Doctor Captain or Captain Doctor

          I have been overwhelmingly busy the last few months; writing, reading, and writing some more, but it has all paid off. Today marks my graduation from school... forever. It's not like my high school graduation, with the plan to continue onto college. Or my college graduation which was just a precursor for graduate school. I am graduating into the real world. Also different than before, I can finally not go to the ceremony, which has been my desire for each one past. Oh the joys of truly being an adult! I am not sure if it is common, but I have been in school continuously for 25 years. Not too bad for 3 pieces of paper...

          I've actually been done for a month (to the day), having defended my dissertation and getting my "official" hand-shake on November 12th. Since then I've had plenty of time to fix and refix issues with my dissertation (which was accepted on the 7th), visit my parents in Pennsylvania, and play around with future projects. At some point in the near future I will be heading back to Pennsylvania to work at the University of Pittsburgh, but that is for a later post. For now, let's get into some background on the boat-related project I've been toying with.

          I can't remember if I've posted, but a few weeks after selling White Raven we purchased a completed Chesapeake Light Craft Passagemaker Take-apart rowing dinghy (I am not affiliated; I just think their boat kits are cool). Now, rowing may sound like fun, but I'm into the "hanging out on a sailboat" thing more, so heaven knows I'm planning to convert this vessel into a sailing ship. She is currently located at a friend's house... in Florida... so of course the work on the vessel is a little out of reach currently, but I've been busy with other things. I bought a Sailrite lugsail kit (~$250, way less than the $600 for a pre-made sail) and put together the sail (mostly) the weekend after my dissertation. I will post more after I finish the sail but a mockup of what it will look like in the end is below.

A mockup of  my sail on the lug rig Passagemaker, with a very small human model.

          I wish I could say that I finished, but I have to do/redo the 3 rows of stitching on the edge material on the head of the sail, sew the 3 rows on the bottom of the sail, add the leather to the corners, and place grommets in all positions. All in all the project was pretty easy, though frustrating on occasion, and has taken me maybe 8-10 hrs so far. (Side note: I may have broken the sewing machine I was using while trying to go through 12 layers of sail cloth). It would have been nice to have a large work area, but I built it on the floor of our living room, which is less than half the size of the finished sail. I also modified the 1 reef kit I bought to incorporate a design I found on Wooden Boat Forum for a second diagonal reef, which turns the lug into a lateen rig, picture below.

Depicted is a standing lug reefing arrangement that keeps the center of effort at the same point on the vessel, but I am trying it on a balanced lug rig.

          Anyway, I've felt bad not posting, even if my wife is my only reader. As I get closer to putting everything together, or have time to finish the sail (which are currently in Pennsylvania), I will update more. If you read this and happen to live/sail in Pittsburgh, send me a shout out. I will be hunting down a way to sail on the river after I get to town.

Fair winds,

Capt. Dr. Geruntho

What are the Odds?

          Amanda and I took a vacation to the Oregon coast for the weekend. We visited friends in and around Portland, enjoyed the Rose City Comic Con, and camped at Fort Stevens on the coast for a few nights. We wanted to make the trip in case our East coast transition happens sooner than expected. With school coming to a close, but still enough time to see folks and places, it was a must-do this past weekend.

          We spent a day in Astoria, perusing the used book stores and the waterfront. We came across a museum that was more than we wanted to spend per person, but there were some coastguard cruisers hanging out behind it and we had a look. I also wanted to go to the marina to look at the sailboats, but compromised to go to the docks on our way back to the campsite. Lucky for us, we went to the only marina we needed to see.

Amanda standing in front of the display anchor outside of the maritime museum

          Back in Hammond, Oregon we pulled off into the public marina parking lot, parked, and headed to stroll the docks and look at all the marvelous vessels. To my surprise, I saw a familiar visage on the far dock, a spitting image of the photo Cynthia sent me. The masts looked wrong, with mast steps up the main that made it look like aluminum, but the figurehead and doghouse were unmistakable. Amanda, mocking me as I started power walking trying to find a way to the dock to get a better look, said, “I’ve never seen you move so fast before!”

          “I swear it’s a Fung-built Walloon!” I replied as I hurried around the maze of docks. I was a man on a mission. “What are the odds that we come to the right dock? Only 40 were ever built, and out of those who knows how many are still surviving!” Back in 2014, around the time we purchased Drumbeat, I saw one Walloon schooner for sale up in Vancouver, BC. Beyond that, I haven’t been able to find any information on other surviving vessels.

Look at our find!

Nice transom!

          Finally I found the correct entrance, and sure enough it was a Walloon! The Snow Queen out of Portland, undergoing what looked like a refit project. Even so, she looked beautiful. I’m not sure if she is a sister ship of Drumbeat (12 were ordered by the Navy, one of which was Drumbeat) or her cousin. Either way, what a find! We walked around her dock and reminisced about our visit with Drumbeat. Snow Queen looked a lot less intimidating than Drumbeat did, but we were seeing her in her element, swimming in saltwater, around other enormous vessels. I think this was reaffirming for Amanda that it wouldn't be an insurmountable project, sailing her or fixing her up.

The bow of Snow Queen

Amidship

          I also discovered my GoPro microphone was shot. I thought it was because of the waterproof housing that all I ever heard was static, but alas it is the device itself. So again, there is no audio, but here is a short video of our find. As for other information, it is a Robin Fung built vessel, launched in 1967. We left a note in, I'm sorry to say, a used peanut butter and jelly sandwich bag, poking out of a cockpit seat and hopefully well-enough secured. I'm hoping to hear back from the person currently restoring her.

A Quick Update

          It seems White Raven is doing well! I hope Jim enjoys her as much as we did. Thanks for the photo, it brings back such great memories!

