TriloBoat Talk

Our Lead Line: Plumbing the Depths

2012-03-03T00:55:00.001-09:00

The Boys wanted to pull a joke on the Old Man, who was famous for tasting the bottom as brought up by the armed lead. He claimed to be able to find his way around the coast and banks by taste alone, but was suspected of spinnin' yarn.

So they stowed away a choice specimen of soil from ashore, and bade their time. Soon enough a fog settled in to stay, and they felt their way along for a week before judging the time right.

On sounding, and without the Old Man seeing, they re-armed the lead with their impostor, handed the lead over, and awaited results.

As usual, the Old Man took a contemplative lick at the end of the lead.

His eyes popped wide, and he shouted, "Batten down, then say your prayers, Boys! Nantucket Island is sunk and we're hove to over Mrs. Grady's henhouse!!"

The Boys could never decide how he'd come by the taste of that!

One of those Yarns sloshing about in the Tide

One of the most important bits of information to a sailor is the depth - of the bottom or of the water, depending on your focus... means the same.

With that knowledge, one can follow a bottom contour, determine depth for anchoring, detect a rising, falling or level bottom.

An ancient and honored means is the lead line, or simply, the lead.

This is a heavy weight at the end of a line which is marked off to indicate fathoms. Drop it overboard till it hits bottom, note the depth, bounce it a couple of times to get the feel, and pull it up. That's the short version.

It will often have a cup, at the bottom into which grease of some sort is smeared (arming the lead)... grit from the bottom sticks to the grease, giving further clues to bottom character.

Our lead isn't. By that I mean we hacksawed the end off a fat, stainless steel prop shaft from a beached wreck, that was nicely tapered and even drilled to accept the missing propeller. We filed the corners smooth and strung it with nylon parachute cord. We've also used painted window sash weights, which work great. In either case, watch for chafe at the line loop.

There's a traditional way to mark the line... some system involving rag, leather, beads and washers or somesuch. Not having been taught at rope's end, I can't hang on to stuff like that! So we made our own system of knots, inspired by the abacus.

Knots appear in clusters, one fathom apart, measured and read from the knot nearest the lead. Each cluster may have one or two groups of knots.

Fathom 1 is a single knot, six feet from the bottom of the lead (bottom of the image to the left). One through four four fathoms are a single group cluster each, with one knot per fathom.

Fathom 5 is a single knot. From here on out, the first group of knots within a cluster represents a multiple of 5 fathoms, five per Knot.

If there is only one group within a cluster, then it's the first group (that is, it indicates a multiple of five).

If there are two groups within a cluster, then the first group is fives, and the second is ones.

The trick is to space the knots in a single group closely, and separate the groups enough you can feel the gap blind-folded, with cold, gloved fingers (believe me, comes in handy!). To read (eyes closed, every time), we close our fingers on the lead side of the cluster and zii-iiip. That fast. If i's were knots that'd read 13ftm (okay... now we can peek).

You may notice that there are some ambiguities. Fathoms 1 and 5, 2 and 10, 3 and 15, 4 and 20 have like clusters. In practice, this is no problem if you're even barely aware of how much line's going out.

We cast ahead in proportion to depth and the boat's forward motion. Ideally, we end up directly over the lead as it hits bottom. If we cast from the windward side, the boat doesn't overrun our line.

The line is clipped to its box, which is clipped to the boat. As it runs out, we hold our hand loosely, palm up, making an open ring with thumb and forefinger around the running line. We avoid slowing the run at all, but stand ready to pinch off if we have no bottom past a depth of interest. For example, if we're looking for 10ftm, no sense running out 20... we'll clamp down and haul in.

Once it hits bottom, we haul any slack and read the next cluster outboard, then bounce the lead once or twice. Information comes up the line; The suckkk of mud or silt, thud of sand, chshhh of gravel, TINK of bedrock or boulder, tink of cobble and limp lettuce feel of weed. In fact, we armed the lead for a year, but never learned anything further. It did confirm our sense of touch, however.

We haven't had much luck with reels (in few tries, I must say). On retrieval, we haul with a circular 'pedal' motion -palms up and coming from below the line (generally a good slack line movement... we practice speed as sometimes we need it!), spilling the fall onto deck (don't step in the bights!). We place the lead well clear of the heap between casts. Once done, we overhaul it, spilling it into its tackle box which lives in easy reach.

Call-out protocols help things run smoothly. Info gets shared with all on deck. It helps if we've already discussed our target (good holding in ten to five fathoms, say). Before casting we call, "SOUNDING!" (avoids heart-attack for the foredeck ape when the SPLASH of the lead surpises and gushes water). If no bottom is found, we call, "NO BOTTOM AT 15!" If we hit bottom, its, "SAND AT 8 FATHOMS."

Often, the one at the bow is standing by to drop anchor. Sometimes the helm calls the DROP, and sometimes the bow, by prearranged decision. In the latter case, they're waiting for the target result from sounding, and drop on conditions met.

All this is easier than it sounds, and practice makes perfect. The lead line is one of those things that can be made and practiced while waiting to get on the water. Even if one has electronic depth sounders, a lead-line is a fail-safe backup.

Our little plumber's helper!

NOTE: Spilling line means just dumping it in a heap. It's very fast and pays back out beautifully if left essentially undisturbed. We might carefully ease it to one side, but never handle it in a way that might 'toss' it like salad. Undoing snarls in the dark while racing toward shoals is a teachable moment!

A PREDDYGOODOINK: Setting Anchor Engineless, Absent Wind

2012-03-02T00:10:00.003-09:00

A well set anchor is a good night's sleep.

Wind? Any Fool can sail with wind. It takes a Man to sail without it!

One of our Snaggle-Toothed, Water-Rat Friends

Setting anchor under sail is a valuable skill, well documented by serious sailors in serious venues (but here you are, instead... tsk). That's easy! Most sailing is pretty easy when the sails are full.

The real challenge is not blow high, but blow low.

Wind is not always with us. The sea breeze (anabatic) tends to die just about the time we're considering calling it a day. Wind and tide don't always agree, so we're sometimes out in a flat calm riding the bus; once we've reached our stop, we still have to climb off and anchor. And the good anchorages are like little, hand-held vanity mirrors, smiling placidly up at the sunset.

There are three general ways we've settled on to get an anchor set.

In Settled Weather, when we've no expectation of change, we scull our way across our chosen spot on a heading away from any possible wind (expected, typical or geographically worst case). On command from the helm, the anchor is dropped and warp paid out slack, while the helmsperson, working the scull, huffs and puffs to a sprint. At 10:1 scope* if there's room (less if not), we make fast, charging in slow motion down the line (which is trailing over the bow and straight aft).

* NOTE: We've heard, and it seems true, that long scope allows a better set, yet retains much of its holding power when hauled in to shorter scope. Short scope will straighten chain and pull anchor sooner than long scope, but takes considerable wind to do so, even at 2:1). For setting, however, longer is better, as it helps remove spring from the line/chain.

The person at the bow keeps a hand on the line, to see if its skipping or dragging. If all goes well, though, the line goes taut and DOINKs the boat. Pretty Good Doink is the signal that we've done our worst (Anke's brother rolled it into one word, Preddygoodoink, which we've used ever since). We haul back to lesser scope, (more on this, below) and settle in for the evening. If it's a dull, draggy sludge to a halt, we pull and repeat until satisfied.

If any wind comes up, we pop out to assess our hold and take new anchor bearings. Once we've fallen back on the anchor, we jerk set to test its hold. This entails hauling sharp and fast, jerking against the inertia of the boat. It should feel hard set (no change of resistance), and the boat should accelerate toward the anchor (visible against bearings).

Sometimes, if there's a particular danger (a rock, say), we'll scull toward that. We reason that we'll want our best holding against Murphy's Wind - the one that will set us onto the worst case. If space is tight, we go as close as we dare before making fast... if the anchor doesn't set, we need room to react.

The physics of the method relies on the momentum of the boat. Even at sculling speeds of little more than a knot and a half, the momentum of a three ton boat develops high shock load (why you don't want to fend off with a leg). This buries the anchor for a decent set whenever it gets a bite.

Some anchors are better at this than others. We don't use Danforth pattern anchors for this, as they can skip at higher speeds. We want one that will sink a tooth into the bottom, and then chomp it home with the doink.

Wind Expected situations require a more secure set. We may have achieved it with the preddygoodoink, but can't test it any further than what muscle provides.

What we need is a second anchor point. This can be another anchor or a shore tie. Once this is set, we can pull on either line, which should not come home. No jumps, slides, creeps or crawls allowed.

If one of two anchors fails to set, the trick is to decide which. Careful bearings - at near right angles to the line between anchors - are the best indicator, as movement relative to them clearly shows which anchor is moving. But often, you can just feel it through the line. If the one in hand feels solid, it's likely the other that's dragging. Don't shrug it off... set and reset until everything's rock solid.

If you're feeling paranoid (and some days that's a prudent kind of a feeling), a handy billy or come-along can be used to set and test, well beyond what you can provide by hand.

Digging In by Hand is the most reliable method of all, and can be done on even the worst bottoms. We nose up to a beach or row to exposed beach. Using a WWI trenching shovel, we dig that sucker down till the shank is lying flat (can bury it, too, if that paranoid feeling is about). We've found that leaving undisturbed soil ahead of the flukes maximizes holding power, so dig a sharp wall toward the pull.

Surveying the Bottom helps a lot.

Visually, by lead or pole (which have the advantage over electronic sounders in being able to feel the bottom) , or, best of all, by foot at low tide, we gain much information seldom charted in these out-of-the-way spots.

Later, we'll draw up hand charts for the log, noting depths, patches of good holding (with bearings to find it again), foul bits to avoid and so on.

Needless to say, we hope to actually drop anchor on a good spot. As connaisseurs of bottom, we cheer for the silty suck-mud that grabs our lead in its velvet grip. Five star!

A pass or two in new territory usually turns something up. Often, once anchored, well row around prospecting spots with good protection or especially good vistas. It never hurts to row around and get an idea of the bottom around the boat's position, too... let's us know how much drag we could afford, if we did.

Over the years, our local knowledge base is growing, helping us anchor with confidence ahead of, or in the midst of bad conditions. This kind of data informs decisions on when and where to make a run for it if things take a turn for the wild side.

Nothing beats insider information!

PS. Being shoal drafted, we like the advantages of getting in close as possible. Good lees and best views of wildlife onshore. But our beaches, so close in and high up, are often cobble which resists a bite. Typically, they'll have muck at their feet, though, a bit further out.

In recent years, we've been dropping an anchor or two out in the soft bottom, with long warps in and a line to shore to limit swing and hold us close.

Night Sailing

2012-03-01T00:19:00.002-09:00

"Black... as the Night... is."
Ken Nordine's Word Jazz

Squiggy Squigmond is afraid of nothing.

Except darkness.

From the LaVerne and Shirley Show

The thing about night sailing is the darkness.

We're visual, and mostly diurnal creatures. We lack tapeta lucida - the reflective layer which produces spooky eyeshine, and amplifies night vision acuity. We say that we are benighted, that darkness is palpable. We don't like to be kept in the dark. We huddle by our fires and peer apprehensively into the black heart of old Mother Night.

But once we step away from the light... shiver a for a bit in the sensory vacuum... a funny thing happens. Darkness eases back from us a bit - loosens its grip. We become aware of the world around us. Our irises dilate, hearing sharpens, nostrils flare, skin thrills to the slightest change of temperature or humidity, the faintest caress of breeze. Our minds sift subtle messages lost to a brain awash in visual abundance.

We begin to find our way.

Our sailing tools extend the reach of our senses. With our compass, we detect the orientation of the Earth's magnetic field. We can sound the sea's bottom when it comes within our reach. We resound our horn's blare from cliff and stone, inferring their presence from the timbre of echo.

When calm, the surface of water is reflective... a tapetum lucidum about the boat. Closing on shore, one may watch the dim, argent sheen of the sky reflected in the water round. Straining into the blackness beyond is of no avail. But the impenetrable silhouette of rock or shore or kelp, intruding on this circle of protection, announces itself clearly, black on silver.

Generally, the land is dark and all but its horizon obscured. We work our way along, sometimes oh so close in, to separate a feature from the cloaking, black backdrop of hills. Once silhouetted against the sky, it serves as a waypost. Then repeat for the next stretch, and again.

Watershed valleys open, when in line with us, and close as we pass, as do channels, passages, straits and entrances. Each provides a line of position, and tick off the miles along the coast.

To find distance off, we often sail by the hand.

At arm's length, we lay our hand 'on the water', so well as we can judge. Little finger resting at the waterline, hand held horizontal and open, our palm facing us. We want our upper, thumb edge at the tops of the shoreline trees. If the trees overtop our hand, we're too close in and head out; if the hand is taller than the trees, we're too far out and head in.

A bit of low cloud, flat foreshore or a touch of moon or stars can show that first row quite well. If not, no matter, we end up a bit farther out, in deeper, safer water, our thumb at the ridgeline.

We practice this by daylight, to get the feel for offhand distance. We're in a good area for this. The trees are of a fairly uniform height and stand cheek on jowl along almost the entire coast. But the method can be adapted for most any coast with clear water paralleling the shore... how many fingers, or hands to the common, distinguishable feature? See what works for you.

Another way to use these relative angles is when approaching shore. A feature of a given height, looming over us, against the sky at an angle of 45deg, means we're as distant as it is tall. They loom higher, we're closer; lower and we're farther out. Very useful when creeping into a tight cove. Again, daytime practice develops a feel for what's going on, transferable to that nighttime world of shadows.

******

One of our best nights ever was sailing, northbound in Chatham, toward the wedding of two dear friends.

It was August. The wind was against us, some 20kts on the nose. We lashed the tiller for long, timed tacks, deep into Chatham and back inshore. Pillowed and warmed under blankets, we snuggled together with Scuppy (our longtime, canine companion for whom this was among his last nights with us). We drank the glory of the night in grateful drafts.

Under a full and brilliant moon, we sailed through pockets of cool air, scented with salt and sea, alternating with blushes of warm, redolent of spruce duff and summer flowers. All round the boat, bioluminescence lit the chop in tongues of cold flame. Above, the Leonid meteor shower serrated the sky. A rare display of summertime northern lights teased ghostly veils amongst the wonders.

We lay back, hour after hour, tack on tack, basking in the glory of it all. Humbled and awestruck by this onslaught of beauty.

Just before the first light of pre-dawn, we fetched our anchorage, a notch in the western wall, marked from afar by the silhouette of a mountain with a steep shoulder to the north. We sailed in close and offset a bit south, ears open for the sound of waves along the cliffy shore. Once we found the kelp line, we turned north and followed the wall until the shoulder of the entrance loomed against the meteor rent sky. Rounded the point and followed the edge to a square turn at the back of the cove.

About this time, we reached for our lead line. GONE! During a fit of cleaning while waiting for tide earlier that day, we must have bumped it overboard! Our long reach into the deeps was AWOL.

The tricky bit was avoiding the shoals to port and shoreside, and an exposed rock to starboard.

Favoring the shoals and tapping our way with the pole to port, we followed the shore until the rock loomed clear against the night. Sailing free once more, we rounded a last point - holding its treetops to 45deg - and into our tidal creek of destination. Anke, at the bow, called out the tack when our silver circle encountered one shore or the other.

As a final gift, salmon massing in the creek to spawn shot from our path as we advanced, visible only as submarine Roman Candles; as fountains of sparks in the night.

When we'd gone as far as we dared, we eased the anchor over the bow.

Safe and sound, snug and smug.

PS. See LISTEN UP for a trick to enhance hearing; very useful at night!

It was a Dark and Stormy Night

2012-02-29T01:25:00.001-09:00

This winter, the wind blew a well maintained, centegenarian cannery building off its piling in neighboring Sitkoh Bay!

There's something about Alaskans;

If they survive, they think they've had a good time!

A Visiting Friend

If you can't dodge wrenches, you can't dodge logs!

Anke paraphrasing quote from the movie, DodgeBall...

Rip Torn, training his team by hurling wrenches, says,

"If you can't dodge wrenches, you can't dodge balls!"

For all the danger I keep harping about, sailing is pretty durn safe. The story I'm about to tell is pretty much our one hairy tale in 23 years of sailing along a rough coast. Well... lets say 15 years of bona fide, actual, out there sailing (as opposed to building, being tied to shore and a job, family visits or crises, etc). Still...

Winters in SouthEast Alaska aren't the igloo and dogsled kind. Usually, things hover within several degrees of freezing, with occasional ventures up or down. The warm Japanese Current confers moderation. It's a wet and piercing cold, to be sure, but seldom truly frigid. Winds can and often do blow up to hurricane force. But then it can flatten for days at a time to mirror calm.

That year was different.

Storm after gale blew off the Gulf. Our 'relief' was a switch, now and then, to colder, interior air rolling down from Yukon Territory, bringing its own, fierce winds and the deadly threat of freezing spray.

It was a Dark and Stormy Winter

We were snug as bugs in Sitka Sound, but had promised to watch animals for friends in Tenakee. We tried to wriggle out, but TKE is a small town, and all the locals were booked for the season. So off we went in LUNA.

The forecast looked good... S-SE F6-7 should have whisked us north and east in a day or two. We gave it a month. And good thing we did... no sooner had we cleared Sitka breakwater than the wind dropped to nothing... ...then picked up again, on the nose! LUNA, we always said, loves to beat! She can't let a fair wind be.

So we beat, close-hauled north past and through stretches wild an beautiful at the best of times, grey and gorgeous under the lowering skies of winter. I'll skip the detail (that kind of story takes a couple, long bottle nights; one for me and one for your story!) and only say that, by the time we reached Penninsular Point (PP), we'd waited out and sailed through two blizzards and a winter storm (according to NOAA).

PP is just north of where Peril Strait meets Chatham Strait at cross purposes. It sticks out from Chatham's west wall like a hammerhead, with a sandy bottom bight to the north and south. It makes a great place to wait for fair wind, sheltered in one lee or the other.

This time, "It was comin' down outta the north with its loooong boots on" (as a friend liked to say... I do too, in a dark and gravelly voice).

We spiderwebbed into the S bight and waited. And waited. And waited. Two weeks non-stop huffin' and puffin' and snow. We'd wake to find our cockpit overflowing with the powdery stuff, and the decks swept clear.

It's a fine time, waiting snug for weather. Elaborate and creative meals. Poking around in the snow, ashore. Reading and music and love.

Finally, the forecast called for a change in weather. Southeast gales in the afternoon. Music to our ears. Straight shot into TKE, several days ahead of ourselves!

Right on schedule, the wind in the bight fell to nothing. We bundled up, pulled our anchors and poked our nose around the corner. Hmph. Still blowing bearded combers. We bucked against it, for a while, making progress but not much. Why don't we pull back in, have lunch and try again in a bit?

So back in, drop a lunch hook and have us a sammich. [Queue the ominous music!] Didn't even unsuit so we'd be ready to go at the first sign of wind.

We were just having some tea when we heard the shwssshh of swell in the bight. Alright!! That means wind S of us! I set down my tea, and heard something else. Looking up, I saw the trees at the top of the cliff swaying back and forth like they wuz born again (hallelujah)! Uh Oh. I reached down to pull my zipper up as the first gust hit.

By the time it's up, we are on the beach!

Those gentle swells were now going nuts with (I estimate) around 45kts of wind driving 'em, broadsides into our hull. Top of a spring tide... not the best time to be driven ashore.

A quick look around determines that we're pinned up against a field of drift logs at the top of the steep gravel beach. The dory's getting squooshed between LUNA and logs.

I yell to Anke to furl the mizzen (released but flogging), but HANG ON! Then leap to the logs (no derring-do... they're stuck fast in sand and close as a dock). I pull the dory out from between, and ashore, noting only a single puncture, near the sheer (lucky). Looking up, I see Anke, in mid-air and almost horizontal, doing a loop-de-loop around the mizzen, overboard and back (jolted by the boat, surging erratically in the surf)! But she took it in stride (as I calmed my beating heart) and furled the mizzen taut and tight.

Eventually, the tide receded, taking the chaos with it. It's a fail-safe beach, for the most part - one of the reasons we like it. But, since last we'd been there, a giant snag had grounded high and off to the east of our position, which foiled safety along that stretch... its four inch thick branches were like jousting lances defending the beach from the sea. A boat length that-a-way and we'd have been skewered.

We ran damage assessment (dory punch was the only casualty) and form a plan. One that involved gathering blocking materials, skids and levers. Beaches like this one, luckily, are full of that kind of stuff... fellow flotsam. It took us several breath-taking tries to row a brace of anchors through the surf and get them to set offshore. BTW, the lunchhook pulled home coated with weed... we'd misjudged the distance and anchored inside the foul zone.

The problems were threefold:

We were tight and broadsides to a giant log (couldn't spin the boat on her belly).
Twice a day, high tide slapped at us, trying to erase whatever progress we'd made.
The tides were getting lower... running away from us, rather than toward.

Worse, while it was only up and down between 30 and 45kts, 70kts and higher could appear any time... and we're looking down water unbroken till Antarctica. Kinda lights a fire. We had a smidgeon of protection from Morris Reef - shoal to the south of us - which would knock the legs out from under the very worst waves, but that was small comfort.

Meanwhile, the bight was collecting more and more drift logs. And drift logs, it turns out, love to surf! Cowabunga!

Higher high water rose up in the wee hours, so we'd pause for a few to fend logs. We could just make out the long, inky blots of log as they surged from the dark, bones in teeth and nose. And the generous moon broke through the scudding clouds for just enough time, each night to light our staves, warm our hearts and lend us courage.

It was in one of these busy hours that Anke, her grin agleam in lunar twilight, shouted her dodgin' wrenches remark over the cacauphony of wave and wind. At another point, she fell asleep on her feet, spilling her tea. That's my Baby!

We worked round the clock for three days. Raising up on the house jack and forcing a controlled topple. Setting and resetting skids and blocking as tide allowed. When the water came, cranking in and heaving on the lines. Lifting and shifting - waves trying to slap us back against the logs - we struggled to hold our ground.

We were finally able to move the boat out enough to spin it enough to pull on the anchor lines enough to inch forward on the crests enough to slide free! Free, HA HA HA HA... FREEEEEE!!!!

Well, almost.

Our dory, left on the beach logs in launch position (attached by a long line), did indeed launch, but swamped in the surf. No problem. Routine stuff. Our formerly offshore anchors, now slack and inshore of us, entangled with the gauntlet of drift logs on our way out to weather anchors in deeper water. We fought to untangle them in the surge; finally having to cut and splice one that was hopeless.

By now, the tide had receded, and our offshore anchors were smack-dab under the ebbing surf line. Should've picked 'em up on our way out, if we'd been thinking clearly. Had to wait for high, again, to pick 'em up; close but clear of turbulence.

Now that we were free, the forecast switched, of course. We had the rest of the night-ish to get north to TKE Inlet before it turned against us, again. Tired as we were, we sailed off into the dark and stormy night...

But I'll leave that tale for another time.

PS. There's a moral... never sail under a deadline!

We had a lot of advantages in a situation that could have wrecked another boat. Shoal draft kept us upright, and able to step ashore. The copper bottom eliminated chafe concerns. We had a sea-going dory for backup, capable of taking us over winter waters. We had, and put ashore, spare rations and gear enough to set up a camp should the worst come. We had the heavy movers to force the boat downhill, against the weight of surf. We had cold weather active gear, and solid lighting to let us work long hours. We knew the bight well and had chosen it, in part for its fail-safe beach.

There's that element of luck that can toss agley the best laid plans. But Fortune favors the well-prepared; it never hurts to hedge one's bets, especially when gallivanting about in winter.

All in all, we think we had a good time!

The DIY Mandate: Do It Yourself!

2012-02-28T00:34:00.000-09:00

By Rustin Wright

Never throw anything away you can't retrieve at low tide.

Codger's advice as passed on by Mike McConnell

I'm a sucker for manifestos... pithy declarations of basic principles. Here's a brace of 'em for the DIY Revolution. Follow links provided for easier reading.

Like so many manifestos, they're not a perfect fit... certain turns of phrase and assumptions, here and there, make me twitchy. But gotta love 'em for their enthusiasm - a trait essential to anyone who gets up on a soap-box and shouts the Truth as they see it. And good on 'em! I won't quibble with their fine print.

Of course, I see it all through a particular - possibly peculiar - lens. But then, you're here, reading this, so it's likely one we share.

All this can apply to the low life on the water.

In many ways, these are clarion calls to go back to the future. A time when self-reliance was the rule, and not the exception. A time antedating extremes of specialization, when we were Jacks and Jills of all trades, masters of none. A time before the 'attractive nuisance', when use at your own risk was caution enough. It wasn't by any means a Golden Age, but it had its silver linings.

The downside of manifestos is that they're wordy. They're hard to put together, in the morning after dancing in the streets. So we need a slogan to sum it all up and chant at the running-dog corporatarians... Reduce, Reuse, Repurpose, Recycle.

VIVE LA REVOLUCION!

Click HERE for easy reading or distribution.

Electricity in a NutShell

2012-02-27T01:52:00.000-09:00

Nikola Tesla, Boat Electrician Extraordinaire

There are few areas, in boating, that attract more gew-gaws, gizmos and gimcrackery than the electrical system.

Time was, nobody had one. Oil lamps for cabin, anchor and running lights. Lead lines for sounding. Paper charts and a handful of tools for navigation. A fiddle, squeeze-box and lungs for music. Hailed passing ships with a bellows voice. Sailed with eyes and ears open by night.

