How Kickball Changed My Life

     Or, “Gee – you (used to) walk funny!”

“I’m not clumsy. It’s just that the floor hates me, the tables
and chairs are bullies, and the walls get in the way.”

 Unknown
 

     I was born with mild cerebral palsy (CP), most likely caused because my brain was deprived of oxygen during birth. I say “most likely” because when I was born CP wasn’t well understood. Most people believed that all people with CP also had significantly lower intelligence than average. Since my CP was mild, my parents decided to keep it a secret. They explained all the oddities away – the walking on my toes, the inability to run fast and keep up with my playmates, not riding a bike until I was eight. They didn’t tell the schools. They didn’t tell my doctors. They didn’t tell me –- not ever. I found out when I went to a neurologist for something else –- when I was 30. No kidding. When I called my Mom, she denied it, even then. 

     Luckily, my CP is atypical as well as mild. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with either of my arms. I played the piano well, and at one time typed at about 100 words per minute. However, the CP affects both my legs, the right one more than my left. There’s a lot I can’t do. My legs are simply not as well coordinated as other people’s legs, and they don’t have as much strength, and have little flexibility. They throw me off- balance easily. If I over-use them, the next day they are so stiff I can barely walk, and I’m at great risk of a fall. This is the reason I retired to Florida, to get away from ice and snow. I had to minimize the risk of a bad fall.

     My parents worked relentlessly at keeping my CP a secret. In our small New Jersey town, there were two pediatricians. Mother took me to one of them for my Kindergarten physical, which I remember because I recall him saying something, and then my mother shouting, “She is NOT retarded! She can READ!” I don’t remember what the doctor said, but it was something about my legs and nothing about being “retarded.” Still, she stormed out and took me to the other pediatrician in town.  I’m sure the first doctor called Dr. Pfister and said, “Look, it’s not severe or anything, and here’s how Mom reacted …” because Dr. Pfister never mentioned it that I know of. 

     Although PE classes were always a nightmare for me, trapped in this (slightly) damaged body was the heart of an athlete. My first attempt was ballet. It was a disaster. I tried to put my foot on the barre … and fell down.

     I couldn’t get my feet in all five positions. When I tried to put my feet in fifth position (feet right next to each other but heel-to-toe), I looked like Quasimodo. Then I fell down.

     That’s really not an exaggeration. Ballet class always started with exercises – put your foot up on the barre and stretch (I fell down), plies’ – supposedly beautiful knee squats. I had to “gracefully” bend down (straight back, please! – oh wait, can’t do that), and in fifth position – you guessed it, I fell down. 

     After three months, the ballet teacher saw my mother and me on the street. She said to her, “There’s something wrong with Susan’s legs. There’s no way she can learn ballet!” I don’t remember what Mom said, but it wasn’t polite … and it wasn’t the truth, either. People learned not to mention the obvious to my mother. 

     Physical Education classes were a nightmare, with one remarkable exception. In fourth grade, our town hired a real PE teacher for the first time. He was fresh out of college and I remember that at age 10 I thought him quite good looking. One day he asked me to stay after school.

     He said, “We’re going to play kickball.” I showed him how standing on my left leg and kicking with my right was best for me. I staggered a little when I kicked sometimes, but I never fell down. He gave me some tips, taught me a little more about the game … and then we played a lot of kickball for the rest of the year. I wish I could find that man and thank him today, because he opened my eyes to the concept of compensation. He changed my life.

     At the end of fourth grade we moved to Florida, and I had opportunities to swim to my heart’s content. The pool was next door, and the ocean a block away. I lived in a world of water that summer, and with my legs floating, I was physically liberated! My arms and back could do the work. My inner athlete exploded, and I started swimming laps. One day my dad took me to the pool, measured it, and I swam laps with him as my lifeguard. Hours later he insisted we stop. He said I had swum seven miles.

     So, thinking I was good at swimming, in junior high school I went out for the swim team. They accepted everyone and kicked no one off. For the first few sessions, the coach was just looking at form doing the Australian crawl. My dad had taught me that well, and I had good form, except, the coach said, I needed to kick harder. So I spent a lot of time with a kickboard, but my kick never got stronger. The basics of CP can sometimes be compensated for, but they can’t be fixed. 

     Then the coach started teaching us other strokes. When we got to the butterfly, my inner Quasimodo emerged again. The frog kick wasn’t any better. He let me stay on the swim team, but I was the slowest on the team because I just couldn’t kick hard, and there were strokes I simply could not do. I dropped out.

     So I tried out for cheerleading, and made it to the finals! But that coach had spotted something, and moved me to the opposite end of the line. “Oh,” I said. “I have to be on this end. I can’t do those moves with my right leg.” She moved me anyway. I fell down.

