Messing About In Sailboats

Sailing Photo Of The Day - Tarna

Yesterday's guest post by Bruce Hansen of the blog, A Voice Cries Out In The Wilderness, recounted the life of the great Dodge Morgan. Bruce met Morgan when Bruce unknowingly grabbed Morgan's mooring. As Bruce tells it:

Dodge rowed out to our 38’ Alden Challenger and said “This is a private mooring. Nobody is allowed to tie up here. But this is the prettiest boat I have ever seen. You can moor her here anytime. May I have permission to come aboard for an inspection, Captain?”

And this is the lovely Tarna, Hansen's 38' Alden. Pretty indeed!

Around Alone - Guest Post by Bruce Hansen

I am delighted to share a wonderful account about Dodge Morgan, brought to you by Bruce Hansen. Bruce is the author of a new sailing blog, A Voice Cries Out In The Wilderness. This blog will be well-worth following. As you can tell, Bruce is a fine storyteller. Dodge Morgan was truly larger than life: Jet pilot, journalist in Alaska; newspaper publisher; inventor; entrepreneur and above all a Great Sailor. He passed last September. Here's his story.

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His most frightening moment came when he pulled the next-to-last bottle of beer from the bilge. Dodge Morgan circumnavigated alone 27,000 miles around the world on his sailboat American Promise in 1986 after five months at sea in a record-shattering time of 150 days, 1 hour and 6 minutes, cleaving the previous record in half.

The captain white-knuckled it as Promise righted herself after getting flattened by exploding wind at least 11 times. Morgan survived getting a slammed by a whale, and relentless torture by colossal seas of a tropical cyclone. He got becalmed, sometimes for up to six days.

He fell overboard into 45-degree water: “I’m the luckiest sonofabitch I know.”

The enthusiastic energetic self-proclaimed contrarian Morgan always colored outside the lines. His charismatic, bawdy, irreverent and outspoken personality was larger than Magellan’s boat. Some considered him a loner, or worse, a curmudgeon. Nay, say I. He had grace, didn’t brag about his accomplishments and was outraged by injustice. For example, Morgan noted the phrase “American Promise’ relates to those things guaranteed in the United States Constitution, including the welfare of the citizenry; the government promises benefits to everyone. Curmudgeon? Get outta my way. Hungry minds crawled over each other to participate in his inspirational discussions. The man had style.

Dodge Morgan started his Controlonics Company in a garage by himself in 1971 with $10,000 and a $20,000 loan. The guerrilla manufacturer sold the first Whistler fuzz-buster radar detectors. Twelve years later, he sold the business for $32 million and retired at the age of 50. On the way out Dodge rewarded members of his staff with gratitude gifts of money, with some receiving as much as $1 million. $1.5 million was set aside from the sale to commission the American Promise.

Morgan’s custom-made American Promise 60-footwhite and blue monohull single-masted sloop is a 30-ton78,000 pounds displacement high-tech, state-of-the-art, $1.5 million sailboat. 1974 America’s Cup Winner Ted hood designed her for sturdiness rather than speed.

Morgan planned on not making repairs at sea; he brought two of everything. Promise was more well equipped than the largest commercial airplane. Watertight compartments and submarine-like door made her almost unsinkable.

Six film cameras were aboard; three above deck and three down below. Morgan hired Producer Christopher G. Knight and his New Film Company of Boston, Massachusetts to make a film about the journey. One in each set was programmed to come on twice a day during daylight hours and run for 30 seconds, allowing Morgan to film himself.

The forceful 1,000 square foot cutter sail was deployed above and a backup sail was stored below. There were two rudders, two diesel generators, with yet another generator hanging from the transom powered by the movement of the seas. 3,000 pounds of batteries, four battery chargers, 800 gallons of diesel fuel, two machines to convert salt water into fresh water. Hydraulic steering, two steering stations, four electronic autopilots, a wind vane pilot, two satellite navigational systems and an excess of redundant electronic gizmos.