We sailed our first ten years this way, and loved the simplicity. But lamp oil's getting rare and expensive. It's messy and doesn't burn quite clean... even a well trimmed wick irritates, these days; we became slightly sensitized, over the years. So electricity it is.

Now, I'm no technophobe. But I notice that I've stepped onto a slippery slope!

Here's a simple, modern Wish List:

Radar, GPS, Computer with Nav Software, Auto Pilot, Windlass
VHF (Base Station w/ Antenna and Coax Cable)
Depth Sounder, Knot Meter, Anemometer
Fridge/Freezer, Freshwater Pressure System
Running, Anchor, Spreader, Spot, Cabin Lights
Bilge Pumps, Sniffers, Blowers, Fans, Engine Starter and Wiring
Music System (Player, Speakers)
Solar Panels (1KW?), Controller, Battery Bank, Pulse Desulphator
Wiring, Switches, Fuses, Distribution Panel
120V Shore Power Parallel system, Inverter
Dry Cell Battery Charger, HeadLamps, FlashLights

That ain't asking much... no electric furling, winches, ham radio, single-sideband, TV... and the computer doubles as a DVD player (my aren't we the thrifty ones!).

And that only comes to... hmm... carry the two... decimal point here... YOW!!!

Here's the problem. If you, like us, have a shoe-string operation, a wish list like this one is going to come out near the price of whole rest of the boat. The less expensive the boat, the worse the relative bite of the electrical system.

Okay. New approach. In this one, we try to think like a Jeep, rather than a Cadillac.

Goals are few components, reduced complexity, low draw.

New, leaner, meaner Final List:

~~Radar~~, GPS (Hand-held), Computer (12V) ~~with Nav Software, Auto Pilot, Windlass~~
VHF (Handheld)
~~Depth Sounder~~ (Leadline), ~~Knot Meter, Anemometer~~
~~Fridge/Freezer, Freshwater Pressure System~~
Running, Anchor, ~~Spreader~~, ~~Spot~~, Cabin Lights
~~Bilge Pumps~~ (Bucket and Sponge), ~~Sniffers, Blowers, Fans, Engine Starter and Wiring~~
Music System (iPod and iHome)
Solar Panel (130W), Controller, Battery ~~Bank~~, Pulse Desulfator
Wiring, Switches, Fuses, Distribution Panel
~~120V Shore Power Parallel system, Inverter~~
Dry Cell Battery Charger, HeadLamps, FlashLights

Wiring et al is held to a minimum by using rechargeable (NiMH) drycells, and charger for hand-helds, anchor and stern lights. An outlet circuit powers computer, charger and music. Few circuits (cabin lights, nav lights and outlets) allow bargain distribution panel. Battery's a Group 27 lead-acid (car) battery, rated 107Ah.

[NOTE: Check around harbor dumpsters for abandoned batteries. Can trade them in for discount on new one, and/or try reconditioning with a Pulse Desulfator. These pulse a charge through the plates, knocking sulphates free, thereby upping battery capacity. They are believed to extend battery life, and can moderately restore lost performance. Cheap, relative to batteries, so pay for themselves over time.]

I can't stand cigarette lighter plugs. Bulky and designed to break the connection. We're looking into PowerPole Connectors as an alternate.

For an anchor light, we use a little Brunton LED tent lantern. It's waterproof, and a single charge of its 4xAA batteries lasts about a week of nights. We've got a bigger, 30 LED lantern that we use if anchored near town (city lights). It doubles as an area light if we have to work outside at night. Inside, the main light is a 'natural tone' florescent, supplemented by candles.

[NOTE: Check with local churches... there's almost always a little storage room full of half-burnt candles they're happy to dispose of!]

The computer is a luxury... it pays its way by allowing me to write and finalize designs on board. It's an ASUS 901 EEE... 12V and solid state drive means low power consumption.

Our Solar Panel (Kyocera KC130TM), is the biggest that will fit on deck. These employ a technology that's more output on a smaller footprint, and is more efficient in cloudy or low light conditions. We oversized it (spendier option) to reduce having to orient for optimal performance (sometimes, in winter), and to cover occasional, creative fits on the computer.

The Solar Panel is by far and away the most expensive component. One option is to go bargain basement (many 2nd hand deals). We've gone, instead, for higher performance, small footprint and long, guaranteed life to prorate cash investment, and reap performance dividend.

This all still costs a galling 10% of SLACKTIDE's total (including the electrical system and copper plate).

The VHF base station is the one thing I hanker after. We get a good five miles, line of sight, with the hand-held, but Alaska eats that up pretty quick. I've spent enough time in EMS circles to appreciate long distance communication. We seem to have a general surplus of power, though we'll look for a radio with low stand-by power draw.

One odd-ball item we're looking into is an ionizer. These help clear the air of particles (dust and woodstove). They make a li'l, 12V guy for cars that should handle our space. [See SHEMAYA's comment, following post].

*****

Also on the cost list are tools and materials. I won't detail it, but it's a fairly spendy kit when all the dust settles. We like a butane soldering torch, though are considering a 12V iron. Don't forget a multi-tester!

A good reference book is a fine idea. We found the The 12-Volt Bible for Boats by Miner K. Brotherton to be very easy to understand... something to be valued over brevity, at least to get going!

The electrical system is one of the main causes of fire on board. Bone up on safety standards, and follow 'em for trouble free function. Don't forget type ABC (C=electric) Fire Extinguishers.

The best systems, once installed, go forever after unnoticed.

PS. So far, we've only ocassionally run low on power (50% of battery charge) in the dark o' winter. It's a portent that I'm spending too much time on the computer and need to take a break. Our 7W florescent cabin light and LEDs are just sipping power, so the next daylight hours will start catching us back up. Most of the time, there's power to spare.

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com

Lord of All I Survey: Notes on the Chart

2012-02-25T18:11:00.001-09:00

Typical Chart of Tricky Bit

I hear that the ability to take in significant detail from a perusal of a chart is an acquirable skill.

Not me. Not yet, anyway. But not for want of trying!

One problem is that it's often wet, windy and wild just as we're negotiating a tricky bit of coast... entering or leaving a cove, threading a rock pile or reef, running into or out of a river.

Another is that so much of where we sail - in the shoal fringes inaccessible to deeper craft - is either not charted at all, or wildly inaccurate.

Here's a set of tricks that help with both problems...


We'd draw this after a row-by survey noting what was marked by kelp or not, and checked on LOS ranges (can see 'boot'/creek mouth?), current set and that all danger reefs are visible. Note considerable simplification and detail omission.

Hand Chart

We start with a notebook of weather-proof paper - the 'write in the rain' type - and pencil. We're going to draw a 'chartlet' that we can hold in hand, on deck, in the thick of things for quick and continuous reference. It will be our guide, without having to run down to check the chart every time short term memory draws a blank (pretty often, for me... short term memory).

[Note: We like mechanical pencils with a fine, medium lead for chart annotations... write concisely with a light hand for easy erasure (corrections). Any old pencil with thicker lead works for Hand Charts... look for a heavy, dark line, visible longer in low light conditions.]

From the chart, we copy a representation of important features; coast outline, rocks, shoals, channels. This doesn't have to be too accurate or detailed; just enough to clearly identify features and a safe course. It helps to strip out information you won't need. Draw in a route whose dangers and courses are marked by identifiable features.

Identifiable features may include points, islands, exposed rocks, depth contours (need to sound for these), and ranges.

Ranges are any two things that line up to establish a line of sight (LOS), or a line of position (LOP). The difference is that the line of sight is the strait line determined by two points, while a line of position is one that you're sitting on. These can be used as danger lines (e.g., don't cross that there LOS, it's a rock pile on t'other side of it), or safe passage lines (e.g., line up that big, white boulder with the peak and stay on that LOP to the first bend... you'll be clear).

Useful line ups can be marked right onto the chart.

Compass bearings can be useful, though in our grounds, we hardly use one (lots of shoreline detail and distinctive background. For various reasons, they're seldom as spot on as an LOS.

Survey

The first time into a new area, all you've got to go on are your charts with notations of any local knowledge that might have been passed your way (note it on your charts, but treat it skeptically), and the information from your senses. If it's a complicated spot, consider a row-by to nail down details.

We make up our Hand Chart, and update it as we go. Sometimes it'll be a correction (as in, they drew the shoreline wrong), but most often, it's visual LOPs using uncharted features (e.g., trees, boulders, ravines), an addition (reef, rockpile, mudhole, etc.), description (bottom type, beach characteristics, etc.).

Hasty sketches of profile views can be drawn in. How do things look on the the approach? Where's the channel, visually speaking? When, where and what am I looking at for my ranges?

After we're settled (preferably sometime the same day) we often go for a hike or row. This is a time to take a more complete and less hurried survey. Compass bearings can be taken or checked, without boat's motion. If we're out at low tide, many hazards are visible that were not, on the way in. We can use this time to calculate heights of channels and bars, using the Rule of Tenths. All info goes onto the Hand Chart, which is by now looking a bit worse for wear.

Once back beside the fire, we tidy up the Hand Chart and redraw a fair copy in the log. We've wanted to collect these into a binder, organized in line with the Coast Pilot, but so far haven't gotten to it. If there are specialties, here, we note 'em... thimbleberry stands, orach, a freshwater stream.

One of the benefits of the process of drawing and re-drawing is that the picture you're developing gets its best shot at making the jump to long term memory.

Yes, but is it ART?

The Mental Map

The generation before ours spent a great deal of attention on cultivating a sense of profile navigation. Ideally, one could look at a picture from anywhere within the cruising range and - from the profile of islands, mountains, sea and spits - know exactly where the picture was taken.

I'm still a novice at this - my brain doesn't work well in that way - but my powers are increasing! Especially from the decks of a slow boat, one has hours to contemplate, analyze and identify one's environs, purely in terms of profile. I play it as a sort of game, using the chart to back up my (increasingly educated) guesses.

Over time, my picture of our cruising grounds is slowly building into a mental map of the entire region. Every season fills in new gaps in the map. It's getting common to sail into some far nook we last visited a decade previous, and find it not only familiar, but fresh - the Hand Chart redundant for today.

*****
The Delorme Topographical Gazetteers (Atlases), taken together, are another resource. These are available for all 50 states. They're small scale (cover more area with less detail), but give a good sense of the lay of the land.
These help identify peaks (usually marked as points on the chart), runs of ridges, valleys and contours... all of which are very helpful for visual navigation. As a perk, they can help clue you in to how winds might flow in a given locale, helping toward the selection of an anchorage

They're not to be used as a sole reference for navigation, but then, what is?

WaterWorks

2012-02-24T22:00:00.000-09:00

Be careful what you water your dreams with.

Water them with worry and fear

and you will produce weeds that choke the life from your dreams.

Water them with optimism and solutions,

and you will cultivate success.

Lao T'zu

Most of the water in our lives is safely outboard. The ocean, rain, rivers. We've gone to some lengths to keep it that way.

But some of it is invited aboard.

A reader asked about our system, and it turns out to be startlingly intricate... here I was thinking it simple! Here's a medley of ways and means we handle it.

An all-purpose bucket lives on deck. We like the 2 gallon size made from food grade plastic, white, with a rope painter. Its small size makes it easy to heft saltwater aboard for washing down decks, pre-rinsing dishes, latrine duty. If it's been raining hard, we use it to bail most of the dory before finishing with its smaller, dedicated scoop.

Also on deck (usually) are four, 5 gallon jerrycans, each of which holds about a weeks worth of fresh water, more or less. These were a score... British military surplus, they have 1/4" thick walls (tough as nails). We fill them two at a time, usually... we'll fill 'em all if heading into a flat area.

Fresh water in SE Alaska is plentiful, and mostly deliciously potable. We look for steep creeks running down directly from mountainsides, or small rivers with good flow. We avoid those with flat stretches below muskeg (acidic peat bogs common to the area), where water may have sat, stagnant and warm, before joining the stream. In late summer, the fish runs start coming in, and we'll avoid spawning streams until they clear of fish remains... usually November-ish.

Giardia (a protozoa infection) is always a risk. It can be carried and introduced by animals (a common name for it is beaver fever after high concentrations from waters contained by beaver dams), including humans, and almost any surface water is susceptible.

Official advice is to treat, filter or boil all untested water. Some argue that this is over-kill; that a healthy person's immune system resists small concentrations... the problem (goes the argument) occurs in high concentrations or when the immune system is depressed. We've followed this line of reasoning, based on scarcity of giardia victims in SE, and (I must confess) laziness. If you do boil water to sterilize, it's a minimum of three minutes at a roiling boil. Stir when cool to re-oxygenate.

If we're not satisfied with the look of things, we do have a Katydyn pump filter, and can collect it off our sails or by setting a collection tarp. Only ever resorted to this once or twice. Sails are easy (put 'em up with a one panel bight at the bottom, and catch the drip), but water so caught tastes of smoke.

Steep creeks are usually small and can be hard to spot. To find water, we'll often ghost along a steep shoreline, listening hard. The sound tells you a lot about volume, the bed (mossy creeks are quieter than those running over clean stone and sometimes even if there's a convenient pool to draw from.

One or both of us will row in - as near high tide as is practical - with jerrycans, a funnel and salad bowl (for a scoop)... if it checks out (clear brown water has tannin from the muskegs).

In winter, we chop through ice, as necessary. If the jerrycans are freezing up, we may hang them overboard, where the heatsink of the North Pacific keeps them fluid. We don't sleep with a fire, at night... if it's cold enough, we'll fill our coffee and teapot in the evening. Next morning's fire will thaw them out before boiling for breakfast.

Morning water involves ablutions (might include a 'spit-bath'), the aforementioned water pots - one for coffee, the other warming for the day's thermos. A cup's worth of rice/lentils (plus 2x water by volume), most days. Wash-up (once a day, if diligent).

We mix in saltwater, as much as possible, to stretch the fresh. Use it instead of dry salt if liquids are called for, half and half for potatoes, when we have 'em, a little less for spaghetti. All but the final rinse for dishes.

Saltwater is dipped from SLACKTIDE's side-flaps, which are handy to the galley. With a handled pot in hand, we can easily reach the water. The french press is sloshed clean overboard. Don't shake it out, and the residue is just right for coffee! A little salt water in coffee (don't over do it!) replaces the old country pinch o' salt... delicious!

After breakfast, we refill one pot for the day's water, which usually suffices for cold drink, cooking and brushin' teeth.

Some projects - laundry, spring cleaning, canning, wine making in berry season - all these take more fresh water. We'll sail right up a tidal river mouth and dry out in easy reach of all the water we need. Cleans the copper, too!

A water related thought: we keep weight down by carrying as much dried food as possible. Just add water! Since it's available all around us, we can defer the weight. Saves hundreds of pounds.

So those are the WaterWorks on S/V SLACKTIDE.

There are lots of other ways to go - holding tanks, dockside fill-ups, reverse osmosis, solar stills - it all depends on the use of your vessel, your cruising grounds and habits.

The watercourse way...

Annotated List for KISS Living

2012-02-23T17:03:00.000-09:00

If we're gonna be up a creek, we'd best have a paddle!
(Not sure of provenance, but found this image here)

In a recent post, A Stitch in Time, I wrote of TEOTWAWKI (The End Of The World As We Know IT), and concluded with a list of skills and stuff to have on board. Not coincidentally, the same list applies to shoe-string living, on the water or off, and more generally to emergency preparedness.

The debate surrounding most anything, these days is highly polarized. Left/right, liberal/conservative, sane/insane, perpetrator/victim. Most of us are just trying to find our way among a few facts, and laying bets on those to which we give credence. 'Nuff said.

I take it you're reading this because you're interested - in practice or vicariously - in a simple life on or near the water. After all, that's all I got. The whys and wherefores aren't so important. We're all welcome, here.

It doesn't take TEOTWAWKI for this kind of information to be useful. Emergency situations can crop up out of nowhere. Katrina in New Orleans, flood or fire in California, snowstorms in Chicago, car breaks down in Texas. You're laid off, foreclosed upon or the ol' ticker skips a beat.

So this list can be approached 'Post Collapse', 'Emergency Preparedness' or 'Voluntary Simplicity'. Works for me, any which way, so suit yourself.

Much of the information given below can be found online. Rather than buy a stack of tomes with exhaustive, specialized detail, look for good, concise presentations. Print 'em out and organize them in a binder/notebook, and trade up whenever you stumble upon better.

The alternatives are good, general compendiums in book form, covering a range of subjects or important/complex subjects in greater detail.

We use both. Look for good presentation and information density. Don't let 'em collect dust... get that knowledge into your head and hands. Kids eat this stuff up... let 'em!

Main sources of information are books (Consider buying local, Libraries and Inter Library Loan); magazines; online articles, blogs, zines and websites; people (don't forget old-timers!). I've included links to many that we have onboard or have been helpful to us. But it's a wide world, and we don't get out, much.

Finally, don't undersell your own ability to figure things out. We don't want to spend our time re-inventing the wheel, but our own focus and tenacity can solve problems and resolve questions that are unique to us. That's a powerful tool perched on your neck... don't waste it!

Skills

Survival Training - Books, SAR (Search and Rescue), seminars, etc. provide training and education over quite a range of scenarios. Never know when you'll be separated from your base.

Basic Medical Training - I recommend Wilderness First Responder training, usually available through your local SAR. Sets you up for most anything that can be handled without access to medical facilities. Where There Is No Doctor and Pain Free are good, core references.

Pharmacopoea - Natural medicines and tinctures, aspirin, antibiotics, anaesthetic. Books should be available for medicinal plants in your locality. Ask around. Do be sure to find reliable sources, and cross-reference these to the best of your ability. Pay attention to cautions and dosage. This stuff is potent... like any medications, they can kill as well as cure.

Dentistry - Cavity stabilization and tooth extraction are emergency procedures (not standard DIY). But emergencies emerge. Teeth are right next to the brain and wired for extreme sensitivity. A bad tooth is red flag and left untreated or improperly handled can kill. Serious stuff. Try Where There Is No Dentist for an intro.

Basic Self Defense - This is an individual choice issue. Many books, classes and whole disciplines cover a range from 'empty hand' tactics to physical/spiritual mastery of martial arts. Weapons may or may not be part of your choice, but consider that they won't always be at hand. At a minimum, learn how to prevent and defend yourself from personal assault.

Engineless Sailing - The Complete Sailor is the best all-round book I know of. Consider Emergency Navigation, as well, in case you have to cover long distances.

Make Fire, Vinegar, Pine Tar, Charcoal, Tallow, Soap, Rope/twine, Leather, Weaving - I don't know of a single, good source for these, but all can be found online. Many libraries have the The Foxfire Bookseries (link is to first of many), a collection of mountain folk skills.

Alcohol - Recreational, medicinal (tictures), for fuel and potentially for trade. The Alaskan Bootlegger's Bible is one comprehensive text among many. Be aware that many laws control the production and distribution of alcohol, and that it's an addictive toxin. Some forms are lethal toxins (learn the difference!). In emergency situations, consider that its consumption won't likely be in your best interest.

Metalworking - This is the skill that separates us from the Stone Age (not a bad age, but we may as well take advantage!). Lots of metal lying around, for our lifetimes. Being able to work it is a bootstrap skill. I recommend The Complete Modern Blacksmith, among others.

Forage / Gardening / Food Preservation (drying, smoking)/ /Beekeeping Animal Husbandry? - These are traditional farming skills and can be locale specific. Two general references are Country Wisdom & Know-How, and Back to Basics.

Fishing / Hunting (snares) - More local knowledge. Indian Fishing and Living Off the Sea are good places to start. Snare info can be found online (snares offer a great advantage to active hunting... they're on the hunt 24/7).

Leather tanning - Online info available. I'd recommend brain tanning, for starters, as ingredients are always on hand. Check out rawhide, while you're at it.

Stone-age (start-from-zero) skills - Flint-napping? Basketry? Pottery? - These skills might come in handy, but, for our lifetimes, there's a super-abundance of metals and containers lying around in piles, so this is pretty well covered, for now. But there are plenty that are useful in a pinch, and I'd recommend at least a survey of techniques. Neo-primitive, neolithic and wilderness survival online sites are good sources as are a variety of books.

Stuff

Sailboat, Gear and Outfit - DIY or BUY.

Full Set of Hand Tools - Quality tools are often available, second hand, at very good prices. I'm a little out-of-date, but solid tools at competitive prices are available through Frog Tools, WoodCraft and WoodWorker's Supply, among others. An ax and medium sized tool-box will hold everything needed to build a boat from standing timber, and shape metal. Not necessarily fast, but capable.

Non-Hybrid Seeds - Hybridized seed don't breed true (can't save seeds from this harvest for next). Non-hybrid seeds (sometimes called heirloom seeds) can be found online, in individual seed packets or garden- to farm-scale mixes, with a range of varieties. Many are packaged for long term storage, and can be kept in reserve for years.

Year's Supply of Food? - Some food on hand allows you to concentrate on emergencies and provides a cushion in changing conditions. No finite supply is a long term solution, however, and the ability to feed oneself and dependents from local and renewable sources is a more flexible approach. Azure Standard is one supplier of bulk food goods, both organic and non. Buy local where you can, and cut out middle-men.

Grinding/Processing Mills / Plant Oil Extraction- Many foods, wild or domesticated, benefit from processing. Plant oils are difficult to extract without tools. For a wide selection of these and related, non-electric tools, see Lehman's Non-Electric Catalog (Lehman's primarily serves Amish and Mennonite communities).

Clothing - Consider durable, flexible clothing with backups. Innermost and outermost layers get the most wear, so you may want to lay in more of these. Learn to darn those darn socks!

Firearms / Ammuniton, Weapons - Depending on your views on hunting and defense, firearms may be a part of your life. Consider that a flintlock using DIY black powder from field ingredients need not be replenished with manufactured ammuniton. Crossbows, blowguns, atlatls, slings and snares may all be more useful in the long run, and have their own degrees of fun and interest. Certainly, they can be DIY in a wider range of conditions. Remember that everything in this category is inherently dangerous, and all appropriate safe practices need be observed. Sources are various, with many books and online sites dedicated to each.

******

Okay... them's the basics as I see it, but the list is by no means complete. If more come to me (on my own or via readers), I'll come back and update this post.

Remember that this is just a start and tip of an iceberg. You'll find your own paths through the mountains of choice offered us, at present. Look for flexible solutions in keeping with your situation, beliefs and style. Get your family and friends involved for the sheer pleasure of it. More heads are better than one, and community is a crucial resource.

Don't panic, friends, but don't put this off... the times, they are a'changing, and not always for the better.

A Stitch in Time

2012-02-22T03:15:00.000-09:00

From Disaster Movie by LionsGate

For years I've been huffling about TEOTWAWKI, The End Of The World As We Know It.

My first serious introduction to the concept, back in the '80s, was through the book Limits to Growth by Meadows, et al. Recently, an excellent animation, There's No Tomorrow by Incubate Pictures (see at top of righthand sidebar) lays out the situation in a clear and accessible manner.

Go watch it... ...Okay, you back?

Growth is inherently exponential. Any system with a positive growth rate doubles in a finite period of time. The only alternatives are cessation of growth or decline, neither of which are viable options for our credit (aka debt) based economy. Planetary resources are finite. These are facts, universally agreed upon.

The core assertion is that consumption is proportional to the scale of the system. When it doubles, so does consumption. Historically speaking, this has been an understatement. Growth in consumption has outstripped growth of combined world economies and population (aka, the rising standard of living, averaged). This is also agreed upon; this growth is, in fact, considered necessary to modern economies.

Critics contend that we can innovate our way out from under the connection between growth and increased consumption. They assert that free market forces will drive innovation and make profitable the tapping of previously exorbitant reserves.

The problem I see with this is that innovation takes place within the laws of thermodynamics. It does not pull rabbits out of hats. Current conditions offer immense rewards for successful cold fusion, for example, but to no avail. Uneconomic reserves may become profitable to develop, but only if energy and other necessaries in the process remain relatively inexpensive. Rising costs of extraction and processing could eat up profitability.

The question is, how many doubling periods can we sustain before consuming the last of some vital resource (one upon which a functional economy depends)?

If your answer is "some finite number", welcome to lunatic fringe. If it's "some infinite number", congratulations... you're completely sane (you may leave, now... nothing in this post is going to make sense to you).

We've saturated the planet (no new, fertile continents to expand into). We've halved our reserves of energy, more or less, with no viable prospects to replace it. We've committed our economic and physical infrastructures, globally, to a dependence on cheap energy (particularly oil) and continuous growth. The same situation and consumption dynamics apply, even more strongly, to other non-renewables necessary to modern economies. Water, topsoil, plastics, to name a few.

Long odds are, we don't have another doubling period in us.

Despite quibbles over timing and mechanism, in doubling time we find ourselves approaching the end of our run. The glass is half full of us, half empty of resources. And that's the problem... sometime between now and when we double again, that's it.

A stitch in Time.

*****

So here's how Anke and I approach all this in the here and now...

First, the observation that we're fortunate to be loving the life we live. We'd be out sailing on a shoestring whether or not we think the sky is falling. It's a happy coincidence that what we like doing is also a stitch in time.

Second, anybody looking forward to TEOTWAWKI just isn't picturing it. We're now some 7 billion souls on a planet that had substantially less than half that when I was born. One billion (a thousand million) of them are critically malnourished at present. For them, TEOTWAWKI has begun, and nobody's dancing.

Third, the bunker/hoarder approach isn't to our taste. I mean, look. A big pile of food ties you down. In the scenarios where it comes into its own, it's an attractive nuisance. Chances are it won't be starving hordes over-running your redoubt (not that we'd care to mow them down if it were), but a desperate yahoo with an improvised slingshot, who'll put your lights out from behind while you're rotating canned peas. And when that food's gone, it's gone.

