Decorative Marlinspike Seamanship

“Wow, this is turning out much better than I expected.”

I made this statement while sitting in my favorite bar in New York City, drinking a pint of Guinness and trying to turn ten feet of three strand, half-inch hemp line into a ditty bag lanyard. A friend, sitting next to me and trying to work her way through a four strand star knot, commented on the fact that I always say that. And she’s right, I do. But it really isn’t excessive ego on my part …. no really, its not … it’s quite the opposite in fact. I actually am always amazed when something I do related to traditional skills or seamanship turns out well.

Then a short fuzzy-haired student teacher compared the finished lanyard to a child’s toy. Well thanks …. so hundreds of years of sailor’s craft is really nothing more than a summer camp boondoggle? But I was left to think about the nature of the craft: is there any practical reason for still practicing decorative marlinspike seamanship?

Up until I started sailing on the schooner Pioneer, I had no interest in crafts of any sort. I’m not particularly artsy. However, once I started sailing on a historic vessel and began hanging out with the crew of said vessel, I became more and more interested in knots, bends and hitches. How they’re tied, why they work or more importantly why they don’t.

Long conversations with the crew of the vessel led me to two books that kindled the interest in decorative marlinspike seamanship; “The Arts of the Sailor: Knotting, Splicing and Ropework” by Hervey Garrett Smith Hervey Garrett Smith (Author) and the “Ashley Book of Knots” by Clifford Ashley. From these books I learned how to tie a variety of knots, how to splice, sew patches on sails, and most importantly how to take pride in doing something in a clean, precise way.

In re-reading Ashley's section on decorative work, I came to the conclusion that these skills are still relavent and I think I know why they're important to learn.

One of the first projects I worked on was a small ditty bag and lanyard. I "borrowed" the canvas and seine twine from the Bosun's locker on Pioneer and used my own sail twine and needles. In order to make the bag I had to learn how to sew a proper seam, how to make a very small grommet and how to sew a hitched eyelet. To make the lanyard I had to learn a star knot, wall knot, mathew walker knot and an eye splice. I actually use a doubled wall and crown knot, rather than a mathew walker, as a stopper on my own boat. But I have plans to use the mathew walker soon. I made this ditty bag before I went overseas with the Navy in 2007. It carried all of my sewing kit, which I often needed, and I carried it in my 3-day bag from Baghdad to Al Asad. It has proven to be better and more useful than anything I may have purchased.

My second big project was my knife. Unlike the first knife I made, this one I didn't shape the steel, rather I purchased a blank, then made the handle. The grip is oak, covered by leather grafting and turk's heads and the whole was then water-proofed with linseed oil and bees wax. Grafting on traditional vessels was a form of chafe gear, but I've found it to be one of the most secure grips ever. I've been aloft in rain on Pioneer and in heavy weather aboard my own boat and have never lost my grip on this knife. The grafting is made by securing strips of leather and them winding another piece of leather over and under the standing pieces. The turk's heads on either end, when drawn up tight, are some of the most secure knots ever devised. Robin Knox Johnson used them in his single-handed circumnavigation to secure a cracked main boom on his way round the Horn.

The last useful project that I worked on was a heaving line. I could have purchased one, but for less than $10, I made one using white polypro from Home Depot and a wooden ball from AC Moore. The Monkey's Fist is an interesting knot that much like the Turk's Head - or most knots for that matter - relies on tension and friction to hold itself together.

I could probably purchase a sewing kit, knife, heaving line, ...etc. and have spent less time and effort than making the ones that I did. But I'm a sailor and I like the tradition that goes with being a sailor. Its probably the same reason that I like to take a boat out on the water and use the wind to take her where I want to go, rather than get a power boat. Its not as fast or flashy, but I don't need it to be.

Plans ...

I’ve been contemplating a change in the rigging for my sailboat Marjorie, currently stored on a trailer, under a tarp, in my backyard in Florida. I really like Marjorie’s ease in setting up and her handling underway, but there are a few things that I’m uncomfortable with. She has a great deal of weather helm when the full mainsail and jib are up. Also, she’s really tender, heeling over a great deal in anything over ten knots of wind. Granted, she only goes over about fifteen to twenty degrees and then stiffens up, but it’s disconcerting at how easy that initial heel is.

In order to learn more about rigging, I’ve been reading the Complete Rigger’s Apprentice by Brian Toss. It’s a great book for the novice, with good descriptions of rigging details and so easy an explanation of the formulas involved that even with my poor understanding of math I can grasp the process, if not the theory. Though the book in no way would allow me to become a real rigger, it does allow me to understand the forces acting on the rigging, use the formulas to determine those forces and make informed decisions about rigging a small boat.