     Meanwhile, after having walked on my toes for 12 years, I got tired of being teased about it. Remembering my kickball lesson, I went into my bedroom, which had a full-length mirror, and figured out how to walk flat-footed. Four hours later I had figured out how to walk normally. If you saw me walking today, unless I were very tired and you were very observant, you would never spot a hint of an odd gait. 

     This was a “Eureka!’ moment for me. At age 12 I realized that although my legs couldn’t do everything, with practice they could do some things I wanted them to do, often by using my arms to help. I learned to do a lot of things in alternate ways, capitalizing on what my left leg could do while figuring out what to do with the right one. Since that day I have gone through life “alternatively coordinated,” but people rarely guess.

     Then one day as a young adult, I saw Edward M. Kennedy, Jr. on TV, skiing downhill. He looked so free! The leg movements didn’t look all that hard. He had had a partial leg amputation due to bone cancer when he was 12, and I figured that if he could learn to ski, then maybe I could also. So when I was 29, I went to Aspen, where they did teach me to ski. I always used shorter skis, and I didn’t become an expert, but I had fun and in fact met my second husband, the father of my children, through skiing. There was finally a sport I could do -- not competitively, of course, but I was happy just to be able to ski. Using my body “alternatively,” I also took up spelunking, rock climbing and even rappelling. 

     Meanwhile, in Florida I had seen my first marina and was fascinated by sailboats. I saw how physical sailing was – just what I wanted! And it looked as if I could probably do it. In fact, in my first, brief marriage, my husband knew how to sail, and we bought a little 14’ sloop-rigged dinghy, sailing it on a tiny lake. We also sailed little Abaco sailing dinghies on our honeymoon in the Bahamas.

     Then I moved to St. Louis, where there really isn’t much sailing. However, sailing always sat in the back of my mind. When I retired to Florida, the call of the sails got more insistent. I would go to the St. Petersburg Pier, buy some lunch and watch the sailboats, thinking, “If only …”

     Finally I one day I had my chance. Some friends invited me join them at “Fun Day” at Boca Ciega Yacht Club (BCYC). A short ride on someone’s sailboat was included, and I signed up for that. Then I found out that BCYC had a sail school, and that after sail school you could sail the club’s little 16.5’ Catalinas! Well, that was enough for me. I joined, and I took sail school.

     Didn’t work out so well (you should know what’s coming by now). Those boats have low benches, and it takes both leg strength and leg coordination to move from one side to the other at the right time. You have to do that to sail them (unless you just kneel in the middle and lean from side to side, but I hadn’t figured that out yet). The little Catalinas weren’t the boat for me: I tried to change sides while tacking, and (wait for it!) – I fell. Right in the middle of the boat. On my ass. Of course. 

     However, I also sailed on other people’s boats, and discovered something wonderfully freeing for me: all those upper body muscles I had built up while compensating for my weak legs were tremendously helpful on a slightly larger sailboat. All I needed was higher benches and I didn’t fall! Not ever. I can easily and confidently compensate for slightly funky legs on a decent-sized sailboat. The rock-climbing skills turned out to be crucial for me when sailing. It’s how I move around a boat safely when the water is rough: three points secure; one point moving.

      My inner athlete is finally completely free, using all four limbs. I move around my boat safely and with ease. I’ve figured out how to do it, just as I figured out how to walk normally when I was 12. I’m not completely reckless, though. My lifelines are completely netted, and if I have to go forward in rough water, I crawl. It works. It thrills me so much that I lived on my sailboat for 3 ½ years, enjoying what it took to move around the boat. My legs are stronger than they were 20 years ago.

     Some people will think my parents were terribly wrong not to tell me, or others, about the CP, not to get me physical therapy, not to “deal” with it proactively, but I’m not so sure they got this one wrong. I can’t imagine that a physical therapist of the 1950’s would have said, “Let’s figure out how you can go hurtling downhill at 20 mph, on a slippery surface, and trees to miss, with a couple of boards strapped to your unstable legs! It’ll be fun! Then you can jump off a cliff with a rope around your waist. You can climb right back up that cliff and hope your legs don’t give out before you get to the top! You can crawl into a cave, and maybe you’ll even be able to get out! Think of the possibilities!” 

     No. I think from an early age I would have gotten a lot of subtle or not-so-subtle messages about what I “could” and “could not” do. Given the beliefs of the time, probably there would have been some suspicions that I wasn’t really very bright, too. And, I would have listened. I listen. 

