him (with a no small amount of anxiety in my voice) to gear forward. The boat reversed course and trudged back toward its home slip. I waited a little too long to kill the motor and we slid back in with a thud as the bow bumped the dock.

We tied the boat back down and assessed the mistake. It took me a few minutes to regain my confidence, and we started the motor for a second attempt. This time, I pushed the stern away from the dock so that the boat would start out of the slip angled in the desired direction. In addition, I didn't wait to begin my turn. I had my wife watch the bow and I eased the tiller starboard.

It worked. The boat backed into the center of the channel. My father geared us into forward and we were off! We exited the marina without incident.

We entered the bay at about ten in the morning. The sky was overcast, but the clouds were high and the sun peeked through the gray veil like a cat watches the house from the security of a paper grocery bag. The only problem was that the water was smooth as glass. There wasn't a wave to be seen. The masthead fly bounced without intent. The wind was on vacation.

This is no exaggeration; there simply was no wind. We didn't even bother to raise a sail.

Not one to let small things defeat me, I took the opportunity to teach my wife and kids how to man the helm. By the end of our three hours on the bay, my eight year old was nearly as competent a helmsman as I am (but I guess that's not saying much!). We motored around the bay for hours, each of us taking a turn at the helm and by the end of the day, even my wife, who was very nervous about going out on the water, was confident and wishing the wind would pick up.

It didn't.

We motored back in after about three hours. I was very, very nervous about docking the boat; horrified, truth be told. But somehow I managed to navigate back into the slip without incident (although next time, I'll shut down the engine a little earlier - we came in slightly harder than ideal - but not much). The most frightening moment was during the S-turn into the slip. I had to turn left into the channel, travel about a half a boat length and then make a sharp right turn into the slip. Those final seconds nearly stopped my heart. I feared that I would slam sideways into the boat sharing the slip space, but somehow we slid in perfectly. I was surprised and pleased.

We go out again on July 17.

Sailing club, ASA 103 and ASA 107

So I hesitated and spent the last week considering all options for advancing my sailing adventure.

The sailing club was definitely a smarter choice than laying out cash for a boat and paying for a slip. But which level of membership would be the wisest choice?

Given that one must sign up for a year, and given also that it is unlikely that the benefit of a more expensive membership would outweigh its cost (little sailing in the winter, probably limited sails for the first several months honing my new found skills), I decided to take the entry level membership. The entry level member essentially charters for half price and receives discounts for additional certification classes.

So today, I signed into the club with an entry level membership, and also signed up for ASA 103 and ASA 107 certification classes.

ASA 103 is the Basic Coastal Cruising certification. This certification clears the way for sailing in local and regional waters on engined boats up to 30' in moderate winds and seas.
ASA 107 is the Celestial Navigation course. It's something that's always fascinated me, so I decided that I would finally make an effort at learning to sail like the seafarers of old!

I plan on chartering a 24' Martin when my elderly father arrives in town next week. It will be him, me, my wife and two kids. This will be the first time I've handled a keel boat by myself - and with a crew of complete novices. I'll need all the luck I can get. Mostly I'm nervous about docking, but I'm also a little fearful of potential problems raising and lowering the main. Again, I have very little experience and those that will assist, have none.

Think Keystone Cops meet Popeye the Sailor.

ASA on the water exam - and a change in plans

After a couple of idle days, the wind finally returned.

The ASA Basic Keel Boat exam happened on a blustery Friday evening. It was so windy, in fact, that the instructor would not let us stray far from the marina. As we left the dock, I was heavy with anxiety.

When we got out on the water, despite the gusting wind, my nerves settled and I was able to perform each of the tasks asked of me. I struggled still with the application of the conceptual knowledge to the real-world, but all things considered, I was happy with my performance. Apparently, the instructor was, as well!

The most difficult maneuver for me was the figure eight crew overboard drill. Each of us were asked to do it twice. My first attempt went well. The second, however, was not so nicely executed as the first. I was a little distant from the flagged float as I came in to pick it up, but a quick correction at the last minute saved the day.

Beyond that, I was able to move to all points of sail asked of me. I tacked and jibed correctly and really had a great time on the water.

After achieving my first level of certification, I began rethinking my plans to purchase a boat. After all, I could purchase Gold level membership in the sailing club (run by the ASA instructor) for less than it would cost to pay for mooring for my own boat - and with unlimited access to the club boats. It really didn't make sense to buy the boat and spend all that money on mooring while I learn to sail. Better to save a few dollars and learn on someone else's boat!

The club is a one year commitment. I'm never comfortable with contracts, but I think is just enough time to develop a level of competence and confidence that I need to become comfortable with the idea of and responsibilities associated with ownership of a boat. So I'm thinking on it tonight and will probably sign the contract tomorrow. We'll see. If I'm going to do it, I should do it soon - I will get a 40% rebate on the cost of the 101 course (and discounts on future courses, too). So it just makes good sense.