As designed, Marjorie is a fractional rig sloop; meaning that her forestay attaches to the mast about 3 ½ feet below the masthead and extends to the bow, rather than to a bowsprit. She has two shrouds set on either beam well aft of the mast step that attach at the same level as the forestay. The shrouds each have spreaders, but these don’t change the angle of the attachment at the mast. From the Rigger’s Apprentice I learned that since these spreaders aren’t normally under tension and don’t change the angle, they’re probably meant to counteract the deviation of the mast from compression load when the wind picks up.

When I began considering options I thought about Marjorie’s design. She was built by Southern Sails Inc. in 1981 as a cuddy cabin version of their Skipper 20. Both have the same hull, carry the same amount of sail area, but the Skipper 20 had a bowsprit, 100 pounds more ballast and 150 pounds more displacement. I suspect that the mainsail overpowers the tiller because the jib was moved 1 foot 3 inches aft on Marjorie. Also, because she’s lighter, but has the same sail area and mast height, the wind force acting on her is more pronounced against the righting motion of the keel.

So, how to correct this cheaply, because who knows if I’m right until I build something and try it out underway? Reducing the weather helm should be corrected by moving the jib forward to her original design length. Of course this means that I’ll need to build a bowsprit and get a new forestay, but more on that later. To reduce the amount of initial heel, I feel the best way is to bring the center of gravity of the mainsail down closer to the keel. If I can do this, then even though the sail area of the mainsail doesn’t change, the way it acts on the boat should. Lots and lots of reading later, the sail plan that would do this - and is most appealing to me visually - is a low aspect gaff rig.

Luckily I just happen to have plans for a gaff rig that has approximately the same sail area as Marjorie: the Weekender. The Weekender’s mainsail and jib are more or less the same sail area as my mainsail and jib and the length from the bowsprit to the mast step is about the same. Obviously, nothing else about the Weekender (a flat bottomed, plywood, homebuilt sharpie) is similar to Marjorie (a self-righting, fiberglass sloop).

The total re-fit would involve replacing the mast and boom with wooden spars, replacing the shrouds with new wire and deadeyes, adding a wooden bowsprit and chain bobstay, replacing the forestay and making a new mainsail. The directions to do all of this cheaply are contained in the Weekender plans, though they recommend using wire clips rather than wire splices for the shrouds and forestay.

Initially I had to determine the shroud and forestay size, because the Weekender uses four shrouds (two to a side) and I only wanted to use one per side. Using the Rigger’s Apprentice I was able to determine that the Transverse Rigging Load (strain on mast and spars at 30 degree heel) for my boat is approximately 6800 pounds with a safety factor added in. At least half that load will be taken by either shroud, so I could go as low as 3/16 inch wire rope which can handle 3700 pounds. But I want to use 1/4 inch wire rope because I’ll put a Molly Hogan splice and Liverpool Eye splice in each shroud, which will reduce the strength of the wire by approximately 30%. Additionally, I’ll increase the diameter of the deadeyes and change the diameter of the fiber lanyards from 1/4 inch nylon (breaking strength of 1700 pounds) to 3/8 inch nylon (breaking strength 3650 pounds).

Determining the length of the wire to use for the shrouds and forestay actually was the most complicated part of the planning process. I hate math, I always have, but luckily the Rigger’s Apprentice is very good at using easy equations and a scientific calculator. In order to get the length of the forestay, I needed to determine the angle from the mast to the forestay. This is accomplished by taking the base of the triangle formed by the mast and stay dividing it by the height of the mast at the forestay attachment, then taking the arctangent of the resulting number. The angle is 33 degrees. Given that angle, in order to get the length of the stay, I need to divide the base of the triangle by the sine of the above mentioned angle. In this example, I find that I need to make Marjorie’s forestay 15’ 1” without the turnbuckle.

The shroud length is similarly determined to be 13’ 3” without deadeyes and lanyards. Though I have to say that the calculations were more involved because the shrouds are set back from the mast step 2’ 5” and it took me awhile to figure out how to determine the appropriate base to use. Some may have noticed at this point that I keep mentioning that these are lengths without considering turnbuckles and lanyards. That works out ok because there’s supposed to be rake in the Weekender mast. Because Marjorie’s mast step is on the cabin top, adding a turnbuckle at the forestay will rake the mast aft, while still allowing 18 inches for the lanyards on the shrouds.