     Frankly, I’ve never seen another person with CP who walks as normally as I do (of course, maybe I just don’t know). Figuring out how to compensate on my own has been powerful and transformative, and helped create the person I am now. Because I worked through CP “the hard way,” and learned to compensate in so many ways, I learned the value of tenacity at an early age. Not knowing I wasn’t supposed be able to do some things, I worked out creative solutions that have accumulated over the years, resulting in my ability to do this wonderful, freeing, athletic thing, this sailing. I knew when I started sailing that I would find solutions to any temporary obstacles I faced, because I’d done it many times before. As I sat on my behind in the little Catalina I laughed, because I knew what the problem was, and I knew there was a solution if I hunted for it.

     In spite of all my efforts, there are a few limitations. In addition to avoiding low benches, I don’t sail on boats that have skinny or absent “cat walks” – the flat ledge of the deck along the side of a boat you that you can walk on to move up to the bow. And, I don’t race. In racing, everything has to be done fast. If you’re sitting on the rail to help heel the boat, you have to be able to get up quickly, but for me it’s a rock-climbing task. You might have to get up to the bow quickly, and in the thrill of the moment, I might get careless. With my center of gravity above the lifelines I could easily topple into the water. I always wear shoes (no padding on the bottom of my feet; walking barefoot is painful for me). 

     I always move in a planned way, and often not the way others move on a boat. That’s scary to some people. I often use those rock-climbing skills to get around the boat. No, it doesn’t always look graceful, and it’s not fast enough for racing, but it’s extremely safe. I have alternative approaches just for getting on and off a boat, and I need for people to accept that, and not try to help, because I know how my body works. None of this is a big deal, though. After six years of intensive sailing, it’s second nature to me unless I have to explain it to someone else. 

     Stephen Hawking once said, “However difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.” If you have some physical limitation but want to be active, look at what your body can do, and try to imagine what those moves can do for you. Work with an occupational therapist (therapy is much more empowering now than it was when I was a child). Research online and see if there are programs for what you want to do. We’ve seen double-amputee champion runners, and wheelchair basketball is a lively game full of all the drama present in any other game of basketball. Find your passion, and then search for a path to it. You may surprise yourself.

Seasickness

Or, I Didn't Know it Could Happen to Me!

Somewhere in this blog I said once that seasickness can turn into a true medical emergency. I wish I could figure out where I said that so I could quote it now.

Last week my sailing club, BCYC, went on a three day sailing trip, Saturday through Monday. We planned to sail to Moore's Crab House on Longboat Key on Saturday, and then on Sunday go on to either Sarasota or Twin Dolphin Marina.

Meanwhile, age had started to catch up with me. I had an extremely sore knee, which my doctor's office determined to be caused by arthritis. Because I don't tolerate NSAIDS (as in, they could kill me), they put me on Prednisone. I was prescribed the standard blister pack, with a big dose the first day and then tapering off over the next five days. The Nurse Practitioner was sure my knee would be better in a few days with this.

That was Wednesday. Wednesday night and Thursday I took the big dose, and by Friday I had started tapering off. Unfortunately the blister pack fell out of my purse Friday night at the grocery store, so I missed a dose, but the pamphlet explained how to handle that, and the grocery store returned my pills to me Saturday morning, so I left on the weekend trip as a guest on someone else's boat. I was looking forward to it. She has a Catalina 27' and they can be a lot of fun to sail.

Unfortunately, the boat didn't have a chart plotter, and as three boats including my boat and her Catalina were planning on a 10-day trip in a few weeks, I convinced my friend to try my chart plotter. Another friend put in the cable at the last moment, but unfortunately soldered it to dead wires. He didn't have time to re-wire it before we left. So we had no chart plotter.

Samantha Ring, the skipper, is a good navigator, but we had gotten a late start and we wanted to get in before dark. "No worries," I said. "I have Navionics on my cell phone. I'll use that, and it will take us right to the entrance of Longboat Key Channel." It's a tricky entrance, and Samantha was glad to be able to be very precise about where it was.

So as we went out the Pass-A-Grille Channel, I huddled in the cockpit, with head down and hat shielding the sun so I could see the screen. This version of Navionics has few menus, probably to save on space, so it was a job to figure out how to do it, but after about 20 minutes I finally got a route in and it started tracking our boat.

Unfortunately, the channel had been quite rough, and I started to feel pretty sick. Next thing I knew, I was hanging my head over the leeward side calling -- several times -- for Ralph. It was fortunate, I thought, that I had eaten breakfast so early. My stomach was empty. I figured that was the end of that.

Well, it wasn't. Turns out that Prednisone has a tendency to trigger nausea. I got sicker, and sicker, and sicker. It didn't go away. Eventually I had dry heaves. I couldn't say two words without calling for Ralph in between them. Samantha was beginning to worry. We had had some mechanical problems with the boat that had delayed us. While the boat was now sailing very well, we didn't really know why the mechanical problem had happened, and we were afraid it might happen again. The fuel gauge said she was low on fuel.

