A Look at Box Barge/Scow Sailing

SLACKTIDE sailing to windward in about 20 knots of wind.
For some reason, the fairly extensive white caps didn't show up,
and I apologize for the wind-in-mike effect.

If a pitcha's worth a thousand words, how much fer a movin' pitcha?


A Look at Box Barge/Scow Sailing

If one were to go looking for some video of cruising-sized, box-barge/scows under sail... well... it's thin pickin's.

Despite the fact that sailing barges and scows once carried a good deal of freight in Europe and North America, very little information as to how they sail is readily accessible (okay... google, right?).  One can only infer that their numbers prove they must have been able to compete against curvy dog rivals.

We had extensively sailed LUNA, a fine sailing hull modeled on Phil Bolger's AS29. It's a square sharpie... much like a barge, but with ends pinched in. It's full rocker sets it off from the large, mid-ships deadflat that help keep Triloboats relatively quick and easy to build, and was a common feature of the sailing barge/scows of yore.

We reasoned that the barge/scow form couldn't lag too far behind. But as a precaution, we built SLACKTIDE as a proof-of-concept before committing to WAYWARD, a full-sized liveaboard cruiser. After all, sailing engineless in SE Alaska, ya need to be able to get out of yer own way!

To make a long story short, box barge/scows sail reasonably well. We've had no problems going anywhere we wish, and that involves many places and situations most wouldn't care to take their sailing home, no matter its capabilities.

Things I note about box barge/scow hulls:

• Heeled, they present a V to the water.
• Upright, their entry is rather fine (directing water downward for lift, rather than parting to either side... this is true even with relatively abrupt bow curve).
• Easier aft curves release water well and make for an easier driven hull.
• More abrupt forward curves don't seem to hurt, and do seem to reduce pounding.

The videos embedded here allow a look at how three models sail. Cast of Characters as follows:

SLACKTIDE (26x7x1) is a Triloboat Junk cat-Ketch with rather abrupt end-curves, intended to prioritize carrying capacity over speed.

SPIRIT (36x12x?ft) is a Civil War Cargo Scow gone Blockade Enforcer, with easy lines prioritizing speed.

ALMA (60x22x4 is a San Francisco Hay Scow Schooner. Her lines are quite abrupt with a long deadflat, prioritizing heavy lading.

So here ya go... a movin' pitcha look at box barges under sail:

SLACTKIDE running under reefed sails in confused seas

SLACKTIDE close-reaching in light air.

SV SPIRIT sailing on several points.

Note the view of the bow waterline... not much fuss.

This hull, compared to the others, is a relative pig to handle, 

yet comes about slow but sure.

A Day in the Life

"Maybe you're getting into the rhythm of sailing life," says James. "You know, the tides going in and then out, the wind blowing east and then west, the high of a perfect day out on the water, the low of a thunderstorm or a wind that won't go your way."
― From Unbreak My Heart  by Melissa Walker

A Day in the Life

Okay. Several of you have requested a 'typical' day in our life. Not so sure there is such a thing. But if a day like this were to happen, I wouldn't be in the least surprised. Here you go, in all its gritty detail.

*****

RIIIIIIIIIIIING! Bam!! Groans.

The alarm wakens us and I kill it with a swipe. It's still dark in the wee hours, with a light lip,lip of water against the hull. As time and space return to our groggy minds, we recall that we're anchored along one of the 'walls' of Chatham Strait, waiting to catch a fair tide. We've got about an hour to get underway.

Morning. Mmm... kiss, kiss... mmmm.

We've got a few minutes to spoon and cuddle, and make the most of it. A little later, we sing:

It's up in the morning drinking gin...

Hey! Ho! Chicken on a raft!

To have another would be a sin...

Hey! Ho! Chicken on a raft!

Dunno why... it's our 'gotta get up and go' song... it's driving rhythm helps get the blood flowing, I guess.

With an effort, I roll out of the bunk to look around. Wind is light and, of course, contrary... if it had been fair, I'd get us underway, over-running the last of the tide, and Anke would make breakfast when she's ready. As is, we'll wait for the tide to turn before beating into it.

I load and light the woodstove, using kindling split fine and drying in a can beside the stove. In minutes, it's crackling, cabin temp is rising and my breath ceases to steam.

Grind coffee. Set water boil and rice to cook. Saute some greens and spices in a cast iron pan. Slice cheese. When the rice is done, stir it in, part a hole in the middle and add three eggs, then deal cheese over the top. Cover with a lid, and the lid with a towel. Voila! A 'standard' breakfast. More water on for the 2qt thermos and hot drinks through the day.

Anke dozes until she hears The Sound.

Chhhhhhhhhh-shhhhhhhh-hhhhhh...

That's me, imitating Anke's preferred Italian Expresso Pot as I plunge the French Press. When we moved into SLACKTIDE from LUNA, the smaller galley meant keeping one or the other. The FP handles company, so the other had to go. Turns out, the sound was the critical component of expresso, so far as Anke is concerned; so long as I make The Sound, her coffee tastes right.

We sip our coffees, interspersing thoughts about the upcoming day with quiet appreciation of pre-dawn.

We're vaguely heading for a favorite estuary about 20 nm north. Weather is s'posed to be mild, so we don't have to push ahead of high winds. On the fair, rising tide, we will sail further out to take advantage of stronger current, undiminished by friction with the 'walls'. We note on the charts any rocks, coves, shallows and points of interest along the route, and recall the last shelter behind us (ya never know). We listen to the marine weather forecast (if in range).

Spit bath? Too late... get one tomorrow. Dishes in a bucket for cleanup underway. Start the day's log. Bail the dory. Drop the boards. And time to go.

One of us hauls anchor while the other takes the helm. Today it's Anke's sailing us off. She frees the sheet and raises the mizzen, letting the sheets run (the junk rig hauls sheets vertically on raising) and spilling the halyard in a puddle at one corner of the cockpit. She watches her ranges as I haul, ready to act if we begin to slide before she hears from me.

Anchor's a'trip (Anchor's a'trip)... the flukes just broke free; I can feel it through the line.

