What inspired me to sail today? The stiff easterly did excite me, gusting grey patches all over the cove: aha good propulsion for an engineless sail boat. Another older sloop with canoe stern being singlehanded, came charging by my mooring and it looked like fun. Besides, I could blow a few barnacles off me and the hull. Done.
I figured a routine for setting sail; hank the sails on, ready the mooring for quick release, rove the jib sheets, slacked the main sheet and free the helm, and finally attach and haul the backyards and let the mooring go. A neat trick I learned is to haul the mooring gear aft - this provides a boost on your chosen course. Today it worked a treat, and all I needed to when I dropped back down into the cockpit was to take up slack on the sheets. A good start.
We headed east of north in order to intersect the N-S axis of the cove. But as the first gust came through I questioned whether one reef in the main was enough, she heeled mightily with much weather helm. But easing the traveller downwind and jib sheet helped release the airflow, status; overpowered but mostly able to maintain course.
We charged on barnacles and all, now on our second tack (heading S), to clear the cove, I was becoming less sure about sail area. At the neck of our cove, several cruisers were tucked up in the lee of the eastern headland: I mused over the expense of some of these craft. Knowing now, at nearly 56 years, that I'd never be able to afford one, I amused myself by deriding their worth. "Are they not just supersized jet skis for wealthy old men?", haha. Jealous, the a bit, I wondered as many singlehanded sailors must; would my partner come boating if I had one of those? Probably not, and besides I doubt whether money from the sale of Bohemian would be enough to maintain one of the behemoths through the new year. Nah, it's all Cloud Cuckoo Land, old(ish)fart, old tub, get back to sailing.
Perhaps the wind was making me aggressive, each to his own space. Nearing the windward entrance marker, a second behemoth cruiser passed close on our starboard side. What the Skipper thought seeing me wearing harness and lifejacket, heeled over an unflattering angle, was possibly as uncharitable as my earlier thoughts. But, as mariners do, we waved and carried on.
Out of the cove and with full view of the port, there was very little canvas about despite it being peak holiday season. It was the day of the cruiser though, or may be they were all just moving about looking for a calm mooring space? Fisherpeople in roundabouts were tucked up along weather shorelines looking dejected at the prospect of just chips for dinner.
Cleared the windshadow the weather and tide commanded my attention. The sailing just got more hectic. I had been expecting a little more consistent wind and an adverse tide, but whoa! A near gale was being funnelled between headlands to our East, or upwind, and unbeknownst to me this force was being exacerbated and abetted by a Christmas flood tide. The extraordinary named Middle Island, which lays between the two headlands, had become an obvious upwind mark on my day sails of late. It was again today, but it quickly became obvious that this would be a major feat and place a lot of stress on crew and rig. Boho's healed to her maximum, normally all right but now, this was under a roaring and pulsating wind with some spite on it and the tension in the rigging I could feel in my spine. I gritted teeth, set my feet across the cockpit and tried to nurse the old girl through. Large brown jellyfish sped by like gravel from our spinning wheels. I chided myself for not reefing earlier, with a reef 500 metres to our south, headlands and island to our east through north, we had little sea room. Gybing off would place the rig and I under too much workload: a last resort. To make matters worse we were making terrible leeway due to wind and I now realised, a strong neap tidal flow. circumnavigation at island was out, Plan B was to tack into the windshowadow, catch our a breath and then bare off back where we came with our tail firmly between our legs.
A black gust of twenty and twenty five knots harangued us sending things below tinkling and topple about. Easing the sheets allowing the floppy white things to lift and spill wind seemed to have no effect. I've no doubt this Folkboat could settle in and sail well in up to 30 knots of wind, but this enclosed waters blustery wind is difficult as the pressure and direction vary dramatically and navigation is limited. As each gust shock loads the rig, I envision dismantling which puts me in a cold sweat. Though I do enjoy sailing hard, pushing a boat to its limits, this was no longer enjoyable and I was consciously moved into harm minimization mode. Ok, port tack, nearing the southern extent of navigable water,we need to tack. A surging chop of a metre or so, a gusty 25knot headwind and 3-4 knot adverse current all worked against us. Think three thugs in a back alley bashing an old lady. I gave Boho' her best chance by easing off the wind to build momentum in her long keel leading into the area we needed to tack. As I could now see individual waves slapping the reef to reward I pulled the helm down, some spray shot over the boat, the wind rifled the sails and Boho' hesitates, dead in the water. I waited seconds, hopeful that the headsail would backbone and push the bow over on our new tack but it never happened. Now, going into irons (missing a tack) on a keel yacht is something akin to being dacked in public and having your private parts exposed for all to see, and we'd done it. On the up side, there was no one about to really notice, on the down side, we now had to resume sailing SE with reef a little to reward and hope we could succeed in making our new tack. so I sailed off south again to build up headway, eyeing the rocks to reward before tacking her up. But around she came, as though weakened from sleep, sharp and unhesitating, sheets taut on the starboard tack and me able to breath again. I could save the recriminations for later.
Still under shuddering rig we sped into what little lee was being offered, before easing sheets and bearing off for home. With the gusty easterly now over our quarter Bohemian shrouded herself in rainbow sparkles from her bow, she sat more akin to her gender and her straightened her skirts. The benefit of sailing off the wind is remarkable every time, do the maths. Upwind 25knots + 5 knots boat speed = 30 knots over the deck. Sailing downwind it's 25 - 6 = 19 knots over the deck and compound pressure off the rig.
We re-enter our cove with greater grace than when we left, exhausted, exhilarated and thirsty. The cost of the day was 150mm rip in the leech of the main and a further 300mm fracture-tear in the cloth nearby. These will be easily repaired at home where I go to disappear into the "quiet desperation" of shore life.
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