Rochester to Pultneyville

After four years of boat ownership, and somewhat frequent use of my vessel, I started this year off still having only completed day sails; I had never left my dock and not returned to the same later in the day.  Fortunately, this year marks many changes, and the first sail of the year turned out to be both a true adventure and a lesson in seamanship.

Just before casting off, ready for adventure!

Having bought a new home which is not very convenient to the marina I've been staying at, it was time to find a new home for Ravat.  I was also looking to join a yacht club this year as I have completed enough of the big projects to afford me more time to participate in sailing and social activities.  These two vectors converged on the Pultneyville Yacht Club, which I am excited to be a new member of.  I rented a slip there, and joined this spring, so the only remaining task was to get my boat to her new home.

The trip from Rochester to Pultneyville is approximately 20 nautical miles as the crow flies.  I planned a full day since I did not wish to fall back on motoring unless necessary, and I knew that under sail I might be anywhere between 3 and 6 knots.  That's a spread of roughly 3 to six hours without taking into account the amount of tacking required.  Rarely does the wind follow the crow.

Ravat ready to depart Rochester

We departed Rochester around 09:45 with topped off fuel, ice, and munchies.The forecast included morning showers with a chance of thunderstorms late in the afternoon.  I was somewhat foolishly anxious to depart, and thought it likely we'd make Pultneyville before the storms hit, or ride them out for an hour or so if necessary.







As it turned out, the majority of our trip was ideal sailing conditions.  A decent breeze kept us moving at over 5 knots, the temperature was pleasant, and seas were in the 1-2 foot range.  Ravat was in her glory under full main and 150% genoa clearing 5 knots.

Updating the logs in perfect conditions.

It was later in the afternoon that the cloud came into view.  I could see clear skies at the tail of this storm, and all around it, so I knew we'd be able to ride out whatever was coming.  Looking at wind direction, and storm size, I decided to head out farther into the lake and see if the storm would skirt the shore.  As luck would have, that's exactly what happened.  The storm passed inland of us with winds building throughout the duration.  Those winds built slowly, but steadily until I was reminded of a seamanship rule that I had neglected...  Reef BEFORE you need to.

Storm approaching...

By the time most of that storm system had passed us, the wind levels had built way past the canvas I was flying. The boat was rocketing along nicely, but it had become very difficult to gibe the boat.  A surprise gust hit us, and we rounded up aggressively with quite an exciting moment of healing.  I let the main all the way out, which spilled enough wind get us back under control, but while we were headed up the sails and rig took quite a shaking.  We headed up one more time briefly to reduce sail, and furled the genoa.  We were still over-canvassed, but only a bit.

Twenty minutes later the winds stopped gusting and became a bit more predictable, and slightly less intense.  I was able to take advantage of that time to put a reef in the main, and bring out a slice of genoa to balance the rig.  Steering and healing were finally back under control.

Reefing the Main.

A short time later we had Pultneyville's harbor in sight.  The winds began gusting again, and remained quite strong.  We watched a catamaran come out of the beach like a rocket, both sailors obviously looking for serious adventure.  I went about tying on the fenders.  By the time I looked back up to see how far out they had gone, all that was left were two hulls upturned, and two sailors working on righting their boat.  We circled back in case they needed help, but assistance was not required.

With sails put away and fenders deployed, we made our approach into the harbor, and docked without incident in our new slip. Despite the high winds, Pultneyville's harbor seems very sheltered, and I had little problem landing as intended.  Ravat had suffered a torn seam in the genoa, but otherwise no issues.  Every time I test myself on this boat she rises to the occasion behaving predictably and keeping me safe.  The CS27 is a truly magnificent vessel.

Having prevailed over our adventure, we promptly walked up to the Pultneyville Deli Company's bar for a hamburger and beer, both of which, were exquisite.

Are you prepared for a hole in your hull?

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you were flying along and heard a giant THUD as debris in the water put a hole in your hull?  If not, you should.  Part of proper seamanship is preparedness, and to me that means a lot of playing the "what if" game.

These two videos were fascinating to me.  In the first video we see what kind of strength it takes to put a hole in the hull in the first place - good to know.  We also see what it looks like when a big hole is below the waterline.  I'm glad that I haven't seen this in real life thus far in my sailing career.

What really surprised me was that the best tool for stemming a leak was a small tarp held in place with light lines.  I still really like the idea of the Forespar plugs, but what an easy trick that tarp is.  I never would have guessed it to be more effective than a sail used for the same purpose.

Watch the videos below, and spend a little time pondering what your plan is if this should happen to you...