I wasn't in a state of medical emergency yet, but it was close to 5PM, I was still retching, and it would be several hours before we got to shore. We both thought I might be in pretty rough shape by then.

Samantha triangulated a precise location for us and called the Coast Guard.  The Coasties initially weren't certain they needed to come, but after some debate (their flight surgeon finally said "Go get her!"), they came out and got me.

While I am extremely grateful to them, it was a terrifying ride. Their boat was moving at at least 50 mph forward (and about 80 mph up and down!) I had declined riding in the cabin because I saw nowhere I could call for Ralph without making a mess in there. I said I would ride in the back, and one of the Coasties rode with me, holding on to my life jacket. I was glad -- we were bouncing all over the place. I nearly landed on the floor a couple of times, and there was an open space in the gunnels I would have fit through! I looked inside the cabin. Those chairs had huge shock absorbers, and the three crew in the cockpit gently bobbed up and down. Meanwhile I was in the back, bouncing hard -- BANG! BANG! BANG!  I clung to what I think was a gun turret, very glad the gun wasn't there as it would have gotten in my way. I was soaked from ocean spray.

Somehow I made it in to the Cortez Bridge Coast Guard Station without soiling their boat. An ambulance was waiting to take me to a nearby hospital. I was glad to be on land!

We did not call for help too soon. While I seemed to finally be done bellowing for Ralph, I hadn't had any food since 6:30 AM, and had only had about 6 oz. of diet soda to drink since the boat had left the dook about noon. My blood chemistry was a little off, and the ER doctor invited me for an overnight stay. I really had no choice. I was in south Bradenton; I had no wearable clothes (never mind why); my car was up in Gulfport; and all my friends were 15 miles south of me. They had no cars either, but it didn't matter, because the battery on my phone was dead (Navionics uses up a lot of battery power) and I couldn't call anyone to bring me clothes and give me a ride home.

It was a good thing I stayed in the hospital. In the middle of the night they drew blood again, and I got the news Saturday morning: my blood chemistry had continued to go sour overnight, and I was now very sick. They were very glad I had opted for admission.

It was 3PM on Monday afternoon before I was released.

It turns out that Prednisone's tendency to trigger nausea is multiplied if you don't finish the blister pack. Oops.

Here's my point: even if your doctor tells you lots of information about what you're taking, even if the pharmacist buries you with details, you still don't know everything about that medication under all possible conditions. Or you might not be on any medications at all, but also not realize that you are about to come down with strep throat or a bladder infection, both of which can make you nauseous. At any time, there could be events sneaking up on you that could turn a minor bout of seasickness into a serious medical problem.

My seasickness did not become life threatening only because I got to the hospital when I did, but ... even though I was very sick on the sailboat, I did not have the classic symptoms of someone about to crash from dehydration. Only a blood chemistry analysis let the doctor know that I was actually headed for a medical cliff, and because I was already in the hospital, that was prevented. If we had waited for the classic symptoms of serious dehydration, I would have been in a whole lot of trouble by the time I got to the hospital. The flight surgeon knew something we did not: moving from "Oh spit I really don't feel good" to "How do you call 911 from a sailboat?" can happen very, very rapidly.

Talk to your doctor about how to manage seasickness. Experiment and find out how you react to Bonine, to Dramamine, to the little wrist bands (they don't work for me but some people swear by them), etc. Know yourself. If you're going on any kind of extended trip, have your crew try these things ahead of time as well.

Then talk to your doctor about the realities of sailing (in particular, being some hours from medical help) and ask what you can stock on your boat. I know they make rectal suppositories that can turn off nausea when someone can't keep anything in their stomach long enough to help. If we had had those suppositories on the boat, it might have saved me 2 days in the hospital, with, I think, a $125 deductible for each day for me to pay, plus $250 for my share of the ambulance. If I could have gotten the nausea under control, I could have drunk Gator-Ade, which includes the potassium I needed so desperately. It all might have been a non-event.

This, by the way, answers, forever for me, the question of whether I should *ever* use Navionics on my phone. Never. Again. Ever. Never. Using the chart plotter, you can still see the horizon. If you can see the horizon, you're less likely to get seasick.

I might have gotten sick anyway. I am now on a new blister pack of Prednisone ("You are NOT going sailing while you're on this, right?" the NP asked.) No ma'am. I've learned my lesson! Maybe because I have just been through so much, this round of Prednisone has made me a little nauseous. I've taken Prednisone before without any nausea, but not this time.

Seasickness really can turn into a medical emergency. I never thought it would happen to me, but it did. It is something to be prepared for.

...

Oh yeah -- one more piece of advice, probably something everyone on the planet with a cell phone except me knew: keep a list of emergency numbers with you. If I had done that, I still could have called a friend from the hospital phone. It wouldn't have changed my medical condition, but would have relieved me of the vision of me walking out of the hospital bare-assed!