So all of this is complicated and if it’s ever going to get done, I have to do some of it here in NYC. I just happen to have a rigger’s vice (and a friendly rigger) nearby, so the shrouds and forestay are likely to be done over the fall. The deadeyes are complete, thanks to the help of the carpenter at work. The sail is probably going to take some time, but oddly enough except for the lofting, I can do most of the work in my apartment. I don’t have a TV and I’ll have lots of time when the sailing season stops.

Pier 15

I was really lucky to see some great boat handling on the schooner Pioneer during the 7 – 9 docking by Captain Glenn this past Saturday and the 1 – 3 docking by Captain D. this past Sunday. It’s a difficult docking under any circumstances due to the current, slip setup, and the Zephyr (a party boat of sorts that gives harbor cruises). However, the City of New York recently began construction on a new Pier 15, just south of the Wavertree. Apparently the city is re-building Pier 15 as part of the larger East River Esplanade project. This project is planned to expand the city’s use and interpretation of the historic waterfront area.

“The plans for Pier 15 have not changed much since they were unveiled in November 2007. The major components remain a new pier constructed upon the site of one that collapsed decades ago—a sign of just how far the waterfront had fallen in the city. On the main level, there will be fendering and bollards for the Seaport Museum's historic ships to dock, as well as a small boat launch and a maritime-themed pavilion, all of which were major demands from the maritime community.” - SHoP Architects website

Though this seems like really great news for those who work around the Seaport, it also has the added side effect of making Pioneer’s difficult docking nearly impossible. Very rough and inaccurate measurements on my part using aerial photos indicate that the distance from the southeast corner of Pier 16 to the northeast corner of Pier 15 will be approximately 180 feet. However, when Zephyr is docked at the end of Pier 16, the distance between the northeast corner of Pier 15 and Zephyr’s stern is approximately 120 feet. The Pioneer is a little over 100 feet long from the end of the jiboom to the end of the main boom.

I hadn’t really thought about the difficulty of this until I was the deckhand on Pioneer when she made her approach in the dark, on the flood, with the Zephyr docked at Pier 16. Glenn made the approach from the north, powering against the current and crabbing sideways into the slip. Our stern cleared Zephyr by ten feet, with about ten to fifteen clearance from the pilings off Pier 15. Then as we began to spin our stern into the slip, the bow came forward with the jiboom right over the pilings. I was calling distance and I know my voice showed the strain because the crew mocked me mercilessly afterward. We backed down toward the float and tossed over the midships spring dockline and the stern breast dockline. In powering forward however, the flood caught our bow and started to swing the jiboom toward Zephyr. I called it, the Captain backed down on the midships dockline, and after some scrambling aft to free the vangs on the mainboom all was well.

The next day Captain D. took us out on a strong ebb and after a short education sail, we came back just in time to have Zephyr beat us into the dock. We made two different approaches, then on the third try we powered against the ebb while closing on Zephyr and let the tide carry us down so that our jiboom cleared Zephyr by ten feet. Once clear of Zephyr’s prop wash, the current died away and Captain D. spun Pioneer into the float for a sweet docking without incident.

I’m glad we have captains with the guts to do this crap, because I know I couldn’t manage it.

NYC 40º 43' N, 74º 0' W

I just started sailing again after a surgically enforced hiatus of six weeks. The pain of the surgery is something that I definitely don’t want to repeat, however the time off from work and sailing definitely helped me gain some perspective. Some of the things that I learned were as follows; I don’t hate my job as much as I thought I had and I don’t miss sailing on the schooner Pioneer as much as I thought I would.

The surgery got me thinking, but the real epiphany for me was going on the advanced training sail this past Monday. I recognize that the fulltime crew put a lot of thought into the training sail, but it wasn’t advanced. We didn’t raise the fisherman, nor did we go over the charts, now did we go through the engine. We covered fairleads, points of sail, how to trim the sails and how to furl the headsails. Only the most very basic aspects of sailing were covered. I guess I should have, but I hadn’t realized before that the fulltime crew thinks I’m a shitbird; just another knucklehead that doesn’t know what they’re doing.

I’ve always known that I’m a dilettante when it comes to tall ship sailing. How could I be otherwise? I only sail three times a week on a traditional vessel that only does daysails in New York Harbor. I know the vessel has more to teach me; anything to do with the engine for instance. But I never thought that after three years of sailing on the Pioneer that anyone would think I was incompetent. That someone would think my knowledge base so low that they had to cover points of sail.