Our (engineless) sailboat affords us mobility - the means and skills to git, if and when the gittin's good. Safety from mobs (likely to be orbited and infested by bullies, thieves and other abusers) lies in social distance. Forage is good, in our area, but is spread wide over a large region. Should trade be possible, the ability to transport goods from one zone to another is essential.

Hoarding is a dead end, for us, but we do keep a years worth of supplemental carbs aboard (grains and legumes). A straight up benefit is that we don't have to check into any town, much less a larger one (with cheaper goods) for a year at a time. In TEOTWAWKI terms, it would give a year or more to address whatever learning curve new conditions present (depending on how quickly we learn to extend it with local, wild plants).

That learning curve plays out against our chosen grounds. Despite inroads, it's one of the richest and most intact bioregions left in North America. As we learn to subsist in ever greater degree, that abundance is fresh food in a natural pantry that can't be emptied, broken into or burnt.

Skills are the greatest possessions in a desperate world. Not only are they directly useful, they can't be taken from us, and make us more valuable alive than otherwise. Don't take up space, don't rust (well okay... they fade a bit), and sharpen with use. How to make things, find and identify and prepare plants, hunt and fish, make fire, treat trauma and illness. That's a hoard worth having!

Tools are handy things. Steel tools are what separate us from neolithic technology (which, by the way, I consider superior technology, and the hope of the further future). Steel, and a mountain of knowledge and practice. I see workable steel being readily available for several generations to come. Couple that with a basic knowledge of metalworking, and you can bootstrap yourself up from any pile of scrap. Start with a knife.

Meanwhile, the boat and its gear, a good set of handtools, food processing, sewing and fishing gear pretty well covers the field.

Last but not least is community. People you know, trust and love; who know, trust and love you in return. These will be your allies if and when push comes to shove. You'll have things to offer one another none foresaw. Knowledge and skills and strengths in common. Resources and tactics. Commiseration and good times.

Anke and I have such a network webbed across all the communities of our range. We meet and bond with new folks every season; reconnect and deepen our ties with old friends.

If you're reading this, I'm pleased to count you among them.

*****

Post Collapse Skills to Get NOW

Survival Training
Basic Medical Training (don't neglect midwifery)
Pharmacopoea (natural medicines and tinctures, aspirin, antibiotics, anaesthetic)
Dentistry (cavity stabilization, tooth extraction)
Basic Self Defense
Engineless Sailing

Make Fire, Vinegar, Pine Tar, Charcoal, Tallow, Soap, Rope/twine, Leather, Weaving
Flint-napping? Basketry? Pottery?

Forage / Gardening / Food Preservation (drying, smoking)
Milling / Plant Oil Extraction
Beekeeping
Fishing / Hunting (snares)
Carpentry / Boatwright
Metalwork (forging, tempering and shaping tools)
Leather tanning

Stone-age skills (start-from-zero skills)

Stuff to Get NOW

Sailboat, Gear and Outfit
Full Set of Hand Tools
Fixit Materials
Non-Hybrid Seeds
Year's Supply of Food?

Firearms / Ammuniton

Just a couple thoughts on firearms...

A .22 rifle is a versatile weapon, and was the choice of Inuit hunters (among the best in the world). Ammo is inexpensive and compact, and comes in a variety suitable for a range of uses. They're light, accurate, and powerful enough (with a well placed shot) to take down the biggest game, and certainly deer. Do note that it is illegal, in most states, for game larger than varmint, being considered too light for a reliable kill-shot.

A shotgun is even more versatile. With an array of barrels, chokes and ammunition types it can range from birdshot to big game, being fully adequate at every stage. Unfortunately, ammo and accessories take more space, and is quite expensive in comparison to the .22 .

Firearms aren't necessary for hunting, but they, like food on board, give a cushion for tackling the learning curve.

Quick and Dirty Mind: Zen and the Art of Git 'Er Done

2012-02-21T01:04:00.000-09:00

Quick and Dirty at Sea
Tim Severin on the The Brendan Voyage

Git 'er done!

Sensei Larry, the Cable Guy

The phrase 'quick and dirty' can trigger a defensive, group reflex from a large segment of the boating community.

Admittedly, the term is rather vague, and the reactions reflect ambiguity. Associations are made, often sub-consciously, with various derelicts, kludges and failures that the defensive have known. Or the phrase may suggest an aesthetic offensive to the spit-and-polish crowd.

So what do I mean by it; I who cherish and practice Quick and Dirty boatbuilding?

To me, Quick and Dirty is a state of mind. Not a method or choice materials, though those may come into play, but an attitude. A practice. Active meditation in the Zen sense of the word.

Quick Mind implies simplicity. Quick Mind is an awareness and tendency toward simplicity. Occam's Razor adapted to boatbuilding [Of two solutions with equal utility, choose the simpler]. Quick Mind manifests in design and execution.

Practically speaking, simplicity inclines one toward fewer parts, straight lines and few but simple curves, uniformity, multiple functions of single parts, synergies, open and flexible design. Away from intricacy, complication, sub-divisions and gimmicks.

Quick Mind implies efficiency. Quick mind is an awareness and tendency toward efficient procedures and movements. Inefficent approaches to even simple designs will slow the project.

Practically, efficiency inclines one toward working with one's body physics, just so motion (not too much; not too little), organization of effort and material and space, repetition of like tasks (to benefit from a smooth and continuous learning curve), concentration of effort (longer hours, shorter commutes), communication, debriefing. It also inclines one to eat, sleep and take breaks in their measure. All work and no play makes Jack and Jill slow boy and girl.

Dirty Mind implies the least approach that does the job, whether in method or materials. Dirty Mind inclines one to understand and accept the nature of materials. It is the state of mind embodied in that old advice, "Don't patch old fabric with new cloth." Not that new cloth won't do the job, but it needlessly and expensively exceeds need.

Hackles raise quickly over the very word, dirty - a vestigal reaction from potty training, I imagine. Dirty is a little harder to elaborate, so I'll give some examples.

A traditional approach to building bulkheads use to call for planking them up from diagonal or double diagonal, tongue and groove planks. When plywood, web framing came along; a material cheaper, lighter stronger, quicker and dimensionally stable. Yet for years, many traditionalists refused to shift, considering it to be a dirty approach. Some still painstakingly fasion faux traditional bulkheads with a hidden, plywood core!

Yet I believe the originators of traditional techniques - Quick and Dirty Masters of their day - would have jumped at plywood, had it been available!

A friend was insisting to me that epoxy is the only glue to use on a boat, being the best available (strongest, most versatile, etc.). I attempted to explain that it is also among the most expensive, and there are many jobs at which other, less expensive glues exceed the demands of the job. Nope. Dirty.

Some folks new to the Pacific Northwet asked me about paint systems (to be applied locally). I passed on advice from many local fishermen (latex house trim paint, or oil stain) as easy, inexpensive and effective. Too dirty... they applied an expensive, name brand paint of high repute... and it all bubbled within weeks.

Depending on the boat and its use, roofing tars, beeswax concoctions, latexes, galvanized doohickeys, plastic gew-gaws and other low-life, dirty bits provide long lasting, inexpensive and utterly functional solutions. With art and love, they are often attractive, as well. I've seen sleek dorade boxes made from bread pans and dryer vents, charlie nobles from stainless steel salad bowls gleaming in the sun, fairleads from copper pipe and elbows... the list of dirty tricks goes on and on.

Dirty mind implies thinking out-of-the-box and improvization. It inclines one toward creative uses of materials. It inclines one away from the latest and greatest, in favor of tried and true. Or untried but promising. Latest and greatest may, indeed be the quick and dirty solution. Let Dirty Mind guide you among the pros and cons.

Quick and Dirty Mind implies the equilibrium of form and function. Balance between what is needful and what is desired. Between art and science. It embraces integrity, performance, robustness and sea-worthiness.

We all have an aesthetic - a set of tastes. De gustibus non disputandam. Yet these are malleable. Subject to cultivation and manipulation. Great effort is spent to shape our tastes as potential consumers of goods and services. We, ourselves, are drawn this way and that in directions we may not fully understand.

Consider that form, well fit to function, is a beauty in and of itself. Handsome is as handsome does.

Workboat, or 'fisherman finish' - with its rough and ready carpentry, stout gear, flat paint and signs of wear and tear - may seem plain and plebian in comparison to the warm glow of varnished woods, buff and glossy paint, the patina of weathered bronze and silvered teak decks.

Yet, Grasshopper, to which will you pay mind?

Got 'er did!

Sensei Larry, the Cable Guy

Haybox aka Thermal or Retained Heat Cookers

2012-02-20T01:37:00.006-09:00

Drawings from Aprovecho

Cheap energy ain't so cheap, anymore.

A friend, who suffered from arthritis and heated with wood, once told me, "I want the best return in BTUs on calories invested." Mmm. There's a deep thought!

It's become much more common, recently, to consider efficiency in terms of insulation. But our crafty forebears applied it to cooking, upping that return on investment of which my friend spoke.

The general concept of a haybox is an insulated container, closely fit to a lidded pot. Anything with lots of air spaces trapped within it (hay, newspaper, foam, wool, etc.) may be used... 4 inches all round the pot being a good working minimum.

Historically, hay was a choice insulator. It would be chopped coursely and, while damp, packed firmly around a dedicated pot. Once dry, it would retain the pot's shape in a tight fit. Hence the name haybox. They were common by land and sea. Soldiers used them to cook rations in the field.

Bring the contents of the pot to a solid boil, put it in the container and close the lid. No more fuel necessary! Cooking continues at a simmer for hours. Recipes are similar to those for crock pots.

Piping hot soup on deck in the wee hours! WOO-HOO!! Don't even have to wake the cook (and a cook awoken is a grumpy cook).

Additionally, a thermal mass (brick, stone, shaped concrete plug) may be heated on the side, and inserted with the pot for dry baking. A metal liner is a safety feature for this method, as the thermal mass can reach scorching hot temps if not watched carefully.

A notable refinement is to line the container (outboard of the insulation) with a reflective layer of foil or equivalent. Tristan Jones (I seem to remember from One Hand for Yourself, One for the Ship) spoke of layering foamboard cut to fit a pot. Nomex cloth?

Here are some pics of various DIY solutions, and commercial thermal cookers (vacuum insulated). Search for any of the title terms under images for a quick overview, or go straight to any of the many excellent articles posted online.

DIY:

Looks like a Sailor's work!

How easy can it get?

Lanny Henson Green Pail Cooker

Here's a row from Africa.

Commercial:

Here are a couple just to get the flavor... can be very spendy. Many claim advantage over a straight, retained heat cooker by enabling convection cooking vs. straight simmering. Anyone out there got one and care to comment?

Watch out for thin bottomed inner pots, which don't heat well. Some complain of warm spots and heat loss around the lids, especially but not always in cheaper models.

Thermos Shuttle Chef Thermal Cooker by Nissan

Thermos Thermal Cooker by Thermos

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com

At the Races: Running Narrows Without an Engine

2012-02-19T00:16:00.000-09:00

EEEEEEE! ha?
Photo of Sergius Narrows by Richard Nelson
(Check him out!)

I don't blame you for being scared -- not one bit.

Nobody with good sense ain't scared of whitewater.

Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen

Archipelagos, by their nature, are full of islands. Islands, by theirs, break up tidal flow of water, and squeeze it into passages between islands. When water is squeezed down tightly, we get narrows.

Most narrows develop some current. Via a complex of factors, tide will be higher on one side than the other, and water will flow from high toward low until equilibrium is achieved. The greater the difference, the greater the current.

Water, by its nature, is chaotic. A chaotic system cannot be fully charted. Races and rapids are inconstant, surprising, changing from moment to moment, often for no apparent reason. They are wild and utterly magical places. I love 'em. But I respect 'em, too!

Dangers - At some, vague point, certain narrows develop races, or rapids. Really bad ones - those with complex course, edge or bottom - may develop eddies, rips, haystacks, standing waves, swirls, or whirlpools. And of course, rocks, shoals and cliffs.

Some narrows form passages between inner and outer waters. On the outside, onshore ocean swell, surge or seas can meet a strong, current outflow with spectacular and often deadly results. Avoid these conditions at all costs. Many's the seasoned fisherman has foundered in these conditions.

Yahoos present a significant danger. Traffic often backs up to wait for windows of lesser current (see TIMING, below). Our preferred time of transit can be crowded with traffic, all of us more or less hopped up on body chemistry. Most traffic is competently captained. But there's an ever increasing percentage of empowered morons.

Some of these may be generally reckless (planing boats have a high percentage of yahoos at the helm, and all are skipping across the water). Other while serious, may be in over their abilities. In restricted channels with limited and/or erratic maneuverablility, defensive seamanship on your part is essential. Communicate via clear signals, radio, and voice where possible. Don't rely on the comprehension of idiots, however.

One of the worst dangers is panic. Adrenaline flows in direct proportion to current. Even for experienced sailors, rapids can suddenly introduce new situations, never before encountered and threatening disaster. It is essential that you overcome panic. Breathe, assess and address. Seconds are precious.

Finally, no matter how calm it is outside the narrows, it can be wild within. Take all safety precautions you would in a full storm. Wear your life-jackets and Clip in! You may not have a moment or hand free to do it once inside. Consider going in reefed... you can always shake it out.

Information - Chart names often give a hint as to what lies ahead. Devil's Elbow, Race Point, Ford's Terror - these are subtle, red flags. Narrows are often charted with intimidating symbols and annotated with cautions, usually in close-up insets of their own. Coast Pilots and some cruising guides provide important information. Local knowledge, when available, is invaluable.

Good information will let you plan a transit course. All things being equal, this will let you know, in advance, which side of the channel to favor at any given point. Develop a clear understanding of where the known dangers lie, all along the route.

Don't forget weather. Squally weather is no time to be sailing through narrows. Narrows often funnel and intensify the wind, and even a light squall can develop storm force gusts. Entrances and exits can get tricky with opposing, wind driven waves.

Don't forget that all information regarding chaotic systems is incomplete, save as embodied by the system itself. Inform yourself, but stay open and flexible to conditions as they arise. Your eyes and ears will be providing the most pertinent info... look ahead (down current) to observe and assess dangers as they emerge.

Physics - Momentum is an important factor in running narrows.

As Isaac 'Fig' Newton pointed out, objects in motion continue in a straight line, unless acted on by a force. As a kid riding a bike, you probably attempted a sharp turn and skidded out. Our best and most ancient teacher - pain - patiently drove Mr. Newton's lesson home until we got it.

Our boat's gonna be moving fast in the races. If narrows take a sharp turn, water (following the same rule) piles up on the down-current shore in local and persistent chaos before sorting itself out and tearing off in the new direction. Left to our own devices, we'll do the same. Assuming there's anything left of us to continue.

Moral? Favor the inside, up-current side of any sharp turn, and control your speed.

Boats with keels and/or very hard chines need to be aware of sheer. This is the equivalent of a flat water broach. We come racing out of fast moving water into a patch of slow or counter moving water. Keel grabs and acts like a giant rudder, turned. Combined with momentum, this effect may take you a startlingly long way off course before you regain positive control. And they don't call these 'narrows' for nothing!

Timing - Current in narrows, like all things tidal, follows the Moon. Tidal ranges are greatest at spring tides and lowest at neaps. The greater the range, the greater the differential of height on either side of the narrows, the greater the volume of water rushing toward equilibrium and therefore, the faster the current. Whatever dangers lie in the narrows are made worse by this greater mass of water rushing through it. Waiting for lower tidal ranges, or even neaps, may be prudent.

Slack tide is all important for engineless sailors. This is a short period of (relatively) still water between foul current and fair. Near springs, it may be very short, and though water is not flowing, it may be jostling uneasily. Neaps allow longer, more tranquil pauses. We don't always transit near slack, depending on the narrows and conditions, but it's the safest course.

Our general method, for moderate to extreme narrows, is to wait for settled weather toward neaps, then work our way against the last of a foul current. As current eases off to slack, we force our way through. Once the new, fair current sets in, we're spit out the far end.

All our wild water experience and advice comes from pushing the envelope by choice or misjudgement. Timing is everything! The rest is dare-devilry.

It helps to have an anchorage - even a toe hold - in easy reach of the opening. Preferably where we can see and assess water movement (flotsam helps). Under some conditions, the route through the narrows can be scouted by foot or with a good tender, before committing the mothership.

When in doubt, patience is the rule. Wait for conditions in which you are confident.

Control - Staying in control is important. While water itself won't hurl you onto a rock (it takes a more sensible path around it... momentum, however has no such qualms), it can drag you over shoals or through reefy combs. The ability to maintain and/or change position within the current is vital.

That being said, there are limits to control. These need to be understood, accepted and worked within.

Once into a rapids, one is pretty much committed. Timing was your best bet on control, but now you've cast your lot. From here on out, your control consists of nuancing your position within the channel and current.

Steerageway is the standard method. One needs a certain speed relative to the water to maintain it. Probably more than your open water minimum, as the water is not likely to be homogeneously smooth. Remember that your momentum is based on speed over the bottom, not over the water. But don't worry... the shoreline flashing past will remind you.

To keep momentum down, hold your speed made good as low as possible while maintaining control. Reef, if necessary. Initiate evasive actions early, and have a good picture of your general transit route. Do your best to coordinate local ducking and weaving into that bigger picture.

An alternative is to make way against the current while transiting stern first. This allows more speed relative to the water, subtracting from your speed over the bottom and therefore momentum. The danger is that, if you get swept into relatively slow moving water, the momentum you do have can back you down abruptly on your rudder. Keep a sharp eye aft with this method!

In a light breeze, real or apparent, one can luff and tack to maintain position within the current despite near zero steerageway. It helps to have a crewmember standing by to back a foresail, and an oar out to assist tacking.

With zero wind and lesser currents, one can relax and let the boat drift sideways. An oar out the side can be given a push or pull as necessary to adjust position.

Techniques - Use a push pole to fend off shore or shallows, and assist tacks near the edges. It can double as an oar (fat end as 'blade') in support of the main sweep(s). We carry a pole at all times, but one can be cut for the transit.

Take care not to get in line with the pole, as it is like a current powered lance... only push at near right-angles to the boat. Take care not to wedge the tip in a crack... the fixed pole will then sweep the decks as the boat rushes by. In very heavy current, skip the pole entirely.

Dredging is an old sailing barge technique. Big barges used to drag iron sleds to keep their bows up-current. A shot of chain is more practical for smaller boats, and you can control your drift by the length of chain let overboard. Tie the end to the boat, and be ready to slip if there's a hang-up, and have a Plan B ready to hand. Don't use chain you can't afford to lose!

Play the eddies. Especially while the main current is foul, one can work into it by exploiting eddies (counter currents) and slower moving patches. Both tend to form along the edges. Keep a sharp eye on your motion, both relative to water and the shore.

If necessary, break a long transit into smaller legs, anchoring up in a quiet stretch clear of the main rapids. Be aware that a quiet spot with the current running one direction may not be at all quiet in the other!

Use ranges (aka relative bearings) to determine whether or not you're clearing an obstacle or point. I'll talk about this generally important skill in another post. In this case, they help you determine your critical progress in relation to an object... whether you'd pass ahead, behind or collide, given your present course and speed. They will let you know when and by how much to alter position, course and speed in order to clear the object.

*****

So that's what I know on the subject. I'm sure there's still a LOT to learn.

Races are exhilarating and sometimes terrifying. I still suffer cotton-mouth every time we go through. Forces involved are awesome and humbling. Drain the macho right out of you! They demand multi-tasking; not my forte. They're some of the best education available in reading water, written, as it is, in a bold hand and gripping narrative.

Narrows are some of the most beautiful and dynamic places on Earth. Their currents stir nutrients that attract a broad swathe of the food chain. Predator and prey - most often one and the same animal - leap and flash in the tumult. Seabirds dive in raucous glee. Whales number among the traffic transiting between bodies of water, their numbers concentrated by the enclosing shorelines.

So we do our homework, steel our nerves, hedge our bets, take a deep breath... and take the plunge!

Nav Buoy in Sergius Narrows... they can go completely under!
Photo by Richard Nelson
RN hosts a most excellent radio show, ENCOUNTERS

PS. These skills, like all of them, are best acquired through practice. Start small, in low current situations through straightforward narrows. You can make four passes a day, if you like. Work up in difficulty as you're abilities increase. Don't let other priorities push you through before you're ready for them! Assess, address, debrief.

Time, Tide and the Rule of Twelfths (or Tenths)

2012-02-18T00:41:00.000-09:00


The Rule of Tenths is a decimal approximation of fractions from the Rule of Twelfths... the two are equivalent. (Drawing not to scale)

Getting around with shoal draft means getting up close and personal with the bottom. Since the tide is busy coming and going, we'll want to keep our eye on it.

The Rules of Tenths and Twelfths are rule-of-thumb approximations. Of what and why are the subject of this post. For now, it's a tool that helps you know ahead of time what the tide is doing at any given moment between high and low. Don't be frightened; it's only arithmetic.
Tides run high to low in about six hours (ebb tide, or the ebb), and back again (flood tide, or the flood) in about the same span. The volume of water flowing in those six hours follows a bell shaped curve. One can divide that curve up into the six hours of the tide. In each hour, a fraction of the whole of this tide's range will come or go. Range is the difference between high and low water:

RANGE = (Height of Water at High Tide) - (Height of Water at Low Tide)

Heights of Water at High and Low Tides can be read in tide tables. They are measurements made relative to Zero Tide Datum; an arbitrary height from which all others are counted. Height of tide may be positive (above ZTD) or negative (below ZTD). Charted depths (heights of bottom), however, are shown in positive units below ZTD. This can lead to ambiguity.

For simplicity, I'm going to speak in terms of heights of water and bottom. I'll reserve depth for the distance between height of water and height of bottom at any given moment, regardless of whether or not it's immersed.

Notice that tidal range, and fractions thereof, will be expressed as some unit of height (feet, fathoms, meters). It is important to keep in mind that these figures measure the height of a change in sea level, and not the height of sea level, itself. Sea level heights are relative to zero tide datum, while range heights are not.

Our graph shows amount or volume of flow. For example the blue column in the fourth hour, for example, represents 3/12, 0.25 or 25% of the total volume of water for one tide, flowing in on the flood, out on the ebb.

At the beginning and end of the tide, no volume is flowing... water is at a stand-still known as slack tide. At high tide, the current is at high slack; at low tide, the current is at low slack.

At the middle of the tide, the greatest volume is flowing. At the middle of a flood tide (incoming), the current is at maximum flood. At the middle of an ebb tide (outgoing), the current is at maximum ebb.

The greater the tidal range, the more volume is flowing in any given hour. The lesser the tidal range, the less volume is flowing in any given hour. Tidal ranges vary according to the Moon (see Neaps Springs Eternal).

Any moment of the tide divides our curve into volume that has come in, and volume that has yet to come in.

*****

Okay... that's the basic picture. Now we get to the numbers. To start with, we pull a little trick to simplify things.

Since water level is rising and falling over an area's entire surface, we may ignore area (and with it volume), and concentrate on changes in height of water, flooding or ebbing, expressed in units of height.

While this trick eases our calculations, it is good to remember that, in this case, height represents volume. A big tidal range generates greater height/volume and therefore currents will be stronger than experienced during low tidal ranges.

A second point to observe is that these hourly changes in height do not represent sea level. Our graph is different than those depicting sea level during a tide cycle. While superficially similar, tidal curves climb or fall for the whole six hours, depending on whether it's flooding or ebbing.

Let's take the end of the 4th Hour of an incoming tide as an example. At that point, 75% of the tide has come in (10% + 15% +25% + 25% for the 1st through 4th hours), with 25% left to go (15% + 10% for the 5th and 6th hours). If the range is 12 feet, then 9 feet will have come in, and 3 feet will be left to go.

Whether I use percentages, tenths or twelfths, the result is the same. The tenths have the advantage over twelfths, in that most tide table heights are given in decimal units (generally feet in US waters). It makes the arithmetic one step easier if we don't have to convert.

*****

We typically have a good bunch of data at our disposal: our draft, heights and times for high and low water from tide tables, depth of water and time of sounding, charted depth (shown below zero tide datum).

Applying the Rules to these data, with different approaches we can answer the following, and more:

What is the height of the bottom?
What is the height of the water at a given time?
When will a certain rock show? How high will it be at a given time?

...These are useful for charting depths. Once water height is established, it's like a vast water level... everything it laps at that moment is also that height. Rock heights are often useful in navigation.

Will we ground out? If so, when?
Will we float? If so when?

...Useful for shoal drafters on a steady basis. Deep drafters benefit if, say, going on the grid. Most cruisers will be letting their tenders go dry on occasion.

How much water will come in before high tide?
How much water will go out before low tide?

...These help with anchor scope and swing calculations. Or deciding how high to drag that tender!

Think of these as puzzles, as story problems, as a challenge. Draw 'em out on paper. Have fun with it. Little more than arithmetic is involved.

With a little thought and practice, you'll be able to do it in your head.

NOTE: There are many sources that help with forming a solid picture of tidal dynamics. I've just touched on the subject here, and there are many further wrinkles to be aware of. Depending on your local, tides may behave somewhat differently than I have described. It's a fascinating subject and worth of a sailor's study! I highly recommend that you learn about educate yourself for the tides of your cruising grounds.