Hugging the Furler

One of the many things I enjoy about sailing is the constant opportunity it provides to evolve by facing new challenges.  Sometimes the challenges are as simple as learning a new knot.  Other times those challenges test your skill, and courage.

I headed out one evening singlehanded for a quick spin.  There wasn't much time to spare, but I was determined to get a little time on the water.  I motored out the channel uneventfully, and entered the open lake.  The wind was blowing around 10 to 15 knots - mostly on the lower end of that range, and there were moderate waves.  Nice.

I cut the motor after raising the main, and entered a close reach.  Wanting a bit more excitement I then unfurled the 150% genoa and hit the gas.  Ravat healed over to a nice 15 degrees, put a bone in her teeth and took off.  I was enjoying the heck out of this run, and knew turning around was going to be a tough pill to swallow.

The wind continued to build as I put distance between myself and shore.  This is common due to the land formation off Rochester.  After a while I decided I needed to bring the genoa back to around 100% to reduce heal a bit and rebalance the boat.   I headed up a bit to relieve some strain on the furling line.  After uncleating the line I pulled, and nothing happened.  The furler was stuck tight, and no amount of jiggling or course changes were letting it go.  Looks like I was going to stay out longer than planned despite my intentions.

This was one of those moments sailing throws at me which put me in my place, and force my evolution.  It is not so much that a stuck genoa put me in peril, but rather that it knocked me out of my comfort zone and out of the comfort of "plan-A".  I began considering my options.

The wind dies down as you enter the channel, so I could probably motor into my marina with the genoa out and loose-sheeted.  Getting docked would be exciting in a cross-wind with the genoa out, but certainly possible.  Clearly, this didn't seem like the ideal circumstance.  Next I started thinking about trying to take the genoa down from the furler.  Again, this was probably possible, but would be very challenging single-handed.  That's a lot of sail to be flogging around.

The last thing I thought of was, why not go up there and fix it?  And so I spent some time working on balancing the sail plan so Ravat would stay on a course.  I watched the compass for a minute and saw very little change in course.  I made my way up to the bow, nestled into the pulpit, and hugged that furler.  After some investigation I discovered that the line had somehow jumped the drum and gotten wedged between the "fingers" and the drum itself.  Back to the cockpit...

A quick verification showed that Ravat was still holding her course happily.  I went below to unfurl my tool roll and grab a pair of channel locks, then back to the bow.   The waves were breaking on my feet and legs as Ravat pressed onward.  (The picture is a re-creation which unfortunately took place on a day with flat seas).  With a subtle bend I was able to get the line back where it belonged.

After inching back to the cockpit I came about and headed back to port.  Another small victory in my journey, and a short but sweet sail.

Got Butyl?

Whether you have a shiny new boat, or a lovingly restored Good Old Boat, you need to know how to properly bed hardware on deck or you will eventually create a nightmare that is hard to wake up from. Take this from a man who scooped balsa-turned-chocolate-pudding out of his rotten decks.

There's a myriad of goops you can use to seal things, and almost all of them tend to be a bad choice.  One of the more popular marine sealants is incredibly expensive, and incredibly hard to clean excess ooze from.  It also cures much faster than you typically want it to.

Then there's butyl tape.  It's not marine-specific, and is in fact used by the RV industry also.  It lasts 30+ years, leaves no residue, has better elasticity than most marine products, and allows you to easily pull and reposition something that you set incorrectly.  If you spend time researching best practices for sealing deck hardware, you will also find that most of the people who really know what they are doing swear by it.  Hands down.

The thing that I am baffled by is how hard it is to buy the stuff.  There's a wide spectrum of quality, so you can't just buy whatever you find and expect success.  This is something all marine chandleries and your local West Marine should be stocking, pushing, and selling like mad.  But that's just not the case. 

Until the day of rejoice in which the enlightened mariners of the world embrace an expectation of getting butyl in their own city's stores, please support someone who has done a lot to support the rest of us guys trying to learn how to do it right so we can afford to sail. 

Compass Marine Butyl Tape

I used this tape to rebed just about everything on my boat.  It's very high quality stuff.  Buy more than you need so you have it on hand long before it's needed.  A big part of doing the job right is having what's needed to get it done on-hand when the time comes so you're not tempted to cheese-ball the project.

Launching is Bittersweet

Ravat is happily in the water now, which marks the first time in three seasons of ownership that I've been able to meet my launch goal.  This is a big milestone for me, which is almost as exciting as the start of the sailing season itself. 