White Raven with her new owners sailing in Tri Cities

A Farewell to White Raven

          Well, I'm sad to say it, but I lost a good friend today. I'll never forget the first time I took White Raven out to sail, or the first time I actually made it off the dock with the boat. Sailing in the rain under main alone, I felt like the world held no bounds for me anymore. She taught me so much about myself, gave me confidence to go along with my academic knowledge of sailing, and took care of me when the weather got rough. I understand that a boat is just an object, a tool, a toy, but I know that vessels have feeling deep down in my heart. White Raven may be just a boat to the rest of you, but I think we had something between us. The rumble of her keel when she'd get up to hull speed, letting me know she was happy. The whistling of her rigging when the breeze was just right, egging me to push her just a little more. Her content as she gently swayed while lying at anchor. Plastic, iron, aluminum, and wood: they may have no soul as individual parts, but when combined to birth White Raven, they became alive.

Amanda running the helm on our first sail with White Raven.

          Though I am sad to have let her go, she went to a good home. Jim met us along the river this morning in the lull of the wind. We set up White Raven for the last time, launched her and fiddled with the motor a bit. The motor ran, though was still having the issue of not idling. It sounded like Jim had assessed the problem, a leaking manifold seal. I'm going to take his word for it. After waiting for some motor boats to launch, we raised sail and spun the boat for a straight shoot off the dock. And with the motor in gear, we were off downriver. Rather than waiting for the wind to get to us, we motored around the bend until we came upon some slightly disturbed water. Though only slightly rippling, it was the only breeze that could be seen on the otherwise glassy expanse.

          Stopping and raising the motor, we lazily enjoyed the little puffs that came about. Tacking back and forth in the fluky air left plenty of time for stories and to get to know each other better. Jim told us about his sailing career with his last boat, a San Juan 21. It's nice to know that I am not the only one who feels like I'm always learning. I'm really glad I held the boat for Jim; I've put White Raven in more capable hands than my own. The day was going along quite pleasantly, and then something abnormal happened: the weather forecast was turning out to be true. The wind started backing, allowing us to run before the incoming storm. Lucky for us too, as the breeze started building quickly.

          We ran, wing on wing as much as could be done. The wind kept shifting a bit from WNW to W and would send the jib scurrying behind the main as we ran. With a strong shift northwest, we jibed, and I quickly caught the boom as it was passing, to ease it over to the other side. The tiller became heavy and responsive; I could feel the power lifting us along and I felt free in the moment. The wind began to pick up to about 15 knots, and White Raven was humming away even without the jib assisting effectively. As the wind picked up a bit more I eased the main out slightly and we decided to drop the jib. Jim moved to the bow, uncleated the jib halyard and eased the jib down into the forepeak. The breeze heightened. Again I eased out the main to the very end of the sheet and turned to have the wind coming more abeam. Lucky for us, it was a straight shot for home. The wind was pushing us easily at hull speed, even with as inefficient of a rig as I could muster while still aiming to port, so I dropped the motor to increase our drag. Onward we pushed toward the dock.

          One good thing about low river levels, poorly maintained marinas, and a swing keel is being able to ease yourself into a mud near the edge of the dock. At 5.5ft clearance, we were about 1.5ft too deep to make it over the sandbar, so I aided our stop with the river bed. This made dropping the main a breeze without needing to turn into the wind. Once we stopped, I handed Jim the tiller and I went on deck and released the main. I really had to help get her down with the breeze as strong as it was; inch by inch at first, then foot by foot I dropped it into the companionway. Once that job was done it was down to releasing the keel bolt and raising the keel to free us from the bottom. I think that was the first point when I started to feel nervous: cocooned by the damp dripping mainsail, easing the keel winch back and forth to release the bolt. I felt trapped under the sail and that combined with the rocking of the boat, by wave and wind, made me feel disoriented under there. But I freed her and once I felt the change in motion, I quickly added a few more turns to the winch and jumped back on deck. We were now a drift, heading slowly toward the dock and a motor boat waiting to be lifted back onto its trailer. I ran to the bow, grabbed the bow line and guided Jim toward the dock. We came in with a bit of a thud, but I stopped the with about ten foot buffer between us and the motor boat. All in all, I'd say it was a successful sail.

          It was awkward seeing the trailer backing down the ramp on Jim's SUV, but it sat nicely in the water without being drowned like when my van is towing. I jumped into the water and guided her back onto her pads for the last time, tossed Amanda the dock line to realign the stern and held her in place while Jim took her out of the water. I was in a sad reflection as I packed up the boat for the last time, easing down the mast and lashing everything down. The worst of the wind lashed out about then, but we were comfortably cradled on the trailer and the mast was already battened down for the long haul to White Raven's new home. Then it was just down to a few signatures and that was it: White Raven was no longer ours.

Trying to seem impressive, as if the drizzle was a storm along the Cape.

          I was a bit sulky the rest of the day, but I knew I couldn't keep her. Life is moving forward for Amanda and me. There have been talks of job opportunities, moving on to what comes next, and of course dissertations to write. The sailing season is over now for me, but maybe I'll be on Drumbeat for the next. I am really happy that the last sail was a good one - you always want to leave on a good note.

Breaking the News

          I wonder what the best way is to break the news to your boat that you've decided to sell her, to give her a new home. Maybe it's similar to having to give away a pet when you go off to college or when some other cog shifts in the machine of life. I've no experience in that department, but maybe it would go something like this:


Dear White Raven,

          I want you to know you are one great vessel. At thirty-four years old you're still going strong, and by gosh, your gel coat doesn't look a day over ten years old! You've taught me so much over the last few years. You've kept me dry when the winds blew their hardest, rocked me to sleep when we were out on the hook, and brought me places that can only be reached by water. There is no telling how much you have changed my life, but soon I will be leaving and I can't take you with me.