****

Extra Credit Story Problem:

Let's say we're sneaking into a cozy, high water bight where we plan to dry out. We've arrived at the beginning of the 5th hour of the incoming tide (High was 16 feet, low was 10 feet). On arrival, we sound and find that the bottom is 4 feet below the waterline.

Q: What is the height of the bottom?

A: Let's work it out, starting with what we know...

HI = 16ft   (above ZTD)
LOW = 10ft (above ZTD)
RANGE = HI - LOW = 16ft - 10ft = 6ft   (NOT relative to ZTD)
DEPTH = 4ft   (from sounding, NOT relative to ZTD)

By the Rule of Tenths, we add up fractions for each hour of the tide...

.10 + .15 + .25 + .25 = .75      Of the tide since Low Tide
.10 + .15 = .25                      Of the tide till High Tide

We apply them to the range to find the change in water height since low and high, respectively...

.75 x RANGE = 4.5ft     Height of Water since Low Tide, OR
.25 x RANGE = 1.5ft     Height of Water till High Tide

We adjust our known heights (HI and LOW) by one result or the other, adding to low OR subtracting from high... should be the same result, either way, so you'll only actually be choosing one pair or the other for any given calculation. Let's use 'Height of Water Now' as a shorthand for 'Height of Water at Time of Sounding'...

Height of Water Now = LOW + Height of Water since Low Tide = 10ft + 4.5ft = 14.5ft, OR
Height of Water Now = HI - Height of Water till High Tide = 16ft - 1.5ft = 14.5ft

Last, we adjust the Height of Water Now for the sounding we took earlier...

Height of Bottom = Height of Water Now minus DEPTH = 14.5ft - 4ft = 10.5ft (above ZTD)

Voila! We note the Height of Bottom for our hidey hole as 10.5ft on our chart and have a glass of something sippy.

With practice, this will likely be done in your head in about 30 seconds. The important thing is to have a clear picture of what's going on, and go step by step. Don't hesitate to use paper, especially if tired, cold and/or hungry.

Safety First: Sailing Away with All Your Fingers

2012-02-16T17:26:00.000-09:00

Hope she's wearing her hard-hat!
From The Wizard of OZ

Safety first!

Believe it! Boat building, like sailing, is often a peaceful and placid endeavor. But in both cases, we're exposed to forces which can wake us rudely from our reveries. Very rudely, indeed!

Anything that cuts wood will walk through flesh, my friends.Handtools do it a little slower, but not by much. We're working under big, heavy things. Moving around an obstacle course. Playing with fire.

It’s tempting toassume that guy who’s missing a couple of fingers is a dumb-ass. That may be,but absent fingers don’t prove it. All it takes is a moment of distraction, areflexive motion, a stumble; in short, the very stuff of life.

What can ease usthrough this Vale of Risk are education, fail-safes and SOPs (Standard OperatingProcedures).

SOPs areworks-in-progress. Accumulate them, and refine through a debriefing process.What went well? What didn’t? Can the relevant SOPs be improved? Has someoneelse worked out a better one? Review and follow the relevant SOP each and everytime! We may count instances of just this once with the fingers of our hands.

Educate yourselfabout your tools, materials and procedures.

Books, magazines, videos, theInternet, friends and professionals are all resources. Use them. Learn First Aid and have a better-than-Band-Aid kit on hand, where handy and visible. If you need it, you’ll really need it.

Here’re a few Rules-of-Thumb toget started:

Keep the workspace obstacle free – Pickup, smooth ground tarps, re-lead power cords... anything so you reduce yourchance of tripping. This is on-going, and easy to let slide. Work at it.
Respect cutting edges – Teeth bite. Knifeedges cut. It’s what they do best. Keep your fingers clear of the business endsof tools. Don't ever use your body as a clamp or work surface when using edge tools.
Respect power– Electricity, like fire,can be a great ally and a formidable enemy. Keep it away from water. Disconnectbefore adjusting a power tool (same goes for pneumatic). Secure your material(clamps). If you’re not ready to cut, keep your finger off the trigger. Makesure you know that the area is clear before you pull it. Keep a two-hand gripon tools until they come to full stop.
Respect gravity – Falling from even asmall boat can cause severe injury. Free your hands and use hand-grips. Make sure ladders andsteps are secure and move carefully. Pass stuff, or pull it up in a bucket, rather than carry it onor off the boat (Carrying a chisel while climbing is likerunning with scissors).
Respect mass – Don’t get under un-blockedmasses (like, the boat?). Lift carefully, following correct procedure(yes, there is such a thing... look it up!). Plan big, scary operations(e.g., turning a hull) with utmost care.
Respect chemistry – Many of thesubstances used in boatbuilding (even sawdusts) are toxic. Wear all appropriate safety gear. Many are combustible. Make sure fireextinguishers are handy and charged. Do your homework and learn about the hazards involved. Avoid spontaneous combustion situations...piles of sawdust or oily rags (don’t ever leave them folded or crumpled;dispose of immediately in a water-filled, metal container or by controlledburn).
Communicate – Make sure everyone in thearea knows what’s happening and understands your team’s safety SOPs. If itneeds saying more than once, be patient and persistent. This goes for generalsafety and teamwork. Watch your co-workers' backs, and point out safety problems. No place for ego.
Rehearse Difficult Operations – If you’ve not done it before,work up to it. Use scrap, at first, in good lighting and sure footing. Make iteasy on yourself so that you’re only having to learn one skill at a time.

Did I scare you?Good. It helps to cultivate the right amount ofparanoia... not so much we're paralyzed... not so little we're reckless. It’s when we find ourselves feeling like Joe or Jill Carpenterthat blood, bruises and worse can follow.

Safety is a mindset, an assembly of habits and skills. They can be mastered, like anything else. The trick is believing that they're important.

Believe that safety is important, practice safety, and you’ll do fine.

PS. I've made a little light, in this post. But we've been around long enough to lose friends to accidents which basic good habits would have prevented. Friends injured. Dreams destroyed or changed beyond recognition.

Here's one of the less grim stories... at least it has a happy ending:

We've always been attracted to Wharram catamarans, and a friend was building a beauty. Carved, twin dragons adorned the bow, lording over a hull rough and ready. Not a yacht, but a vessel to take her crew to the far ends of the Earth.

Her owner/builder was a burly, biker kind of a guy. Probably not going to sail so far; just get away from all the BS ashore. Also not the kind of sissy-boy to don a pair of gloves when working with epoxy. T-shirt and the thick hair of his arm was enough for him!

Comes a day, we hear that he's in the hospital, via the emergency room. I'll spare the details, but it was a gruesome, full body fulmination of symptoms; when he started having trouble breathing, he called 911. Confused doctors suspected a viral outbreak, and held him in quarantine till symptoms subsided.

Once released, he stayed on in the city with a friend, and worked to pay off the hospital debt.

So about two months later, he returned to his Wharram, and opened the door to his cabin. Out wafted the familiar smells of home... laced with the molecular cousins of all the epoxy he'd absorbed through his skin over the course of the project. WHAM. Back to the ER, all symptoms abloom.

The happy ending is that he sold his boat to an unsensitized couple who sailed off the the far ends of the Earth. He used the money to buy an island in the Mississippi Delta, we hear, which I suspect was pretty much what he'd wanted from his boat, anyway.

But I'm just sayin'.

What does Insurance Ensure?

2012-02-15T15:55:00.000-09:00

We call this kind of fish feed (BOTH colors)...
Pic shot from predator POV.

INSURANCE, n. An ingenious modern game of chance in which the player is permitted to enjoy the comfortable conviction that he is beating the man who keeps the table.

From The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce

The following dialog is from the same source. I've edited it to apply to boats, and updated terms and a few of the more prolix phraseologies:

INSURANCE AGENT: Captain, that's a fine vessel-- let me help you insure it.

BOAT OWNER: With pleasure. Please make the annual premium so low that by the time when, according to your actuarial tables, it will probably be lost to misadventure, I will have paid you considerably less than the amount for which I am insured.

AGENT: Hold on, Friend; we could not afford to do that. We must adjust the premium so that you will have paid more.

BOAT OWNER: How, then, can I afford that?

AGENT: Why, your boat may sink at any time. There was the TITANIC, for example, which --

BOAT OWNER: Spare me. There were the ALMA, on the contrary, and CURLEW, and SERAFFYN, which --

AGENT: Spare me!

BOAT OWNER: Let us understand each other... You want me to pay you money on the supposition that something will occur prior to the time set by yourself for its occurrence. In other words, you expect me to bet that my boat will not last so long as you say that it will probably last.

AGENT: But if your vessel is lost without insurance it will be a total loss.

BOAT OWNER: Excuse me, but by your own actuary's tables I shall probably have saved, when it is lost, all the premiums I would otherwise have paid to you -- amounting to more than the face of the policy they would have bought.

But suppose it to sink, uninsured, before the time upon which your figures are based. If I could not afford that, how could you if it were insured?

AGENT: Oh, we should recoup our losses from our luckier ventures with other clients. Virtually, they pay your loss.

BOAT OWNER: And virtually, then, don't I help to pay their losses? Are not their boats as likely as mine to be lost before they have paid you as much as you must pay them?

The case stands this way: you expect to take more money from your clients than you pay to them, do you not?

AGENT: Certainly; if we did not --

BOAT OWNER: If you did not, I would not trust you with my money.

Very well then. If it is certain - with reference to the whole body of your clients - that they lose money on you, it is probable - with reference to any one of them - that he will. It is these individual probabilities that make the aggregate certainty.

AGENT: I will not deny it -- but look at the figures in this broch--

BOAT OWNER: Forget it!

AGENT: You spoke of saving the premiums which you would otherwise pay to me. Will you not be more likely to squander them? We offer you an incentive to thrift.

BOAT OWNER: The willingness of A to take care of B's money is not unique to insurance, but as a charitable institution you deserve applause... CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

*****

Insurance is an Odd Duck, whether it's for the boat, health, social security (not a hand-out, BTW), life or so on. The best outcome, for both insurers and the insured, is that none receive the services purchased.

In our modern, byzantine environment of bean-counters and hired legal thugs, this can take a twisted turn. The claims of the insured, as individual customers, are easily dismissed or eroded on papery pretexts. Despite an assortment of warmly smiling members of the upper crust, perky albino goth girls, cavemen and talking animals appearing in their ads, Insurance is a ruthless corporate machine, dedicated to extract as much of your money as possible in return for as little as possible. Someone's got to pay for the chrome on their skyscraping headquarters and shareholder profits.

To be uninsured requires some hard decisions in cost/benefit analysis.

What are the likely risks? How much can preventative care and self-help offset costs? I can't fill my own tooth cavities (or anyone else's), but I can brush and floss. I can't perform an apendectomy, but I can set a broken bone. I can't perform open heart surgury, but I can eat sensibly and manage stress. I can't live indefinitely, but I can accept 'death by natural causes' when my time comes, without heroic measures merely prolonging the inevitable. Until recent years, this was the not so terrible case for all.

[ Heal the wound and cure the illness, but let the dying spirit go. Wisdom from A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin... a kid's book, for crying out loud!]

Somewhere along that spectrum is a point where one's pocket fails. Can we accept the consequences?

As sailors, we accept and manage risk with every league under the keel. We gear up and train ourselves to deal with emergencies, because we have left the nest. Our insurance is on board. We accept the risk of damage or even loss of life and property should our resources fail. A later settlement avails us not. Day late, a dollar short.

How much further a step is it to carry this into our lives entire? How much of our one precious life, of which money is a mere byproduct, are we willing to spend insuring what remains? The obsessive pursuit of security can squander what we hope to ensure.

Life.

PS. Of late, there's been a widespread tendency to tar the uninsured as a swarm of leeches. It is accepted as if true that the insured are somehow supporting the uninsured.

Of course, we who are neither insured nor on public aid (a separate issue) eat our losses, and pay full price for required services, out-of-pocket. We are the clients of the service providers we engage.

If you are insured, you are your insurer's client, and they engage service providers. And they have market clout. Insurance companies negotiate with service providers for lowered prices. Sweetheart deals (aka, economies of scale). Guess who pays for those savings...

Who is supporting whom?

Cupid, Cruising and Choosing

2012-02-14T14:55:00.000-09:00

A person has to ask him or herself two questions--

First, Where am I going?

Second, Who will go with me?

If you ever get the questions in the wrong order you are in big trouble.

Paraphrase of Howard Thurman

I got them backwards, and we were in trouble.

Years before I met Anke - or gave thought to sailing - I fell in love with a wonderful woman who loved me back. That kind of brimful love where my cup runneth over. Arguably the only kind of love worthy of one's very life.

Problem was that we were one another's answer to the second question. We hadn't worked the first out between us, whether as individuals or a couple.

I was a square peg to the round hole of her life. I knew, already, that I wanted to drift through life; she was pursuing hers. To her security meant a secure (steady) income and a fixed address; I felt suffocated by these. She wanted children; I take responsibility seriously, and therefore avoid it like plague... children are, to me, Responsibility personified.

I let her go. On to a life, I hope, full of love and security. The life of her dreams.

I won't go into the details of our parting ways. What's important is that I learned something unexpected, the moment we did. To my surprise, I learned that I would do anything for Love. Until the moment it was too late, I didn't know how important Love is, and how far I'd go to hold onto it.

If you've been following these posts, you know that I love the water, the free life, the wild spaces. But I know that, should Anke suddenly decide on a career ashore, smack dab in the heart of suburbia, knee-deep in kids and a mortgage to pay... well... I'd get out my rigging knife and whittle my square peg round.

So I deeply understand Mr. Thurman's wise Law (as some call it). I recognize the trouble he warns of. Been there; done that. Setting forth on the voyage of Life and Love, it's excellent caution.

But we don't choose love; it comes to us unbidden. It comes like the williwaw, pouncing and whelming our hearts. To oppose it is to be dismasted... to yield is to sail on. Deep reefed, perhaps, but onward, trouble not-withstanding.

It's a miracle, to me, that Anke and I crossed paths half a world away from her place of birth; flown like a bird from the confines and strictures of the Old World. That her interests and inclinations are as like mine as if I had dreamed her. That she loves me back, of all her many suitors. She's a coincidence and gift of such magnitude that I'm tempted to believe the Universe knows my name - that it, too, loves me.

I don't love Anke more than my first Love. Brimful is brim full. But for us, both questions are answered in the same terms, in the same breath.

Lucky, lucky, lucky!

PS. Happy Valentine's Day, or, as I prefer to think of it, THANKSGIVING!!

River Maneuvers

2012-02-14T02:08:00.001-09:00

Alluvial (River) Flats... Light blue is dry-out zone, deep blue is deep water.

It had been a beautiful, but stormy autumn. We'd been heading down Lynn Canal / Chatham Straits, a 200 mile long wind cannon, after visiting with my Brother's family near Haines, Alaska (very near the top of the Inside Passage). SLACKTIDE was passing her heavy weather sea-trials in measured, ever increasing doses.

We'd worked our way down to one of our favorite estuaries.

The Chilkat range bounds these wetlands to the west. Lynn Mama (our pet name for one of our most beloved mountains) dominates the southern view. To the east, the Chilkoot Range rises over the wave-shot waters of Lynn Canal.

Peaks all round had already donned their solemn white hats in anticipation of winter. Somber sweeps of spruce and hemlock were enlivened by blazes of birch gold and alder orange; the grasses of the marge were gone sere and sienna.

A small river flows down from eastern peaks, carrying their substance downslope and westward to form an estuary and an alluvial fan. Storms of three seasons fling river-borne debris back upon itself, stacking it in berms... malleable walls of sand and gravel whose inconstant shapes nevertheless afford protection to we transients who's lives are measured in mere heartbeats.

We enjoyed a week in the safe embrace of this natural harbor, while the moon above us first closed her eye, then shyly peeked once more. The high spring tides following the New Moon passed apex and had begun to fall.

It was time to go, but we were in a bit of a quandry.

On the one hand, if we stayed where we were - high on the hard - past high springs, we'd be neaped for a whole month, with winter hard on its heels.

On the other, we were southbound, but it was blowing SE Force 6 to 7 (strong breeze to moderate gale). Right into our river mouth. At high tides (when we could move), the river was backed up into steep and lumpy series of waves. Once free of the river, it would be a hard slog against wind and Chatham chop.

To add spice to the soup, yet another 70kt storm was moving in, due later in the week, following a two day window of winds light and fair.

Our third option, on which we settled, was to move across the river to lower ground. This would give us three extra days floating on the highs, before we were committed to stay. If the forecast fell through (not uncommon), we would be able to float from there on the next, lower springs at a much earlier date.

The challenge was that we'd be close-hauled, crossing from our present position. The shallows at either side of the river meant no help from the boards (lots of leeway). With the mauling we'd receive in the rollers, chance were we'd be pushed higher upriver, grounding without the protection of a berm.

Warping is an old technique for moving boats. One sets an anchor or ties to some fixed point - a piling, tree, rock or ring - and hauls the attached warp (line), pulling the vessel up to the point made fast.

The diagram shows how we managed. Trick was to pull up high enough into the wind that we could reach across (boards up) and into shelter.

With our slack anchor line flaked and running free from the aft, windward quarter, it went like clockwork.

Until, that is, we nosed up to the shore behind shelter. Boy Genius, here, stepped off the bow in the dark, having forgotten to pull up his reefed sea-boots. Over the tops and you're better off not wearing them at all.

Good thing I love the sound of Anke's laughter!

PS. Two days later, we got our fair wind... well... breeze. We warped back out to the anchor, pulled it and ghosted forth. In wee hours, we tucked into a slough some twenty miles south. Snug as bugs by the time the storm blew over our heads, tearing the clouds and shaking the trees.

Looking S across River at high tide from 1st position...
Our protecting berm is covered.

Love Me Tender

2012-02-12T15:48:00.000-09:00

Racing down a Shallow River

One of the most important tools on the water is a tender... the small workboat in service to the larger sea-stead. Lighter, yawl-boat, load hauler, gad-about. Ready to fish, set or haul anchor, take the dog ashore, convey lubbers ignorant of small-boat physics... in a pinch a life boat of last resort.

Self-rescue is an important ability for us. Should we ever lose our home, we need a tender that can keep the sea and cover some ground. To help ourselves or others, we need a boat that can handle a sea of troubles.

Early on, we settle on dories as meeting the greatest number of our needs in a single boat. For years, we towed Phil Bolger's GLOUCESTER GULL (may he be happy in the heaven, to which this boat was ticket). Its dimensions are 15'6" x 4' x ~4" over a two foot bottom beam.

It exceeded all promises.

A GULL is efficiently built from three sheets of 1/4 inch, it rows and tows beautifully under most conditions, carries a raft o' goods... it's light but sturdy. It has high windage, and it's difficult to make good speed along a straight line in a gale of wind, lacking the mass to carry between strokes. But the high freeboard keeps the wild stuff outboard, where it belongs, lifting the boat over waves that would swamp a lower hull.

Downside is that there is no way to take one aboard a small cruiser... we're stuck with towing. But hey. If you want everything in one boat, get used to disappointment!

For our purposes, however, it had a couple of draw-backs:

When towing in a gale plus, it would surf and sheer, tripping on its chine. That would pop the windward side high, exposing the wide, flared side panel to the wind... the leeward gunnel would cut under and WHOA!! Suddenly we're towing a sub! Droguing the dory eliminated the problem, but only if you got to it before the wind came up. A related problem is that, when beached, a sudden gust might fling the boat downwind, rolling and bouncing like a 16ft, deranged boomerang! No place to be standing when it happened!!

Launching in a surf, neither bow nor tombstone transom generated enough lift to carry hull and passenger clear of a comber. Not enough to even threaten swamping, but we often got wet, launching or beaching in these conditions.

Lastly, while it rowed about as well forward as backward, narrow ends made it sensitive to weight distribution. If Anke and I wanted to trade off rowing, we'd have to switch ends (I outweigh her by 30 some pounds, and you don't want to trim bow down). In a tender (tippy) boat, with a little chop running, that was an uncomfortable procedure!

Finally, I designed a dory for ourselves (my Brother calls it NOT-A-GULL [enunciated similar to 'nautical']) with a 3ft bottom beam on the same dimensions. I widened the tombstone, considerably, and carried the bottom a skosh more full toward the bow (adding displacement at both ends).

Sampan Bow

It rows either direction without us having to switch ends (the longitudinal seat lets us adjust trim by scootching a bit). We call both ends 'the bow'... pointy bow, or sampan bow (tombstone end). We launch into surf, sampan first, and haven't shipped a drop in five years.

The wide bottom and reduced angle of flare (with consequent reduction of side panel area) have meant no cut-under in gales, and (so far) no cart-wheels on the hard. We can haul even more stuff with more stability. Reduced flare gets us closer to the mothership, meaning shorter arm extension while loading/unloading.

Downsides are that it's that much heavier to carry, and no longer so efficient to build. It takes four sheets of 1/4 ply with more waste, and a sheet of 1/2" for frames (we usually scrounge scrap for these).

And, lets face it, it doesn't have that breath-taking line of Phil's GULL...

Probably be my ticket to purgatory. 8)

Pointy Stern... Paddling through Sloughs

A few Tips 'n' Tricks:

A longitudinal seat affords great flexibility for any number of loads. Make the frames all the same, comfortable sitting height off the bottom and spring in as narrow a plank as you can stand (It will take the same curve as the bottom).

We use two oar stations equidistant from the middle. They're arranged so that we can balance with one rower, rower and passenger(s), or two rowers, forward or backward. With two rowing, the aft person will face forward and push stroke. They don't have to work hard, but it adds a lot of speed.

When rowing into heavy wind, sit at the sampan end. This decreases forward windage by depressing the broad base of the tombstone without burying it (so won't sheer off course). At the same time, the after (pointy) end is lifted, increasing its windage and acting as a weather-cock (wants to stream downwind, holding the bow up into the wind). Row with short, alternating strokes.
We use thole pins with polypropylene rope grommets. Dirt cheap (beach-combed line and blocks, spruce limb pins)... only cost are the bolts and glue. All pieces float! You can put the oar forward or aft of the pin... we prefer forward (pulling away from the pin on the power stroke)... not as efficient, but very quiet.

Spring Paint in Order!

We use 7ft spruce saplings of about two inch diameter at the fat end. Carve a conic handle (base toward the end) into the fat end. Flatten one face of the other ('tang' runs the full blade length... good strength for poling or clamming) and screw on a 2ft x 4in x 1/4in, plywood blade (strip up that waste from building the dory... make a stack and carry 'em as spares).

If the sapling has a curve, make sure you mount the blade perpendicular to its plane, with the peak of the curve oriented forward. If you don't, the oar will want to spill and twist... even a bit of this soon tires your hands. We like to mount our blades on the aft side of the loom (shaft), though I'm not sure it makes much difference.

A narrow blade won't catch as much wind or water. Do learn to feather the oars... lay them nearly flat at the end and return of a stroke. If done right, the blade will skip easily if it does catch water.

Consider rounding the upper shoulders of the blade; one steeply angled to clear hang-ups (shed line, weed, etc.); angle the other shoulder more abruptly to catch line when we want to (dropped a painter, anyone?). Row with abrupt side down. With a good stroke, the shoulders barely get dipped, so the difference doesn't throw you off if you don't get a pair matched (happens when carrying two sets).

These oars are obviously cheap... between them and the uncommon thole pins, we've never had any lost to theft, even in the midst of a crime spree. They aren't quite as efficient as a super-fine tuned oar, but are much easier, and don't require a good workstation to build, last longer, take nearly zero maintenance, don't frighten one from 'special' uses (aka, abuse) such as beach skids, their loss can be shrugged off.

A surprising benefit is that the tapered loom affords a bit of spring, which is easy on the joints... high end oars have this quality, but it is painstakingly crafted. Just pick your diameter to suit your size and strength.
If you're retrieving an anchor with the dory, you may have to break it out. You can depress the gunnel to within a couple inches of the water, haul tight and make a sharp turn over the edge with the chain, locking it in place. Lean back toward the other side to apply a lot of leverage, and rock the boat sideways. You can add cleats, if you want, to improve the lock, but tailing works fine.

Works like a charm from mud or sand, not as well from rock. Watch that, if it releases suddenly, you don't tumble back and overboard!
Put tow straps (U-bolts) at each end... one will tow better than the other in certain situations. Use a locking caribiner if you don't want two painters.
Consider an electrical cord spool, wound with 300 feet of 1/4 inch line. If you're around tidal flats, these are great! A sand (helix) anchor helps when there's nothing to tie to... use a thole pin, limb or rod through the eye to drive it deep.

Thanks to John Herschenrider and Ken Merrill for photos!

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com

Neaps Springs Eternal

2012-02-12T03:39:00.000-09:00

Drawing Courtesy of Eric Light

Time and tide wait for no man.

Proverb

The Sun is loved by the Earth, who is loved by the Moon, who is lovedin turn by the Sea.

The tides of the Sea, following the Moon, lag never far behind her. Full or dark they spring in her train. Their love quartered, they neap away to nought.

Or, if you have a more prosaic soul...

The gravitational pull of the Sun and Moon affect the tides. The Moon, being nearer, has the greater effect.

When Sun, Earth and Moon are aligned - at Full and New Moons - the combined effect is at its peak, resulting (a few days later) in higher high tides and lower low tides, and a greater range (the difference of height between high and low). This monthly period of extremes is known as spring tides, or springs.

Conversely, when Sun, Earth and Moon are at right angles (with the Earth at vertex), the gravitational pull is non-aligned, resulting in lower high tides and higher low tides, and a lesser range. This monthly period of moderation is known as neap tides, or neaps.