Anchor's away (Anchor's away)... anchor is free and I'm hauling hand over hand.

At this point, we begin to slide aft in the light headwind, bow held up by the slack sheet mizzen. Anke backs the helm – shunting the stern opposite our intended course - and begins to raise main.

Anchor's aboard (Anchor's aboard)... cleated taught-set in its roller, ready to drop.

I step to the main halyard and help raise the last of the mains'l. We've angled off on our tack, by now, and the lax main fills. Anke trims and makes fast; the vessel comes alive – heeling a bit – as we begin to slip forward, about 45deg to the apparent wind. I close and dog the anchor hatch before coming aft to help tidy halyard ends into their stowage buckets.

We note the time in the log, along with actual windspeed and direction and barometric pressure. We'll enter these every hour until anchored. Underway, five minutes into the young flood.

And a glorious morning it is!

First light dilutes blue black to blue greys, dark greys to silvered. Mother-of-pearl, opalescent highlights in rose and gold begin to define the clouds before giving way to full day. Today it's squally, stone sky with shafts of golden rays in the breaks. Our sister calls them God's Eyes.

We start slow and pleasantly in light wind and little current before picking up to the day's breeze and mounting tide. Long tacks out (the good one) and short tacks in. Short tacking along the edge of the rain, parallel to and inshore. Where there's something of interest 'longshore, we pull in further than is strictly efficient. Sometimes, we're becalmed, checking out a beach behind a headland and scull our way back to the breeze.

A squall or two bluster by. We drop the sails a panel or two to reef, then sheet to trim. Once past, we ease sheets, raise 'em back and trim again.

By late morning, the tide has maxed and waned. Slackened and fouled. We shift inshore, 'wall-crawling' where the opposing current is slower. Riding back-eddies behind the points and shooting a goodly ways out around them to avoid the counter rush at their tip.

Cold lunch – a rice and pickle salad – and later, coffee and a spoot (peanut butter, brown sugar, chocolate with cinnamon and/or vanilla and thickened with milk powder) to fuel us through the afternoon.

We've made good progress. Rounding a bluff, we see the berm – a twelve foot wall of sand and gravel running perpendicular to the river and parallel to Chatham – embracing our estuary under the watchful eyes of Lynn Mama (one of our favorite mountains). We plan to round that berm and anchor behind it, neaping out for a week or so.

We reach and pass our river entrance, slightly, to a point just upwind and current. We round, and, unopposed, approach with full control and good power to fight the river current (extra strong as the ebb is with it).

We watch our ranges as we enter, pointing counter-intuitively high upstream to track straight for our goal. We slip in behind the berm. As usual, the current is very strong, here. as the flats empty, funneled by the berm. Anke shoots as deep in as she can, then bunks the bow against the steep backside. As she drops sail, I jump ashore with the anchor (pre-cleated) and run it in.

Using the pole at the bow, we position ourselves mid-creek (the flats are narrowing down to drainage creeks), checking with the the pike pole on all sides for equal depth (we want to settle down flat, and can't see through the glacial water). One of us rows out a second bow anchor, then one off the stern. We'll explore our options while the tide is out, then shift the boat on the next incoming tide.

Now it's time for a glass of wine on deck as we take this new place in and wait to ground out. We hold our wine loose as we settle in little lurches, the not-quite-down chine digging in as we sweep back and forth over the bottom. Then a feeling of resignation as she takes her feet; afloat no more.

We're a little low on firewood and it's not raining. When the water's down to ankle depth, we wade across with wood bags (nylon navy surplus sea duffels), saws and axe and walk the berm. We spot and note a muddy flat, perfect for a week's stay in all weather.

Once in the woods, we find a standing dead tree – not so thin as to waste effort; not so thick as to require too much – and drop, buck and split it. A little less than two bags worth, so we split the load. We only carry them near water's edge... we'll pick them up with the dory near high tide.

The sky's clearing to a beautiful sunset, reflecting in from the Pacific on the ocean side of the islands. We decide on a beach fire, and whip up some Dutch Oven delight. Not a lot of small, dry wood on most berms, but always seems to be enough for a week or so, if we don't go crazy.

Well fed, we watch the clouds lose their scarlet ribbed radiance. Shy stars show one by one, regarding themselves in Chatham's now glassy water. The world hushes down in that moment before the night hunters announce themselves to their prey.

We'll have to shift the boat to the flat we spotted sometime after mid-night, riding the incoming tide. Pick up our wood before it rains again. So we dowse the fire and head home.

If we've any juice left, Anke may draw while I doodle a barge. We might read a little, separately or aloud, one to the other. Or play a little music. Or a game of Scrabble?

Like as not, I'll look over and she'll have nodded off. Watching her face - relaxed and flushed in sleep - I'll feel that familiar, warm rush of love and gratitude...

That she lets it be me.

*****

PS. There are other days, of course. Not all go this bucolically. It's even been a while since any day under sail is typical (building for a while, now).

And there are lots of days when I'm the one slug-a-bed and nodding off at the end. It ain't so purty, themdays!

Glass House of Waffles: Looking Along a Path Not Taken

T32x8 FANCY STANDARD

This is a modified repost from abargeinthemaking.blogspot.com, where I chronicle our building of a T32x8 LUNA variant. This post goes over why we chose that type over the FANCY STANDARD version. By a whisker. Here's a look into some of our decision process.


Glass House of Waffles: Looking Along a Path Not Taken

When the tarps came up from Andy Stoner's MARY ELISABETH (T32x12), Anke and I nearly swooned from the view!

360deg View

ME is what I call a STANDARD TriloBoat design, meaning half her length being standing head-room cabin, with end curves limited to the end quarters of hull length. One long sheet wide. Sides a cross sheet and a half tall plus crown (6ft at the sheer, up to about 7ft down the centerline).

Very efficient of time and materials. Good living space to length ratio. Sedan-like aesthetics. And the windows... did I mention the windows? 

 
That upper, half sheet can be plexiglass. In a 32ft hull, the cabin is 16ft. Windows along each side are 2ft x 16ft huge! That doesn't count the smaller, end and bunk windows!