Basically, its not my schooner anymore. There’s no encouragement or understanding that I want to take ownership of the boat. That I have something to add other than unskilled labor. Previous crews had improved my skills by berating or encouraging me as needed, but never by demeaning them. Rather it was always by challenging my knowledge of the boat and sailing. They also made me feel that it was my boat too. That I had a valuable contribution to make.

I’ll still sail on Pioneer because I still love sailing, but its not my schooner any more.

Manatee River 27-30'N 082-37'W

23JUN09:

I'm falling apart; I'm fighting a cold, my back is bothering me, and my intestines are doing their best to drop ... well never mind ...

But there was supposed to be good wind predicted and the boat was fixed, so I decided to try sailing out of the Manatee River at a boat ramp I hadn't tried before. I arrived at the Warner's Bayou Boat Ramp at 1200 and walked over to the ramp to check out the depth. It was about ten minutes past high tide at Edgemont Channel, which meant another 45 minutes before it hit here. The flood was still running for another two hours at least. So the depth at the two ramps was great. Even at low tide, which wouldn't happen till 2000, there would still be enough water under my keel.

I have to say that this was one of the prettier spots that I've visited along Tampa Bay. The ramp is located on a canal, sheltered from the prevailing winds by a point of land and bend in the Manatee River. I watched the flags on boats moored in the river and saw that the wind was more northerly than from the north west as predicted, which meant that it was coming right down the river. Which meant a mile and a half slog to the Bay with the wind right on the nose and the height of the flood. Also, as I looked out into the river I noticed that the white caps were higher and more numerous than I had expected and there was spray coming off the tops of them.

Beaufort Scale:

Force Knots Wave Height Description

1 1-2 1/2 Light Air - ripples
2 3-6 1 Light Breeze - small wavelets
3 7-10 2 Gentle Breeze - Scattered Whitecaps
4 11-15 3 Moderate Breeze - Small waves
5 16-20 6 Fresh Breeze - longer waves, foam and spray starting
6 21-26 10 Strong Breeze - large waves, foam crests, some spray

I'd say it was a fresh breeze in the Manatee River, thought the waves weren't 6 feet.

I had a little foreboding as I rigged the boat. This was still a protected waterway, what would it be like out in the Bay? But I launched the boat without incident. This is getting easier and easier to do alone. I've got a system that seems to impress the power boaters, because they seem to find launching their larger more maneuverable boats alone impossible.

Soon I was underway out the channel into the River. As the wind started to fill in I realized that I'd forgotten to tie in a reef. I couldn't do it in the channel because it was too narrow. However, once out into the river with the wind coming over the port side, the wind caught the jib which was down but hauled tight to the port side and she hove-to. I put the engine in idle, let the tiller go to leeward and the boat held position. I tied a reef in the main, let go the main sheet and then raised the main. As she headed up into the wind, I let go the jib sheet and raised the jib. Then I jumped back to the tiller, fell off the wind, made the jib sheet fast as the sail filled and pulled in the main sheet till it filled.

We flew across the river close-hauled on the port tack, with the starboard rail buried. We pounded over and through the waves, scattered spray soaking me in seconds. I made several tacks up river and realized that I wasn't having fun, I was struggling. I hadn't prepared well for this trip and was unfamiliar with the river channel and its shoals. The wind was much stronger than predicted and I felt like crap. If Confidence = Skill + Preparation + Strength, then I was missing the last two of the equation. I decided to turn back.

I started the engine, then hove to on the starboard tack. I eased the main sheet and dropped the sail, using the reef line as a gasket to hold the sail down. Then I came up on the wind, let go the jib sheet and tried to drop the jib, but the downhaul fouled forward. I had to climb out onto the pitching foredeck and manually haul down the jib, then tie it off with the downhaul. To be honest, it was exhausting.

I got underway again into the entrance channel to the boat ramp. I realized that the wind was catching the little bit of main and jib that were exposed and that she was sailing. There were two power boats at the ramps, so I put the engine in neutral and "sailed" her in using the wind and flood tide. While still mid-channel, I let go the tiller for a moment and prepared dock lines for the port side. The wind was blowing right into the ramps, perpendicular to the channel, so the bowline was really unimportant. The stern line I held coiled in my hand as I made my approach.

One of the powerboats hauled out just as I was making my final approach, so I turned off my engine and went for it. I came in about five feet off the dock that he had just vacated, put the helm over slowly so that my stern was to the wind and let my momentum and the wind push me into the dock. I jumped out holding onto the stern line, and took three quick turns around a piling. The boat fetched up against the dock and I made fast the stern line, then the bowline. No applause, but I looked over and I could tell the powerboat guys were impressed. I know I was.