A boat who grounds on the 'backside of springs'* won't, without help from other factors, be floated until next spring tides. Grounded so, it is said to be neaped. As springs following the New Moon (Dark o' the Moon) are higher than those following the Full, one can choose to be neaped for up to two weeks, or up to a month, more or less, as desired.

Neaping one's self is one of the great pleasures in life. We love to neap in for a care-free spell. Let the wind blow as it will. High and dry and safe as a house. Walk the beaches round and let the animals get used to our presence among them.

It can be a bit disconcerting for others. We've had well-meaning boats, planes and even helicoptors land to see that we were alright, so far from a boat's natural element, for so long a time.

Getting neaped is another matter. Sometime, I'll tell ya a story.

Neaped on the edge of Lynn Canal

*The illustration uses the phrase 'tides taking off' for my 'backside of springs'. I've never heard anyone else use either.

Free Standing Masts and the Tabernacles Who Love Them

2012-02-11T03:32:00.004-09:00

Not much riggin' up there!

Free standing masts have been around a long time.

Bullet points in favor:

Simple - Easy to rig and maintain.
Inexpensive - No shrouds, stays, chainplates, spreaders, turnbuckles or swages... reduced shackles and tangs.
Works well in a very broad range of conditions - Not just a light weather rig.
Low windage - Rigging adds drag.
Quiet in a blow - No shrieking rigging.
May be raised and lowered with relative ease - Lots less weight and stuff to deal with.
Spill gusts and ease their impact - Willow vs. oak.
Impervious to jibes - You don't clobber the shrouds with the boom, possibly bringing the whole shebang down.
Have few parts to fail - Reduces the odds of failure.
Don't generate high stresses - Doesn't generate the crane effect, which torques the hull.
May be temporarily stayed with standing or running stays and shrouds - Can't temporarily unstay a stayed rig.

Disadvantages don't warrant bullet points. Not as fast to windward. Period.

The usual response I hear is, "Well yes, but carbon fiber masts are expensive!" Carbon WHAT? Come on... the Chinese have been sailing unstayed rigs for millennia made from that exotic material, wood. You know... that stuff that grows on trees.

All in all, for a KISS boat, free standing rigs deserve a good, close look.

SLACKTIDE's forward tabernacle before installation...
Hinge pin goes thwartships, high and aft.
Note tripod formed by box and struts.

And, as long as you've a free standing mast, you may as well mount it in a tabernacle.

If you look it up, wade down the list of meanings until you hit the nautical one. From my Kindle OED:

A partly open socket or double post on a sailing boat's deck into which a mast is fixed, with a pivot near the top so that the mast can be lowered to pass under bridges.

Or, I might add, to perform maintenance, add masthead toys, sit out a really big blow or 'borrow' the mast for some other purpose (sea anchor, skids, lever, etc.).

Basically, the tabernacle forms a box, open on one side. A pin, near the top, passes through a hinge, strongly mounted to the mast. One of many stop mechanisms fixes the foot of the mast in place. When the stop is released, you can lower the mast.

A free standing mast needs a certain amount of bury, that is, a percentage of its entire length from the hinge (or partners) to the butt. The range is a minimum of 10% to an ample 15%. More doesn't hurt, and gives better leverage for raising/lowering. With enough leverage and a counter-weight butt, this can be a one handed job.

The tabernacle must deliver adequate re-enforcement at the hinge, as well as below. I like to bolt to bulkheads, and the more the merrier. Solid, triangulated struts can be used, if not enough bulkhead is available.

Timber tabernacle posts are inexpensive and simple. I like the cross section of the timbers to be greater than that of the mast by a goodly margin. I also like to tie them together with a back plate to help equalize mast stress-loads between the timbers. On the s'brd tack, say, the port post would bear all the stress, if not bound to the s'brd post. In that case, both would share the load on either tack. A removable front-plate, fixed once the mast is erect, further strengthens the whole shebang.

Welded metal tabernacles have some advantages. They're not as bulky, clearing the view. Struts are very strong, reducing the need for post bury along a bulkhead. A deck plate at the bottom gives landing to the struts and a broad footprint for leverage and fastener spread. They're very handy where little or no bulkhead exists, and you don't want the mast or posts intruding below-decks. Still, don't get crazy. If you can't arrange a solid tabernacle, reconsider whether it should be stayed, after all.

Anke and I, with no special gear, usually dry out for raising. We use one mast as a crane for the other, and raise as high as we can. One of us (the short one) will be out on the beach with a line to the masthead, while the other, taller and dumber, strains and puffs it the last of the way up. As Tall and Dumb ages, I may add counter-weights or mechanical advantage. Lowering is just the reverse.

*****

Bonus free standing mast story:

One fine autumn day, we were sculling LUNA across Salisbury Sound in a flat calm. The sound is open to the Gulf of Alaska at its northwest end, and tapers down to narrows in the south. Low mountains flank it on three sides, high mountains to the north.

We were making for Neva Strait, the strong-current passage near the south end. We were hustling to catch a fair current... miss it and we'd have to wait for fair wind or the next tide.

Anke was below, making lunch. I had all sail set to catch the occaisional zephyr. We'd made good time, and now, approaching Neva's entrance, we had plenty to spare.

I heard a rumble behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting maybe one of the big ferries? What I saw was water being blown to spray by a wind bearing down on us. YIKES! Willawaw!!

I threw the helm over, shouting "Hang ON" to Anke. The boat had barely begun to turn (not much steerageway at a knot and a half), when a furious burst of wind jumped us.

We were still in line with the assault as both sails caught and filled. I felt LUNA's stern rise, the whole aft end levering from the water. With a splintery CRA-ACK, the foremast gave, breaking in two, just above the hinge!

"HOLY MOTHER OF FREAKING PEARL!! We've been dismasted!", I bleated, the wheels of my brain burning rubber. Rounding quickly under the full main, I steered off, a bit, to let the foremast fall alongside us (don't want em' falling on deck or self!), dragging from its haulyard and sheets.

After that first gust (how many knots of wind was that? No sea state to judge it by!), the wind settled down to a bit shy of 20 knots. We dropped the main and tightened the mizzen, holding the bow into the wind and slowing drift.

[LUNA is a cat-schooner with what we referred to as fores'l, main and mizzen. The latter is a little 'dandy', a.k.a. 'spanker' mounted on the stern, but those terms just don't fly in Alaska, nor with Anke, for that matter.]

A fisher friend had been approaching (Neva's a busy place) when the mast went down, and asked if he could help. We asked him to stand by until we got an anchor down. Backing the main, we were able to crab our way to the side, where - fortunately - the bottom is sandy. We dropped the hook, checked for holding, then waved him on, gulped our lunch and came up with a plan.

First, we hauled the broken butt aboard. Released the haulyard of the still set fores'l and clawed the battens uphill and onto the deck, panel by panel, untying their parrels as they came aboard .Once the lug was aboard and detached, we bundled the sail on deck and brought the upper end of the mast aboard.

[Batten parrels are short, standing lines that tie to the forward end of a batten, pass aft around the mast and retie to the same batten; they keep the sail in close to the mast and can be climbed like ratlines.]

Next, we removed the broken stub from the tabernacle, and detached its hinge hardware. This is just a large metal strap, bent over double, then drilled and counter-sunk for heavy screws. The whole shebang is served with nylon line to back up the screws and pad the mast in its tabernacle. We transferred it to the mast remnant, the correct distance up to provide bury, screwing and serving in place.

We set it across the tabernacle and reinserted the hinge pin, then raised it. This was a little tricky and fail-dangerous. We're bouncing around at anchor instead of our usual dry-out. Anke can't help at all, except to counter-weight the base, and pin the foot once it's up. I'm straining myself purple, alone, to raise the (mercifully) shortened mast without letting it slew off to one side (a 24 foot lever prying at our tabernacle!). Lucky I din't bust sumpin'.

But we got it up. Next trick-in-a-row was to re-rig the sail bundle (re-attach haulyard, lead through lazyjacks and fix them in position, re-tie batten parrels. Reattach the sheets and done!

Finally, we look up and around... HEY! Tides still fair... this whole mess only took an hour and a half! What're we waiting for? Up anchor and sails, wing 'n' wong in a fair breeze, one panel reefed on the shortened foremast.

Try that with your fancy, high-tech, marconi, witch-to-weather rig!

Free standing freedom

There's a little preamble to this story. We had recently replaced the old, trolling pole foremast, which had become pocked with exterior soft spots.

A friend had offered that we take a tree off his property (rather than the standing dead we usually harvest from the Tongass). It was a rushed search among young, living trees... we prefer trees that have gotten a late start in shaded understory. They grow slowly and densely ringed.

We found a nice, straight one, but the grain turned out to be wide. I've heard 9+ annular rings to the inch is optimal... this was about 5. A hidden flaw pushed us a couple of yards up the butt, leaving it on the thin side. Finally, it had only seasoned for a couple of months. Green (wet) wood is much weaker than dry wood, and spruce seems to have a wider difference than most. It takes about a year 'on the hoof' to get a standing mast dry.

So. Three strikes against the foremast. The full value main - to windward, having less bury and partially blanketing the fores'l - stood firm.

Conclusion? We're still perfectly happy with free standing masts, but are holding ourselves to their rules-of-thumb!

Vessel Design Space and the Tree of Boats

2012-02-10T13:08:00.000-09:00

Tree of Life by Karla Gerard

If it looks like a boat, it'll likely act like one.
Remembered from Go Build Bour Own Boat by Harold 'Dynamite' Payson

Fill the space above the boat with sail; she'll balance.
Advice passed down by Allen Farrell

Vessel Design Space is a figment of the mind. Infinite in all directions, it contains every possible design variation as a point within it.

Growing within VDS is a beautiful Tree of Boats, if you will, of all the boats which have utility... which work. The trunk of this Tree is rooted in the displacement of water. Every design, budding as a leaf or flower at the far end of some branch, will float.

The very first log that a human boarded (I'd bet it was a kid!) lies near the root of our ToB. A low branching is between solid log craft (rafts) and hollowed crafts (dug-out canoes and most of the rest). We climb and climb. There's a branch between hulls that have a pointy end and not. There's one between open boats and decked.

Everyone's ToB is a bit different, depending on how one thinks about design. Which branch is 'lower' (more fundamental); solid/hollow log or mono/multi hull? Stuff of hot debate in coastal pubs, the world over. Each ToB is like the Bansai... a reflection of one's mind.

One common design path is to specify, as nearly as possible, one particular leaf on our Tree.

A designer will specify hull shape, construction method (down to the nails!), scantlings, layout, rig. Some go so far as to suggest the color scheme!!! Of course, no two leaves end up identical, but effort is expended - from design through construction - to make them as alike as peas in a pod. This is especially true with production boats. 'Customization' may allow some twiggy branching, but this approach confines one the fine end of a limb.

The power of this approach is that the designer (who presumably knows the business) embeds his or her knowledge and experience into the design. The builder gets the full benefit of that knowledge of engineering, the accumulation of good ideas and occasional flashes of inspired innovation. Once a design has been 'proven', one can get a pretty good idea how a boat built to the same design will function.

Downside is that one size must fit most. In stock designs, some present alternate rigs or interior layouts. Some go so far as draw alternate superstructures or keel arrangements. Even in custom designs, it is the designer (not you) who ultimately balances your competing desires. One has been narrowed down, second hand, to a few alternatives among infinite possibilities.

This is similar to a chef who gives you the precise recipe for a given dish. Follow this recipe, and you will achieve a scrumptious result.

But what if you don't have ingredient x, y or z? What if your guest is lactose intolerant and vegan?

I'm that other kind of cook. My cookbook has a few, skeletal recipes - full of variables - and a lot of methods. I love the kind of cooking where the result has the sensual feel of dish that inspired it, without, perhaps, a single ingredient in common. A white sauce, for example, can be made in so many ways... some of them not even, exactly white... but close your eyes and let your tongue decide.

Back in my Tree, I see a big, hearty branch at flat bottomed boats, developed from cylindrical/conic sections (i.e., designed for non-tortured sheet materials). Along this branch lie sharpies, dories, shories and box barges/scows. A good branch! Full of DIY potential.

I inch along the limb of least resistance, and arrive at TriloBoats (near full box barge/scow).

These are like being given a pack of cards (ply sheets) and trying to make boats with the least number of cuts. Just in terms of hull configuration alone (length, beam, draft and height), you can see that this is a branchy limb!

Once you've got a hull, you design a superstructure for some purpose you have in mind. What're your favorite rigs (among the thousands), and among them, which work well with your intended use? How do you like to live? How many of you are there? Do you get along? Do you need a private head? Do the masts intrude below decks? Do you like to sleep together (double bunk)? Are you tall, or short? Tall and short? Sitting headroom or standing? And so on and on.

You are the expert on these matters. In the custom design process all these things must be absorbed by the designer, juggled with one another and fit within the constraints of the overall design. This is often expensive, frustrating and, ultimately, disappointing to both designer and client.

My (inexpensive) StudyPLANS ask a lot from the builder. They specify the hull side panel shape, which may be used with commercial ply sheets (whole or cut down) for a range of beams. Interiors are up to you, as are rigs and lateral resistance. Several construction options are suggested, but not detailed. In other words, the StudyPLANS take you out on a limb... 8) ...but there are many branches you must choose your way among. Are you a shantyboater? A sailor? A powerboater? A liveaboard? Who are you? You decide.

For some time, now, I've been working on a DIY Design/Build Book for TriloBoats. I see it as auxiliary to, or in place of the StudyPLANS. I'm packing it with rules-of-thumb, methods, considerations and suggestions. It tries to answer why one might turn left or right, rather than which way one should. This blog has been a step toward it's eventual release.

But there's nothing radical in any of this. No boat is beyond you. We live in the Information Age. Excellent resources abound. You want to design, build and sail a boat? It's well within your grasp. The simpler the boat, the sooner you'll be on the water, but don't let complexity stop you if that's where your heart leads. Educate yourself, get your finances together, tool up, build and go!

Our Tree of Boats is in full bloom!

Barge/Scow Bottom Planking - Making It So

2012-02-08T23:43:00.000-09:00

Setting up the Jig

It laughs at the sea, that bow does; it challenges the sea; it snorts defiance at the sea. And withal it is a beautiful bow; the lines of it are dreamlike; I doubt if ever a boat was blessed with a more beautiful and at the same time a more capable bow. It was made to punch storms. To touch that bow is to rest one's hand on the cosmic nose of things.

From The Voyage of the Snark by Jack London

Let's start by noting that the bottom of a TriloBoat hull (box barge/scow) is not rocket science. It has a couple of curves, yes, but these are easily dealt with. So lets roll up our sleeves and walk through it.

There are two ways to go about building any boat... right-side up or upside down. For TriloBoats, I'm tending these days to right-side up. A couple of steps are harder, this way, but we don't have to build any temporary structures, and we don't have to turn the boat... a task that still freaks me out despite many successful roll-overs (no failures, so far). For this post, I'll stick with right-side up.

For Andy Stoner's MARY ELIZABETH (T32x12), we spent a week indoors building components. Deadflat sections (the flat portion of the bottom between end curves), side sections, bulkheads and transoms.

At the end of that week, we set up the building jig. This consists of two substantial beams that run about one half the overall boat length. You should set up as low as possible, while still being able to swing a hammer underneath the boat-to-be.

Prop 'em up on solid blocking, and parallel. To check for parallelity, measure between them and adjust until equidistant (parallel in plan view). Then eyeball across opposite edges and adjust one end of one beam until edges align (parallel in profile). Finally , lay a straight edge across their upper faces and adjust until it lies flat across both at all points (coordinate their rotation). Repeat until all satisfy, then block and shim securely into position.

Note that this accounts for square and true, but not plumb. TriloBoats are self-rectifying, so plumb is elective. If you're type-A, go ahead and adjust for plumb with a level.


A few terms for our discussion

8ft sheets on 12ft beam...
Lots of extra work.
Note jig is not level.

Once the jig is ready, lay out the deadflat components in order. Depending on how you're going about things, these could range from plain, full sheets of ply to pre-fabbed and finished stacks of ply (layers offset to provide overlap at the butts... minimum 1ft). Glue 'em up and join them, one component at a time.

I prefer at least one of these layers to be 3/4" ply. This is thick enough to accept ringshank nails, which provide a good lock and clamping pressure until glue dries. Butts may be backed up, later, by fiberglass tape set in resin, straddling the butt seams. Waterproof, and adds a LOT of strength.

4 hrs from flat platform!

Once the deadflat is together, you've got a big, flat platform. Join and frame the side panels... let set up overnight. Next day, pull aside, erect bulkheads on your marks, position sides and join to bulkheads and bottom. This day is exciting. Lots of friends help... reward with pizza, beverages and music.

Blah, blah, blah... boatbuilding deets... you may build the rest of the boat before you get to the bottom end curves.

The important thing to know, at this point, is that the side panels are framed along their bottom edge with 2x lumber. Installed, they form the jig for shaping the bottom. Their framing's lower edge faces provide area for gluing and beef for nailing. All thwartships, bottom planks (sheets of ply) overlap side panel framing and planking, ending up flush with the outboard faces. All sheets full size!

Both ends of the deadflat have offset courses of ply, resulting in a flap at each end. Make sure this is clean and clear of glue (may have to cut some goosh out). End curve courses join this flap, and continue the offsets in the steps below.

*****

Thick or stiff ply doesn't like to bend. It want's to stay flat or pretty close. So we coax it along.

One thing that helps, while laying out the curves on the side panels (you will have done this a while back) is to let the outboard ends of the curves - 12 to 18 inches - run free (let your batten spring to its natural lack of curve). Your ply courses will be much easier to bring into line, this way, than if you had made the curve continuous (I may have picked this trick up from Lofting by Alan Vaitses?).

SLACKTIDE's kerfed 1st course

The next thing we'll do is kerf our ply where it's curved (make thwartships, partial-depth cuts). This lets it bend similar to a roll-top desk. Experiment, and leave as many plies intact as you can while still being able to bend the sheet. If your wood is stiffer, you will need deeper kerfs and space them more closely. For 3/4 AC Fir, we find that leaving 2-3 plies out of 7, and spacing every 3-4 inches works well. Half inch AC Fir may not need kerfing at all.

Lastly, plan ahead to let the bottom run out past the ends. Once done, you'll trim flush with the transoms, at your leisure.

The first course will be kerfed, if necessary, on it's outboard face. Don't need to kerf where the curve runs flat toward its end. When joining, fill kerfs with glue. Plan ahead so that nails are embedded in solid wood (avoid kerfs).

Installing this first course is easy. A cake-walk (that reminds me... don't start hungry!).

We like polyurethane glue-from-a-caulking-tube for these external hull joins (e.g., 3M5200). It's moisture activated, slow curing (won't kick today), gap filling, water-proof, elastomeric, and wicked strong.

Spread glue along flap and framing, a bit further than one sheet will cover. Be generous (want no voids), but don't over do it (expensive). Look for a bit of glue oozing from between sheet and framing, inside and out, to ensure good contact.

Position sheet, and fasten with nails (we like ring-shanks), working from inboard to outboard. Remember it's the glue doing the work, the nails are there to clamp and provide moral support. See if one, every other 'plank' (space between kerfs), is sufficient; one every plank, if not.

Repeat until first course is laid.


1st layer on ME was 1/2" (kerfs in 3/4", 2nd layer, only) The piecing, shown here, is unnecessary with 12ft sheets (or 8ft beam)... This has been cobbled from 8fters

The second course is trickier due to time sensitive glue, large area gluing and the need to close gaps between sheets. It's going to be a much easier job for two than one. Make sure your help knows every step of what's going to happen before you start. Talk it over and try to spot problem areas in advance.

If the second layer requires kerfing, do so on it's inboard face (when joined, the kerfs should be hidden between courses). Stagger the kerfs so that they do not match up. Mark guides for nail pattern on the outboard face, avoiding kerfs and first course nail pattern, so you don't have to guess under pressure.

We like LPU (Liquid PolyUrethane, e.g. Gorilla Glue) for laminating plywood sheets. It's moisture activated, temperature tolerant, relatively easy clean-up, foams to be gap-filling, and doesn't take much. Looks and acts like honey. Sets up in about 45 minutes in cold weather, faster when warm. Time a test batch to get the feel. Set up materials near to hand before starting. We get about one sheet per 20oz bottle. Have back-ups... if you run short, you're in trouble.

Ready? Breath. Note the time and start.

Squeeze glue from the bottle into all kerfs (both layers... use large syringe for overhead kerfs). Squirt a pattern on the second course's face and spread with long, flat spreaders (paint stir sticks work great). Do this before installing, while it's lying flat. Move efficiently and without panic. LPU can be spread thin, but you should leave a skim of glue (no areas scraped down to the wood). More won't hurt, and it's false economy to use too little.

Position the sheet and start nailing into place, working from inboard toward the ends, forcing gap slack ahead of where you're fastening. Have persuaders ready to go (props, jacks, screws* with drivers) and use 'em at the first sign of trouble (gaposis). Get it in position and locked down with the effective minimum of fasteners.

Repeat until this section is planked. On this course, try to hit each butt seam between sheets with glue. Once all sheets are in place, go back and fill in your fastener pattern. If in doubt, add more 2x clamps*.

Sit back. Breath. Laugh, dance and hug. Admire your work. Kiss and make up for any harsh and hasty words loosed in the heat of battle. Wipe up excess glue. Assess, address and debrief for the next round.

Job well done!

Closing up the bow... note blocking, bottle jack and 2x4 clamp,
old clothes, gloves and knee-pads...
and yes, she's got glue in her hair!

*Screws are very useful for closing up gaps. If there's no framing to screw into, set up a short section of 2x4 and screw into it, drawing courses together (see photo above). Remove and plug holes after glue sets up. We like high thread count, square-drive screws and a brace or cordless drill. Size screw length for bottom thickness plus 1 1/2+ inches.

Fit for Paradise: Another Angle on Evolutionary 'Struggle'

2012-02-08T02:03:00.002-09:00

Ducks at Play by Frank W. Benson

...Nature, red in tooth and claw...

From In Memoriam A. H. H. by Alfred Lord Tennyson

This survival of the fittest... is that which Mr. Darwin has called 'natural selection, or the preservation of favoured races in the struggle for life'.

Herbert Spencer

The struggle for life. Nature, red in tooth and claw. The survival of the fittest.

Since Darwin proposed his Theory of Evolution, such bleak slogans have summed a view of natural selection that has resonated perfectly with the conceits and obsessions of civilization.

On the one hand, civilization is supposed to protect us from all that blood, presumably bathing our city walls and plowed fields. On the other, it has been called upon to excuse the eradication of wilderness, appropriation and concentration of wealth, war on every pretext, slavery and genocide.

So I'm sitting here, looking out at the ducks. I've watched them closely through a rather harsh stretch of local winter. Watching for signs of struggle. Shivering misery. Sudden death at the talons of desperate eagles.

Hmm... the eagles are there, alright. Sitting in trees with commanding views, round about this cove. They preen. Look lazily about. Occasionally take flight to change limbs or disappear around the point. They look, in fact, pleasantly, sleepily bored. I haven't seen a single eagle swoop on a duck - this year or last - much less a strike.

The ducks ignore them.

The ducks have been swimming about, diving to feed along the shallows. Socializing. Bathing. Preening. Sleeping, heads tucked cozily under wing. And now that the temperatures have warmed a bit, fornicating. Pretty much what I'm about, behind my windows.

It's obvious that the 'fittest' are those 'fit for Paradise'!

Natural Selection does indeed operate with a measure of bloody death, and total indifference to the comfort of the individual. But the gene pool is constantly being pruned to express individuals perfectly fit to their environment. Not so much that they are fit, but that they do fit. Natural selection - far from being cruel - blindly fits the living to their environment. Any viable environment comes to be Paradise enow for the life within it.

These ducks pretty much know when to shift (they relocated to open water bights when the bay froze over, were back the day it broke up). Where and how to find morsels clearly delicious to them. When and how to evade their predators, in the main.

It's why predators target the feeble. Predators, too, are bargain hunting. For certain among the prey population, a combination of disease, age and poor luck in the genetic draw or timing can attract sudden and spectacular demise... that which has so caught our imaginations. Most, only one or two of whom could be called the fittest, scamper expertly to safety. One or two in many generations, embodying more advantageous genes, may reach safety first, or more reliably... genes they'll be happy to share.

These ducks out my window have spent a winter in enviable peace and plenty. The plants and fish upon which they feed, have met their end, as individuals. One might say that they are martyrs on the path to earthly Paradise. But I'm not inclined to. Their lives - every pulse of it - was lived in the paradise for which and into which they were born. Part and parcel of a complex and joyous dynamic.

Each and every duck will one day follow, as will, eventually, the entire lineage of ducks. Red death may find them, or misstep, or the strange, sweet dreams of hypothermia. We each of us have our many hours of life. We have but one of death.

Until then, let us eat, drink and make merry in this wild and beautiful paradise.

Behold the fowls of the air:

For they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns;

Yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.

Jesus of Nazareth

It's called a WARDROBE, Anke!

2012-02-07T01:50:00.001-09:00

Makeshift Monacle by Elle @sheezyart.com

Cotton kills.

AMSEA (Alaska Marine Safety Education Association) tenent:
A training exercise (conducted while out-of-doors) drapes a damp, cotton towel around a student's neck
for a couple of hours to drive home the point.

As we were moving into SLACKTIDE, a smaller boat than our previous one, Anke was lamenting the number of clothes she has, relative to the size of the single drawer that was to contain them. Our friend, who is quite fashionable, cocked an eyebrow and dryly observed, "It's called a wardrobe, Anke."