270deg View

Inspired, we designed SLACKTIDE around (almost) 2ft x 8ft windows with a 'kayak' view... sitting on the floor with generous headroom. 

And it has been wonderful!






  *****

So we were sorely tempted by a variant of T32x8 STANDARD.

The huge windows and 360deg view are attractive, as is full, standing headroom throughout the cabin. The galley and sitting room are luxuriously large (in our layout), with enough to carve out a bit - if we so desired, for other purposes. 

Quick and inexpensive construction get us going quicker, with more left in the kitty, compared to virtually any other design.

Problem to address: 

Standard 4ft side height is very efficient in terms of materials. A sheet of ply topped by a half sheet of plexiglass.

Bit it means the lower edges of windows are above eye level when seated in furnishings built on the inside of the hull (no bilge) to normal dimensions. Without some juggling, one can't enjoy most of the view from a seated position.

Andy chose to raise his dinette 10in, gaining a great, all-round view while seated at the table. 

His settee, opposite, stayed low in the hole. This worked as Andy was looking to sleep eight people on-board. The back of the low settee folded up and locked to make an upper bunk over the one at seat height.

Being greedy, Anke and I want a view from all seats.

We could raise the whole sole 10in, but that would sacrifice full standing headroom in the sitting room, and force a step up/down from the galley and to the forepeak bunk. 

But we like the bunk area to be part of the sitting room social space. Being under the foredeck, it's low already, and a 10in drop increases the isolation.

Raise dinette and settee? That leaves a full-headroom gangway between settee and dinette, with views from both. Hmm. Feet are left to dangle from the settee. A fold-up footrest could work, but on 8ft, would cramp the gangway. Boo.

Well... if we lower the bottom edge of the windows 6in it solves the eye-level problem. And it grows the windows (now 2ft6in)! 

Only draw-back (a considerable one) is that we can no longer use efficient half sheets of plexiglass. Some of the 1ft6in offcuts are usable, but it's gonna cost us. But hey, it's only money.

But OH! To sit at the table with the mornin' cup o' mud, looking round with 360deg view through those giant windows!! I'll call this variant (with lowered windows) a FANCY STANDARD.

Another consequence; the leeboardy, off-center-boards we favor are already squeezed by a standard standard (assuming blocking the view is not an option). Lowering them reduces leverage above their fulcrum, requiring tricky engineering, both of board and hull. And, when stowed, low boards can't clear the water, so clunk in any slop. 

In SLACKTIDE, we addressed the problem with traveling boards, which roll all the way aft for stowage, clear of water and windows. But they have to pull clear of the slot and they're heavy suckers! I haven't figured out a way to get sufficient but simple, traveling mechanical advantage to help (a boom works but is only so-so simple). 

As is, they're beyond Anke's strength to lift clear and stow, and it won't be long before they're beyond mine. The only options are accept boom hassle, build them lighter, and put up with blocked windows or noise at anchor.

Skegs would be our choice, but they double our draft. Only to two feet, but that's the difference between boots and hip-waders. And that extra foot would exclude us from many's the skinny and interesting perch along the high tide marks. Every now and then, it would mean the difference between skinning into shelter and not. Boo.

On the other hand, we don't have to handle them, 'specially as we age. They raise the bottom, when grounding, a foot proud of nasty rocks. Copper bottom plating can be much lighter, saving thousands of dollars. 

Hmm... there's a coupla yays to balance that boo.

One perk of the design is that, since it has flush sides (and a wet-locker arrangement that can act as a mud-room... see Getting aHead), we could build a watertight door into it. Handy for loading, and it may come to pass, as we get older, that we might want to haul ashore. Diminished agility to climb in and out of the boat would likely be a big part of that decision... a sole-level entry would come in handy.

Hmm. Hmm. Nice foredeck... 8ft square!

But the bunk has to go under it and headroom is low. There's plenty for sleeping, and enough to sit and read. But kneeling would be bad for the back (you 'vigorous couples' - as Wharram would say - will know what I mean). Could always limit the repetoire or take it elsewhere, but it breaks up the moment. Boo.

We prefer to sleep longitudinally, rocking side-to-side on (rare) rolly nights. Oriented so, the bottom curve competes with the foot of a full-length bunk. To get more length, the bunk has to stay high (can't lower it for more headroom).

We could live with a shorter bunk (but, alas! I'm 6ft). Or we could make the bow curve slightly more abrupt to clear the foot. Or lower (bigger bow transom), meaning more plunging and introducing pounding. Or we can add structure for more bunk head-room, such as a pop-up hatch, but that's kludgey, blocks the view and imposes on the foredeck. And no storage (aside from the anchor well) forward of the bunk. Boo.

On the plus side, the big foredeck compliments the split junk ketch rig we're favoring (not shown). It's high balance (sail area forward of the mast) makes the most of that big, open space.

Turns out, after months of fiddling, we could address each of these problems to the point that they were no longer boos. But not quite yays, either.

We could sleep thwartships (easy bow curve, forepeak storage vs narrower bunk, reduced bunk lockers and book-space, and some discomfort in rolly conditions). We could extend the cabin 4ft forward (excellent bunk headroom and improved mast position vs fugly appearance and increased windows (already ample, now just expensive). The skegs... erm... not first choice but call it even.

But those windows... what would we sacrifice for those??? The windows held us in dithering limbo.

*****

What we finally decided, after months of waffling back and forth, is that - for the way we live - the fancy standard would be great in harbor vs good-but-not-great underway (draft, mostly). Great for old age vs good-but-not-great while still up-and-at-'em. Great windows vs a handful of compromises.

So, reluctantly, we decided to abandon those wonderful windows.

Boo hoo.

I could'a been a Contendah!

Copper Plating a Plywood Hull

Copper Bright on Launch Day
(high blocked for trailer)

A penny for your thoughts?

Copper Plating a Plywood Hull: What I Know and Don't

Near the beginning of our journey, a then 125 year old schooner hauled out near us.