In the end, I was disappointed that I didn't get to sail, but I'd still had practice that was invaluable and I think my decision making skills are improving.

Plant City FL 28° 1' N 082° 6' W

20JUN - 22JUN2009:

When I first took the cover off the boat and checked it over, I noticed a small patch of discoloration on the starboard side keel. I knew that I'd have to address it sooner or later, but I chose to ignore it until after I went sailing. I finally had a few days free after sailing around Anclote Key, so I decided to start hitting some of the boat to do list, starting with this patch on the keel.

The discoloration looked like some minor delamination around a crack about three inches long. I'd read in the on-line Skipper 20 owners group that these small cracks were common due to the way the hull was built. Basically, Southern Sails, Inc. made the hull and keel together, then poured 800 pounds of concrete into the keel pocket, laid glass over the top, then put the liner and deck on. The fiberglass around the keel was apparently too thin and stress cracks developed over time. My boat was built in 1981, so some keel work was probably in order.

My plan was to grind out the glass around the crack and then put a patch over it. Unfortunately, when I started grinding the thin glass cracked more and water started pouring out of the keel. This is where I knew I was in trouble. I'd read in the owner's group that many keels needed to be completely re-glassed due to the previously mentioned stress cracks. I had assumed that mine was not one of these hulls. However the water, which showed no signs of letting up any time soon, indicated otherwise.

I continued grinding away fiberglass until I exposed a portion of the concrete ballast. More water continued to flow from the hole. I started picking away at the fiberglass to see how saturated it was and big chunks started coming off. As I picked away more and more fiberglass I realized that I was also pulling away patching material. Apparently one of the previous owners had patched cracks in the hull with a fairing compound, rather than making a proper fiberglass patch. The delamination and deterioration had spread to eventually encompassed about a square foot of the hull.

I ground down the solid fiberglass surrounding this damaged area out to about three inches. This would eventually give me a solid foundation to lay the patch on. Then I inspected the rest of the hull a little more closely. I found that there were similar patches made by a previous owner all along the keel. I was not going to tackle the whole job now, so I decided to patch what I could. I wanted to sail for as long as I could before spending a two to three week period striping away the bottom paint, grinding the whole keel, then re-glassing up to the waterline.

In order to patch the keel, I got a tight weave fiberglass cloth, a loose fiberglass mat and polyester resin. I cut out a piece of fiberglass mat slightly larger than the hole in the keel, then another layer of mat and two layers of cloth, each slightly larger than the first. I started early on Sunday morning because I wanted to give the resin the whole day to set, which turned out to be not necessary.

I hadn't taken into account that the directions were for room temperature and Florida in the summer is quite a bit warmer than room temperature. After adding the hardener to the resin, the mixture started to set in about ten minutes. Luckily I had all the materials at hand, so I just went about it quickly. Slapping resin onto the hull, then first layer of mat, slap on more resin, tehn the other layer of mat and so on ... In between layers I pressed with my gloved hands and tried to get all the air pockets out. In all it took about half an hour to finish, but the better part of the day to dry completely.

The next day I applied a fairing compound made of polyester resin and micro-balloons, sanded the crap out of it and then once dry, on went the bottom paint. I think the patch came out pretty good, though the fairing and sanding the next day looked like crap. It'll last for awhile and let me sail through the season, but I'll definitely need to spend some time on the hull.

In retrospect, I should have identified problems with the hull prior to buying the boat, but I still like my little boat. Also, I'll use less hardener and a slower setting resin next time.

Anclote Key 28-11'N 082-51'W

17JUN2009:

Michael Riff and I left the house about 1030 bound for the Anclote River Park boat ramp. The predicted winds were to be from the NNW at 10 knots, with low tide at 1430. I had wanted to sail around Anclote Key - a circumnavigation of sorts - but the wind direction and strength didn't look good for the attempt. So I had determined that we'd at least sail out into the Gulf a ways and try to pick up some good wind.

The Anclote River flows into the Gulf of Mexico about 30 statute miles north of Tampa Bay. Anclote key is a sandy barrier island resting on a limestone base about 1.5 nautical miles off the coast. Historically the area has been interesting for a couple reasons; in the late 17th century french pirates used Anclote Key as a base of operations to attack the Spanish trading vessels passing to the west and in the 1850's sponges were collected off of Anclote Key and brought back up the Anclote River to Tarpon Springs. The sale of these was so profitable, that the sponge trade became commercially important to the area. The settlement of Greek sponge divers in the area is traced back to this early start.