Teaching Friends to Sail

I've been doing this, and I discovered something.

As we learn to sail, our instructors tend to focus on language. In fact, some of them delight in burying us in new vocabulary. Port and starboard aren't so bad, although only rarely is the reason for not using "left" and "right" explained. That makes all of it look rather arbitrary to some people.

Then we continue to explain, and explain, and explain.

Well, I had three newer sailors on my boat yesterday, two of them children aged 11 and 13. And I discovered something that I instinctively knew but hadn't put into words: learning to sail is largely physical. My friends were lucky. The wind was up, which made it very easy to tell where it was coming from. So with just a few words, they got the physical sensation of feeling the wind on their faces. All three of them actually had no trouble telling where the wind was coming from. Well, that counts. If I tell them to "point the boat into the wind" and I'm on the bow, they need to be able to tell where the wind is.

We only focused on a few things. I want them all, but especially the mother, to be able to handle the helm. I may have to count on the mother to do this while I'm undoing some fairly serious problem. What I noticed was that I was encouraging them to learn through their muscles, but that the mother kept using words to guide her children. I hope I was polite as I intervened and encouraged her to just let them *feel* how it feels to steer the boat. I have a very responsive wheel, and you don't have to move the wheel much at all to turn the boat. All three got that very quickly, and I made an active decision to explain as little as possible and let them experience as much as possible.

The children spent a lot of time crawling around on their hands and knees. Since I have netting around my boat, I explained to them that if the boat did something unexpected while they were forward, they were to immediately drop to their hands and knees. They actually had a lot of fun doing this, as well as walking around the boat.

By using just a few words and not overloading them with instructions, They very quickly got the idea that they must always be holding on to something, and not the lifelines (which pull them to the edge of the boat, but I didn't say that. I will, but I didn't want to scare them the first day out!)

As you may have guessed, we are planning a trip together.

I think that sometimes we bury newer sailors with too much language. They need to know where the luff and the clew are. Both are important to observe as we sail. I particularly want beginners to get familiar with the location of the clew. That will help them backwind the headsail during a tack in light wind, and controlling it will keep the headsail from wrapping around the forestay while jybing.

But they really don't need to know the name of all corners and sides of the sail their first trip out. They really only need to know luff and clew.

They can also learn to help you watch telltails on the headsail and mainsail. We do *not* have to give them chapter and verse of all the information those telltails can give you, or how it may relate to the position of the headsail car on the track (more vocabulary), etc. on the first time out, but if they can look at the telltales when you can't see them, that can be a lot of help.

My opinion? Pick a few things at a time to teach beginners. Don't try to cram in every little nook and cranny of every fact. Don't bury them in details when they're still working on port and starboard. I recently raced with someone who used "left" and "right" because there were beginners on the crew, and they had been so buried in new vocabulary that they couldn't retain any of it.

That was partly why I took this approach. But I also did because with an 11 and a 13 year old on board and actively learning, I knew that if you bury them in too many 'facts' for which they don't see the point, you'll lose their attention. I NEED them to be able to move around the boat safely. I NEED them to remain interested -- they could be tremendous help, say, tailing for an adult on a winch. But most of all, I need them to have a good time, so they don't beg their mom to turn around and go home!

Do you want to sail with these newer sailors? Are they important to you? Then don't use a chance to teach as a chance to show off. Be gentle. It's a lot to learn, and you may have forgotten just how overwhelming it can be. But the beginners on your boat are easily overwhelmed. With a little thought, you can still teach them a lot and have them step off the boat thinking 'Wow -- I learned a lot!" instead of "I'm not sure I'll ever get this."

You're the teacher, so the conclusions they draw about sailing are in your hands.

Taken Advantage Of ...

I wish I could tell you the name of the company, but I can only tell you what happened. Those of you in the St. Petersburg area will at least know to pay attention. Unfortunately, human nature being what it is, this problem may not be exclusive to St. Petersburg.

The St. Petersburg Power and Sailboat Show will take place December 4 - 7 of 2014. It's an annual event, one I have enjoyed. In 2012 I worked at the show on behalf of Boca Ciega Yacht Club. All the volunteers had some time off to visit the other booths. There was a rope vender across the path and west just a bit west of BCYC's booth in 2012, and the prices were too good to resist. I talked with another member who has the same boat as mine, and then went to the rope vender and bought 120' of 3/8" line, at what seemed like a very good price, to use as a spinnaker halyard. I told him what it was to be used for, and he told me he had "some" halyard line left. I want to be clear here; the vender presented himself as knowledgeable regarding lines for sailboats. He assured me that he had a small amount left, just enough, and that he would set it aside for me.