It had been coppered with 1/16in strips, nailed over Irish Felt (no extra tar), and was just now starting to 'perish' (worn to holes). Never recaulked in all that time, and the owners were apprehensive about what they might find.

As the copper and felt were pulled away, a like new, DRY bottom was revealed!

Local caulkers (pronounced 'corkers' out here) pulled some cotton (and oakum?) and said it didn't need reworking! No one could tell if it had been initially oiled (no paint), so they went for it this time round (don't remember the oil), new felt and copper, and away they sailed.

Leaving us VERY impressed greenhorns in their wake.

Inspired, and guided by clues (mostly) from WoodenBoat Magazine articles, we're now copper plating our third hull. At this writing, LUNA is seventeen years old, and SLACKTIDE six -both rode hard for much of their lives... they and their copper in good shape.

Now, so far as I know, we're the only ones who've tried coppering with either plate or foil on plywood - would love to hear of other experiences!

Here's what we've learned, induced, guessed and gone for... everything I know (or don't) about it all.


The Pitch

• Copper provides wood borer protection, non-toxic anti-fouling, and vastly reduces the work involved.
• Plate copper provides great mechanical protection when grounding (by choice or not).
• It provides ballast, as low as possible in the hull, proper.
• It's high on the galvanic scale, so you need fear no "hot" neighbor. If your motor lifts out, you are mono-galvanic (copper and bronze) below the waterline, so no zincs.
• It dissipates a lightning strike when bonded to your protection system.

The Price

Copper is initially expensive.

We tell ourselves that it's cheaper by weight than good cuts of meat, a gallon of diesel, a Big Mac. Most times it is. But it still staggers us when we go to pay for it.

But...

• The initial outlay is offset by savings on ballast, and costs of alternatives
• It pays for itself quickly; in haul-out avoidance (haul-out, yard fees, paint, brushes and such, treats = $$).
• It pays for itself slowly; longevity makes for a long, profitable payout.
• It's ability to protect the hull constitutes fantastic, on-board insurance.
• It's a commodity metal, with market value. Unlike most construction materials, it can be cashed in for a good chunk of your initial outlay. If prices rise, you may actually profit. It's incognito and off the radar of (most all?) would-be thieves.
• It adds value at resale, not only for its virtues... but with a certain cachet.

Copper (Cu)

Construction (Roofing) Copper - Any copper with a minimum copper content of 99.5% to be used in building construction. Copper has been valued for centuries as a roofing material, for its aesthetically pleasing green patina that forms over time. It is also very economical, as many copper roofs have lasted up to 100 years and it is 100% recyclable. The roofing copper specification, ASTM B370 allows a slightly broader chemistry than does ASTM B152. Copper sheet 10 oz through 48 oz in our inventory is referred to as roofing copper.   -- Alaskan Copper and Brass Company (Seattle)

 
Copper sheathing's primary purpose is to counter wood-borers, followed closely by anti-fouling.

Elemental copper (I've read) is non-toxic, repelling growth with its intrinsic electrical field. Cu2O (cuprous oxide), the active ingredient in 'copper' bottom paints, is toxic and reddish in color. We do develop Cu2O along the waterline, under greenish patina, but light scrubbing (my favorite) won't expose it.

Borers are kept at bay by the presence of copper. It's inboard face is as potent as outboard, if not more so.

Anti-fouling is less than most paints, but keeps growth down to a light slime, during the year. We scrub the slime away two or three times a year, at about 15 minutes per side. Or, we hang out in fresh water for a few days to kill it, and it sloughs off when we get under way.

We experience zero growth under the chines (at least on our square boat hulls). It's possible that the combination of copper stress and low light exceed a threshold of viability. This saves immense effort in scrubbing the awkward under-hull, and limits area to mere hull sides!

Copper is high on the galvanic series. The higher on the series, the less a metal has to worry about electrolytic degradation. Galvanicly similar metals, such as silicon bronze and some alloys of stainless steel react negligibly with copper, so are used as fasteners.

Like any material, copper erodes over time through mechanical or galvanic processes. Longevity is hard to predict. I've heard predictions that seem remarkably short, but have witnessed lifespans ranging from impressive to phenomenal (as in that schooner's case).

Longevity will be proportional to initial thickness. After that, such factors as time spent at rest vs underway, oxidation, groundings, mechanical scrubbing, growth quantity and type, electrical environment and... juju? I've heard a lot of theories!  8)  I'm sure there's some expert opinion out there.

Copper is milled in differing tempers. We've used a temper referred to as 'half-hard' as a balance between the need to bend and work it against it's mechanical durability. I haven't been able to confirm that this is a well-advised choice, in part because our application is virtually unheard-of.

I've read that CuNi (copper-nickle alloy) is preferred for marine use as having better mechanical properties, is even less prone to electrolytic degradation, and stronger anti-fouling. Internet searches pop up hulls built of the stuff. More expensive, but something to consider.

Copper-Nickel alloys are recognized primarily for their ability to withstand seawater corrosion, erosion and biofouling and therefore are widely used in marine and offshore industries.

C70600 - (90-10) Copper-Nickel is widely used in marine applications where resistance to both corrosion and biofouling is important.  -- ibid

Foil and Plate Sheathing

Hulls are sheathed with thick-ish foil or thin-ish plate.

Very Curvy Dogs tend to foil or very thin plate - generally in diagonal strips (possibly spiled like planks), fastened along their overlapped, longitudinal edges - which can follow their voluptuous forms. Strips are laid from aft forward for streamlined laps, and may change pattern at various points for ease or appearance.

Plywood and plate are both sheet materials, so both assume what is called a 'developed' shape (don't ask). This means that the plate can be much thicker and wider -up to uncut full-size - and still conform to the hull. Beyond a certain point, laps may be forsaken for butts (edges pressed tight, each against the next).

Triloboats - being based on sheet dimensions - plate up with the same ease they plank up.


Fasteners

Foil, and perhaps thin plate is usually fastened with bronze ring-shank (annular ring) nails.

Plate can be nailed or screwed. Either can have their heads countersunk to flush with the plate surface, which smooths water flow, and protects the heads from grinding when taking the ground.