          Now that I am finishing up with school, I'll have to move, and I won't be able bring you along for the adventure. I also don't want you to have to waste your young spirit waiting for me on your trailer. Have no fear; that will not be your fate. I've found a nice home for you with a fine caretaker. His name is Jim and he sounds like a very nice and experienced sailor. I promise he'll have you out and about over on the other side of the state. That's right - new hunting grounds for the choicest winds, fresh water to rub your hull in, and different muds to run your keel into. I promise not to tell him how good we are at sitting in mud along the river. And don't worry, you won't have to wait too much longer; we'll go out for one last jaunt when you meet him this coming Sunday.

          I know that all the maintenance on your engine makes sense now. I can't have you going off without giving the old carb a good once over. Lucky for you, he'll probably show you a few new tricks that a lubber such as myself has yet to learn. You'll do fine out there in the Tri-Cities, and as long as you treat Jim as well as you have me, I promise he'll take right good care of you. This will be a hard goodbye, but it will be for the best. I want you to know I'll never forget you.

Your captain,

Jon

The Legend Continues: Robin Fung (Part 2)

          The hunt is never ending as I search for and log Drumbeat's long history. Luckily, there is a small group of sailors that have been inspired by her as much as I have. One of those individuals is Cynthia, Drumbeat's second owner. She only was able to hold onto Drumbeat for a few years, but the relationship built in that time frame has lasted. In 1973, she was able to visit the builder who had the commission to build Drumbeat along with a series of other vessels. Here is a glimpse of that trip.

Outside the boat shed in Ping Chau

          Her story and trip inspired me to delve deeper into the life of Robin Fung, owner of R. Fung Company, the builder of Drumbeat. Sadly, Robin is not around to answer my questions and tell me stories of his amazing team of craftsmen, but I've been able to piece together bits and pieces from many sources (including Drumbeat's log book) and will present my findings here as accurately as I can. I want to clarify that though some of this information is unrefuted fact, some may be conjecture, but I have done my best with my sources at hand.

Robin Fung

          To start at the beginning, Robin Fung was born in Hong Kong in 1929 into a well-off entrepreneurial family. The younger of two sons, he could have taken over the family business, but instead persuaded his dreams to be a pilot. He moved to Miami and graduated aviation school in 1950. While he was in the United States he developed a love for sailing, which was attributed to the family that he rented from during his schooling. Unbeknownst to them, they would inspire a legend in the crafting of these vessels.

          Mr. Fung returned to Hong Kong soon after graduation and obtained employment with the Foshing Airline company out of Taiwan. His family and the owner of Foshing were good friends, and he was able to work for Foshing for a few years. Sadly, this was not to last for long with tensions between China and Taiwan still steaming. With urging from his family, Robin was let go and went searching for other employment opportunities. He found his calling though, and started R. Fung Co. Ltd.

          In his time there was an army of shipwrights in the area to feed the booming post-war leisure industry. Alongside the great names of the era, such as Cheoy Lee, Wing on Shing, and other lesser yacht builders, Robin set up shop. The craftsmanship coming out of his workshop was incredible, being performed completely by hand and to the highest standard. As a testament to this, Drumbeat has no broken frame or working planks, and even original decks that don't leak after 46 years of service. Fung was known for building William Garden designs: Foam, Wanderbird, and Porpoise, to name a few. He built mostly on speculation, though he did build some vessels to order (such as Drumbeat). In 1970, a fire ravaged his boat works along with a few others, destroying two nearly complete vessels that were not insured. It has been speculated that the fire was set by the Cheoy Lee company to remove their competition from the market.

          Fung was relocated to Ping Chau by the government and he sold everything he had to rebuild the vessels that were lost in the fire. It was the most intense trauma his family had to endure, but he held his professional ethics at a very high standard. Ping Chau was only accessible by ferry, being such a small island off the coast of Hong Kong. This caused great challenges for the business, as his employees could only work half days so that they could use the ferry system. Eventually, the cost of doing business on Ping Chau became too high. Robin attempted to reclaim the land where his original business had been located, but the government would not allow him to return and he was forced to stop building ships. His company remained in existence though, following other entrepreneurial pursuits. Fung's strong work ethic remained and he went to the office every day until his death in 1992.

The work crew gambling during lunch

A William Garden designed Porpoise under construction 

A deck view of the Porpoise

Vessel and construction crew

Cynthia  and  Ah Shing, Robin Fung's assistant

          So to that end, I want to thank Robin Fung for his contribution to the wooden boat community. He built some of the best Garden designs around. William Garden praised his work above all others in quality, as have the previous owners of Drumbeat. Though he may no longer be with us, his legacy will remain for many years to come through the stories his family tells and through his craftsmanship found in every vessel he constructed. Cheers!


          If you have fond memories of your R. Fung boat or know more about his life and would like to share, please feel free to comment below! I'd love to know more!!

Full Moon Race

          This was the race of the season, the pinnacle of sailing on the Snake, the day that separates the sailors from the other folks who like to sail... Well, you get the picture. The Full Moon race is a 40-mile overnight sail from Chief Timothy to Wawawai Landing and back. The winner takes home the coveted wall plaque, an artful nautically-inspired toilet seat (unused) displaying a painted styrofoam "full moon." When the seat is lifted, revealed are the names and boats of all past winners - quite the trophy to display over your mantel. This would be the pinnacle of my sailing career here in Washington and one heck of a day (literally) on the river.