2010 Vineyard Race - Worse For Wear. Guest Post by Ethan Garr

The 2010 Vineyard Race did not disappoint, except on the following fronts:

1. It beat the crap out of everybody
2. It made lots of people seasick
3. It seemed to never end
4. It broke lots of gear
5. It deprived everyone of sleep

Other than that it was fantastic.  I raced on Poppy, an Olson 911s owned by Kelly Robinson and Valerie Shwerk out of Raritan Yacht Club.  We had a crew of 7, and I think at 30 feet we were the smallest boat in the fleet.  We won our division, PHRF 3 as well as the Cotton Blossom Performance Trophy (best corrected time on the Seaflower Reef Course). With Hurricane Earl busting by the coast the day before, we had beautiful skies and 70 degree temperatures at the start, but the seas were rough and the wind was up.  The start was great with 60+ boats, including some gorgeous big boats like Gracie, Carina, and Vela Veloce to admire.

We kind of knew what we were in for with 20kts+ of wind from the stern and 4 - 6 foot seas.  It would be a raging sleigh ride up the sound and a rough beat all the way back.  We started conservatively with a #3 jib and full main.  Once we cleared our air we hoisted our spinnaker, a .6 AP.  Definitely a light sail for the conditions but we seemed to be doing all right.  Our drivers, Kelly Robinson and Bengt Johannsen had their hands full keeping the boat from crashing, but the condition were very good for our particular design.  We saw speeds touching 14+ knots and we must have been averaging about 10kts.

Avoiding Many “Avoidable Close Calls” (Listening To and Communicating with Commercial Vessels on Channel 13) by Guest Author Stu Hochron

Stu Hochron is founder and author of the truly excellent sailing online newsletter News From The Bow. He and his wife Shana sail their beautiful Freedom 45 in the Northeast mainly. The image is care of Bowsprite. You should definitely check out this truly original blog. Fantastic water colors. Adam

New York’s East River is home to ferries, tankers, tugs (pushing and towing) and all sorts of commercial traffic.  The safety of these working boats depends, to a significant degree, on their ability to communicate with each other while underway.  Their captains are required to monitor channel 16, and so too should all pleasure craft.  However, many pleasure boaters are unaware that nearly all commercial vessel VHF radio communications, including some calls to pleasure craft in their area, are NOT heard on channel 16. 

Crossing the North Pacific in the Clipper Round the World Race 2005-2006 by Part 8 Guest Author Brian Luster

(Brian Luster is a fellow nautical blogger and author of the excellent blog A Movable Bridge. Brian took part in the big Asian leg of the 2005-2006 Clipper Race. The current race is taking place right now and the crews are in Asia as I write this --Adam)

The finish: 7 May 2006, Victoria

 After 31 days at sea New York arrived in Victoria, British Columbia, and took seventh place in the race from Qingdao. The last cold, rainy 18 hours were some of the toughest of the race. The entire crew was on watch; no one got to sleep. We had a few people on deck at all times, and the rest on standby for tacking and changing sails. That last day, dawn broke to show that we were socked in by a thick fog. Out of the fog a ghostlike Glasgow suddenly appeared and sailed past us. We spent the rest of the morning chasing them.


Our skipper made a tactical decision to cut between some tiny islands, and we crossed the finish line just minutes ahead of Glasgow, after racing more than 5000 nautical miles. For the last couple of hours into Victoria we had beautiful sunshine and winds from astern. I had the honor of helming us into Victoria—spinnaker flying and crew smiling—and across the finish line.
By the time we made it to our dock, a crowd had gathered to cheer and welcome us. My parents and my kids waited impatiently on the pier until Canadian immigration told us we could disembark. The first thing I did was grab my kids and hug them. My daughter asked, “Daddy, can you stop?” All I said was, “No. I can’t.”
“But you’re wet,” she said.
“Too bad.” 

Crossing the North Pacific in the Clipper Round the World Race 2005-2006 Part 7 by Guest Author Brian Luster

(Brian Luster is a fellow nautical blogger and author of the excellent blog A Movable Bridge. Brian took part in the big Asian leg of the 2005-2006 Clipper Race. The current race is taking place right now and the crews are in Asia as I write this --Adam)

(Day 25) To the top: 49 00N 152 38W

We’ve finally gotten the level, downwind sailing we expected based on our review of the North Pacific pilot charts. For the past 40 hours we’ve had our heavyweight spinnaker up. The top boat speed I achieved while helming during the past couple of days was 13.5 knots, but Duncan managed 15-point-something while surfing down a wave this evening.