We prefer wood screws for ease of repair/replacement.

Transverse edges are fastened every six inches, and about every foot mid-sheet. Along the chines, we use heavier fasteners passing through bronze angle (see below) and plate, fastening and linking them.

My thinking is that there is relatively little stress in tension (force pulling a fastener directly out of the wood). It would be greatest on the bottom while afloat... weight alone is roughly sheet weight divided by number of fasteners. Some suction forces are likely present, but have never seemed to amount to anything significant.

Our present (most sparse) pattern averages less than three pounds per mid-plate screw in tension.

Thus, we tend toward shorter fasteners, than not, with a preference for about 3/4in (18mm) minimum. We have used much shorter ones on the sides, into 1/2in (12mm) ply. We avoid poking through.

While I've not seen evidence of it, I suspect that (bottom) fasteners could undergo more stress in sheer. Therefore, we tend toward thicker fasteners than not. Shouldered wood screws make the most of the fastener where it passes through copper.


Underlayment

What to put between copper and wood?

The purpose of underlayment is to... um. Lotta factoids floating around out there.

As copper protects the wood from borers, and seawater is itself preservative, I'm not totally convinced that any underlayment is necessary. However, given the dry hull of that ol' coppered beauty, it's a property to shoot for. The underlayment, must, in this case, seal the fasteners, and isolate wood from seawater.

A survey of articles from WoodenBoatMagazine (as I recall... it's been a while), some paint or oil the wood. Some don't. Red lead and creosote (both currently illegal, most places) were 'common' (meaning at least two cases reporting). It's remarkable that, despite a wide range of approaches, all report success. Pretty forgiving.

Some tar the wood (with asphalt based roofing tars, mostly), and maybe more.

Irish Felt (tar impregnated wool felt) is often used, with or without extra tar. This is my personal first choice, but has become rare and is not always in economic reach. My guess is that any solvent resistant fabric and tar would do reasonably well.

We've used a thick layer of PolyUrethane adhesive on the ply to form a gasket. PU is elastomeric, which appeals to me, waterproof, and cheap in bulk tubs (sometimes sold as sub-floor adhesive). This is currently my second choice.

Presently, we're trying GRACE brand adhesive roofing underlayment - a rubberized asphalt product. It's used around here for bedding hardware or deadwood and the like. Unfortunately, we're having (minor) adhesion issues. I'm hoping warmer weather will improve its grip. Stay tuned for results.

I'm unsure whether our waterproofing efforts have been successful. Every boat has slowly settled. Whether that's 'middle aged spread' to which live-aboards are prone, or the slow absorption of 'water ballast' is unclear. Never had to rip into one of our bottoms, so it remains a mystery.

My guess is that we are absorbing water, which does not appear to be a problem. One approach might be to design for a saturated bottom, anticipating the weight as water-ballast.

Copper/Angle Schemes for Square and Deadrise Ply Hulls
Underlayments not shown

Angle

Where plates come together along chines, their butt is exposed to trouble. They can be covered with protective angle.

Right angle chines (square boats forever!) can use heavy, 90deg bronze angle (L-section lengths of bronze metal). This is great for withstanding heavy grounding stresses. For example, sweeping across the bottom while settling or lifting, one can encounter a salient rock with a lot of force. Nice to know that heavy metal is on task!

In the above diagram, a scheme for right-angle protection of the edges of a ply grounding plate is shown. The lower reaches of deadrise are still vulnerable, but not so much as they might have been without the salient plate and angle.

Other angles may have to make do with a strip of copper, creased along the mid-line, to span the gap.

Either may be darted to help conform to a curved chine. A good machine shop can roll angle to spec (well done, it's a beautiful thang!).

They may be bedded in tar or PU to fill any voids on the concave side.

We like heavy screws to fasten angle, alternating side and bottom, about every 6 to 9in (150 to 225mm).


Stress and Scantlings

Bottom stresses will vary with Pounds per Square Inch involved (or their equivalent).

A bigger boat will generate higher PSIs, all things being equal.

A rockered bottom will generate higher point loading, when grounded, along its transverse line (band, really) of contact with the ground. The more the rocker, the narrower the band and the higher the PSIs.

A deadflat, tends to spread the load across its whole area. The bigger the deadflat, the lower the PSIs.

Transitional bottom (up-curving toward the ends or transverse deadrise) are exposed to rocks toward their lower areas. Increasing angle, however, will decrease PSIs.

It's when we settle down on a tall standing, pointy rock that PSIs skyrocket. Especially if we're whumping up and down on one in the surf. Our best laid plans often expose our bottom to such high stress point-loading. Scantlings had best cover this eventuality.

Given that (with one truly exceptional situation) our plate has shrugged it off, I suspect that the following is more than adequate:

LUNA (5 ton, high rocker bottom at 1/4in (6mm) amidships and 1/8in (3mm) toward the ends)... the 1/4 now seems excessive, though doesn't hurt more than wallet and waterline.

SLACKTIDE (4 ton, deadflat bottom at 3/32in (about 4.5mm))

I've come to prefer 1/8in (3mm) for these sized cruisers in general, but economics have led us to round down.

So far, even the thin end of the range has stood up well to hard groundings. It seems that, if it's solidly backed by ply, it's pretty durn tough. If the ply crushes (can happen), the copper will deform, but has never yet holed. In fact, there are very few scratches, even after years.

We've used 1/16in (1.5mm) plate for our (vertical) sides, with full satisfaction.

Screws we (now) use are #6 x 1in (25mm) for sides and bottom, and #14 x 2in (50mm) for angle.

*****

LUNA and SLACKTIDE's copper has held up over years and through hard use.

We 'take the ground' often in an area short on sand. Even the best beaches usually have some of the planet protruding. We sail year round, in a place where weather can get uppity. We like to run the fringes where the charts are, charitably speaking, approximate.

Copper plate has our back... er... bottom!




PS. We've also used so-called copperpoxies - both DIY and commercial - in which powdered, elemental copper is mixed with epoxy and applied thickly to the hull. Once cured, the surface is intermittently sanded to expose fresh copper particles.