So it is. Can't get away from the fact that clothes are both important and tend to multiply. An item that is perfect for one condition won't hack it in the next. Even if one has the next best thing, it may be a five mile row back to the anchored boat to fetch it.

So we tend to look for stuff that does okay across a wide range of conditions, and may be layered with other items for maximum versatility. Add layers for warmth; remove 'em to cool down.

Layering starts with a moisture wicking layer against the skin. It takes energy to evaporate moisture, and on cold days, you are the source of that energy. Cotton kills (in cool or cold weather) by holding on to moisture; evaporation occurs at or very near the skin surface. Enough of that, and hypothermia can set in. Wicking fabrics (e.g., polyester... may be spendy, at first, but way durable) transport moisture well away from the skin.

Next, we like full-zippered, fleece jackets (medium sweater weight; zip to 'turtle' neck). The zipper lets you regulate heat retention. Polyester fleece wicks moisture even further from the skin, dries quickly, and is light and warm when simply wrung out. Downside is that campfire sparks eat holes right through it.

Anke likes wool sweaters, too. They're warm, even wet, though heavy and take longer to dry. They are bulky, too. Though I love 'em, myself, I've gotten entirely away from them to free space.

In cold weather, poly fleece sweatpants are cheaper and more versatile than most thermal underwear. Worn alone, as pants, they may offend fashion, but not modesty.

I used to be a jeans man (Levi's, of course); Carhardt duck, when I could afford it. But, one sweltering day in Port Townsend, WA, a friend sauntered by, wearing wool pants.

"Bart," I gasped, "How can you stand it??"

"Easy," he replied, in manner both cool and collected, "Wool is cool in summer, warm in winter."

I admit to having scoffed.

Years later, after the AMSEA drill, I tried wool pants in cool weather. The change was astounding. I was immediately warmer. The surprise came when spring rolled into summer, ahead of my wardrobe, and I was, in fact, noticably cooler in wool than in jeans. Ditto cotton T-shirts. Now, every time I climb into a pair of cotton duds, for whatever reason, I'm immediately and persistently less comfortable.

Mid-weight dress slacks (2nd hand, herring-bone or 'brushed' finish) are comfortable, year round, with the fleece sweats under in winter. These were comfortable in the 10degF temps we had a week ago (while working, anyway). Slowly, I'm weaning away from heavier weights... they're bulky and not as versatile.

I wash them with everything else (many are marked 'dry clean only') in warm or hot water, then hang dry (they dry quickly). No problems. I like them slightly generous at the waist if there's a chance I'll wear the sweats under them.

So far, we're avoiding high tech materials (or at least, polyester is so common that it's cheap hi-tec). Most of the above and some of the below can be found, second hand for next to nothing. You'll develop an eye for the look and feel of poly and wool in short order. Wool dress slacks, especially, tend to get passed over as fuddy-duddy. Don't be put off by creases and pleats... without ironing, they soon relax into a style more befitting the low life.

Over these we add down vest and top-layer of nylon shell for dry, and pvc for rain (jacket and bibs). PVC raingear is 100% waterproof, inexpensive, easy to dry and clean. It can be repaired and nursed along for years. 'Breathable' gear hasn't held up, here in Alaska, though I know of some offshore sailors who like it. Hard to take that expensive gear through the bramble, though.

Socks are a big expense. They wear out quickly, and it's hard to find good boot socks, 2nd hand. Costco's been our big supplier, with other bargains here and there. My parent's were right. There DID come a day when I appreciated socks as a gift.

We've been experimenting with leather bunker (Fireman's) boots. They're okay in and out of the water, in decent company, hiking and on the street. Not excellent at any of these, but trade 1 for 4 pairs of footwear. A pair of slippers, sandals (immersible but street tough), mickey boots (for extreme cold) and snowshoes round out our shoe department.

Exposure (aka work) suits for very cold weather, with neck bands, gloves, mittens, etc... my beloved Bailey's Durango Hat, fleece ball cap (with earflaps) and light ball cap for working, straw hats for hot days, watchcaps.

Off-season clothes and back-ups go into dry bags in the holds. A clothing drawer, each. A couple of coat hooks, each. A shoe locker and overhead net stowage, for grabables, in common.

So we have a wardrobe. Sheesh!

*****

A tip for 2nd hand buying: somebody told me that one's neck is half one's waist diameter. Hold the pants at each side of the waistband (WB flat), and wrap around your neck. If the two sides just touch, it'll fit your waist, without taking to the dressing room. This works for both Anke and myself. Try it on yourself with a comfortable pair... even if it doesn't work as advertised, note how much gap or overlap does.

If you buy wool goods new, a 10-15% mix of synthetic fiber retains all its qualities, but extends its life considerably.

www.SportsmansGuide.com is where we do a lot of our shopping... closeout bargains and military surplus.

TAZ, SeaSteading and Water-Borne Community

2012-02-05T23:44:00.002-09:00

SeaStead on the BC Coast

The TAZ is like an uprising which does not engage directly with the State, a guerrilla operation which liberates an area (of land, of time, of imagination) and then dissolves itself to re-form elsewhere/elsewhen, before the State can crush it.
...
The TAZ is thus a perfect tactic for an era in which the State is omnipresent and all-powerful and yet simultaneously riddled with cracks and vacancies.

From The Temporary Autonomous Zone by Hakim Bey... Wikipedia article, here.

I find ol' Hakim a little hard to read, but the name says it all, don't you think? Temporary. Autonomous. Zone.

It fits right into the blender in my head with the concept of seasteading - an attitude which may occur at the vessel or fleet level. Add in many years of musing, missing and longing for water-borne community. A dash of easily built barge hulls in kaleidoscopic plethora of form and function. ZZZZZZZZZ! Mmm-mmm!! A heady mix.

Water-borne communities are nothing new. In fact, what's new seems to be wide-scale efforts to eradicate them. In the eyes of many Concerned Citizens, any conglomeration of home-built shantyboats or even down-at-the-heels yachts tends to be viewed as blights on the viewshed. Bureaucrats see us as health hazards, impediments to navigation or hotbeds of public menace. Between them, they grind away every working day to contain the problem of Us.

"Got a problem with that," they say, "Come to the meeting and represent yourselves."

Sure. There'll be at least one a week, forever. But I shall breath deeply to regain my wa, and spare you the rant.

What I wanted to talk about are possible synergies inherent to these concepts.

TAZ means that, within the existing set of laws and prejudices - and potentially into a future where such peaceful assemblies are outlawed - a water-borne community can coalesce in a locale. Density need not be as high as pictured above, though it has its attractions. Alternatively, a complex of bays and coves might be chosen, each within rowing distance of the next. Evaporation of the community is as easy as casting off, to re-condense in another place, another time, another configuration.

The beauty is that each can come as they are. Rolling stones may roll through, pausing to gather a bit of moss. Some may prefer to explore the area in small excursions interleaved with festivity and art. There is world enough, and time for elders, gardeners, weavers, homebodies... those with large equipment hobbies, or to whom the rigors of mobility exceed their abilities or interests. Resources impractical to those constantly underway - owned in common, perhaps - may be concentrated. When large endeavors are undertaken, many hands are available to lighten the work.

I modestly propose the TriloBoat as work-horse hull. Greenhouses, shops, living quarters, storage, decks... communal vessels of every stripe. Perhaps the tractors, cargo runners and cruisers, as well. Keep it small, of course, and KISS... get each to wear as many hats as possible. Don't want sprawl, after all

Once a certain, critical mass is achieved, such a community and its constituents would be able to bootstrap itself into whatever its citizens dream of being.

It can start with one, but the more the merrier.

In the end the TAZ is almost self-explanatory. If the phrase became current it would be understood without difficulty...understood in action.

From The Temporary Autonomous Zone by Hakim Bey

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com

Allen and Sharie Farrell: Stars to Steer By

2012-02-05T01:22:00.001-09:00

China Cloud Under Sail by Allen Farrell

When one has Good Wine,

A Graceful Junk,

And a Maiden's Love...

Why envy the Immortal Gods?

Li Po

Allen and Sharie Farrell, more than anyone I know of, lived the life to which Anke and I aspire.

I first heard of them via an article in WoodenBoat Magazine featuring their then new vessel, CHINA CLOUD. At seventy (!) Allen, with substantial help from Sharie, launched their 40+th boat, built from local lumber and driftwood, citing his ax as a prime tool.

CHINA CLOUD was engine free - they sculled her with a yuloh - shoal draft, copper clad and unballasted. They lived largely from forage, and managed on a shoe-string.

As one who had not yet set foot on a sailboat, much less built one, I was enthralled.

Over the years, more stories drifted in. More about the Farrells as people. Their love for one another. The warmth they exuded. Folks they mentored. Lives they touched. Their independence balanced with rich and complex social lives.

Anke and I sought out their biography, Salt on the Wind, by Dan Rubin. We read it aloud as we took our baby steps onto the water. We read of their struggles and triumphs. Of the difficult and wonderful times through which they lived. Of their lives lived simply, and full to bursting with doing and not doing.

Later, in Sailing Back in Time, by Maria Coffey and Dag Goering, we vicariously joined them in their poignant, penultimate voyage in CHINA CLOUD. It was heart-breaking to see, through their eyes, the development, privatization and gentrification of waterways once remote and but lightly touched. To read of their final journey - well into their eighties, and having given CHINA CLOUD away - to start anew in Mexico, leaving their beloved coast behind.

Allen and Sharie set before us an example; proof positive that such a life can be lived... made by hand and heart, learning underway. Days stretching to years spent in one another's company, interwoven with the lives of others by skeins of friendship and love, shared in celebrations of the many or the few, gifts given and received. A love of place.

Our circumstances are different. Our story was picking up as theirs was drawing toward its end. We cruise in a world that much more subdued by the domestication of everything. Local, old growth timber for traditional vessels, if not gone, is endangered. Skills of those who mentored them are dispersed or lost. Free spirited communities from the Age of Aquarius came, and for the most part, went, staid in stead.

Yet wild corners remain. Fish still run and the deer leap. The Forest is diminished but stands, still, verdant with herb, bush and berry. The sea still laps at all the corners of a vast and complex coast.

We never had the good fortune to meet them, yet their example glimmers before us, shining over dark and troubled waters. Paired stars by which we - and many another - may yet set our course.

Allen (1912-2000 ) and Sharie (1907-1996) Farrell

Good Clean Fun

2012-02-04T00:52:00.000-09:00

Flexi Space to the Nth Degree!

Virtually everything was home-made, including the lines.

He wove his own rope from recycled baling twine.

He sewed his own canvas sails and colored them with redwood deck stain.

From Kim Apel's Photo Essay on the Sacramento River Delta's Gunkhole 2008 Cruise

A tarp for shelter, a fire-pit on deck. A loaf of bread, a jug o' wine, a boon companion... you know the drill. Good, clean fun!

The beauty of a clear, open deck of this type is that the hull itself is all hold space, and the deck is all potential. The SWiss Army Boat, personified.

You could erect one of a variety of tents for shelter, as need demands.... an open tarp for clement, balmy nights; a large tent for wintry, inside days at anchor, a bunch of pup-tents for when the kids and their friends come to taste the Good Life.

You could build a skiff or sew your sails on a deck like this. Haul cargo. Beachcomb. Picnic aboard amidst the mangroves. Play bocce!

You could play with all the rigs you've dreamed of... no cabin to interfere.

Similar concept from the folks at Raftplan.com

I tend to barges and scows before rafts, but that may be partly as I don't live at the headwaters of a river.

These pics show some of the simple fun to be had. Note the oil-barrel fire-pit, folding chairs, bug nets, inflatable mattress... nothing fancy in sight. You could even pop that shelter roof up for a downwind sail!

William Willis heading out across the Pacific

Well, this balsa log raft is more ambitious, and Willis definitely took it to extremes. You can read about his adventures in Seaworthy: Adrift with William Willis in the Golden Age of Rafting by T.R. Pearson.

So it doesn't take much to get out on the water and stay there for months on end. Take a fishin' pole and a friend...

And go have some fun!

The Buddy System

2012-02-03T00:01:00.007-09:00

Owl and the Pussycat by Lisa Woolfe

"Do you have any advice for us?"
"Yes. Never travel alone."
"That's it??"
"That's it."
From Frank Herbert's Dune

In Kinnygarden, they line us up by twos and have us hold hands. "Don't let go," they told us, "That's your Buddy."

Alaska is some pretty wild country, with some pretty wild water. It's good to have a Buddy.

A Buddy is there to watch your back. To double your eyes and wisdom and strength. A Buddy is there to talk with. To share the Beauties. The good times and bad. The sun and the rain. To take a turn at the helm, at chores. To stand watch while you sleep. To give and recieve the many, gifts of friendship, large and small.

Prospectors fanned out over Alaska's back-countries, by ones and twos, in search of gold during the rushes. They make an interesting study in the Buddy System. Partners often stayed together over periods of years, coming resemble old married couples in their devotion to one another. Sometimes the irritations of intimacy and cabin fever would spill over into domestic violence ("Whydja kill 'im, Ed?" "Cuz he hung the pan on the wrong nail... AGAIN!"). Survivors of such winters sometimes went it alone, afterward... better the devil you know.

I have a lot of respect for single-handers, and others who venture alone into the wilds. Finding one's self is no easy task, but one that precedes all others in value. Quality alone time has value for us all. Sometimes, it's 'go alone or don't go at all'. Sometimes one starts out with a Buddy, but loses them along the way. A few just plain prefer to be alone.

The challenge is part of it, for some. And that sense of accomplishment that comes from having done it entirely oneself. Many see it as a test, in which the answers are unequivocal.

Sail and oar, in these waters at least, can take one to the end of one's rope. Long days can be followed by long nights, if caught out of harbor. It's not the deep sea, where the boat will sail you for days... you may have to heave to in a tight lee, waiting for light before threading rocks to safety. No breaks for food or a warm-up. Or to think a problem carefully through. No one to back sail, holding the boat crabbed away from danger as you row out a second, swing-limiting anchor.

Me? I like a Buddy. I love my Buddy. Without my Buddy, it's just me.

Travelling OffCenterBoards

2012-02-02T00:17:00.000-09:00

Board in stowed position.

We love Big Windows, and we love OffCenterBoards (OCBs, in our case, are like leeboards prevented from winging out on the windward tack... this lets them stay down and effective on both, with no tending between tacks).

But this presents a problem. When stowed, OCBs go more or less horizontal, and pretty well eliminate our view.

What to do? What to do??

After considerable head scratching and a false start or three, we came up with the following system...

Approximate component locations, Position Line not shown... see schematic for close-up.

Schematic for components above and aft of Window.

The general idea is that the board hangs by the Lanyard, from a block running along an SS Cable, high on the hull.

The Board's position is controlled via the running Position Line, which is a loop through the EyeBolt and a shackle at the forward Bracket, with both ends fixed at the shackle of the inverted, Running Block. Pull aft on the upper portion of the loop, and the Board rolls forward, and visa versa. To fix position, jam upper portion of Position Line in the Clam Cleat. This is oriented to prevent the line from slipping forward, and therefore preventing the board slipping aft; no forces make it slip forward.

Additionally (as seen in profile in the first schematic) a second SS Cable forms a slot between itself and the Board Guard. The Board fits in this slot during daily use, and is prevented by the cable from winging out on the windward side. Leeway presses the board tight against the guard on the leeward side, in the manner normal for LeeBoards.

To stow, release the Position Line. Using the Board Retrieval Line, raise the Board clear of its slot, and roll aft. Pull up to lodge the stopper knot in the Board Retrieval Line in the crotch of the Pinch Cleat, then make the fall fast around the Horn Cleat.

To deploy, reverse the procedure... Raise the end of the Board and angle the Board Retrieval Line aft to clear the Pinch Cleat. Roll forward until over the slot, and lower. Position with Position Line, and fix in Clam Cleat. Trim Board Retrieval Line to desired Board angle, and make fast on Horn Cleat.

While this was intended to be a prototype, it has worked astoundingly well. It takes about 15 seconds to stow or deploy, per board.

We used available 1/4 inch SS Cable, which looked a tad light. We have heavier backups, but sofar, no problems in high end of gale conditions. The brackets for both cables absorb a huge amount of stress. They should be very well built and strongly bolted to adequate structures. We used aluminum T-channel, bolting the cross-bar of the T to the hull, and shackling to a hole drilled in the post of the T.

The boards are pretty heavy for dead-lifting. I'd like to build lighter, surfboard style. For larger installations, the upper cable could be carried aft, and the Board Retrieval Line mounted on rolling blocks to provide purchase and full movement.

One of the fringe benefits of this system is that we can really bring the Center of Lateral Resistance aft. When running, for example, the boards can be set aft in the slot for improved directional stability (not needed on square boats, particularly, but ya never know).

For a fixit solution, the whole thing worked out pretty well!

Board in use position, cocked up by dryout... we used it to keep the boat from drifting as tide went out.

PS. I apologize for the poor photo qualities... turns out we didn't have any great pictures... come spring I'll reload with better shots.

Running the Fringes

2012-02-01T01:22:00.000-09:00

Marble Walls of Chatham

One of the things I love to do best, in sailing, is run the fringes of our world.

Tiny passages thread the archipelago between the islands, as entrances to hidden harbors, among rock strewn reefs, estuaries and sloughs. Names like the Mink Run, No Thoroughfare Bay and Piglet's Sphincter evoke both their intimacy and challenge. Many are only nominally charted, their dangers poorly reported, if at all.

Even the main straights, channels and sounds are bounded by cliffs and ledges and rock gardens. To run inside the kelp line, plucking berries from over-hanging bushes or tracing ones fingers along smooth marble walls... ah... lovely.

Is this risky? Well, yes and no. After 20 years of this, I finally bumped my first rock. Not hard, but enough to wake me up and remind me that there are rules. Rules of thumb, at any rate. And methods. Here's how we do it:

Stand in on the flooding tide, off on the ebb - If you do hit, a rising tide will lift you off, where a falling one will strand you, or worse.
Close-hauled is safer than running - Running, as pleasant as it is, commits you. When close-hauled, you can always luff up and fall back through water you've already seen. Not to say we never run, but the tighter it is, the lighter the air we allow.
Manage your speed - You want good steerage-way, but not much more. If you do find a new rock, you want a soft landing.
When in doubt, head out - If we're not sure, we reflexively turn toward deeper water.
Look ahead and to both sides - Watch for water surface disturbances, beach profile (low angle generally means shallows, steep angles generally deepen quickly... reefs are often found as ridges), weed (kelp means shoaling, popweed means rock at the surface), looms of color indicating rocks or shoaling. If a squall's coming, stand out.
Keep one crew-member on the bow, push-pole at the ready - If you need to come about fast, nothing like a push from the bow. Keep pole at right angles for best effect... lead just a little and push until a little aft. In idle moments, you can sound with the pole.
Trim your fores'l(s) close-hauled and afts'l free - It's often flukey in tight, or you might want to slalom among rocks or through twisty channels. With the wind astern, you're running under the free, aft sail, fores'ls blanketed. If it comes round to the bow, you're sailing on your fore sails... don't sheet the main, but trim the boom in by hand (hauling the sheets as one) to assist. We're not looking for efficiency, but the ability to react quickly, leaving mind and hands free for changing conditions.

*****

So that rock I hit?

It was a wintery day, gusting up to a fresh breeze. Wild and beautiful place where Peril and Chatham Straits come together. We'd run a maze of barely charted reefs which rose in toothy rows from a sand bottom. Once we emerged, into a place I thought I remembered well, I let down my guard. Ran at speed through a small patch of kelp (against the rules) and, K-CHNK. There it was.

But the rising tide, shoal draft and copper bottom were on our side. Even so, it was really no trouble to pole ourselves back (me as far aft as I could get and backing sail, Anke poling at the bow) and away.

Still, it's sobering. Not a place to get caught on a winter's day, like the time, just around this very corner, we...

But well... that's our other story.

Winter Olympics

2012-01-30T23:29:00.001-09:00

WarmSprings Bay frozen over (clear part is ice, too)

That which does not kill us, makes us stronger!

Friedrich Nietzsche

We're exhausted...

Started with a marten in the house. He'd show up downstairs, and we thought at first he was slipping in with us. Then he came through our open bedroom window one night. Got him out without too much trouble. When he showed up again, with us on high alert and window screened, we realized he must have a hole. Found it leading into the attic. Isolated attic from rest of lodge, but couldn't drive him up there (lot's of places he can go that we can't), so played guessing games as to whether he was out, or in but inactive. Once out, we screened it with machine cloth (wire grid), which he merely tore apart. Next try was successful with expanded metal mesh.

So we'd been up nights with a cold snap coming.

Maybe I should start with an introduction. For the past while, we've been alternating years winter caretaking Baranof Wilderness Lodge, this being our third year 'on'. It's an inefficient way to earn money, but the owners are great, there's internet and power for writing projects, and it's a way to earn, out-of-town. There's one year-round resident, one 'town' caretaker (currently with a couple filling in) and us. Last plane was about two months ago. We work October through April. Most years its considerable but not overwhelming work.

Quite a change from our little Boat!

One of our prime jobs is to keep the 10KW, pelton wheel based, hydro power system going, so long as possible. Water comes from a small lake at about 33degF, down some falls to an intake reservoir. In low temps, water super-cools to about 30degF, and forms ice slushies on rocks and intake grate, impeding flow and reducing power. After several days of this, the falls and creek freezes over, insulating the water; it's temps climb a bit and slushing stops. Our part is to clear the slush, and as water level falls in the dry, freezing conditions, reroute more water toward the intake. Should the whole shebang freeze solid, it's a small disaster.

In advance of the deep freeze, we cut steps up the hill (about 600 feet of rise in a rough quarter mile), dug out the rope lead for the really steep part, and took tools to intake pool. Thought we were ready. HA.

As temps dropped to 5-10degF lows we had to clear the intake of ice every 2 hrs for three days, then 3hrs, then 4hrs. During the whole time, we're losing power as the supply pipe freezes from the outside in. Finally the creek froze over and we could relax to every 6 hrs... 30 round trips in 5 days! Got a stone diversion dam in place to keep water level sufficient from the falling creek, and we're just about to get some sleep.

Extra Sensitive Meter to ensure heating elements not encased in ice (explosion danger while thawing)

Then the three water heaters showed themselves to be freezing from their bottoms up (despite water happily running full bore through them. The first one absorbs surplus power, the second is a dump load for considerable extra, and the third is a standard domestic heater with thermostat. They're plumbed serially, and freeze-up could mean fire danger from excess power heating wiring.

We had to bypass the middle and domestic heaters, and use our last gasp of power to thaw the domestic. Then transferred its hot load to the middle, then drained both. Just about to get some sleep.

Anke chopping advancing ice.

Did I mention that meanwhile, the Bay froze over?

Piling should be near straight... can't see it, but it's leaning away, too.

We look out at first light, and the inshore piling is at an unlawful angle. Down we go... the ice sheet is moving, and forcing the dock and piling SE. Six hours busting a moat around the docks with sledge hammers and shovels, then 2 hour watches to chop more as it refreezes and/or advances. Luckily, only two nights and a day of this... then luxurious 3 hour watches on advance only (no refreezing in warming temps).

Meanwhile, we'd been waiting for the community caretaker and then his replacements to pump gas to run our skiffs and snow-blowers. Pump won't pump. Siphon about 3/4 of a gallon, when (sucky noises), we hit air! Dipped it and (metallic noises) sounds EMPTY (20,000 gallon tank, which should be at least half full). OMG!!! There's been a spill!!! Panic and $50K debt filled our sleep deprived minds. Wisely, we tabled it to deal with ice and got some snatches of sleep.

In the morning, new hypothesis... the dip tube is blocked (must be solid ice for that metallic a sound). We dipped again at the other end and landed right on the owner's marks. Siphoning works from there. Flooding sense of relief!

Since the Bay's frozen, fuel's got to be rough-hiked across (the 'Townies', are exhausted, too, from work on their intake and snow blower probs). Fortunately, by the time we figure all this out, the tide's broken up ice alongshore... at high tide, we can sneak a skiff around the edges.

THAT's when the four (count 'em) four winter storms came through. Two feet and change of wicked wet and sticky snow, before the break-up. Of course, we can't throw it into the moat, or it's durn hard to see when it's time to chop. Blower gets it out and past, but around the rim (cleat zones) has to be hand shoveled. Meanwhile, snow on ice depresses sheets to about 8 inches under slop, so chopping is an ordeal.

The 'Moat'... this is closing... we'll widen at 3-4 inches to about 18"

We had about 2ft of snow on the ground when this all began; we've had 5'4" since. No rest for the weary. But as I write, NOAA's promising a week of rain, starting tomorrow.

We're happy, healthy and mostly caught up on sleep... and though a little wobbly in the knees, are about as buff as you'll ever see us.

Down in the Valley...

HiLow Tech Stoves: Rocket and Holey Roket (sic)

2012-01-29T23:20:00.000-09:00

Photo from Photosfan

In the third world, much of the cooking is done around open, wood fires. We shantyboaters, living as we do in a third world of our own, can benefit from recent innovations in stove technology. Their workings are high tech, but their construction is low tech (or appropriate, if you prefer).

One of the odd facts about wood fires is that, without efficient combustion, up to half the energy of wood goes up in smoke. This means twice as much wood need be gathered for a given amount of heat, leading to deforestation in many areas. Smoke is, of itself, toxic, and women and children (predominantly the ones doing the cooking), suffer heavily from emphysema and other lung conditions and cancers.