          The race was set to start at 7pm, the boats poised on the start line, tacking back and forth to attain the best position off the line. The competition was fierce; Christine in her Sparrow 16, Jeff in his San Juan 21, and Mike and I in his Macgregor 26. The air horn blew for the warning, then the five minute toot. We re-positioned, luffed sails, and waited for the one minute horn. With that blast, we sheeted in and headed for the line on a starboard tack, positioned nicely in the thick of the current (what little there was). The start horn wailed and we crossed the line a few seconds after, as fast as the breeze would carry our two ton bum.

All three boats toying at the start line

          The wind held nicely for the first leg down the channel, trading tack for tack with Jeff. Occasionally we'd slip one by him and pull ahead, to fall back again as he found a sweeter pocket along the cliff wall or in the center channel. We toyed with each other back and forth for the first mile or two, but the breeze is a cruel mistress and left us luffing, begging for more. This was the defining point in the race for us, as we saw the San Juan 21 pulling away. We would cross paths again, but not for another 6 or 7 hours.

Trying to out tack Jeff's San Juan 21

          The night rolled in and the river miles crawled by. The darkness took the river for an hour or so before the moon showed its face above the hills. Jeff’s stern light was a blip in the distance, and though it seemed to play back and forth as if in some freshening wind, the breeze never reached us. The cool stagnant air was a relief after a sweltering day which lingered around 100 degrees. The silence was miraculous, such as that found while deep within a forest, miles from civilization. The quiet was accompanied by intermittent splashes as the trout leaped for buggy dinners out in the black nothingness between the boat and the outlines of the hills. The bats were at it too, stirring the air around the boat; whether it was to help us along or dine by our stern line, I’ll never know. Eventually I succumbed to the night; a nap was in order.

Sunset over the river

          It felt like only a few moments when the main sheet swiped me, stirring me from my dreamless slumber. We’d found a light breeze from astern and Mike had shifted the sail accordingly while I was out. We were now running with our whisker pole, sails wing-on-wing, adding about half a knot to what the light current had been providing. There was no longer a white light in the distance; we had lost too much ground. It was now my turn to keep watch, so I grabbed my fleece and Mike dozed off. I tried to be as quiet as I could while I mingled with my mind and tended the tiller. I am not going to say that steering is boring, but it is monotonous, especially with the canyon air playing games. Though we were only nearly ghosting along, I still had to keep a hand on the tiller and adjust slightly every minute or so to keep us in the middle of the river. Eventually Mike woke and we were back to taking turns at the tiller.

The moon over the river during the night

          The night went on much like that until around 4:00 AM when instead of chasing a white stern light, a small red blur could be seen ahead. Minutes later it shifted to green and then back to red. Jeff was tacking towards us; he had made the turn and found some wind. Before long we were within shouting distance. As we passed, I was surprised not to hear any witty remarks; the long night had taken its due from both outspoken captains. At our passing, we were about three quarters of a mile from our turn around. After a slow night, we were only about one and a half miles behind. Not a bad job for the overweight two ton Macgregor. Even so, we wouldn't make it to the turnaround until about 5:10 AM.

Sun rise beating up river

          Beating back up river revitalized the excitement of the chase. Now at least 1.5 miles behind (and most likely more), we were in need of a solid breeze, and our wishes were granted. As the sun started to brighten the sky from its hiding place behind the hills, the wind picked up. Soon we were back to cruising! We quickly picked up our pace, gaining about 5 miles in just over an hour. We shot past Blyton Landing and made it the next 10 miles to Nisqually John before the breeze moderated. The next few miles were grueling, though there was never a period of prolonged calm. After what seemed like an eternity, we had passed the narrowest part of the channel and were poised for the last mile of the race.

Gaining some speed as the wind picks up

Getting our heel on

          The last section, from green marker 17 to the power lines, was the roughest. The beach to port extended far out into the waterway, often drawing less than a fathom, half a cable length (300ft) from shore. To starboard, we saw sheer cliffs with sporadic shallows where part of a cliff wall had collapsed at some point in the past. And in-between we sat, barely enough wind to fight the current. After gaining about 100ft over two hours, we decided upon heading toward the low current shallow and attempting to skirt the edge in the minute amount of wind that could be seen rippling the surface. This would be our downfall: we gained another 50ft before dragging bottom and getting caught in the muck. And sadly, the suction was too strong to pull the dagger board up, so we opted for some iron wind to pull us free. That last half mile took us less than 10 minutes to conquer, and we passed under the wire at 11:54 AM, 16 hours 54 minutes after we had started. Luckily, our disqualification had already occurred at 10 AM, but 16 hours in, we were stubborn enough to keep trying. From there, it took another hour and a half motoring to make it back to the Marina, which gave Mike plenty of time to clean the boat.

          I can’t say I didn’t have fun, but that was one heck of a trip. Grueling at times, but the solitude and sailing made it all worth it (provided you didn’t ask me until after I got a full night's rest). It’s sad to think that I might be sailboat-less out here before too much longer, especially after such an emotionally stirring trip. White Raven has been on the market for two weeks at this point and there has been plenty of interest. I may soon have to become a hobo sailor, bumming rides on San Juan 21s or the like, especially with the Tribune Cup coming up next month.

The Island of Misfit Boys

          Discovering sailing was a monumental turning point in my life, on par with being able to "find myself" in college and "redefine myself" during my independent years in graduate school. Though unlike before, it has helped me simplify and enjoy life more. Now, there are few things I savor as much as sailing, but enabling others to catch the bug is among them. This past week I've been striving toward that endeavor, and I think for a few at least, I've succeeded. There are worse addictions to be susceptible to out there, so I've been glad to do my part spreading this one.