Our experience has been positive, but not in the same ballpark as sheet copper.

It is fairly expensive, and nasty as any epoxy. Sanding  is unpleasant and difficult with plastic residue, especially after the first time. It's anti-fouling properties are far less than foil or plate - or even standard anti-fouling - and require considerably more elbow grease. It's longevity and mechanical protection are much less than copper.

Where copper sheathing has eliminated under-the-hull growth, copperpoxies do not.

Still, it's initially cheaper than copper, lighter, consistent with hull encapsulation, and outlasts most anti-fouling paints. Once cured (and between sandings), it's non-toxic. It can stand extended haul-out, unlike some paints.

We'd still consider it for dinghies and camper cruisers.


PSS. On SLACKTIDE, we tried gluing the plates on with PU, but it was a fiasco (story quoted here from correspondence with a friend considering epoxy):

RE epoxied copper - I'd be apprehensive about expansion differentials stressing the bond. Not so much while immersed, but once dried out, especially in hot weather. But then, I've grown paranoid.

I don't know if you heard about our fiasco gluing copper w/ polyurethane (on theory that elastomeric bond would be preferable)? Did great, both on tests and while dry. But once launched, virtually every plate failed. Lots of oxide intrusion patterns from the edges on those that were still partially adhered.

Almost lost one, but mechanical fasteners along the chines saved the day. Ended up nailing (bleah!) over the PU 'gasket' (original glue, which remained firmly adhered to the ply).

My hypothesis is that minute intrusion at the edges oxidized the copper, which voided the bond and advanced the leading edge for another round. All in all, it went quickly. Possibly some chemical interaction among copper, salt and PU ingredients?

We did not, however, acid wash our plate. It came protected with a 'mill oil' film, and was 'new penny' bright, We washed with acetone before gluing (best guess at the time, no precedents I could find). We'd certainly acid wash if trying again. While dry adhesion was excellent, it's possible an oxide film allowed the initial edge-failures.

Homesick

A sea house

A free house

A secret you and me house

A way out on the briny deep

As cozy as can be house!

A street house

A neat house

A better wipe your feet house

Is not our kind of house at all...

Let's go live in a sea house!

-- Apologies to Shel Silverstien

Homesick

We've been away from home.

Not far away, I'll grant you. SLACKTIDE - emptied for the winter - lies out our front door. We've been caretaking a Lodge for half a year, now. It's a wonderful place, and we're employed by wonderful people.

But it's away from home.

Folks with houses often need someone to look after them for a while, long or short. They'll often tell us, it will give you a chance to get off the boat; to spread out; to stay in a beautiful area; to catch up on movies.

Mmm. We hem and haw. Dance a little side-step.

It's very difficult to explain to our beloved and well meaning friends - who would like to grant us the favor of their beloved homes - that our interest is purely mercenary. A job. Sometimes a favor.

We love our home. 

We love the mobility and freedoms of life aboard. We love cozy. We like our stuff at hand, cleverly stowed or awaiting some, future cleverness. We love the quiet, far from the chatter of media - phones, the internet, the toob - all out of reach in our moments of weakness. We love what we do instead of live in a house... the weaving of our life afloat with the shorelines of our archipelago.

Should the house be in a beautiful spot with a beautiful view? What stops us from spending as much (or as little) time as we wish, anywhere water flows? Our views circling the compass? And we with no more deeds to do nor promises to keep than any other day aboard?

Each moment afloat, the world laps at our hull, sings in our rigging, rocks us to sleep, pours in through our windows.

Home.

Mast Overboard!

 

Scene o' the Crime

Now the LIZA JANE got a new foretruck,

Good stick o' wood but it wouldn't stay stuck -

Got a breeze one day from the nor'northwest

Doggone thing come down with the rest.

Hi diddle di and a breeze from the west

You'd a' thunk the truck wouldn't stuck with the rest.

  -From words attributed to J.B. Connolly by Gordon Bok, 
      who put them to music as LIZA JANE


If ants were called elephants,
  and elephants ants,
I could SQUAAAAASH
  an elephant!
   -- Danny Kaye

MAST OVERBOARD!

In a previous post (this one), I recounted the tale of our first dismasting which I attributed to a willawaw (micro-burst of wind), under-sized mast and low quality wood (widely spaced annular rings). We've now doubled our 'experience' in this regard, but with none of the excuses.

We'd been visiting my Brother's family in Northern Lynn canal, and it was time to head south. It had been blowing SE6 (of course) for weeks. We can claw against that, but it's slow, uncomfortable going. [Here's a great graphical chart of the Beaufort Scale for wind strength.]

But that day, it was forecast to drop to SE4, and we make pretty good time in that.

So we set out with the tide, about an hour before dawn, pulling our two anchors and beating out in flukey, gusty wind. We could tell by white-capped waves that the forecast was understated... here, at least, it was back up to SE6. 

We were doing well, however, and hoped that, once we cleared the Chilkat Peninsula it'd drop down (S winds get squeezed, N of that point). If not, there are anchorages in the Chilkat Islands off its tip.

By first light, we'd cleared our little bay, and were tacking across the tip of the minor peninsula that forms it.

A bit of a gust, and, without much ado, our foremast and sail calmly take a jump to the right and overboard!

What, again???

Quick assessment: Canted into the wind on the port tack, held up by our mizzen. The blunt end of the peninsula is a lee shore. Ranges show we're don't have a chance to clear back into the Bay. 

We back rudder and mizzen, attempting to 'tack', but no go... too much drag to bring the bow across the wind. Anchoring may be possible, but it's deep, here, and by the time it shoals up, it will be our last option.

Okay. If Mohammed won't go to the mountain... 

We're free-standing junk rig, which means the sails can be run forward of the beam. And a barge looks pretty much the same, one end and the other.

So we declare a proa-like reversal - the bow is now aft and the stern forward (ants are now elaphants).  

We fix a dock line to the end of the mizzen boom, and lead it aft. Sheet in, reverse steering from the bow on s'brd tack, slightly broad of a beam reach. Check ranges? Clearing!