The Approvecho Center, with Dr. Larry Winiarski, developed the Rocket Stove to address these problems.

It is essentially an insulated, L-shaped combustion chamber. The horizontal portion accepts wood and air, the hard turns at the angled join provide efficient mixing, and the upright portion is the chimney. The combined effect is a very hot burn, both of the wood and the smoke. Remaining hot gasses emerge from the upright chimney under appreciable pressure.

There are many ways to adapt this concept, including cookstoves, thermal mass heaters, steam generators and so on. For inside use, they may be enclosed in a box and vented outboard.

Holey Roket Stove with Holey Bio-briquettes

One of the more intriguing variations is the Holey Roket Stove. Instead of wood fuel, this uses donut shaped bio-briquettes. These are DIY from slurried biomass (manure, paper, sawdust, peat, weeds, etc.), formed and baked right on the stove. In areas where wood is scarce or protected, bio-briquettes offer a wide range of options for scroungers.

Of course, they needn't be mutually exclusive... with good design, a Holey Roket could burn either wood or Holey briquettes.

StoveTec is offering ready made (outdoor) rocket stoves in a roughly 5-gallon pail format for quite reasonable prices. These would make great deck or 'patio' cookers. You may also purchase stoves for Third World families at very low cost.

So look this stuff over. See how it can be worked in to your situation. The technology is highly scalable and versatile. Chances are, some variation will enhance your life.

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com

A Durn Good Hat

2012-01-22T22:15:00.000-09:00

Bailey's DURANGO Hat

Expecting rain, the profile of a day
Wears its soul like a hat....

John Ashbery

Call me Bartholomew.

I'm a hat guy. As Martha Sliter put it, "A hat is a flag, a shield, a bit of armour...". A good hat - a hat that's right for the situation - is a comfort and a joy... it may literally save your life. A bad hat - one that is wrong for the situation - may be less than no good... a distraction and inadequate.

Being condemned to wearing glasses and living in a rainforest, a brim keeps my windshield clear in all but very windy weather. I'm also balding, and contribute a bit more than my share to global warming.

Sailing in these parts presents a challenging environment, for a hat. It's got to stay on, blow high, blow low. Keep you warm, but not too warm. Keep rain at bay, but let moisture escape. If it can cover your ears, great, but you have to be able to clear them to hear, or if that cold wind turns warm. And the more 'hats' it can wear, the fewer alternatives are required; important in a small space. If it can be washed once in a blue moon, or be used as the occasional bailer, it merits extra credit.

So I've tried out a lot of 'em, looking for the smallest combination that covers the widest range of needs. I have many more than one, of course, as one hat simply won'f fit all needs. But the Winner for the title of My Favorite, All-Round Hat is...

Bailey's DURANGO Cowboy Hat!!! My prize hat! Ooooo, I love this hat!!

Features include 'Crushable' wool felt, tie-down lanyard, shapable wire rim on 3-1/2 inch brim and EAR-FLAPS! Everything I want in an outdoor SE Alaska hat! They're spendy suckers, but pro-rate well over years of hard wearin'.

My Sister, upon meeting it, then in its fresh purchased prime, was impressed. She allowed as how, wearing it, I was finally able to fare una bella figure (cut a dashing figure, more or less). Until I gleefully showed her the ear-flaps. Her comment: "Oh Dave. You were almost cool!"

But it's warm, even sopping wet. Drips dry fairly quickly and while damp can be shaped (fashion adjustable!). The wire rim keeps the brim from flipping up in gale force winds, and from going all jellyfish with age. Lanyard locks it on the head, if you remember it. Ear-flaps keep frostbite at bay.

And, at least for the first several years, it's rather dashing. After that, it enters graceful old age as a romantic slouch hat. I've still got my first one, some twelve years up the road. Can't throw it out, even though its successor has taken over the business. It kept me warm in many's the rain-laden blow. It's the long odds survivor of a successful, impromtu MOB drill one stormy, winter day in Peril Strait.

It's hard to let go of a good friend.

Me 'n' muh Hat

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com

Floating Your Boat - Musings on Wherewithal (Income)

2012-01-16T01:51:00.001-09:00

Well it comes in pretty handy on this planet, Pal!

Tony Rice, speaking of Money

Money. Moola. Filthy lucre. I hate it. I want some!

The chain linking our culture to subsistent lifestyles has been broken. We're left reinventing the wheel in diminished environments. We are distracted from this pursuit by the need to generate income. Income fills the belly, shelters and clothes us until we can learn old ways in this new world.

We work for money. Period. We volunteer for like and love, on our own terms. You may love your job, but that's a lucky coincidence. Bottom line is, you're in it for the money.

I'm going to assume that you, like me, would rather be sailing.

So I grapple with how to honestly come by money, without giving my life over to its pursuit. Gotta warn ya; I'm short on answers. What follows are a number of things that have influenced my thinking, over the years. You'll notice that the terms aren't exactly dictionary defined. As a group, they aren't even consistent. A pinch of this and a dash of that.

I'll share what I've got.

*****

Voyaging on a Small Income by Annie Hill

Your Money or Your Life by Vicki Robin, Joe Domiquez and Monique Tilford

[This book is associated with The New Road Map Foundation and Financial Integrity]

Economically, these books are identical. They both start with the same premises and arrive at the same conclusions. Their goal is financial freedom from return on capital, in order that you may get on with your life.

Annie's book is the more relevant (and fun!) for sailors, but I recommend them both. Together, they provide a backbone for thinking about money.

Both agree: Spend consciously!!!

YMoYL has a number of helpful methods and approaches, organized under Nine Steps:

Step 1. How much money has come into your life and what do you have to show for it?

Step 2. Being in the present: Tracking your life energy

Step 3. Where is it all going: Monthly tabulation

Step 4. Three questions that will transform your life

Step 5. Making life energy visible: Your wall chart

Step 6. Respecting your life energy: Minimizing spending

Step 7. Respecting your life energy: Maximizing income

Step 8. Capital and the crossover point

Step 9. Securing your financial independence

*****

In Your Money or Your Life, money is defined as something for which we trade chunks of our finite life energy. Money can be traded in turn for goods and services, but it's sort of a middle man; we could also say that we're purchasing goods and services with life energy.

Point is, in any cost / benefit analysis, cost is always and only meaningful in terms of life energy. And we want, of course, the greatest return for life energy expended.

*****

The Seven Laws of Money by Michael Phillips and Sally Raspberry

1. Do it! Money will come when you are doing the right thing.

2. Money has its own rules: records, budgets, savings, borrowing.

3. Money is a dream - a fantasy as alluring as the Pied Piper.

4. Money is a nightmare - in jail, robbery, fears of poverty.

5. You can never give money away.

6. You can never really receive money as a gift.

7. There are worlds without money.

(Read the full version here.)

*****

Supply and Demand, Baby!!! Don'tchoo forget it!

*****

Gross Income - All money and resources which enter your possession.

Overhead - All money and resources required to provide necessaries.

Expenses - All money and resources given over to electives.

Expenditures - Overhead plus expenses.

Net Income - Gross income minus expenditures.

Surplus Income - Positive net income, to be invested in capital.

*****

Asset - Anything which increases net income.

Liability - Anything which decreases net income.

Capital - Assets or resources which generate income.

*****

Three (honest) ways to come by what the Pardeys call freedom chips:

Income from Hourly Wage / Salary
Income from Piece-Work
Income from Capital

The problem with the first two is that one directly trades life energy for income. When life energies wane or wander, income drops. In a full-blown emergency, it comes to an abrupt halt.

The enemy of all three is rising expectations. They tend to rise faster than income, leaving us racing to fall behind.

*****

Income from Hourly Wage / Salary

Two approaches:

Do something you love, or at least like, even when it pays less.
Do what pays best; don't have to like it, so long as you can tolerate it.

The first is slower, but less odious; the second may be odious, but ends sooner.

Income from Piece-Work

Two approaches:

Create art to sell, income secondary.
Create what sells, art secondary.

Income from Capital

Monetary capital (lending at interest (banked funds, bonds, direct loans), securities, etc).
Commodity capital (trade goods, exchange goods, property).
Intellectual capital (copyrighted material, patents, licensing).

Both YMoYL and Voyaging on a Small Income both choose US government bonds as being relatively stable and relatively easy to liquefy (cash out).

Trickle (or Micro) Streams of Income

Multiple small income producing assets or endeavors that each produce a little. Added up they contribute to, or even cover one's entire budget.

*****

Organizing your assets:

Cash - Ready assets (cash) to cover monthly overhead and expenses (budgeted).
Cushion - Readily liquifiable assets to cover living overheads for, say, six months.
Capital - Income producing assets.

*****

We've dabbled in all of these, but followed none, as yet, to financial freedom.

Over 20 some years, we've averaged expenditures of about $5K (recently showing alarming signs of abrupt increase). This includes cost of living plus out-of-pocket medical, boat-building offset by their sale, and frequent trips to Europe to visit Anke's family, as well as travel to visit mine. We pay all assessed taxes, but AK has no income tax and we fall well below the level of federal income tax, most years.

Our approach favors micro-streams of income:

The first (actually pretty macro, on our scale) is the AK Permenant Fund Dividend. This is a yearly, per capita dividend from public revenues from oil sales (of a public resource) that have been invested on behalf of resident's of Alaska. Between us, it accounts for about 60% of yearly expenditures. That leaves about $2K/year (40%) to generate in other ways.

Sales of TriloBoat plans are just ahead of breaking even, and just venturing into a substantial contribution... say 10%. In the longer term, I've got several writing projects that we hope will eventually cover the slack.

Odd jobs are still necessary. We've done childcare, flipped pizza, landscaping/gardening/farmwork, boatwork, trailwork, and lately winter care-taking. If we can clear $10K on a given job, that averages to $2K (40%) over a period of five years.

This totals 110%/year... with the extra going into 'cushion'. More or less.

One important factor, I believe is savings. Not in the sense of 'money in the bank', but in moneys NOT given out.

DIY, KISS boats, forage and gardening, and living aboard, and bargain shopping save many thousands. I reckon rent saved counts toward the value of our boats, which always leaves us far ahead. Energy independence (wood and solar panel), along with no shoreside storage mean zero monthly bills.

Savings are like the shadow of income; a penny saved is a penny earned; a penny saved is a penny you don't have to earn - life energies freed for other pursuits. Pennies of this sort don't tend to appear on the balance sheet, but they should.

And where do we invest these thousands upon thousands we avoided having to earn? In free time, of course. Low-stress lives and consequent good health are paying propositions. We think. When our time comes, we intend to have left full lives of creative indolence in our wake, and consider ourselves already well into our gravy years.

And yet, full financial freedom eludes us. Part of that is begrudging time poured down the rathole of income. We have not chosen efficient means of earning money, though we're pretty good at saving it.

Work in progress...

Civiliztion vs Wilderness: May the Best Win

2012-01-15T00:29:00.002-09:00

Lisbon Bridge, commissioned by El Mundo/Expresso Magazine, Portugal

May you live in interesting times!

Ancient Chinese Curse

I guess timing is everything.

Big change is coming - more drastic and far-reaching than any in history, certainly... perhaps only rivaling ice age, meteor strike or 'volcanic winter' events in human prehistory. And the coming generations will bear the brunt, whether to sink or swim. Fortunately, we're a resilient species. I, for one, wish them well.

My biggest concern is that we're not leaving them much. I'm only 53, as I write, but have seen huge losses of wilderness from my youth. Big timber is mostly gone, fish runs depleted, one watershed after another pole-axed by development... that same process that transformed the West Coast's I-5 corridor from incomparable paradise to running strip mall in a mere 150 years; only three times my span.

The same process grinding along just about everywhere. The great forests and oceans are dying. And it is we who are killing them. Every day brings us closer to a tipping point. Our civilization, in and of itself is a rolling, Extinction Level Event.

But there is hope. Biotic systems repopulate exponentially. Civilization has wilderness in retreat, maybe even in rout. But wilderness springs back given half a chance.

I've been interested to check in on the humbling rebound of wilderness in the area surrounding Chernobyl. Remove the pressures of human civilization for a handful of years, and the world thrives. We are of that world.

I believe that our surviving children and theirs will thrive within this new wilderness, once the traumas of transition subside. Thrive as billions presently do not, subject, as they are, to the 'benefit' of civilization. Wilderness is the state for which we are evolved, and I believe that we shall return with a sigh of relief.

We are, in the company of hundreds of human civilizations before us, rushing toward collapse and ensuing Dark Ages. This time, our reach is global. The future looks dark to me.

For a while.

Hound Voice

BECAUSE we love bare hills and stunted trees
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber-bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name -- 'Hound Voice.'

The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. 'Hound Voices' were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror's name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.

Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;
Stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more,
Then stumbling to the kill beside the shore;
The cleaning out and bandaging of wounds,
And chants of victory amid the encircling hounds.

William Butler Yeats

A Window on Our World

2012-01-14T01:20:00.001-09:00

Don't need X-ray vision to see Paradise!

Windows on sailboats run small, for the most part, at least those on the hull proper.

This has excellent historical reasons. Water weighs roughly a ton per cubic meter, about the equivalent of a good sized car. And it's moving, sometimes fast. And you're moving, sometimes fast. At sea, collisions with waves are a dime a dozen. While there are special varieties of glass that, in larger sizes, can stand up to this, they're expensive. A compromise was reached... small port or deadlights (portlights open, deadlights don't).

Shoal boat designers struggle with height. There's not much boat in the water, so we have to work harder than others to keep the hull low. Pilothouses are often built on top of the hull to provide an all-round view via larger windows, but this adds height, raising the center of gravity and windage. If we could improve our view from lower, in the hull itself, it reduces the need for superstructure.

Fortunately, we're living in the Age of Miracle and Wonder (thanx, Paul Simon). Polycarbonate (poly) - the stuff of bullet-proof windows for Popes, Presidents, armored cars, bathyspheres and ROVs - is available at DIY prices. My glasses, snow goggles and shop glasses are all made from the stuff.

LUNA's windows were already bigger than is usual... we often got comments on how light the interior was, and how much view we had. But the 1/4 inch polycarbonate scratched quickly. Pledge (TM) is optically clear, and fills small scratches, but couldn't keep up. After a decade, our clear views were noticeably dimming.

But coatings have come a long way. For a moderate price, sheets with a scratch resistant finish are now available. Still have to treat them gently, but three years into it, we've only got the one or two scratches from bigger blunders... not the thousand micro-scratches from mere cleaning.

We helped Andy Stoner build his MARY ELIZABETH (T32x12). Big windows for a 360deg view. It was an epiphanal moment when the tarp came up, opening out the view, even onto limited glory (driveway, urban neighborhood, small highway). Anke and I flashed on the fact that, relatively speaking, we'd been living in a hole!

Still... SLACKTIDE is a low hull, even as 26 footers go... would 8' x almost 2' side windows, barely a foot above the waterline work?

LUNA rarely saw sea-water that high... the leeboard guards help by acting as splash guards. But the hulls are so light and buoyant, they're lifting over all but the very tip of green water reaching that high. Only one way to find out!

SLACKTIDES side panels, before and after window cut-outs.

SLACKTIDE's hull (along the cabin) is ply-foam-ply composite, totaling 2 1/8 inches. We fastened 1/4 inch polycarbonate outside, using SS screws and finish washers bedded in DAP Alex Plus. DAP AP is 'siloconized acrylic' latex window caulk... cheap, easy to work, water clean-up. It's only lightly adhesive... can be removed and rebedded... we use it for most bedding jobs.

The trick is to spread it under where the windows will land (we use 1 1/2 inch overlap), then run a thicker bead down the center of that. Be gentle, and apply gradual pressure as you fasten. Once full contact is made (you can see it), stop (don't tighten too much and drive the bedding out). As it dries (may take quite a while) you may have to snug down the screws, here and there, as water evaporates. Once the edges are well and truly dry, paint to protect (raw DAP mildews, and may rehydrate and wash out if it's not fully cured). If thermal cracking around the edges occurs, touch up with DAP before maintenance painting.

Alternatives might be silicone, butyl and, possibly, neoprene tape (gasketed, but not bedded).

Square boats and those from non-tortured plywood are easy... the poly can be fastened directly to the hull. Might have to frame out a bit on complex-curve hulls, as sheet poly won't take the bend.

Inside the hull, we applied adhesive weather-strip around the window cut-outs, and fastened panes of 1/8 inch acrylic. This is much cheaper material; brittle and far less flexible, it nevertheless stays clear and is considerably less prone to scratching (no coatings necessary). We used no bedding so, if moisture fogged the windows from between, we can open and air them out. Hasn't been a problem.

The purpose of this inner layer is to create an insulative dead air space. Despite it's low tech (no vacuum or exotic gasses) it totally eliminates condensation and retains a whopping portion of heat.

As far as strength goes, my thinking is that the outer layer, bearing as it does against the hull, should be proportioned to handle all foreseen external loads. The inner layer, is both weaker, brittle, and unsupported by hull (fastener grip is the only holdfast). If the outer layer gave, I wouldn't count on the inner one. Poly comes incredibly thick, but I've never seen more than 1/2 inch (and often 3/8 inch) on large, offshore fishing vessels, many of whom have taken green water at bridge level. Their windows (even lower in the hull) are typically far larger in area than cruisers would need, and installed with H-rubber lockstrip (not directly backed by hull). Conclusion is, strength should be adequate with this simple installation.

So. Sailing SLACKTIDE over three years, now, we have very occasionally run green water over the lower edge of the window (time to reef, as we're dragging guards, anyway). Our windows have gotten splashed, but never immersed by a wave, even in short, steep seas. No indication that it would be a problem if we had.

We toyed with the idea of opening windows. That would have been SO sweet! Decided against, for our first go, but I think they're in reach. Framed with 2x2 stock and double paned, one can create a very rigid girder. In ply-foam-ply, it's easy to cut the inner layer openings smaller, creating a strong, integral lip. Good hinges, gaskets and dogs necessary, of course, and maybe a failsafe splash trough on the inside. Next boat.

Meanwhile, the payoff is handsome. LOTS of light in the interior. And the view! THE VIEW!! Everything we always envied in motorboats' (or some motor sailors') large houses with their huge windows. We no longer have to press our faces to small openings - perhaps taking turns for the one with the right angle - to catch glimpses of events in the world around us.

Now, any small movement catches the eye. We have but to turn our heads to watch a herd of deer making their silent way across adjacent flats, the swoop of an owl on some hapless vole, a tumble of fighting marten or a slide of otter. Or bear in their many routines of exploration, play and predation.

Sea-lions spy-hop to see what we're up to, whales swim so close we can look down through the windows to watch their passage, watched seals clowning and cavorting a boat-length away.

Once a pair of otter in the water alongside spent an hour in passionate (and somewhat rough) love making, triggering... well...

Time to draw the curtains!

PS. Here are some more looks out the windows while underway.

Wish we had a panoramic camera!

The SWiss Army Boat

2012-01-12T23:33:00.001-09:00

All the tools, all the time!

The way I look at it, sea-steading is staking a way of life to the sea. It doesn't have to mean at sea, or even on-board a boat. But the sea is part and parcel of the homestead's environment, resources and possibilities.

Anke and I choose to live aboard, loving the mobility and access to a thousand corners of our vast archipelago. The shoresides and intertidal zones, in our approach, are every bit as important as the sea itself. For our tastes, one without the other would be a sore diminishment.

But we've nowhere near arrived at our goals.

Here's the kind of fantasy we are working toward:

We pull into this year's autumn camp, one of a hundred options, in time for the late summer run of salmon. It's a place we know and love, having returned many times over the years. The full moon is rising, chasing the sunset, as we drop anchor in the protected cove - proof against equinoctial gale and storm. In a few minutes we're rowing ashore, eager to check on the garden.

We listen, on our way, to the plash! of salmon pooled and leaping off the flats of a small river. They're females, it's believed, slapping down on their sides to loosen their eggs. A faint echo returns off the steep mountain face bordering one side of the meadows, mingling with the sounds of a freshet cascade.

Spawning salmon will soon fill the river. Dying, their bodies nourish a complex chain of energies. But we're strangers, here... to us the water is tainted. We chose this place in part for the waterfall, close at hand. Too steep for salmon, it supplies us with fresh water for drink and the work ahead.

Our guerrilla garden is thriving, though you couldn't tell, to look at it. In fact, if you can spot it at all, you've got an educated eye. It's diffuse, spread out over the alluvial fan and into the fringes of the woods. Many of the plants are indigenous to SE, though we've concentrated and encouraged them, here. Others, here and there are select, hardy exotics, known to fare well in this clime. They need occasional help to keep going in the long run, but can fend for themselves for years. Potatoes, rhubarb, kale. We've had some loss to deer and bear, but there's plenty to go around, and nothing special to attract them.

At next morning's high, we slide the boat ashore, neaping her for swiss army maneuvers; from the hold, we unfold an array of contraptions. Some have been flattened for storage, their hinges and pins letting them collapse from three to two dimensions. Assembled, the following tools are at our disposal:

Big Tarp - This gets pitched over the small clearing near the cascade, and among convenient trees. It will let us work in all weather without having to 'gear up' in PVC bibs and jackets.
Big Table - Cobbled together from the boat's sliding seat/workbench, table, and hatches (now open under biminies) and fixed along lashed up supports from on-site spruce spars. It'll serve to process fish or game, or as a workbench for this or that project (carpentry, say, or metalwork).
Food-Dryer - This is the biggest item, and took the most ingenuity. Unfolded, it's 2' x 4' x 4', with a single, pitched roof. Inside are up to 32 shelves of stainless steel, perforated sheet metal. These make easy to clean, non-degrading drying racks.

The whole affair is reversible; with the clean side in, it dries fruits, vegetables, seaweeds and seeds en masse. Smoky side in, it's a smoker for salmon and maybe venison.

A collapsible, wood-burning campstove provides heat to both in the cool, often damp autumn weather, and smoke for the smoker. Plus it handles our small cooking needs while in camp. Coffee! Or maybe by now we're addicted to roast dandelion root?
Firepit and Oven - This is our chance to do some real baking... stone and clay or mud form the body. Some years it's more involved, some less. This year, it's a simple cavern; we make a fire in the oven, heat it up, scoop out the fire and bake. The firepit will produce a steady stream of coals for pressure canning at consistent heat.
Laundry Station - This goes between creek and firepit. Our huge stock-pot, wringer and drying lines let us do the bedding - a big job that's hard to tackle when on the move.
Greenhouse? - A small greenhouse helps get some fall starts going, babysits a batch or two of wine, keeps us in sprouts in the cooling weather.

By afternoon, we're all set up. We spend the afternoon cutting wood for the coming days.

By the end of a couple of pleasant weeks, we'll have topped off our stores for the approaching winter, with dried fish and berries, mushrooms, greens and tubers half- and wholly wild. The garden's been expanded, perhaps, and fertilized with kelp and mulch; ready for another spell on its own. Several pending projects on the boat have been seen to.

We break camp, cleaning and collapsing down to its shadow phase. Like the blades of a swiss army knife, we fold them back into the holds. The oven is broken up and dispersed along with most signs of our presence here. When spring tides run high, we float again and sail on under the new moon.

None of this fantasy runs too much different than what we're already doing, but the scale would be ever so much more efficient. And efficiency means that more and more of our needs are met locally, from sea and shore.

As it is, we throw money at legumes and grains, oils, cheese and peanut butter. We've a small, on-board dryer for wild forage, light fishing gear and pickling jar. One carboy and a few bags for young wine. Relative to our sea-steading hopes, we're living hand-to-mouth, supplemented by Costco.

But we dream...

TRILOBOATizing an ADVANCED SHARPIE

2012-01-12T02:40:00.004-09:00

LUNA's Hull on Launch Day

T32x8 LUNA.. Note the eaves (mid-deck overhangs) and larger windows.

Phil Bolger developed the Advanced Sharpie hull type, a descendant of traditional East Coast sharpies. It's distinguished from them by rectangular sections, bottom raised well clear of the water at the ends, and matched side and bottom curves (seen in profile and plan view, respectively).

Matching curves equalizes pressure on both sides of the right angle chine, reducing drag from turbulent cross-flow along its length. To match the curves without a long overhang at the bow (whose exposed bottom is prone to pound, it is clipped to the distinctive bow transom.

The high ends mean a short waterline, when upright, for nimble tacking. Heeled, the sailing waterline lengthens to almost full length, raising hull-speed accordingly.

Rectangular sections maximize form stability and reserve buoyancy, and simplify construction greatly. Chine logs are bent in gentle curves (no steaming or beveling), and all vertical lines are straight (no curves). Longitudinal components must be lofted or spiled (their curve transferred from the hull), but only once for any given area. Thus, a set of shelves in the salon, say, all have the same, longitudinal curve against the hull, rather than a different curve at each height.

BRILLIANT!

We followed Phil's lead and designed LUNA for ply dimensions (vs. the trailer and slip constraints the AS29 was designed for). We used a simplified interior inspired by British Pilot Cutter layouts, blaspheming by adding a dinette. Junk Rig, outboard rudder, off-centerboards (leeboards prevented from winging on the windward tack). Went together relatively fast and cheap, and we lived happily aboard for 13 years.

Alas, we didn't insulate and overballasted (and/or under displaced). Probably would have lived with it, but wanted to check out TriloBoats. SLACKTIDE (our current T26x7) proved the concept to our satisfaction. On the drawing board, now, is LUNA, recast along TriloBoat lines.

TriloBoats carry AS construction savings to the bitter end. Rectilinear as possible, excepting only the ends, to let the hull slide forward. The cabins, especially, are designed to be fully rectilinear, so interiors may be installed square and true.