          A few months ago, a local scout troop approached our sailing association with the desire to have a sailing camp at some point during the summer. After a few meetings toward the end of spring, we'd settled on dates and outlined a program. I gathered volunteers for the sailing portion of the event, prepared testing material, reeducated myself on much of the material, and prepared my boat for a week of sailing. Wednesday afternoon, I scooted out of work early to make my way to Chief Timothy State Park for the start of the adventure.

          I arrived and set up my vessel, then waited out the front that was blowing over. Gusts up to 31 knots with winds in the 20’s, my excitement level plummeted with the barometer. I spent the night in the boat on the trailer, luckily protected from the gusts within the tree perimeter that surrounded the parking lot. The following morning, gusts resumed between 2-3 am and my partner boat, after half a sleepless night on the dock, chose to pack up and head home. The weather didn't look like it would let up, so I decided to stay on the trailer. We went over more book-work and I ended up taking a brief nap in White Raven’s cabin. Mid-afternoon, after maybe an hour’s nap, I woke to a quieter world. The winds had settled to a consistent breeze and I decided that it would be a good time to bring the boys out. I played with the motor on the dock for a good 10 mins before I got her to idle (one reason I’ve still not posted about my outboard rebuild), and we cruised out into head winds. The sails were up and the cruising was good. Keeping 3 boys at a time on deck, explaining steering and sheet control, I was able to aid them in learning the basics, though with the gusts, I ran the tiller the whole trip. After a few hours, we dropped sail and motored in, just long enough to make it half way. All of a sudden the motor puffed out, after which there was no recovering. We paddled for a bit, but as the breeze picked up we had to fall off to escape the lee shore. Raising sail again, we were able to make it back before the wind died off. The last 150 feet went very slowly, so I left the main up, and right as we approached the dock, about 25-50 feet off, the wind gusted up and we had to ground between the two empty launch docks. Luckily, no damage was done, but I was a little discouraged at my last-second failing.

          Friday came around and though still gusty, the weather had calmed. With the only visible window open, we left for Nisqually John in 10-12 knots of wind gusting to 20 knots. Dead on the nose again, I was a bit uncomfortable tacking out into the channel with such a narrow thoroughfare. In the middle of our third tack, a hundred or so feet from the shore, we grounded in the mud. Uncomfortably, we raised keel (thank goodness for cast iron swing keels) just enough to free ourselves and fall off onto the other tack. We sailed close-hauled for a good 5 minutes with a loose main until my crew was able to re-bolt the keel in place. After that, the day looked up. Tacking up the channel, we made good progress and time while my crew handled the jib sheets with no less than a five minute break between tacks. As we neared the second bend, our wind died and shifted for a good 10 minutes. Not only was I able to tack, run, then jibe, but I was able to perform them all without need to change course. After passing the cliff face, a decent breeze picked up again and we continued toward our layover for the day. As we closed in, the other boats, having arrived a good 30 mins earlier, were playing in the gusts. My crew opened fire as we came alongside with our water guns and started a fun feud that would boil over into the next day. After getting a bit wet, we turned to dock to prepare a late lunch for everyone. At a little over two hours, we had made it the 5 miles (though about 7 miles with tacking) from Chief Timothy to Nisqually John. I was exhausted, but extremely satisfied with my success for the day. I couldn't have asked for a better sail.

 

Everyone preparing to launch.

          Saturday arrived with winds contrary to the forecast, but “light to calm” was sure to take over before long. The boys packed up early and we were ready to depart on time, 8:00 am sharp. After a final walk through, I raised sail, raised keel, and gave the boat a good long push the whole length of the dock, jumping on as White Raven pulled away. The boys loosed oars and we carried out to the channel. Once the threat of grounding was gone, we dropped keel and tightened sail to head for home. The Queen of the West passed us close by as we made our first pass across the river. We weren't lucky enough to have a following breeze, but who hasn't spent two days dreaming of tacking every handful of minutes? As we passed near the region of the river where the cycling breeze had left me confused the day before, I heard an odd sound coming from the cabin. I quickly tacked away, but it was too late; we had bottomed out on the edge of a mud bank. What upset me the most was the fact that we were a good 300 feet from shore, nearly a quarter of the way across the river, but alas these are things suffered on a dammed river. I sent the hands forward and slid as far forward as possible while still steering. Luckily, it was enough. We broke free with the next slight increase in breeze. As we came to the bay where Chief Timothy lies, I noticed my fellow sailors shifted course and were returning with a malicious intent. Upon catching us, those scallywags loosed watery broadsides with buckets and cannons! Our previous day’s ambush was avenged. Our water battle lasted a good twenty minutes before the other vessels returned to port in the faltering breeze, but we were forced to resorted to paddle sailing for the next hour. The calm had finally set it.

Our epic water battle.

          It’s nice to know that the boys had a good time; I know it was an amazing sail for me. As a friend said, “You never know how much you don’t know until you're caught in it,” and now at least I know I can handle the heavier air. It’s sad to think that this may have been my last sail with White Raven, but at least it was one to remember! It’s coming time to hang up my dock lines and finish my degree, but I'm not retiring from sailing. This will just be an interlude before the next adventure with Drumbeat.

Wind and Wave

          A few weeks from now will be my two year anniversary of my first sail.  I was sucked in as a couch sailor for about 5 months before hand, reading all I could and dreaming of open water and fresh wind. I think I've come a long way, but boy do I have a bunch to learn. My experience on the water has been mostly tied to Snake River, in light variable winds, going slow and pretending I knew what to do in every situation. Lesson's on the water are in abundance though, as I discovered this past weekend.