Once clear of land, we anchor altong shore on the Lynn Canal side and haul the sails and mast aboard. This was challenging, as they'd spent a while, tossed and tangled in the waves. But we managed.

Next trick-in-a-row was to get ourselves into a lee. The next reasonable choice was Portage Bay (Haines), about eight miles north. Without the drag of the mast and sail, we were able to steer the (true) bow off, so we squared away and ran off under the mizzen alone - more or less like normal folks.

NOTE: Sailing off with an after sail gives about 90deg of solid freedom, from broad reach to broad reach. Some hulls can come up even higher, even to a beam reach... but this can depend on wind and sea state.

By afternoon we'd arrived, anchored, shortened the mast and rerigged. Beer-thirty at the most excellent Haines Brewing Company!

*****

What did we learn, this time?

The autopsy showed that onset rot had made deep intrusions into one side, along big stretches of its length. Oddly, none of this showed (usually the edges of longitudinal stress cracks start first), nor sounded (when thumped like a watermelon). 

The areas with rot were still pretty solid, just robbed of strength. Maybe that's why I couldn't hear it? Or maybe I need to better train my ear!

We had felled this tree for Andy Stoner's MARY ELIZABETH a mere eight years earlier (already??). It never got installed, but sat on the dock, waiting. When the Harbor folk wanted it out of there, Andy offered it to us and we jumped at the chance. But top down, fresh water had taken its toll.

LESSON: Make sure that lumber has been well-treated... take its full history into consideration.

Another point is that Anke and I have used a rule-of-thumb for when to reef, being when the leeboard guard goes awash (about 15deg). We're reassessing this, however, especially in gusty weather. And especially given the... ah... funky nature of our trip.

A big virtue of the box barge is its extremely high form stability. It resists heeling in direct proportion to heeling moment. But all that force has to go somewhere. It is distributed around the boat and rig. In a free standing rig, a good dollop accumulates just above the mast partners (in our case, the tabernacle hinges). This is just where both breaks have occurred. 

LESSON: Reef a little earlier, Simpletons! The whole point of junk rig is to make that easy!

*****

We found a beautiful, new mast, and she's withstood her sea-trials in blustery autumnal gales. We've rescheduled the mizzen for early replacement, and are considering up-grading to foremast size. That would allow exchanging, should it ever become necessary (knock on sound wood!). And we're thinking about running backstays for tough going. Can't hurt.

So we sail on, a little delayed but wiser.


PS. Anke thinks the Ants/Elephants allusion is typically opaque and unnecessary. I love it as an early prod toward thinking out of the box... reframe the problem and squash it (not that I want to squash any elephants!).

The comPromise of Speed

There was once a young fellow named Bright
Who exceeded the Speed of Light.
  He left early one morning
  And returned  without warning
At dusk of the preceeding night.


Some things aren't meant to be rushed.


Speed is Relative.
-- Albert Einstein


The comPromise of Speed

Speed under sail is a glorious thing. But it isn't the only thing.

All boats are a balance of numerous compromises. One virtue at the expense of others. A vice tolerated for net gain. A good design is a good match with its owner's priorities. Such a balance is as precise, magical and rare as is to be found in any good relationship.

There are only two broad considerations concerning speed:

First one is easy. Generally speaking, displacement monohulls are limited to their hull speed, a mere one and a third times the square root of their sailing waterline length.

The only way to raise the hull speed ceiling is to lengthen the waterline. But a curious result of the math, here, is that short boats are faster for their length than longer ones. A long hull is an expensive way to gain speed. Cost rises exponentially at construction time, in maintenance, heavier gear and rig and linearly in harbor fees. Speed gains diminish exponentially with length, however... each extra knot of hull speed will cost you dear.

In effect, because hull speed is strictly relative to waterline length, it doesn't usefully distinguish fast boats from slow.

The second, more pertinent question is how easily does the boat reach its hull speed? Most boats achieve low fractions (to about half) of hull speed with little energy input. But diminishing returns apply as one approaches full hull speed. A fast boat will start ghosting sooner and reach hull speed sooner than a slow one. This is one reason that the crew's skill and attentiveness is such a big factor in any competition.

The faster boat, adjusted for length, is simply the one that, for whatever the reason, spends more time at higher fractions of the narrow range between zero and hull speed.

Hull shape plays a major role. Easy entrance (at the bow) and exit (aft) minimize plow and drag. Well placed curves ease water aside and return it to equilibrium with minimal disturbance. Hull shape may be optimized for specific conditions; flat water, steep chop or anywhere between. Wetted surface area (friction) from keels and such is a liability, balanced against lateral resistance and optimal ballast placement.

But these are hard to construct, and carve away volume and displacement. Angles of heel and motion are affected. Easy lines can make for relatively tender hulls, tamed with expensive ballast that reduces payload. Hull smooth and clean? No brainer, but what are the costs of keeping it so?

Then there's the rig. Bigger rigs supply more power, all things being equal, but size must be balanced with expense, stability and handling issues. Fail-safe vs fail-dangerous. Maintenance issues. Windward ability? Another round of compromises struggling for a point or two.

*****

Anke and I have a set of priorities for live-aboard sailing that runs in clusters approximately as follows:

• Ease and economy of construction -- If we can't get it built, it's a pipe dream.
• Ease and economy of maintenance -- A) We're lazy. B) We'd rather be sailing).
• Ease and economy of operation -- Ditto.
• Fail safer -- Hedge our bets.
• Ultra-shoal draft -- Opens up our world and safe harbors.
• Single handling in all weather -- If one of us is sick, hurt or otherwise occupied...
• Reliable windward ability -- We count on being able to make good to windward shy of storm force winds.
  
  
• Relatively heavy displacement -- We carry a lot of stuff.
• Relatively high interior volume -- For inside projects and hangin' with friends.
  
• Speed and efficiency under sail -- Suckin' hind teat.

Our solution has been box barge hulls sporting lee (off-center, actually) boards and simplified junk sails (on two+ masts).