Where a sharpie (or any curved boat) carves displacement and volume with every curve, box barges stubbornly hang on to every cubic centimeter. Thus, on the same overall dimensions, a TriLOBOaTomized LUNA has half again the displacement (13500lbs vs 8300lbs).

I expect we'll lose some speed... rockered bottoms are said to be easier to drive, and I believe it. The long, barge dead-flat combined with right angle chines makes them slower turning. But SLACKTIDE has met our sailing needs with room to spare, so these are compromises we accept.

One could build an AB (Advanced Barge), by pinching in at the bow and stern to match bottom, end-curves. This would help keep transoms clear of the water when heeled, and eliminate that pesky cross-flow. I'm sure that it would improve performance. But each time, we talk ourselves out of it... the construction savings, bountiful deck-space and interior volume advantages make our cost/benefit analyses favor the simpler approach.

If we ever get to the point of building again, it'll likely be this design - LUNA's more ample sister.

SIP construction, lumber framed with selective tape 'n' glue, copper plated, Dynel/resin decks... maybe even resin saturated ply walls for easy maintenance in our golden years.

In the sweet bye 'm bye...

LUNA's Rig and Layout... will repeat in T32x8 LUNA with more elbow room.

Where Ultra-Shoal, Square Boats Get Their Stability

2012-01-11T03:42:00.000-09:00

Rick Bedard knock-down testing his Michalak JEWELBOX JR

A ballast keel is necessary for a boat's stability. TRUE or FALSE?

If you answered TRUE, you lose the tickets for two to the Bahamas (as if there were any to lose). But it's understandable. The term ballast keel is itself misleading, making it a bit of a trick question.

In fact, a keel's primary function is lateral resistance (LR); resistance to lateral (sideways) motion while allowing it to slide forward with relative ease. On the wind, it helps counter leeway (side slippage) and thereby enhance progress to windward.

Plenty of other gizmos can do the same thing. All LR devices help, when sailing into the wind; all of them hinder (drag) when sailing off the wind. Therefore, ones which may be raised (pulled clear of the water) have the advantage off the wind. They may or may not be as effective as fixed keels on the wind (other factors involved).

But these gizmos aren't likely to be as packed with ballast as a keel. We've got to raise them, after all, and raising ballast is a lot of work.

So, in shoal boats - and I mean ultra-shoal boats - ballast is usually fixed low, inside the hull or as plate outside.

Ballast Stability

Remember Weebles? Here's a sea-going specimen...

Weebles wobble but they don't fall down!

They tell you at a glance everything you need to know about ballast stability in shoal boats.

No keel necessary. When afloat, a Weeble's or boat's center of buoyancy (CB) - the midpoint of all the 'floaty forces' - acts as a fulcrum. Ballast fixed well below the CB levers it back to upright.

Boats with ballast keels providing a longer lever require proportionally less ballast for the same righting moment.

Shoal boats, with a short lever, require proportionally more ballast for the same righting moment.

There's more to it, but that's the gist. Either way, you can achieve the same ballast stability whether the boat is deep or shoal.

Form Stability

Let's compare a floating wine bottle to a floating milk carton.

The wine bottle's form lets it roll easily. Without ballast, it's just as happy on its side, upside down or any point whatsoever. It and round bilged boats have low form stability.

The milk carton, even without ballast, resists rolling, up to a point-of-no-return whereupon it settles happily onto a new face. It too, is just as happy on its side or upside down, but doesn't care for points in between. It and square boats have high form stability.

Another contributor to form stability is length. The longer a boat, all things being equal, the higher its form stability. Picture a catamaran. Longer amas (hulls) have more buoyancy than shorter ones, making the whole harder to rock. Same thing happens with a monohull... lengthening it is adding more buoyancy along the chines with every added foot.

A boat with low form stability needs proportionally more ballast to achieve the same overall stability. They knock-down easily, but they also recover easily.

A boat with high form stability needs proportionally less ballast to achieve the same overall stability. They resist knock-down, but they also resist righting.

Reserve Buoyancy

Reserve buoyancy is form stability that is above the upright waterline. When the boat heels, plunges, is overtaken by a wave, knocks down or capsizes, some portion of this reserve is immersed and comes into play.

Aspect ratio is that of height to width. We're interested in the sectional aspect ratio, that seen when looking from one end of a boat or the other.

A plank has low aspect ratio and not much reserve buoyancy. A plank - especially a ballasted one - is very hard to flip over, but once over likes to stay that way. It takes almost as much force to right it as it did to flip it.

A beam has high aspect ratio and lots of reserve buoyancy. A ballasted beam is still difficult to flip... even harder than the plank. But it floats its ballast much higher, once over. It doesn't take much to get that ballast to the tipping point, whereupon it 'avalanches' down, levering the beam back to its feet.

Likewise, hulls with high aspect ratios - that is, tall for their beam - have lots of reserve buoyancy, which resists heeling, knock-down and capsize and is relatively unstable when inverted. Unflooded deck structures, such as trunk cabins, further destabilize a boat when upside-down.

Side benefits include increased headroom, interior volume and wall surface area. Downsides include increased windage and higher center of gravity.

Conclusions:

Shoal, square boats get their initial stability from moderate ballast and high form stability.

Reserve buoyancy from high sectional aspect ratios (high sided hulls relative to their beam) resist heeling, knock-down and capsize, and, in the latter case, contribute to the instability of the upside-down hull.

Knock-down testing our unballasted T16x4... Anke has to lean out to keep it from righting.

Are Shoal, Square Boats Seaworthy? An Interview with Bob Wise about LOOSE MOOSE II

2012-01-09T23:49:00.000-09:00

From WoodenBoat Magazine, #114 OCT 1993

For her material and labor cost,

LOOSE MOOSE is a fast, roomy, handy and seaworthy boat,

as shipshape as a supertanker.

Phil Bolger

It is very often maintained that, when it comes to sailing offshore, A) shoal boats are unseaworthy, and B) square boats are unseaworthy.

In Phil Bolger’s LOOSE MOOSE II (a.k.a. LM2 a.k.a AS39), we have both in one go. Totally rectangular sections. These put her at toward the far end of both the shoal and square spectrum.

Phil Bolger and Friends drew an updated version of LM2 called LE CABOTIN, intended to address hypothetical problems. These changes added complexity, building time and expense. From what I gather, the boats are successful, despite the fixes being arguably unnecessary.

Bob and Sheila Wise commissioned and built the original LM2. They subsequently sailed her in the Mediterranean, the coast of Africa, across the Atlantic and extensively among Carribean Islands, before her tragic loss to lightning strike.

Bob (RLW) shares his experience in the following, reconstructed interview [Bob is quoted from email exchanges with me and forum posts. Punctuation has been added, here and there, for clarity. Brackets signify elision, transitional text or comments added by me. My questions are arranged, after the fact, to simulate an actual interview - DZ]:

DZ: I've heard second hand reports that LM2, and thus you and Sheila, did not fare well at sea. Yet from your posts around the web, my impression was entirely different. What's the straight scoop?

RWL: The truth is we loved the boat and while like all boats it had some issues and foibles it always kept us safe and never ever made us feel it was not up to anything Neptune could dish out.

DZ: How was her motion at sea?

RWL: The boat was comfortable and had an easy motion while sailing and at anchor it did not roll... We both remember days when other boats [' crew] in rough anchorages would be crawling on hands and knees up to their foredeck to check for chafe on their rodes and Sheila and I would be sewing flags or doing woodwork project... square boats don't roll.

DZ: But don’t flat bottom boats pound, especially with that exposed portion toward the bow?

RWL: By my reckoning we spent something like over 2500 nights at anchor and not once did we experience slamming of the hull at anchor to a point that it was problematic.

DZ: LM2 was rigged with a single, unstayed gaff main, a departure from the cat yawls Phil favored in that period (e.g., the AS29 was designed as a gaff, cat yawl). Did you sail to windward often, and how did she perform on the wind?

RWL: I was frankly very surprised with LM2's windward ability which was no bad thing as we seemed to sail to windward a lot. With only a foot of draft, an off-centerboard and a gaff cat rig we often outpointed Moody's and other European boats. Truth is we never ever had a boat pass us going to windward that did not have it's engine on...On a reach they'd have the advantage but downwind we left them behind.

DZ: Did you encounter storm force weather? How did LM2 handle in heavy conditions?

RWL: While we were doing our circumnavigation of the Med we had three serious storms/weather situations that left me somewhat shaken because the storms were scary but left me with nothing but good feelings about the boat and a renewed belief that extreme shoal draft is much safer than a any boat with a keel.

The worst storm (a force ten with 40-50 foot seas so closely spaced that it was more akin to riding an elevator up and down and up again than sailing) was a recipe for a knockdown or capsize situation and if we had been in the boat I'm sitting on right now (CAL 34) I'm sure we would have been knocked down or worse rolled but on LM2 with our board up and two reefs in we never once had even a close call.

DZ: So reports of problems with LM2 did not originate with you?

RWL: The scary thing is while we were busy sailing LM2 around the Med, down to the East coast of Africa and up the Gambia River folks were telling stories about LM2 as it had been featured in Wooden Boat and folks do like to tell a story... The fact that we were incommunicado only seemed to fuel the fire.

When the couple who had commissioned Phil and Susanne [...] to redesign LM2 into ANEMONE [ex LE CABOTIN] called us up out of the blue with questions about the performance of LM2. They were actually the first folks who had asked us stuff other than the usual dockside that's a weird fucking boat two step.

They then proceeded to tell us all of the issues they were having Phil/Susanne fix on LM2 and we were in a kind of "But it does not do that" and "Nope that was not a problem" and "WTF"?

Anyway the short version is just about every improvement for ANEMONE was based on a perceived problem that simply did not exist.

DZ: Do you have any problems to report?

RWL: The fact is that the only issue I had with the boat was Phil designed the rudder a bit too small and as a result we had a bit too much weather helm for my liking... When we reached the Canaries and finally found out we had been in Wooden Boat ( a year and a half later) we wrote Phil told him he had designed an awesome boat but about the weather helm... Two weeks later we got [a letter from] Phil who admitted that in point of fact he had had a sneaking suspicion that the rudder may have been a kiss too small and sketched out three fixes for the problem ( adding a couple of skegs, an increased rudder using a second set of wings on the wing, and using a jib).

DZ: Any last words?

RWL: One of the things we have noticed is that almost all of the changes to the newer version of LOOSE MOOSE 2 were all about fixing problems with the design that in fact were not a problem at all but simply an inexperienced builder/sailor listening to too many dock side wags making pronouncements about boats with flat bottoms and so on. So strong is that kind of word of mouth that in fact even the designer began to doubt his own work. None of the word of mouth being from anyone who actually sailed on the design...

The scow front [a.k.a. flat bow transom] was another non issue and the list goes on.

By no means was LOOSE MOOSE 2 a perfect boat (none ever are...) but for a boat built within a six month time span on a bare bones budget it has done exceptionally well... and is still greatly missed!

***** End of Interview *****

Anke and I have sailed nearly 15 years aboard ZOON (AS19) and LUNA (AS31) in Puget Sound, WA and SE Alaska. We're now sailing an even more square barge (SLACKTIDE, T26x7).

Everything Bob says dovetails with our inshore experience, blow high, blow low.

Conclusions? A) SHOAL boats ARE seaworthy. B) SQUARE boats ARE seaworthy.

AVAST, ye CURVY DOGS!

A good look at the bottom in question.

Food, Glorious Food!

2012-01-09T00:26:00.000-09:00

Pizza for Five and the Dog Photo courtesy John Herschenrider

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”
Virginia Woolf

“Tell me what you eat, I’ll tell you who you are.”
Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

Food is one of the great pleasures of life. We break bread with friends, lovers, family. Food fuels our bodies, raises our spirits, inspires creativity.

Taste, of course, and smell whelm our senses. Texture? Very important. The sound of foods sizzling, simmering, crunching, being chopped. And oh, don't our eyes delight in its colors and shapes!

Important, obviously.

So how do we get along, in such a small boat? No refrigerator? Miles and miles from the nearest store?

Anke and I try to keep a year's supply of food on board. This lets us get away from towns on an indefinite basis, without having to hurry anywhere for resupply. Should things go south for whatever reason, it's a margin of safety... a cushion between us and hard knocks. Should health or the economy fail, we aren't worried about the next meal.

A year's supply is one of those loose figures that doesn't stand up to too close scrutiny. Halfway between resupply, we've eaten through some portion of that. A lot of our food comes from sea and shore, so while it counts, it's only metaphorically on board.

Basics:

Rice and lentils @ 2:1 - By complementarity theory, this is a complete protein. Tastes good, true or not. Both cook at the same rate, same pot.
Beans - Beans, beans, the magical froot!
Wheat - Whole kernal, grind as we go.
Sprouting Seeds - We sprout these mainly in winter for fresh greens.

Forage:

Seaweeds - Abundant year round. Dry or pickle preserve.
Wild Greens - We try to pick twice what we eat, to dry for winter stews.
Wild Fruits - Berries, mostly. Available about a third of the year. Haven't dried many, but would like to get set up for it.
Fish - Mostly cod, dolly varden and pink salmon... small stuff. Perfect for dinner with some left over for breakfast. Mmm-mmm.

Luxuries:

Eggs - Keep for 4+ months with no cooler. Turn weekly and test for floating (bad) toward the end.
Corn and Oats - Add variety for baking.
Olive Oil - One oil fits all.
Vinegar - Balsamic, apple and white. Like to make berry vinegar, eventually.
Cheese - A friend, who saw us carting 100lbs down the dock, said, "I know what you're not going to be doing!"
Dried Fruits - These come out far cheaper than fresh (in AK), since you're not paying for water.
Tomato Paste - Those li'l 6oz cans are way versatile.
Peanut Butter and Almonds - Nuts, to you.
Sugar and Honey - For baking, wine (could make vinegar, in a pinch).
Spices - Smallish, versatile set. Includes liquid vanilla, smoke and hot sauce. Brewer's yeast. Cocoa.
Leaveners - Yeast and baking powder (non-aluminum).

Addictions:

Coffee - Whole bean, grind as we go.
Chocolate - Cheapest in chip form. Okay as a snack, better baked. That's a good thing!
Green Olives - Expensive, too.

Only the eggs are perishable (cheese just gets better with time). Only a few are liquid. We may have 'guest stars' - special luxuries like fresh produce, or a chicken - but they have to be eaten promptly.

Our compact galley holds a little of everything; enough for a week+. An easy access grab-box holds replacements. It's replenished in turn from deep storage in the holds. If the weather's wet, this system gives us a chance to wait for a break before digging deep.

Containers are air-tight. Glass jars in galley shelves; ziplocs in plastic totes organize the holds.

Cookware consists of pressure cooker, quart pot, teapot, coffepot, nested steel bowls, pie pans and combo cooker (deep frypan with a shallow one that fits as a lid for dutch oven). A few of the usual utensils, mugs, plates, flatware.

No sink... fresh water is poured from jerrycan on deck into the coffepot (used only for water... coffee in french press) or saltwater dipped via side-flaps. A stack of four washbasins can handle a number of jobs. Wash up at the galley, standing in the companionway or on deck in clement weather.

Half the fun of cooking, for us, is to leverage these few ingredients into a wide range of combinations. Ersatz (substitution) cooking is a challenge, and surprisingly effective. Dishes can be concocted without a single ingredient from the original, yet which manage to embody its spirit. I should mention that Anke has a gift for improvisational cuisine!

Oops... gotta run. Dinner's callin'!

This post also appears at SHANTYBOATLIVING.com.

Why I Love Shoal Draft

2012-01-08T01:15:00.001-09:00

Ducking Gales in Peril Strait

For every harbor with good anchoring depth, there are a hundred refuges with skinny water.

Some of these are little more than a hard-chance, ground-and-grind in some marginal lee. Never had to use one, but we scope 'em and note 'em on the chart, just the same. A fisherman friend, who's been around the block, up here, put it this way: "When it all blows to hell, you can just run her aground, step ashore and piss on it!"

Others though - lagoons, sloughs, estuaries, pockets, nooks and crannies - are hurricane holes inaccessible to those deep of draft. You know... all those places you row into with the tender. Wouldn't you love to spend the night? A week? A month? Neap* yourself for the pure pleasure of it!

[*To neap oneself is to sit out some lower portion of the monthly tidal ranges (neaps or neap tides). Tides return higher around springs, near full and dark o' the moon.]

Narrow Entrance, 360deg Lagoon

I wrote about the infinite coastline; shoal draft opens up whole new orders of magnitude in whatever coast you sail. It adds depth in the manner that a cube deepens a square.

I often read, from well intentioned persons, that shoal draft is not seaworthy. Sometimes they're referring to offshore conditions, sometimes they mean 'not at all'. I respectfully disagree. I won't go into it, in this post, but I refer you to The Venturesome Voyages of Captain Voss, trans-Pacific voyaging in a Junk Rigged, NW Coast dugout canoe (shoal draft). He was an early advocate, in the west, of sea-anchors. If ya can do it, it ain't braggin'.

What I do know is that many of our cruising friends won't approach the shore unless it's one of the few, cherry harbors. They're out there longer, gale in their teeth, forcing their way uphill to the next 'decent' shelter. Passing by one wondrous, hidden treasure after another. All the while, we're tucked up, snug as bugs.

For the rest, I'll let pictures paint the words...

Trading in a new mast... time to scrub the hull!

Blowin' N70kts over that berm.

High and dry.

Sailin' shallow... river entrance parallels reef and bar.


This lagoon only accessible via a narrow, tidal race.

Minutes from floating... anchor up and away!

Sea-going SIPs: Toward Creating a Market

2012-01-07T02:17:00.001-09:00


Pros spreading LPU(?) Glue in a DIYish Step (Photos from ProWall Factory)

Finished SIP... Note Gluing Press in Background, Right

I been thinkin'.

Ply/foam/ply composite construction has a LOT of advantages in boats. Foam insulates and floats, two valuable characteristics in WaterWorld. Separating skins of ply creates a girder very much more rigid, and stronger than the same two pieces bonded directly together.

So let's get some acronyms aboard:

SIP (Structural Insulated Panel) - A pre-fabbed ply/foam/ply composite. Unfortunately, the more commonly available SIPs are made with nautically worthless OSB (Oriented Strand Board).
XPS (Extruded PolyStyrene) - Available in boards of several useful dimensions from local building supply yards. Commonly referred to as blue- or pink board. It has high R-Value (insulates well), high structural strength (as foam goes), is completely water-proof, and stable (doesn't disintegrate into beads).
AC plywood - Has one 'good' side (knots and gaps filled, sanded) and one not-so-good (holes not filled, usually sanded.
DIY (Do It Yourself) - Mostly a great way to go. But I'm not the kind of guy who likes to knit, believing that machines do it faster AND cheaper.

For square boaters, especially, SIPs are an excellent way to shorten build time and dramatically improve insulation and positive buoyancy.

Square Boats of the Bolger Brick, Puddle Duck Racer, TriloBoat, Shantyboat and so on types stand to benefit most from SIP panels. Triloboats, for example, use 85% to 100% flat-panel construction. Time savings would be huge if building a whole boat from SIP, rather than DIY composites. But even Curvy Dogs use flat panels for bulkheads, sloped decks and superstructure construction.

SIPs can be DIYed. One can build them in place (generally the way to go whenever curves are present). Or one can pre-fab them, flat on the bench, before assembling them into the hull. In either case even clamping is the tricky part, to ensure good glue up and leave no voids. Vacuum bagging is ideal and within reach of amateurs, but requires a good set-up and tools you won't be taking with you.

Manufactured SIPs use high quality processes to ensure perfect adhesion. The downside is that they're mass producing for the housing market, which has different needs. XPS is more exotic, in this market, and the low end of the standard is 3 inches. The 'ply' used is most often OSB (Oriented Strand Board), a nautically worthless material.

The trick will be to come up with a standard or two, whose many customers make manufacture worth a company's while.

For starters, I'd suggest a SIP standard of 1.5 inch XPS sandwiched between two layers of 1/4 inch AC ply of a good, marine wood (red cedar, fir or equivalent, yellow pine).

1.5 inch foam provides reasonable thickness and allows framing with standard 2x lumber. If more thickness is required it can be laminated up without too much trouble, as 1/4 inch ply accepts staples for even, DIY clamping. AC plywood is much cheaper than marine, while SIPs' girder strength makes up for any structural advantages derived from engineered marine ply.

So, Square Boaters... do we represent enough of a market to start reaping economies of scale?

Rules of Thumb

2012-01-06T11:34:00.001-09:00

He stuck in his thumb

And pulled out a plumb...

Mother Goose

Sailing is both science and art. The high number of variables defy rigorous, absolute solutions. Rules of thumb help sailors navigate complex and quickly changing situations. They are the stuff of fuzzy logic, thresholds and tendencies. Very much like the sea and sky.

The following are rules of thumb, in no particular order, that we've found helpful:

Fail Safe vs. Fail Dangerous - This distinction makes a great filter to apply to every object, procedure or situation in our lives. Since everything will fail, sooner or later, tend toward those which fail safely. Avoid those which fail dangerous. Safer, that is, vs. dangerouser.

Preserve your Options - The more options, the merrier. It's why I prefer sailing among islands, while fjiords (dead ends) make me edgy. Keep fall-back shelters in mind to windward and leeward, and be thinking of fall-backs to your fall-backs.

Layer Redundancies - The more resources you can bring to bear on a given problem, the more ways it can be resolved. If one resource fails, others can step in to fill the gap. Often they can be made to work together to solve the problem with more advantage.

A friend who recently come up the Inside Passage had, along the way, heard several calls to the Canadian Coast Guard from sailboats (with auxiliary engines). They had run out of fuel, and there had been no (little) wind. They were running low on provisions and hoped for a tow. No sweeps. I assume they had rowable tenders, but...? One can drift many miles a day on tide alone. At the very least they could have reached, under their own power, one of the many settled communities for resupply.

Scratching my head I count six ways to move our boat: sails, scull, pedal power, dory towing, warping and pole. We could also paddle with the dory's oars or other bits and pieces... say six-and-a-half? None of them work over all conditions, but together, they cover a wide range. The pedal unit is recent; the rest have done for 20 years.

Maintain Margins of Safety - These are little, extra fudge factors that cushion us from the hard knocks of misfortune or mis-judgement. You can turn your boat in one boat-length? Good for you. Allow one and a half. Two, even. But don't get carried away... too much margin is a miss! Or worse, shying to far from one danger may edge you in reach of another.

Act Decisively - He who hesitates is lost. Sailing is generally a lot happening slowly, but waffling eats up confidence, time and sea-room. Act decisively and early.

Develop Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) - Train the crew in their uses. Debrief them often, and after every screw-up (What went well? What not so well? What can be improved?). Upgrade them as you learn, balancing consistency with flexibility.

Reefing is a classic subject, as are docking, anchoring and man-overboard maneuvers. Practice until everything is runs smoothly as second nature.

Note that debriefing isn't a blamefest. The purpose is to locate areas that require more training or improved procedures. Nothing personal! If the debrief edges away from civil discussion, take a break. Cool down. But do come back. Focus on the procedures.

Work out Communication Protocols - This feels goofy, at first, and sounds like a bad play until you get it down. But it helps immensely to develop terse, easily understood communication standards for each SOP. Some will be non-verbal (whole arm signals, and the like). Verbal exchange should be just as simple and precise. It helps to use words of one or two syllables which carry well. Speak up, and turn to face the recipient. Repeat back for confirmation.

Some of these protocols are well known maritime standards. Shippy terms and usages aren't just vain souvenirs of times gone by. They evolved because they work well under stress. I'm not talking about piping the Admiral aboard. Ready about / Helm a-lee is the kind of thing I mean.

Traditional forms are tried-and-true and understood by most sailors. For example, the term 'tack' is common usage, while its trendy alternative, 'flop', is not. Either work, however, so long as all aboard are fluent with the terms.

Coast Guard communications, nautical books and movies are good sources of protocol (submarine protocols seem especially clear and generally jargon-free). When you find something you like, adapt it and practice using it. You'll be amazed at how much more efficiently your crew works together once communications are clear, simple and consistant.

An Ounce of Prevention is worth a Pound of Cure - Keep your gear in order and plan ahead. Sail defensively. Reef and/or run for shelter early.

Push your Envelope - Convert challenging situations into routine before you face them as emergencies. Ironically, playing it too safe leaves you unprepared when caught out. So start small and work up. Tackle increasingly difficult conditions until you can handle the boat in at least a gale (but do make sure that you have adequate fail safe options as you take on mounting conditions).

Avoid Smug - The best laid plans of mice and men, my friends, gang aft agley (Robbie Burns)! Confidence is a fine thing, but overdone, it can shatter into paralysis. We cannot eliminate risk, so must be prepared to improvise. To act on the moment. To adapt to reality when it comes crashing down.

Manage Fear and its darker cousin, Panic - Fear is a mind-killer; panic a boat-killer.

Breathe! It's very important! Brain and brawn run on oxygen. Get them some air! Eat! Food is fuel. Drink! Stay hydrated. Dress for the conditions. Even a touch of hypothermia slows the mind and invites fear.

Practice calming yourself in everyday situations. Collect effective methods to focus and sooth; mantras, images, songs.

In my case, I have a number of calming songs. They tend to be slow in rhythm (helps slow my breathing), dark of image (cheery songs feel jarring in the pinch) and minor of key (ditto). I don't know why, but these help me feel more like I belong in the storm. That the dark and wind are my natural element. That I was born for this.

And the fear drains away.