          Now comes the Alex Bell Regatta. Day 1 weather; sunny, 75 fahrenheit, a variable breeze over 10 knots (my guess) gusting to 15 knots (at most, still a guess) out of the West to North Northwest. The marina is so poorly maintained that I can't drop my keel (5.25 ft draft) until I'm in the channel, and getting out without grounding my rudder (3-4 ft draft) can be a challenge, and with the wind blowing dead ahead from our launch and no motor currently, I had to ask for a tow. Once in the river, I cruised for a few minutes while Amanda locked the keel in place, then we jibed to head back towards the other racers. Sadly, that was the last maneuver that I could perform, as the metal connector for the main sheet popped out and dropped into the cockpit. Lucky for us, the wind was sending us home, but I was not in the cheeriest of moods. We dropped the jib to slow ourselves a bit, and as we came in I started to drop the main as well. Lucky for us, we bottomed as we approached, giving me time to finish dropping the main. Then it only took a little cranking on the keel winch and we were free, and under bare pole made it slowly to the dock.

The mainsheet no longer attached to the boom.

          I was emotionally done for the day after that fiasco, even though it was obviously not a big deal (post-incident minded words), but another sailor friend had a different opinion on what I'd be doing the rest of the day. After the completion of the first race, my friend returned to dock and picked me up so I could steer for him. Amanda stayed in White Raven and read, but I couldn't contrive a reason not to go, so out into the blow I went. I'd never been on an Aquarius 23 before, and it was quite a nice boat interior wise and handled well. I was a little skeptical of the hole in the cockpit, where the rudder dropped in, but I got over the occasional visit by the river around the rudder box perimeter.

Aquarius 23 on a broad reach

          It seemed I wasn't the only one to have some problems during the day. It's been a long time since I have seen real wind while I sailed, and I think the same went for everyone else. I can say for certain that I have not heeled like I did in the following two races. We cruised around 25 degrees most of the windward legs and with gusts hit 35 or more. I think the life line rails seem to enjoy their frequent dips in the frigid water. The thing I found really amazing was how my buddy handled the boat by controlling the main sheet. In all my reading, I must have glanced over the whole concept of controlling heel to windward with the main. He had me hold my heading as the gusts rolled in (I swear I did my damndest), and he would spill wind by loosening the tension on the main sheet as we heeled excessively. My comfort level seemed to rise as the day went on too, even if I was standing on the far cockpit seat wall. After I had it firmly affixed in my mind that I wouldn't tip over upon heeling, I really started to enjoy myself.

San Juan 21 with one reef in the main

          We may have even been able to win a race if I could have held a course. We were close to 3rd place at one point, though neither of us realized that there was still a lap to go, and our mistake cost us our lead. I have never been very competitive when it comes to sailing, but I like the practice racing offers. The cruisers in the club don't often make it down to the river, whereas the racers come out year round. It may have been only a few hours sailing, but I feel like it redefined so much for me. I think that is the most appealing part of sailing, the never ending learning. I may hate the project lists, with mainsheet connector recently added and nothing removed, but the thrill of harnessing the wind and waves makes it all worth wild. Just about two years down and still so much to learn.

Tim and Jeff rounding the last mark

          We missed out on Day 2, but from what I hear it was dead calm. As for photos, I grabbed a few after we had returned to the dock and Amanda picked up my slack while I raced. I was sad that I left the camera on the shore, but I'll remember it the next time. There is plenty of more sailing to do, springs barely upon us (or at least it feels that way). We might even head to do some saltwater sailing in two months time. I have to make my way through that projects list though if I want to go, with the motor and adding reef points to the main sail at the top right now.

Steel Trawler 2 : White Raven 0

          Well it was bound to happen someday. Yesterday's sail was eventful, though not because we had much wind. We had a record time setup (about 20 mins), I lined up the boat and launched on the first try, and we even got the kinks out of the jib take-down line. When we finally decided to head out, the genoa caught the bow roller of a docked trawler and pulled us in. I luckily cut the engine just in time to avoid ripping my sail straight in two, but in the brief two second collision, we had bent a stanchion, snapping two parts of it under the stress, and punctured / ripped the genoa a good length along the bottom. As for the steel vessel, we only roused the owner. Not a scratch to even her paint. when our boats did tap, they hit on White Raven's rub rail, so other than a scuff, there was no damage.

          We ended up making it out after switching to the jib, but the wind died down and the race was called. We drifted around for a while, then anchored and set up a boom tent with some blankets and spare line. After some needed root beer and sun bathing, we went to start the motor, but start it did not. I pumped some more gas in and realized it sounded like it was sucking, instead of filling the fuel line. Either way, I think the problem is a seal on the fuel tank, but who knows? The tasks never end. After finishing most of the necessary projects, it looks like I have just added a few more to my list. Now with no motor, we opted to raise the main again and try to get back home (it was that or paddle home with my one paddle). Steve was right when he said, "It's so much more satisfying when you have to sail." All in all though the day was fine and Amanda did a tremendous job piloting us home.

          The day wouldn't have been complete without some good "post-race" eats down on the river. Effie Burger, over in Lewiston, was our celebratory hot spot for this week. Some times you can't beat a plate-sized burger and curly fries to close out a rough day of hanging out on a boat. Even when things go wrong, boating is still a blast, and my crew was right: "It was bound to happen someday and at least it wasn't a bad one."

Going It Alone

          There is a time in everyone’s life when you'll have to go it alone, whether we're talking sailing, growing up, or any of the multitudes of activities that can be single-handed, and I am happy I took the leap. I was hoping to have a crew for the race, but for the second race in a row, I had no one to help me man the ship. I didn't go to the previous race, but I wasn't going to miss another one. So yesterday ended up being my first solo sail in White Raven. Race three of the Frostbite Series, and there was finally a steady blow fighting the current in the courses’ stretch of the river. It was going to happen, I was going to take sole control of a boat with no chance of help if I needed it.

