Date: Sunday, 25 Sept., 2005
Location: Rhode River
Current position: N38 53.037 W078 31.638
We left Solomons this morning at dawn. As we were leaving the Patuxent river we decided to get out the spinnaker. The big sail. The fun sail. The pink and green beast (yes, pink and green - those were very cool colours back in the early 70s) - at the suggestion of a friend we've decided to rename it "the watermelon".
We hadn't ever put it up before and were waiting for a good day to try it out. Today was the day - relatively light wind, around 6-8 knots, aft of beam but not directly down wind.
For those of you who don't know what a spinnaker is, it's the big poofy sail, usually very colorful, that you often see flying out in front of sailboats in those photogenic moments. They can be pretty tricky to get set up, but ours is of the much-easier-to-use "cruising" or "asymmetric" ilk.
This sail is really cool. It lives in a big sock and has a snuffing line that runs through a pulley. When you want to fly the sail, you attach the bottom of the sail to the bow, hoist the top of the sock up the mast, and, when everything's ready to go, you pull the line and the sock lifts up, releasing the sail. Easy as pie. To douse the sail, you simply pull the sock back down, and once the sail's all in the sock, you lower the nicely packaged "sausage" to the deck and stow it below. Again, easy as pie. In theory.
We got it set on the first try, too - no lines running inside the stays, no twists, everything went according to plan. Woohoo! We were pretty proud of ourselves. Then we sat back and sailed about 30 miles on the same tack with winds increasing to about 12-13 knots. We kicked back, relaxed, and ran the autopilot for most of the way. What a great day of sailing!
We got up to the green buoy marking the entrance to the Rhode and West Rivers and it was time to douse the sail. We got everything ready and Mark started to pull the sock down. It came down about 8 feet and stopped. He pulled it back up and then back down again. It stopped in the same place.
We looked at each other, back up at this massive expanse of sail, flapping like crazy, and looked at each other again - shit!!!!
We tried several more times with no better luck. We even tried releasing the sheet, thinking that may be causing the problem. No luck. Now we have the entire sail flapping out in front of the boat.
We look at each other again! Shit. Again.
We had the engine running and in gear, so we put it in neutral so if by any chance one of the lines went in the water and drifted back it wouldn't get wrapped around the prop.
So here we are, drifting, the wind blowing the sail out in front of us, both on the foredeck, trying to get the sail back under control. Mark got up on the bowsprit and almost had the sail all bunched up in his arms when a gust filled the top half and, while he was hanging on, it tore for about 10' right along the foot of the sail. Shit.
The only thing to do was to just drop it, and as it was dropping, quickly pull it into the boat so it wouldn't get sucked under us in the water. So the sail is coming down, and we're lifting and stuffing it into the forward hatch like a pair of wild squirrels packing away acorns for the winter so it won't catch the wind and take off again. Who was it that said "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead"?
Of course, this all happened just south of Annapolis. The sailing capital of the East coast. The promised land of all things nautical. The Mecca of maritime ... uh ... m-something (help me out with the alliteration here). Home of the U.S. Naval Academy. The nautical navel of the known world.. ("hold it right there, ye gret daft chuff" she says. "Everyone knows Greenwich, England is the nautical navel of the known world").
Anyway. There must have been millions (literally - honest!) of other sail boats out there this afternoon. None of them seemed to be having the same problem. So why us? We did, however, notice that several seemed to take quite an interest in our, um, "sail handling" skills.
Once again (and in keeping with our recent ham escapades) we must have looked like right chumps. We're getting used to it, though. The up side is that we've heard it builds character.
We finally managed to get the sail stuffed back into the forward hatch, but not before some of it landed in the water. Oh, did we mention that our berth is directly below the forward hatch? Sigh. We finally got it below and, after we anchored, inspected it. It looks like the core of one of the lines that are used to douse the sail had become separated from the outer part of the line and, we're thinking, had bunched up, preventing the "haul it down" line from doing it's job. Maybe.
So we're sitting here at anchor with the wet part of the sail up in the cockpit, looking like a boat with some kind of pink and green lumpy thing growing out the back, fluffing, turning, and airing it out so it'll be dry when we pack it away. Luckily, most of the water got caught in the folds of the sail, so at least we'll have a dry berth while we're getting a very well deserved good night's sleep. Night, all.