It can be fairly said that each and every choice along these lines makes it just a little harder for us to achieve hull speed. It takes a little more wind or a little more time. Both of these, however, are free. We also tow a 16ft dory, which sucks up another erg of energy. One of these days, I'd like to take SLACKTIDE out for a spin without it, just to see what she'll do. But, around here, round-trips on windy days are never guaranteed.

Still and all, we don't find that our choices cut too deep.

Off the wind, we're surprisingly fast -- we objects in your mirror which are closer than we appear. On the wind... well... we'll get there, slow but sure, though it's often more pleasant to wait for it to turn around. In fact, it's only the last fifth of hull speed that we're reaching for. If we have wind, we cruise with a decent average for our size. We won't be placing in any races, but we get where we're going.

We do sometimes dream of speed, I won't deny it. A Bolger ROMP. A Wharram catamaran. A Brown JZERRO.

If we owned a magic wand, instead of a hammer, maybe things would be different.

YULOH: The Chinese Sculling Oar

No wind, slop and bobble. Yech.

 

Well I don't mind comin' and I don't mind goin',

But I'm some damn tired of rowin'!

From Old Fat Boat by Gordon Bok

Hootin', hollering days in our waters are more than matched by flat calms. These might be forecast winds that are noshow, or the limp end of a morning's suckapuff. Or the world might just go near breathless for a week at a time.

Drifting is an option. Drift with the tides and anchor up between. If things are right, we can cover a good deal of ground. But we still need to get in and out of the current. And in many times and places, the current never runs fair... surface flow might vary from a half knot to three knots against, depending on whether or not the tide is nominally fair.

If we're in very shallow, poling or, in moderately deep water, warping (rowing out and hauling a pair of anchors, one after the other, using them like long arms to pull us along). Nowadays, we have a pedal unit, but it's mechanical and beyond our ability to make or repair.

The main tool in our repertoire is the yuloh (Chinese sculling oar).

Leading edge of blade down about 45deg.

Yuloh in action... lanyard stays taut.

There are any number of ways to rig a yuloh. We use system with four elements. 

• Yuloh - Loom and blade.
• Deck lanyard (deck to end of handle) - this prevents the inboard end from popping up as the blade dives.
• HMD plastic oarlock (HighMolecularDensity, aka cutting board plastic).
• Oarlock Lanyard - attaches to a point on the outboard loom and keeps it from sliding outboard.

These four work together, taking the burden of controlling it from our shoulders. All that's left us is to sway back and forth, working the loom with our arms.

Our curved loom makes the blade want to spill to the correct angle. So we let it. The diving blade wants to make the handle ride at the top of the deck lanyard. So we let it. The loom wants to slide down and outboard, fetching against the outboard lanyard. So we let it.

The blade pretty much naturally wants to follow a falling leaf pattern... shallow figure-infinities (an 8 on its side), with the leading edge angled down. Breath. Feel it. Let go. Resist the urge to turn and watch it (you'll cramp up, quick!). Won't be long before you will be at one with your yuloh.

Chinese sailors were Taoist... it's all about easing along in sync with the world.

To turn, underway, just sidle a bit to put the tiller over as usual. Keep yulohing at the same distance off your body, and it will naturally help the turn. If you want to pick up the pace, slice the blade horizontal on the return stroke (for no power) and only stroke to favor the turn. If you really want to turn sharp (or without forward thrust), turn the blade perpendicular and shovel your stern around (like you were rowing off the stern).

 

Deck Lanyard snapped to Deck Ring

Canoe paddle handle with adustable lanyard (2 rolling hitches)

Oarlock and  Lanyard
(Gotta whip that end!)

Length and amount of curve are determined by your freeboard... the idea is to have the blade enter the water at about 45 degrees when holding the inboard end at sternum height. Curve can be anywhere from none to about 15 degrees. More curvature allows a shorter yuloh. Consider how much room you'll have in the cockpit... you'll want to be able to move around the forward end. Sketching it all out on graph paper saves a lot of trial and error.

Ours is (of course) quick and dirty. We look for a snow bent conifer, with the bend about a third-plus of the way from the base. This becomes the inboard, handle end at about 3 inches diameter, tapering to about 2 inches at the tip.

We like a large blade - about 3 feet long and 8 inches wide, mounted perpendicular to the plane of the curve. We flatten both sides of the loom, and screw one side on (from loom set into blade 'feather'). Drill opposing holes in both feathers and lash the other on.

We shape the blade flat on the upper face (toward the convex side of the loom curve) and rounded on the downward face. Don't know if this helps, but makes me feel good.

We mount the yuloh, deck lanyard and oarlock to starboard (we're both right handed). We stand mid-ships, facing forward, and position the yuloh on a Line about 4 inches to starboard of our hanging arm (seems about right).

'Position the yuloh' means that the oarlock midline and deck ring (or equivalent) are positioned on the Line. Set the oarlock lanyard to hold the yuloh about centered on the oarlock. Affix the deck ring directly below  the end of the yuloh, it's length set so the handle is about nipple height.

You can fudge the position of the oarlock... more loom inboard means more leverage for the person working the yuloh, and visa versa. Don't sweat it... you can always adjust with the oarlock lanyard.

None of this is rocket science, unless you're a Japanese ryo master (their highly tuned version). Top speed is maybe two knots in a sprint, so brilliant design won't do much for you. We look for comfort of use (good height, handle, leverage, spring and stowage).

I hear a lot of numbers quoted as yuloh science, but suspect that has to do with different installations that don't translate well. Consider a prototype to get the proportions before putting to much work into a beautiful work of art.

The yuloh is really a magical device. To slip out of harbor to catch dawn's first breath, or into a cove at days end, with little more than a liquid swirl to disturb evening's hush... it's... it's...

Well, you just have to try it.




*****

Since this article was originally written, I've run across Some Thoughts on the Yuloh by Slieve McGalliard, R&D Director of the JRA (Junk Rig Association). Very good thoughts, indeed, including a general recipe induced from drawings and photos of Chinese Junks and Sampans.

I've written an update post here on our results with his recipe.