I'd never sailed before, but I'd read a lot (including everything on
this list for 9 months). A sailor friend -- another self-reliant type
-- suggested that I just take the boat out by myself, in good
conditions, under reefed mainsail. No jib.
His theory was that the boat was sound, the canvas short and the
water warm. And, absent an instructor, i wouldn't waste any energy
worrying about looking stupid. Just do it.
So I put the boat in at Ma'alaea Harbor Saturday here on Maui. Trade
winds were light that day, but Ma'alaea sits at the leeward end of a
valley between the island's huge mountains. so there's always a
little zip.
I managed to set up my gunter rig in about a half an hour, which
pleased me, and launched without any help or mishap. I motored out of
the harbor without looking (i think) like the utter novice that I am.
I decided to motor a good ways out so I'd be at least a mile from
shore in all directions. Lots of room for error, I figured.
Keel tied down. Zero water in the bilge. Sunny, One-half to two-foot
seas (the VHF says). Light trades. Some whitecaps. Occasional swells.
Only one other boat anywhere in sight. Motor off.
I hoist the sail. Uh-oh. It's an immense bag. Hmm.
I hadn't tied the reefing tie-up points between tack and clew. I
start to do so, but the old sail starts to tear, ever so slightly. (I
hadn't reinforced these interim points when I put in my reefing
points.)
I stop. I look at the rig. It takes an embarrassingly long minute to
realize that the sail is reefed at the tack, but not at the clew. No
problem, I pull and cleat my reefing line. The sail looks better, but
still baggy. Hmm, My reefed clew line is pulling almost straight
back. Nothing like the desired 45-degree angle. I'll have to move the
whole thing forward when I get home.
Well, okay. I'd expected I'd discover stuff like this, and the weak
points in the sail.
I bumble for a while sailing with the wind on the beam, feeling my
way along, fooling with the sheet and the tiller. All this time, I'm
slowly moving further out to sea, since the harbor is in the eye of
the wind.
I try tacking but cannot. Once, twice, three times, four times. Good
thing I've got all this sea room. Couple more failed attempts and I
decide to shake out the reef. I figure I'll get more speed and better
sail shape. Good idea. The boat tacks.
I tack back and forth for a while, getting a better feel for the
boat. The boat knows how to sail. All I have to do is listen.
The wind picks up and is a little gusty, heeling the boat over. Sheet
in hand, I watch my big Saturn bulkhead compass (which I love), and
try to keep it at Jerry B's recommended 10 degrees, and I vigorously
dump wind when gusts push the gunwale into the water. Exhilarating.
The boat behaves in a wonderful, confidence-inspiring fashion. It[s a
great boat.
I'm very surprised that the boat points as well as it does with just
the mainsheet, trimmed as badly as it is. I'm making progress beating
back to the harbor.
I turn and try a run before the wind. Oh, how glorious! What an idiot
I was to *motor* out of the harbor before the wind!
I reluctantly abort the run after a while, so as not to get too far
out.
I try beating back to the harbor again.
I can get speed but little angle, or angle, but little speed. I
choose to err in favor of angle. I find myself thinking about you
folks lucky enough to have other Potters to race against and learn
from. Gosh, I wish I could sail against (err, behind) you guys!
Round about now, I see a sail round McGregor Point off my port beam,
and I realize he's going to beat to the harbor. He's probably three
times further out than I am, but I decide to take the situation as a
challenge. It's a big boat and moving very fast.
Maybe twenty minutes later, I can see the boat clearly. It's a big
catamaran, fifty or sixty feet. One of those boats that takes ten to
20 tourists out on whale watches, snorkel tours. We end up both about
a quarter of a mile from the narrow harbor entrance. It's a close
reach for me to sail right into the harbor's mouth. He's on my port
beam directly leeward of the harbor and can't sail in. He drops sail.
He's going to motor in.
That seems like the right idea, so I do likewise. I decide to refuel,
since I absolutely don't want to run out of gas negotiating the
harbor entrance. I'm also unsure about who should go first so I
figure I'll dawdle and then follow him in.
I bumble around long enough for him to come over and ask if
everything is okay. "Looked like you were having trouble with your
motor." No. No problem.
I motor in, and get to the empty ramp just as three boats materialize
on land and at sea waiting to use the ramp. Naturally, I forget to
haul up the keel and it gets knocked off its pivot pin as I try to
winch the boat onto the trailer. My cover is blown, my idiocy
apparent.
I back the boat off the trailer, and manage to get the keel back on
the pin in short order.
I pull the boat, de-rig and head home.
Alas, within ten minutes I blow a radiator hose on my truck.
I will spare you the details of trying to get the boat home (I live
30 miles from the harbor, up 4,000 feet). But I will note: On Maui,
on a Saturday night:
*tow trucks won't pull boats;
*they won't pull trucks pulling boats;
*your buddy won't have a trailer ball;
*you won't be able to get yours off;
*when you finally secure a ball, it won't fit either the trailer or
your buddy's truck.
*you will -- for some bizarre almost disconnected reason -- spend
time in a stranger's garage in the middle of the night trying to
grind and chisel a weld off a strange bumper.
And finally, while you *can* duct tape your blown radiator hose and
keep adding water to the radiator, you *will* regret doing so.
-----------
Rich Duffy
P-14 #362, "Manele"
Kula, Hawaii