A friend installed this line as a spinnaker halyard for me. I don't have a spinnaker sail; I intended to use it to move heavy things, such as the air conditioner, on and off the boat. It didn't work very well, though. It was extremely hard to raise the air conditioner even a few inches so it could be swung over to the dock. Then I tried to use it to raise my storm sail over the roller furler, and it simply wouldn't do it. Friends took a look at it, and noted the same thing I did: the halyard seemed to run freely until there was any amount of appreciable weight on it. Then it simply wouldn't budge. However, when it had no load, it ran quite freely through all hardware including the sheave at the top of the mast.

Today someone figured out why the line was so difficult to use under load. This supposed halyard rope was not that at all. It was ... polypropelene! It was covered with woven threads, but it had a polypro core. It's cheap line that can't take much strain and that stretches until it breaks. Today's helper noted that as we pulled on the halyard (with someone sitting in a bosun's chair at the end of it to provide load), the line stretched significantly without raising the bosun's chair at all. I had thought it was just me, not as strong as I used to be after being laid up for a while, but three different strong people had not been able to raise it under load. We cut the end to examine the core.

It's really quite scary. In a storm I would have counted on that halyard to keep the storm sail up, and it might not have been up to the task, leaving me in a storm but with essentially no steering, no ability to either heave to or point the boat into the wind.

To me, selling such line to a sailor pretending that it would be suitable for a halyard borders on sociopathic behavior. I would not say that if I knew the name of the company, but I have tried and have not been able to trace it down. Since I can't provide the name of the company, all I can do is describe the danger presented by such sales behavior.

Stretch is not always bad. It's good to have a little stretch in one's dock lines, for instance. Polypropelene can also be useful, as it floats. But it isn't nearly as strong as other lines, and it's particularly susceptible to UV damage. Diameter for diameter, it's a weak rope. Between its weakness, its vulnerability to UV rays and its marked ability to stretch, it's a terrible choice for a halyard.

So all I can say is, "Buyers beware." Venders with Swiss cheese for consciences can spot a beginner from a mile away.  You really can get some great deals at boat shows, but if you aren't 150% certain regarding what you're looking at, bring a more experienced friend along.

Wearing Gloves ...

or, Someone Really Could Die!

This happened in the marina I live in recently. A man was climbing up his very tall mast, with his wife on the halyard as a safety line.

I don't know what went wrong at the mast, but he slipped, and he needed that safety line to catch him. I also don't know what went wrong in the cockpit, but she did not have gloves on, and could not hold the line. It burned her hands and she had to let go.

He fell 70 feet.

What happened next was like something out of a movie. Instead of hitting the deck, he hit the Bimini. It gave just enough to cushion his fall. Then it split, and he fell through the Bimini to the cockpit, which hurt him more than the fall from the mast did. However, he was not seriously hurt.

I'm not opposed to wives handling the halyard when someone goes up the mast. I do it myself.

However: I always have gloves on, and I always hold the line firmly, with the assumption that this person is going to fall in the next split-second. I have his life in my hands, and that's how I treat it. 

But gloves aren't just for the tasks that are obviously hazardous from the beginning. Just about anything you do on a boat has the potential to become suddenly hazardous. Suppose you fall off your boat at the dock? It's remarkable just how common that is. If you have gloves on, your hands won't get cut by barnacles, and you'll have a much easier time getting out of the water. If you, say, broke an ankle going in, that could be important, especially if you're by yourself. 

I know someone else whose transmission on her smallish sailboat stuck in forward just as she was coming in to dock. She turned the engine off, and made her best guess about going in circles to slow it down before entering her slip, but she didn't get it *quite* right. Since she had gloves on, she was able to grab a line strung between the pilings and physically stop the boat. 

in a storm or rough seas, the stresses on the sheets multiply You can actually pull harder with gloves on than without them. Try it some time. As I've pointed out in other articles, weather can turn sour very quickly. If you already have gloves on, that's one less thing you have to do in the precious few minutes you may have before the ship hits the fan.

And ladies, shake the hand some time of an experienced sailor who doesn't wear gloves. Trust me -- you don't want your hands to feel that rough! If only for vanity's sake, gloves are the answer. They also help tremendously if the diameter of the line you have to pull on is small. My traveler would be an example of that, as is the line on many roller furlers.

While we're at it, I'm going to come down firmly on the side of wearing shoes -- and closed-toe shoes. Once again, if you fall in, you won't cut your feet on barnacles, and you'll have a much easier time getting out of the water. Now, I have a very dear friend whose opinion I highly respect, who can show you the research demonstrating that bare feet grip the deck best. That may well be, but that was only a grip test. It wasn't a "How many body parts can you injure in a storm?" test. I know someone who sailed to Key West in what should have been a good weather window, but he and his crew still got caught in a storm strong enough to knock them around. They came out on the other side of it with a concussion, cracked ribs, and a broken arm. Oh yeah -- the fellow in the open-toed sandals had a broken toe. They didn't have one person fit to sail the boat, although by working together they managed to get to a safe port.