Mark & Julie
s/v Rache
Location: Rhode River
Current position: N38 53.037 W078 31.638
We left Solomons this morning at dawn. As we were leaving the Patuxent river we decided to get out the spinnaker. The big sail. The fun sail. The pink and green beast (yes, pink and green - those were very cool colours back in the early 70s) - at the suggestion of a friend we've decided to rename it "the watermelon".
We hadn't ever put it up before and were waiting for a good day to try it out. Today was the day - relatively light wind, around 6-8 knots, aft of beam but not directly down wind.
For those of you who don't know what a spinnaker is, it's the big poofy sail, usually very colorful, that you often see flying out in front of sailboats in those photogenic moments. They can be pretty tricky to get set up, but ours is of the much-easier-to-use "cruising" or "asymmetric" ilk.
This sail is really cool. It lives in a big sock and has a snuffing line that runs through a pulley. When you want to fly the sail, you attach the bottom of the sail to the bow, hoist the top of the sock up the mast, and, when everything's ready to go, you pull the line and the sock lifts up, releasing the sail. Easy as pie. To douse the sail, you simply pull the sock back down, and once the sail's all in the sock, you lower the nicely packaged "sausage" to the deck and stow it below. Again, easy as pie. In theory.
We got it set on the first try, too - no lines running inside the stays, no twists, everything went according to plan. Woohoo! We were pretty proud of ourselves. Then we sat back and sailed about 30 miles on the same tack with winds increasing to about 12-13 knots. We kicked back, relaxed, and ran the autopilot for most of the way. What a great day of sailing!
We got up to the green buoy marking the entrance to the Rhode and West Rivers and it was time to douse the sail. We got everything ready and Mark started to pull the sock down. It came down about 8 feet and stopped. He pulled it back up and then back down again. It stopped in the same place.
We looked at each other, back up at this massive expanse of sail, flapping like crazy, and looked at each other again - shit!!!!
We tried several more times with no better luck. We even tried releasing the sheet, thinking that may be causing the problem. No luck. Now we have the entire sail flapping out in front of the boat.
We look at each other again! Shit. Again.
We had the engine running and in gear, so we put it in neutral so if by any chance one of the lines went in the water and drifted back it wouldn't get wrapped around the prop.
So here we are, drifting, the wind blowing the sail out in front of us, both on the foredeck, trying to get the sail back under control. Mark got up on the bowsprit and almost had the sail all bunched up in his arms when a gust filled the top half and, while he was hanging on, it tore for about 10' right along the foot of the sail. Shit.
The only thing to do was to just drop it, and as it was dropping, quickly pull it into the boat so it wouldn't get sucked under us in the water. So the sail is coming down, and we're lifting and stuffing it into the forward hatch like a pair of wild squirrels packing away acorns for the winter so it won't catch the wind and take off again. Who was it that said "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead"?
Of course, this all happened just south of Annapolis. The sailing capital of the East coast. The promised land of all things nautical. The Mecca of maritime ... uh ... m-something (help me out with the alliteration here). Home of the U.S. Naval Academy. The nautical navel of the known world.. ("hold it right there, ye gret daft chuff" she says. "Everyone knows Greenwich, England is the nautical navel of the known world").
Anyway. There must have been millions (literally - honest!) of other sail boats out there this afternoon. None of them seemed to be having the same problem. So why us? We did, however, notice that several seemed to take quite an interest in our, um, "sail handling" skills.
Once again (and in keeping with our recent ham escapades) we must have looked like right chumps. We're getting used to it, though. The up side is that we've heard it builds character.
We finally managed to get the sail stuffed back into the forward hatch, but not before some of it landed in the water. Oh, did we mention that our berth is directly below the forward hatch? Sigh. We finally got it below and, after we anchored, inspected it. It looks like the core of one of the lines that are used to douse the sail had become separated from the outer part of the line and, we're thinking, had bunched up, preventing the "haul it down" line from doing it's job. Maybe.
So we're sitting here at anchor with the wet part of the sail up in the cockpit, looking like a boat with some kind of pink and green lumpy thing growing out the back, fluffing, turning, and airing it out so it'll be dry when we pack it away. Luckily, most of the water got caught in the folds of the sail, so at least we'll have a dry berth while we're getting a very well deserved good night's sleep. Night, all.
Mark & Julie
s/v Rache