Sailing School Begins

Sailing Plan Mach I
Those who tell you a photograph doesn't lie are clearly not photographers.

Photoshop and digital photo manipulation notwithstanding, photographers have always understood that a picture may be worth a thousand words, but those thousand words may have been torn from the middle of War and Peace, and without the other four hundred fifty nine thousand words to provide context, the text, while masterfully composed, tells us woefully little about what came before and what occurred after. In other words, a photograph captures only a small slice of reality, not reality itself. What lies beyond frame is as important as that which we have chosen to apply our focus.

So it is with my grand schemes. When I get excited about something, I often set my focus only upon the extraordinary flower while blurring the dung-heap upon which it grows. Now, I may be overly critical in this particular instance, but it is illustrative of how my mind operates, and so, with my selective focus creating a virtual tilt-shift image of my sailing fantasy, the mach 1 version of my plan went into effect.

The plan was extraordinarily simple; I would buy a boat, plunk it in the water and head out to sea.

I started looking at older 27'-36' keel boats, but after seeing a few and actually stepping on board, the arterial collections of lines passing through confusing arrays of blocks and clamps, the enigmatic cables running twenty feet in the air forward and aft, port and starboard, the unknown function of boom-vangs, outhauls and cunninghams, forced me to pause. But it was the fear docking one of these large boats in a sliver of a slip without destroying the neighboring boats or smashing the hull into a pier forced me to the realization that boats of this size may be a little beyond my (total lack of) ability. Further, mooring fees for boats in this size range was cost prohibitive - a little more than I had intended to spend. I haven't mentioned that I remain the primary wage earner and the financial rock upon which my family of four relies. So dropping two-hundred and fifty dollars a month to dock a boat, I decided, wasn't exactly a wise choice. If could find mooring for under two hundred a month, perhaps I could rationalize it, but not a dime more. Ensuring that others are not negatively impacted by one's pursuit of dreams is sometimes a struggle, but if we truly love them, we find a balance.

And so I started looking at boats in the 20-22' range.

At about this time I had put the idea of attending sailing classes on the scales and ultimately decided to pursue ASA certification. After careful consideration, it occurred to me that ASA certification would be the ideal path. First, I could quickly build skills (speed is an imperative to the Aging Mariner), and second, it would make easier for me to charter a boat in the event that I was without my own.

ASA 101 Basic Keel Boat Certification

The local sailing school offered the ASA 101 course in 17 hours over a single weekend. It included a set of online lectures and assigned reading from the ASA publication, Sailing Made Easy. These were to be completed before the long sailing weekend. Although at first I was completely lost, it didn't take long for the foreign language of the sailor to conceptually fall into place. I studied for the written exam like I did during my all too short college career - with ferocity. For four weeks I left work and did little more than read, re-read and watch, re-watch the book and videos for the ASA class. I practiced knots until they were second nature. I built PowerPoint and Captivate presentations that quizzed me on terms and concepts. I was a sailing study machine. I read so much that the eye strain forced me to see an optometrist (which resulted in obtaining my first pair of glasses - geez, I didn't realize that my vision had declined so much!).

The first day of class consumed ten hours on a Saturday, nine of which were on the water. I had no way of knowing how difficult it would be to convert my conceptual knowledge to practice, but to say it was a challenge is an understatement of epic proportions. I could barely apply the stand on/give way rules from the deck of the little 24' boat we had taken out on Commencement Bay. And attempting a Figure Eight Crew Overboard drill was like asking a box of Denny's Kids Menu Crayons to create a Bosch triptych. I was taken off guard by the energy required to trim the sails in even moderate winds, and the extent to which sailing was as much a mental exercise as it was a physical one.

By the end of the day I felt brutalized, emotionally, mentally and physically. Just working up the energy to get from my driveway into the house was like lifting burlap bags full of wet cement. As I laid in my bed that evening, I wondered privately whether this was something I really wanted to pursue.

I woke early Sunday with a renewed spirit. The mental and physical impact of the day before had subsided and I was ready to get out on the water and earn my certs. But the weather had other plans.

Arriving at the sailing school at ten a.m., the world was peculiarly still. The leaves on the trees were motionless. Across the bay, smoke rose vertically from smokestacks. To write the following words seems like an exercise in the obvious, but no sailing would happen that day. However, we were able to complete the written assessment and the knot test. I blew one of the written assessment questions by filling in the F bubble when there were only A, B, C, and D choices. Idiot. I'm still not sure what happened. The other missed question was one I genuinely didn't know, but ninety-eight out of one hundred 'aint so bad. The knots offered no resistance whatsoever. Aced. Done.

Except for the on the water exam.