Sailing gloves are like seat belts. When seat belts first came out, lots of people grumbled and said things like "You can't MAKE me wear it!" (Of course, now they can ...) but I was a young teenager, and my parents said, "Actually, yes, we CAN make you wear it." It became a habit, and now I'm not comfortable in a car unless it, and the shoulder harness, are on. I view sailing gloves in the same way. It's not something worth getting flapped over, and like my seat belt, they may never be the difference between life and death, but the restraint system in my car certainly was the difference between minor injuries and major injuries once. That's how I look at sailing gloves, and I urge you to make them part of your routine.

Are You Really Gaining Experience ....

or are you just getting experienced at being lucky?

Most people who live along the Gulf of Mexico will remember an incident from several years ago. Four football players went out fishing on the Gulf of Mexico with tragic results. While the four men were missing but not yet found, one of the wives said, "I'm hopeful, because they're experienced boaters."

As it turned out, they weren't experienced in boating safely. They were experienced at being lucky, and on that day, their luck ran out.

At my sailing club, we were all surprised to hear they were 50 miles or so off shore -- at their favorite fishing spot -- because we had all known for days that a major front was coming through. It was March of 2009, and it's just a fact of life in Florida that fronts can come through and get the Gulf all riled up. Sailors and boaters should never ignore the weather, but especially January through March, when the fronts from the north can really make a mess out of the mostly shallow Gulf of Mexico.

But apparently these fellows were not aware of the fairly severe weather forecast. We noted at the club that not one person there had taken their boat out. In addition, the four fishermen were on a center console fishing boat. These boats are not designed for offshore use. They had been lucky in the past regarding the weather, and that luck had extended to using a boat inappropriate for the fishing they wanted to do.

Their luck ran out in March of 2009. They added to their problem by trying to retrieve an anchor that had set itself so hard that they couldn't get it back up. That can happen in rough water: the bow rises and falls, and with each rise and fall, the anchor sets itself more strongly. This can be a very good thing. You don't want your anchor dragging if you have to use it in a storm.

They compounded their problems by being determined to retrieve that anchor. When they couldn't get it up from the bow, they tied the end of the anchor rode to the stern of the boat, and then drove the boat forward. This can work ... when you're pulling a bush out of the ground with your car. (This is one more example of how driving a boat is completely different than driving a car). It can be a really bad idea in a boat. Boat vs. anchor, and the anchor won. It pulled the stern under (probably the waves helped), and the boat completely capsized.

If a sailboat capsizes, it is likely to right itself. The rigging may be destroyed, and you may have sailors injured and/or in the water, but they typically right themselves. This is not true of power boats.

So now they had four people in the water clinging to an upside down boat. One of the men dived under the boat and retrieved PFD's and water (they should have had their PFD's on already in rough water). Very sadly, three out of the four men drowned.

You may be doing something over and over that is a really bad idea, even though it has not made problems for you -- yet. One example might be running your engine harder than it should be run. My engine manufacturer tells me to never, ever run the engine above 3600 rpm. So I watch the RPM gauge, right?

Not exactly. I allow for a margin of error, because I'm not guaranteed that that RPM gauge is completely accurate. A friend just had his engine worked on, and one of the things the mechanic did was use a separate, digital tool to test how accurate his RPM gauge was. They discovered that his gauge was off by 400 RPM: when it read 3200, the engine was really running at 3600 -- redline for his engine also.

You might not be in the habit of routinely securing loose things below. Then a storm pops up unexpectedly, and you have damaged belongings in your cabin. Or, very commonly, you don't visit your boat often enough. I know of one person whose boat almost sank over a split hose, and another person who did have her boat sink over a split hose. These people aren't checking and working their seacocks, either, because they're not at their boats to do it. They're also not periodically starting their engines. Diesels love to run -- under load, not just idling -- and not doing this is not a good thing. I looked at a boat that was sailed often but not maintained well enough. The oil, when the engine was cold, was literally as thick as peanut butter. No way was I going to buy such a boat. The owners had gotten lucky and not had any serious engine issues because of their neglect of the oil. However, I wonder how the person who bought that boat fared. I know someone else who had a lot of water in her cabin. She didn't have time to sail, so she wasn't checking her boat. Her stuffing box was leaking, and the float valve on her bilge pump was sticking. Her boat also could have sunk. Her problem was spotted because she did the responsible thing and hired someone to do some basic maintenance.

