- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
West Wight Potter Mailing List maintainer
dfarrell@ridgecrest.ca.us
List hosted by www.tscnet.com
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Mariners:
This is a meaningless post perhaps to all but my friends or those who take
interest in me. It was part of a personal letter and not particularly well
written. But since the list appears to be in the doldrums (with members
circling the scuttlebutt and arguing over nothing), my post has value for
bulk if nothing else. It describes my last summer with my boat, which may be
of interest. Skip it if you are looking for substance. If you are unusually
sensitive don't read it. If you want to reply or comment negatively, send
your replies to N41° 53 W87° 57, where they will receive due consideration.
Well another summer is history. Muller says a man only has 39 summers
between the time he can legally drink and when his body (political correct
omission of specific body part) starts to fail, during which to enjoy summer.
I suspect he is correct, but might change my mind as I get closer to summer
39. I never expected to live to this long, so I guess all is well. This
last summer was not all I hoped for, but was another year of life, better the
alternative and better than last year's. This document started out as a
letter to a friend, such as you, but then as I realized I have ignore all of
the few people I consider good friends, I decided to write this for all of
them. As I was writing it, it developed into sort of an essay for myself.
What ever this is, you get it.
Sailing the 12 foot, at the waterline 15 long, West Wright Potter was an
interesting part of this summer. This boat is probably the most seaworthy
production boat for its size in the world. Karen pressed me to buy a motor
and VHF radio for it. Both items vastly increased safety and were excellent
improvements. They are very cheap insurance. Next to my last sail, I went
out with a guy who had never sailed before. While sailing a beam reach,
(wind from the side of the boat which is relatively easy sailing) I could see
we had too much sail catching the wind. Reefing the main (reducing sail
area) was interesting since this was the first time I had done it while under
way and I neglected the out haul function or to secure the end of the sail.
For you mud dwellers, this means that in a stiff wind the sail looked like a
negligent hooker at 8 months (ignore the other Freudian reference). We were
sailing force 5 seas (macho sailor's talk for 19-24 mph winds) with spray
breaking over the bow and sides and this guy asks if I had been in this rough
of water before. I said, "of course" as I dropped the jib. I was thinking
of all the time I spent in a 32-foot powerboat I formerly played with. Other
than being cold, it was a good sail. With little heel (tip sideways), the
boat, was like a cork (later my friend described it as a bug in a flushing
toilet), we were even able to beat to windward (sailing toward the wind). I
am sure we impressed a 30 footer who motored past us under bare poles as we
sailed what must have appeared as a toy boat to them. With our lack of sail,
wave action, and poor sail shape we were able to reach near hull speed
(theoretical maximum speed) at 5 miles an hour, while sailing the boat with
less than 10 degrees heel. Tacking or coming about without a jib was
do-able, but often took us two tries, if a wave hit us at the wrong time.
The jib I dropped would have helped. A beam wave breaking on the cockpit
showered us and contributed to the cold. It was a good sail for me since I
was not ever in a situation above my skill level and I learned a bit about
challenging sailing the boat, and myself. The next day I removed a gallon or
so of water from the inner hull (normal, sloshed in via the keel slot) and
was told that the wind in harbor (which seemed light compared to that on the
lake) was measured at 18 mph. While we were out, a boat called the Coast
Guard stating that they had lost power near where we were sailing. It
appeared that this was a hoax. People that perpetrate this type of hoax rank
near child molesters in my mind. I had considered altering course to assist
this boat and this would have been dangerous, as we would have been
approaching hypothermia if we had stayed out another 2 hours to reach the
spot they indicated they were located.
For the last sail of October, I reefed in port, dropped the jib, and
sailed to nearby Waukegan Harbor. I planned on eating lunch there, but a
bait shop was the only place open that late in the season E.G. donuts and
candy. If you are ever faced with a similar situation, ensure that you get
your own donut. Then tell the owner near the worm box.
I am not a bad sailor, I am perhaps not a good one, but I am a better one
than I was last year. Sailing is more than a hobby for me. Like flying,
motorcycling, and parachuting it demands that you know your stuff. If you do
not you can die, but knowing the sport they are as safe as driving a car.
The pay off for sailing to me is a sense of accomplishment and a pride of
accomplishment, which is very satisfying. Many times I sail under small
craft warning, while blow boats (sail boats) twice my size run for cover. It
is not foolishness nor bravado, merely knowledge and applied skill. I revel
in this skill. I am sailing for myself. If it were easy, it would be
meaningless. As an after thought, one man thought enough of his skills and
his Potter to sail it to Hawaii. He said it was no more dangerous than
driving the same distance. From my sailing experience perspective, I would
never try to drive my car across water, but never the less I respect his
assurance of safety.
Most of my friends have buried their fathers. With the divorce of my
parents and a very bad case of young man's disease, I ignored them for far
more years than I should have. The deaths of my friends' parents and talking
with them about it made me realize how lucky I am. I addressed this and my
father and I spent a day sailing in the Straits of Mackinaw (Michigan) in
September. I will cherish this memory unless a better one replaces it. My
father, it is strange but now he is affected by young man's disease, wanted
to bury the rail of the sailboat (on the edge of stability) mid shipping
channel in Lake Michigan. How dare he be so foolish!
I guess the summer improves with the remembering.
Thank you for being my friend.
Beam
winds for God's Speed
Michael D. Campbell
P-15 #1683 "CAMPBELL's SLOOP"
Elmhurst, IL
Lake Michigan
This archive was generated by hypermail 2b29 : Fri Mar 31 2000 - 03:27:10 PST