          The day started poorly; first I bottomed out while trying to drop my swing keel, then jammed the cable upon attempting to raise it. In that time, I thought the cable had snapped off the keel because it was so loose, but it turned out that while raising the keel, the excess cable wedged itself in between the winch gears. It was an easy fix after a short period of excessive disappointment and angered texts to my wife about breaking the boat as I launched it. I floated free and tied up the boat on the adjacent dock to finish setting up and to be able to drop the keel in a deeper spot. Everything else seemed to go fine. I attached my boom vang, raised all sails, and turned the motor on so that I could head out of dock dead into the wind. Tim, in his motorless San Juan 21, had a much more interesting way of getting off the dock. After pushing off and heading a few yards off dock, his head sail started to luff and he pulled a 180 back toward the dock (and an unsuspecting motor boat). With some amazing skill he avoided the motor boat and raised his keel just in time to skirt over the sandbar, heading out into the river on a broad reach. I wish I had my camera out; it would have been a sight to see.

          Once out into the river, I stalled out my engine trying to get it to idle. This may seem like a problem for most, but I am used to the engine acting up. I had added some fuel cleaner and was hoping it would do the trick, but alas, I’ll have to rebuild the carburetor. I set my sails for a beam reach, giving me plenty of water room to hoist my engine. With the engine stowed, I changed course and practiced running, jibing, and tacking. Sheeting and steering was much easier than I had expected, especially with our recent upgrades for White Raven. With the addition of cam cleats next to my genoa winches, it made sheeting in the sails much easier and I can lock them from the far side with my foot. This may not be critical with someone who isn't nervous about spending time on the lee side of the boat, but for me, the added comfort of staying on the high side is worth all the doubloons in the world. I had plenty of time to fool around, but the first toot of the air horn meant that I had to come back toward the starting line for the first race.

          The horns for the start of the five minute count down began and the rest of the group started fighting for a good starting position. I hung back and ended up crossing the start line about 2 minutes after the race start. It was a quick windward leeward course, one trip around the buoys and back through the start line. I am sure I tacked too many times getting to the first mark, but I seemed to hold my distance to the closest boat, so I was happy. After rounding the mark, I really lost pace. After realizing running was not a viable option, I switched to a broad reach to keep the sails full. I don’t have a whisker pole for the downwind portions, but reaching seemed to gain me some over the other boats that were running. I stayed in the shallow, currentless edge of the river, and as I approached the second mark, I had made quite a gain on Grace. Round the mark to a close reach and back into the current. I tacked once and sped towards the finish line. I crossed the line to the sounds of ovation; a round of applause from all the contestants for me completing my first solo race.

The other contenders (Left to right; Mary [on Grace], Tim, and Jeff).

Rounding the second mark.

          Race two went much the same. I was hove-to until about the 3-minute mark and then headed in to make my start. I joined the group as we jostled for a favorable start, and as the horn blew, I pulled off with a great position on the line. I kept pace for a while, but tried to maneuver around a boat that had right of way and lost my lead. Tacking twice I was able to get back up to speed, but I never caught back up. This trip was twice around, and after making it a second time around the first buoy, the wind died away. I was able to get out of the current, but eventually threw on the motor just in time to only hit rocks with my keel. Two boats finished, using the current to push them over the start line, but the heavier vessels (myself included) were not able to make it to the second buoy. All in all, it was still an exciting race and hopefully I grabbed some good video.

Hove-to before the start of race two.

           One more race in the series this coming weekend, and we’ll see how it goes. I am still elated with my first solo sail. I feel like my lines have been cast free and I can sail at my leisure now, no longer bound by the need for a crew. It may not seem like much, but it was a huge leap for me on a comfort level at least. My sailing experience may have only slightly grown, but I feel like there is no limit to what I can sail now… well, at least my range is growing.

The Sails are Shaping Up!

          Just in time for the 2015 Frostbite Series, White Raven has a complete set of sails again. I spent the last week patching the sails with adhesive sail tape, and thanks to some friends, I patched in the large holes with sailcloth. Not all the patches are sewn on, but I have all the major jobs done and I can finish sometime in the future. The large patches were quite intimidating, but I decided to tape them on using sail tape, which really made the job manageable. I left about 2-3 inches of overhang and then taped the seams on both sides, which offset the sewing lines, so each is double stitched. I think it will hold nicely.

Before:

 

And After:

 

Here is the wonderful workstation that I have been using... with all the sail tape backing pieces cropped out of the photo.

The jib and genoa also had a bit of patchwork performed on them, but they are already packed away in the van ready to race, so we won't see them until we load up the boat. I still have a few things I'd like to do to the sails, specifically adding two reef points in the main. We won't need them for tomorrows race, but for our cruising plans this summer, they would be a nice addition.

         The first race starts off at noon tomorrow. I have invited a few friends to join us for a fun filled day. The competition for tomorrow are all better sailors than I and they all race in lighter San Juan 21s, so we'll have a solid fight on our hands.We'll have a pretty constant 4-5 knots East throughout the race period according to our Grib weather report. It will be an interesting race as the wind and 1-1.5 knots of current are going with each other, but such are the joys of river sailing. If the wind holds though, I think we'll have a solid chance of making a good showing... or at least with keeping up. I'll update you all with more photos and videos of our racing. Fair winds!

The Legend Continues (Part 1)

          I was spurred to write a little history for Drumbeat after being contacted by a previous owner. His story enthralled me, and drove me to write as many of the owners as possible. I wanted to find out the whole story: where she's been, who has cared for her, and just some good old salty tales of high sea adventures. Wooden boats fascinate me, and I think their history adds to their allure. They need to be loved to stay afloat, so they become characters in the tales told by their owners. I can’t wait to write my own stories with her, but for now I’ll be satisfied sharing Don’s.