But getting back to the trip, we got to the ramp just before 1200 and rigged the boat in under 20 minutes. We were still on the last of the ebb tide and the wind was right on the beam, so we raised the main at the dock, sailed off the dock, then raised the jib in the channel. It was a clear sunny day and as we cleared the river mouth the wind filled in to around 10 knots. Once clear of the channel, we made a SW course toward the light house (built in 1887) at the southern end of Anclote Key.

Once we cleared the lee of Anclote Key and entered the Gulf the waves increased and so did the wind, remaining pretty steady at 15 knots for the whole day. A direct course north was impossible due to the wind direction- trust me we tried. So we decided to head due west into the Gulf and make as much northing as possible. Maybe we'd be able to go all around the island, maybe not, but we'd still be sailing, so ... We came up on the wind close hauled, or as near as my small boat could manage it, and watched as Anclote Key receded into the distance.

I'd never been very far out into the Gulf before - or any sea for that matter - but now I noticed that most waves were only about 2 feet, but that every fifteen seconds or so a larger 3-4 foot wave would come up. I found it exhilerating; sailing and being at sea in my own boat, but I did realize that my wife wouldn't have had as much fun. She would have liked Anclote Key though. The beach was beautiful and I see an anchored small boat and beach chairs in our future.

We went about 2 NM beyond Anclote Key, then tacked to a NE course. The wind had veered slightly west while we were heading out, so we were able to make a good course toward the channel on the north end of Anclote Key. At this time we started to notice dark cumulous clouds and thunder heads forming to the NE over the land. I checked the radio and the weather report didn't predict any storms for our area, not that I could have done anything at that point anyway. We were too far out to make it back before any freak storm hit.

As we headed for the channel I was a little nervous;

a. I wasn't familiar with the channel.

b. The channel wasn't marked.

c. The channel was subject to change from shifting sands.

All of my concerns - if not my judgement - proved to be well-founded. I brought us in too close to the shoals, the channel had shifted south closer to the island and we ran aground on soft sand. I was loath to try the engine because we hadn't used it yet, but needed to give it a try. That didn't work, so we dropped the jib, let the main out and broke out the anchor. I jumped into the very warm water - it only came up to my waist - and I walked the anchor out to deeper water. The loss of my human ballast, Michael taking strain on the anchor road and me pushing got the boat going again. Though I had another trip into the water to retrieve the anchor, it was fun jumping on the boat and hauling myself aboard as she started sailing by with Michael at the helm.

We made our way southward trying to get around shoals on the eastside of the island, but not going too close to the mainland because of more shoals. The wind died in the lee of Anclote Key, so I started the engine and dropped the jib. I had significant trouble getting to the Anclote River channel, getting into shallow water again and again. Eventually, I ignored the buoys and where the chart indicated I should be and took bearings from a mainland stack and the lighthouse on the island. I didn't find out until I got back that over this past winter there had been two buoys added, one removed and the numbers had been changed. I was taking positions off buoys that weren't where I thought they were.

At this point the storm that had been threatening for the last two hours started to become more of a concern. Lightening could be seen and heard inland, and it seemed that the storm was moving in our direction. As we revved up the motor (all 6hp of it), Michael started de-rigging the boat, stuffing sails and other gear into the cabin and leaving only the mast up. He took the helm as I rigged the mast for dropping, my plan was to get to the dock as soon as possible, then drop the mast at the dock. The lightening got closer, the wind filled in strong from the north east and I was really concerned about a lightening strike.

We readied for a starboard side docking, but I came in too fast and we used the other dock instead and went in on the port side. The rain was starting, so we tied up quick, turned off the motor, dropped the mast, then ran for the truck. We made it just as the storm really hit. To be honest, it was kind of intense; there was lightening everywhere, the wind and rain looked like news footage of a hurricane and that's when the hail started. Michael joked that all hell breaking loose was a great way to end a sail and I agreed the only thing missing was the fire and brimstone.

We watched from the safety of the truck as an unmanned sailboat anchored in the river dragged its anchor and floated into a small speed boat tied up to the docks. I wanted to help, but there was no way I was going out in that storm. Afterward once the wind stopped, the sailboat floated off with the tide and we called the park rangers to let them know. But my boat was fine, so we hauled her out, secured the mast and were on the road for home by 2030.

Another day on the water and I didn't die!