When we fly a spinnaker, we always attach two halyards to it—the working halyard and a backup. Periodically, we swap these so the wear and tear on each is equal. This afternoon, when we went to swap the halyards, we noticed that one of the blocks at the top of the mast was no longer attached to the mast by its strop. Instead it was hanging from the backup strop attached to the other halyard block.

Someone would need to go up and reattach it. Duncan had been up the mast two times in the past two days and gotten banged around a bit. Glenn went up yesterday and had an unpleasant experience involving the reappearance of his lunch. Lizzie also went up yesterday and managed to remove a bit of skin from her little finger. Joff, the skipper, turned to me and asked if I’d like to go up. I was stupid enough to say yes.

I put on the climbing harness and hard hat and tied on the halyard that would be used to hoist me. The trips up and back are pretty scary, with a lot of swinging around, looking for things to hold on to. Sitting on the spreaders to take a rest is nice and almost relaxing. There’s much less swinging around at the top, and it would have been fine if I could have relaxed and sat in the climbing harness instead of holding on desperately with one hand while trying to do the repair with the other.

I managed to reattach the block and added a backup strop to the other. Then I paused to look around at the Pacific Ocean from 95 feet above the water, going about 14 knots. Water, water everywhere.
Our boat speed is now 10 knots on a beam reach, we’re back to the usual 20-degree heel, and it’s raining. But somewhere around day 21 I realized that I am, in fact, enjoying this.

Tomorrow, the finish

Crossing the North Pacific in the Clipper Round the World Race 2005-2006 Part 6 by Guest Author Brian Luster

(Brian Luster is a fellow nautical blogger and author of the excellent blog A Movable Bridge. Brian took part in the big Asian leg of the 2005-2006 Clipper Race. The current race is taking place right now and the crews are in Asia as I write this --Adam)

(Day 17) The angle of the dangle: 43 47N 172 35E, 2599nm to Victoria

We’ve been sailing on the same tack for several days, which means the boat has a constant tilt to the right of about 20 degrees. Twenty degrees may not sound like much, but imagine your house tilted 20 degrees to one side. Now, add to the tilt some forward and backward pitching and some side-to-side rolling, all at uncertain intervals. Life is a bit more difficult. Finally, imagine your house is 68 feet long, almost 19 feet wide and filled with 12 other people besides you. Welcome to a Clipper 68! Every move has to be planned in advance. As you make your way through the boat, your eye scans for handholds, things to lean against, and possible obstructions. Moving is difficult enough with two free hands, but you usually only have one. Going from the low side to the high side requires tremendous effort as you pull yourself up. Even lifting a foot requires extra effort. This must be what it’s like to live on Jupiter. It’s like some bizarre fun-house ride—Extra-Heavy Gravity Home. (Of course, you must also deal with unexpected moments of weightlessness as the boat drops off the backside of a wave.)

It also takes tremendous brainpower to move about. The brain performs myriad calculations to determine if your angle of dangle when hanging from a handhold is correct to drop you into your chosen space on the settee, for example. When you’ve determined the correct trajectory, you close your eyes, let go, and hope the boat doesn’t hit a wave. If you’re lucky, you hit your target. If you’re unlucky, you sprawl across your crewmates (and their dinners).

Pouring drinks is a very strange experience when on an angle. You hold the pitcher directly over the cup and pour, but the liquid goes shooting off to the side, missing the cup completely. This leaves you quite puzzled, because your brain has made all the adjustments necessary to fool you into thinking everything around you is level.

Tomorrow, up the mast we go

Crossing the North Pacific in the Clipper Round the World Race 2005-2006 Part 5 by Guest Author Brian Luster

(Brian Luster is a fellow nautical blogger and author of the excellent blog A Movable Bridge. Brian took part in the big Asian leg of the 2005-2006 Clipper Race. The current race is taking place right now and the crews are in Asia as I write this --Adam)

(Day 11) O! For sun and PB&J!: 3521nm to Victoria
  
Two nights ago, during a dreadful wind and rain, the mainsheet traveler track decided to reposition itself several feet to starboard. I was off watch in my bunk, but the skipper called “All hands!” and I jumped up and put on my cold, wet oilies. On deck, some of us immediately started repairs, while the rest reefed the main. I went up to the foredeck to help strike the genoa (the largest headsail). After about two hours of working on the foredeck I was sent below to get dry and warm. I managed to more or less fall down the companionway ladder and sit in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Someone put a mug of hot chocolate in my hand, and I fell asleep on the saloon floor. At some point my watch leader came below and ordered me to my bunk.