Stepping onto my boat in the water is magical; The slight rocking as my weight shifts makes me feel she is alive beneath me.  This is in stark contrast to the stiff and lifeless motion of the boat while cradled in the off season.  And so it was that I enjoyed my first steps onto the boat yesterday.

And then I noticed that the yard crew was wearing combat boots and had recently walked through mud.  I had spent three hours cleaning the non-skid before this launch.  Then I entered the cabin to find that the main bettery switch had been left to "combine" rather than "on".  Not sure why as the starter battery is brand new and fully charged.  Oh yes, and the engine cooling seacock was left wide open.

I'm not sure how this sort of thing goes in other marinas, but here at my own, no one gives your boat the love that you do.  All's well that ends well though, and with a bit of scrubbing she'll be her old self.  In the end, my silly grin overpowered the cringes.

Let the rigging begin!

Ships Log... First Entry

What am I doing?  I've asked myself that question many times over the past few years as I grew my sea legs.  Perhaps I should call them fiberglass legs since I spent the majority of that time working on the boat rather than sailing it.

The details of all that refit work are captured on my boat's web site.  But as I started to complete the bigger projects I realized I have two distinct tracks to the information I'd like to share.

The intent of this blog is to provide a venue for my thoughts about sailing.  Not about the specific details of restoring CS27 sailboats, but the experiences of a sailor.  One who reads sailing and maintenance books, internet posts, magazines, and everything I can get my hands on.  One who rebuilt his boat, and gets into a lot of different projects.  One who loves to walk the docks and observe cool ideas to integrate.  And yes, I even get out to sail my boat which generates even more ideas! All that reading, observing, and thinking gives me a lot of things to write about.  So you see, this blog is an essential outlet for me.

All the articles on this site will probably show a bit of a CS27 bias, and certainly the bias of a DIY oriented sailor, but the focus will be on the experience more than the engineering.  If you're still with, please clip your tether to the jack lines as we are about to clear the dock and set sail.

Installing a Carbon Monoxide Detector

One of the (long list of) items on my boat's last survey suggested that I should install a Carbon Monoxide detector in the main cabin.  I did some research on this topic, and I can't help but agree that there is some degree of risk, and it seems to be something that strikes in very unexpected situations.

My young son loves to play in the cabin while we're out, and this often includes the 20 minute motor in or out of the main channel which is difficult to sail through due to wind direction and other traffic.  If he were to be affected by CO poisoning I wouldn't even notice from the cockpit.  So yes, I'm in favor of adding a simple measure of safety.

The next step on my journey was to select a model to install.  Many people suggested installing a residential unit.  This has the benefit of opening up to products which are battery powered, and thus won't require running wires and ripping out panels.  On the other hand, these models aren't usually rated for marine duty.  Does that matter?

I think so.  For one thing, most homes don't exist in the constant state of humidity which boats do.  A cheaper unit could have connections which are more susceptible to corrosion.  More significantly though is that a non-marine unit may not be rated for the constant motion and vibration associated with being on water.  Is there a tangible and observed difference in build quality I can point to?  No, not at this time.

I selected the Xintex Fireboy CO Sentinal.  It's marine rated, and one of the smaller units I could find.  My boat is only 27 feet long, so I don't have a vast cavernous interior which has numerous places to put this hunk of plastic.  It's not a very attractive unit, and I really prefer the look of teak and brass to this.  Having said that, I think this is as unobtrusive as it gets, so I'm happy with the decision.

Now that I have a detector, I need to find a location.  And here's where it gets interesting.  The instructions suggest eye level mounting.  Is that eye-level when standing?  Or when seated?  Or when I'm lying on the settee?  After a bit more research it looks like the recommendation is to ensure you can see the little indicator lights, so it's more about visibility than mounting level.  The next suggestion was to avoid proximity to hatches or something like a galley stove.  That makes sense.  But what are other people doing?

I asked my owners association mail list what other people had done, and got back very little that was helpful.  I don't think many people have them installed.  Next I tried consulting the omniscient Google, and again, found almost nothing which described an installation process, location, or photographs of this project.  So I'm left wondering how other people have tackled this job, and why this project has almost no record of others doing it.  You can find a million detailed project descriptions out there for anything... Else...

I'm still debating the location in my own cabin.  I have a few choices, and I'm trying hard to figure out which one will let me see the LEDs, but not draw much attention to the rest of the unit.  I'm beginning to think that like me, most DIY boaters have a CO detector sitting in their lockers waiting for someone else to come up with a great idea to inspire them to complete an installation.  I'll try to come up with something over the next few weeks and post a photo which starts the movement.