          Drumbeat was my home for almost five years. I lived aboard, first at Coronado Cays in San Diego, while I was stationed as a Supply Officer on a ship at the Navy Base across the bay. Single, it made for a great bachelor's pad. I took her to Mexico once, and sailed to Catalina once, but mostly hung out in the area. We took many moonlight cruises tying up to Tom Ham's Lighthouse, or anchoring off Shelter Island. She caught the eye wherever we went... graceful and classic. The figurehead had many admirers. The bronze fittings looked sturdy and seaworthy. And she moved well. The Perkins diesel never gave me a bit of trouble. The rigging was simple, she responded well, and with the worm gear steering I could take her out myself, as I could set the wheel and know she would stay on course when I went forward to pull up fenders, or set a sail. I could always get a crew, though...officers from the ship, girlfriends and their friends. But it was nice to sometimes just go out by myself.

          I raced Dennis Connor once, on a broad reach coming around Point Loma. He was out with his team practicing for the next America's Cup, I suppose. I had the wind coming off the hills and he was somewhat in the shadow and for about 6 minutes, I kept seeing him drop back. Then he tacked, passed my stern and went downwind of me where he could catch the sweet spot, filled his sails and easily passed me. But he gave me a friendly salute and his team waved as they went by.

          Drumbeat attracted seals and dolphins. I would go into blue water and could usually count on a pod to swim in my bow wake, crossing my boat, playing. Seals would also swim out to check her out. In talks with friends, we seem to have more interactions than they did.

          When I relocated up to Long Beach, my household goods move was simple. I sailed to Catalina and spent a week on the mooring then headed in to the naval base where I was assigned a prime spot at the head of the pier, right down from the Marina Office... No liveaboards allowed, but the CO of the base allowed about 10 of us to stay for "extended periods". We were a security force (drunk sailors wandering on the docks late at night), a fire department (put out an electrical fire), and a rescue group (a through hull broke and a boat started to sink... we plugged her up and pumped it out.).

          I made many trips to Catalina, and once during a Santa Ana wind storm, left my mooring and just went out to sea about 70-90 miles and waited three days until the wind subsided. Coming back in, many of the boats that stayed in Catalina had broken their moorings and gone up on the rocks or smashed into each other.

          It was off Los Angeles Port that I had my only accident. It was the other guys fault, at least according to the rules of the road. He had a fiberglass single mast. Drumbeats bowsprit went over his rail and right into the mast, breaking the aluminum mast. The dolphin striker cut like a saw into his glass rail. The damage to Drumbeat was a bent spreader, some damage to the stem, and the lower beak of the bird broke off and fell into the sea.

          I took her to Colonial Boatyard in Los Angeles Harbor, owned by a Napolese native named Augie Carmello. He fixed her back like new, and hand carved a new beak and fastened its own... I could never see the seam, it was so perfect. While I had her out, he also cleaned out some dry rot in the keel (about a 9 by 4 inch piece), and I painted the bottom and the hull, and put a new coat of varnish over the stern. Good as new!

          I got orders to Pakistan, a two year assignment. It made no sense to keep her out of the water or on the water for that length of time... wooden boats need to sail. So I sold her, to a retired Navy guy who was a teacher in Arizona. I believe he is the older man in your video. He had a son in the Navy, named Chuck, a doctor I think. In the first part of the video you can see Navy ships in the background... that was home port in Long Beach. But I lost a friend. It makes me very happy to see that she has landed on her feet and will once again be enjoyed and cared for.

          I mentioned I ran into Drumbeat again in 2005. It was my 50th birthday week-end and my wife had taken me to a B&B on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, in Easton. Before going, I had googled the words "Wanderbird" "ketch" and "Drumbeat". Up she pops, for sale, at a boatyard in St. Michaels. I was shocked... how did she get here? I contacted the owner as I definitely wanted to see her again (my wife had never seen Drumbeat, but she was part of the mythos that came with my backstory.)

          Surprisingly, it was Charles' son, who was now a Captain in the Navy. He told me that when he had been assigned to the East Coast, his father and he sailed Drumbeat around through the Panama Canal and beat up the coast to Norfolk. What an adventure that must have been! Of course, he couldn't take all that time off, so they had a series of crew on the trip. They sailed her in Norfolk, until reassignment to Bethesda, MD.

          It was after his father fell ill, and died, that Drumbeat went into decline...Not being used, or maintained. When I saw her, I recognized the masts from afar as I entered the boatyard. We went aboard and explored. She was in sad shape, and down below looks much the same as you see her now. I thought seriously about buying her...which would have been an emotional decision. Did not have the time to work on her or the money to bring her back. You will find/have discovered that boats are both time and money... the more you have of one the less you need of the other.

          I talked with the boatyard guys. They loved the boat. They were sure that she would get picked up by a wooden boat aficionado, described as having more money than sense, i.e. a romantic. But her teak hull and superstructure, spruce masts, were sound. The lines were graceful. And "They just don't make them like this anymore." So I left her behind. I heard she had been bought by a Yankee up north (their words). And then she dropped off the grid.

          Don’s letter inspired me, or at least has fueled the flames while I wait for my time with Drumbeat. I hope to share other owners' stories in the future, and maybe if we’re lucky, they will get to see her back in her element. For now I’m just a dreamer with a shelf full of how-to books, the libraries' access to old salt tales, and White Raven to keep me company. I liked what Joe Coomer said reflecting on his 60 year old wooden sailboat: “I hoped heaven would wait. We wanted to rot before we sank.”