The next morning the sun was shining. The day before, Lizzie and I had baked fresh bread, and for breakfast I had peanut butter and jelly on toast that tasted so good and reminded me so much of home and life on land that I cried.

Last night we saw two ships, one of which passed within about a mile. That’s pretty close, considering we have the entire North Pacific to share. Two ships was a lot to see; we sometimes go for days without seeing any. Last night through this morning we’ve had other visitors as well—Pacific white-sided dolphins. They appear from out of nowhere, streaking through the phosphorescence and leaping from our bow wave. They stay for a while, then vanish, only to reappear suddenly.

On Monday, life at an angle

Crossing the North Pacific in the Clipper Round the World Race 2005-2006 Part 4 by Guest Author Brian Luster

(Brian Luster is a fellow nautical blogger and author of the excellent blog A Movable Bridge. Brian took part in the big Asian leg of the 2005-2006 Clipper Race. The current race is taking place right now and the crews are in Asia as I write this --Adam)

(Day 8) The beatings will continue until morale improves: Still off the coast of Japan, 4151nm to Victoria

I’m actually not sure how long this storm has been going on. I think we’ve been in the roughest stuff for at least 18 hours, with fairly rough weather for the past 24 (or more?).

Yesterday after lunch I went to my bunk to try to sleep, but the angle of heel, the pitching and rolling, and the stomach-turning free falls each time the boat topped a wave made it impossible. So I lay there, listening to the howling winds and the machine-gunning of the spray across the foredeck, and imagining what it must be like for the on watch topsides. Foolish me, I decided to get dressed and take a look.

I got up on deck just as they were putting a third reef in the main. The waves looked ferocious—all nasty churning gray, streaked with white foam, maybe 10 to 15 feet high. I should have stayed below. But with just half an hour until I had to be on watch, I stayed on deck, going up to the foredeck to help bring down the Yankee 3 (the smallest headsail).

When the rest of my watch came on deck, Jenn and I went forward to lash the sails down more securely. With our tethers clipped to the jackstay, we crawled on hands and knees up to the foredeck in 40-knot winds. Once up there it was like swimming, what with all the water coming over the bow. We managed to get the sails secured and crawled back to the cockpit. Occasional waves would wallop us, and the spray would sting like bullets or razor blades where it hit exposed skin.

At 9:00 p.m. we came off watch for dinner, which I was unable to eat. All that training so many months ago finally paid off, as I was now able to be seasick in a very professional and efficient manner.
The night went like this: to bed in wet clothes, trying to dry them by body heat in my sleeping bag; two hours later, back into wet socks, boots, and oilies and up on deck to face 15-to-20-foot waves; an hour or so on deck, then down to the saloon while the next shift went up; trying to sleep on the saloon floor until it was time to go back on deck; and then the cycle started again by going to bed in wet clothes. The days blur. The beatings continue. 

Tomorrow, exhaustion sets in

Crossing the North Pacific in the Clipper Round the World Race 2005-2006 Part 3 by Guest Author Brian Luster

(Brian Luster is a fellow nautical blogger and author of the excellent blog A Movable Bridge. Brian took part in the big Asian leg of the 2005-2006 Clipper Race. The current race is taking place right now and the crews are in Asia as I write this --Adam)

(Day 6) How things change: 32 14.9N 134 8.7E, off the coast of Japan

It’s amazing the changes we’ve experienced in the past 24 hours. Two nights ago we were storming down the East China Sea with a spinnaker flying, making something like 14 knots. Early yesterday morning we jibed around the corner of Japan into the North Pacific Ocean. It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day. The foul-weather gear came off; shorts and T-shirts went on.

Then the wind came around on the nose, and we were beating into a nice stiff breeze. By the time I went to bed after dinner, it was really blowing. Three hours later I came on watch to a nearly dead calm, spinnaker flopping limply. Off watch at 3:00 a.m., then back on at 6:00 to a complete calm—boat speed 0 knots. It stayed like that for the next three hours. We’re now beating into the wind, making 6.2 knots. I worked through most of my four-hour off watch (when I should have been asleep) repairing the staysail that tore in half on day two; in one hour I have to be on deck for my four-hour watch.

Tomorrow, things are getting rougher