You may be doing things as you sail that are not only inefficient but dangerous as well. Your best protection if you're a newer sailor is to actively network with other sailors. Don't be embarrassed to tell about the things that have gone wrong. Walk away from someone who sees this as a chance to look down their nose at you (they're out there), but cultivate the people who can show you what to learn from your experience. There is no more valuable friend a newer sailor can have.


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You COULD Go Over the Side -- Really! -- Lifelines

No smart cracks this time -- this is serious stuff

I have heard about lifelines from a couple of people ever since I got my first little sailboat. People are passionate in their beliefs about them.

For instance, there's a big debate about whether they should be clad in vinyl or not. Many owners feel the vinyl looks nicer, even though vinyl-clad cable is more expensive than bare cable. Others insist that it's extremely important to have bare cable, because vinyl can hide the first signs of rust, a sign that your lifelines could fail.

Oh my gracious -- then you could fall overboard, right?

Well, yeah, you CAN fall overboard, but it can happen if you have the newest, brighest, tightest lifelines possible.

How is that possible?

Just go stand on the side of your boat, and note where the lifeline touches your body. Unless you're a child, it's going to be WELL below your waist. This means that your center of gravity is WELL above that top lifeline (assuming you have two -- smaller boats will only have one). 

The lifelines can't save you, I don't care what the "experts" say. I know a true expert who calls loose or weakened lifelines "deathlines." He's been sailing for many, many years and figured out long ago that the lifelines won't save him, but it's hard to ignore that word -- LIFEline.

Well, you have to. Words don't trump the laws of physics.

So what are they good for? They're an OUTSTANDING visual guide. They make it very, very clear where the edge of the cliff is. But once you have realized that those lifelines won't save you (and could actually encourage you to topple over), you'll realize why you want to move toward the bow from the HIGH side of the boat. On the high side of the boat, if you do fall, you'll fall toward the center of the boat -- not into the water.

What else can you do? My boat is 100% netted. I even made a frame with netting on it that lashes to my gates when they're closed. I have a coordination problem (talked about in a much earlier post), so I'm more likely than you to go over the side. Not everyone wants netting but I think it's wise for me.

The other thing you *must* do is make sure you have good handholds along the edge of your cabin top. You often see these made of teak. My boat also has a stainless steel grab bar that runs across the beam. We hear the saying, "One hand for yourself and one for your boat," and that's exactly what it means. As you move forward, you should always be holding on with one hand, and you shouldn't be holding the lifeline. You should be holding something closer to the center of the boat.

If the boat is sailing and you need to do something at the mast, move to the mast from the high side of the boat, where gravity will tend to push you toward the boat, not away from it.

Wear nonskid shoes. I don't care how many macho men tell you bare feet are best: if you break a toe, you're going to be significantly hobbled. Test their grip on your deck periodically, as the grip-holding tendencies of your shoes can wear out.

Don't count on the "life" lines to save you. Do keep them in good shape, but they are last-ditch, and in my opinion, best used by attaching netting to them.



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Dirty Fuel

or, Good heavens -- you have to clean EVERYTHING!

I have had this experience with both outboard and diesel engines. I've never had a gas inboard (ex: Atomic 4), so I can't speak to that.

You wouldn't think anything could grow, thrive and even make huge problems in something that seems as noxious to us as diesel fuel, but unfortunately (as the fellow said in JURASSIC PARK) -- life seems to find a way.

There are critters, most typically a type of algae, who think your tank of diesel is heaven on Earth. Unfortunately like all life forms, they reproduce. Unfortunately like all life forms, they also die.

Once they've died, they settle to the bottom or stick to the sides of your tank, where they may make no problems for years. They may not show up as dirt in either of your fuel filters. They may, however, gather in your fuel line.

You may have no awareness of this until something disturbs either your fuel lines or your fuel tank. 

I have often said that my experience is not as extensive as many, but I have sailed intensively since I started, and I have had several experiences with dirty diesel fuel. Fortunately for me, the first time it happened, I was on someone else's boat. He had been in a three-day race in early January. Now, sailing off Florida in January can be pretty dicey, because when fronts come through from the North, they often pack a punch. On the East coast, the northern wind pushes against the Gulf Stream, which flows roughly from south to north at a pretty good clip. When the two collide, very large waves (especially for newer sailors like us) can be the result. You want to check the weather carefully before crossing the Gulf Stream any time, but in winter it is often a problem.

On the west coast where I live, we have a different set of problems. We get the same north winds, this time blowing over lots of open, relatively shallow water. A minor front can create 8' waves in the Gulf of Mexico near the shore, with even larger waves further off shore. 

But none of this mattered to my friend, who is a master sailor and ardent racer. Nothing stops him, and with his experience he has a solution for everything. One race unfortunately coincided with a stalled front, and winds were high and the waters rough throughout the race. When one of his crew members got so seasick she was dizzy and disoriented, making bad judgment calls and a danger to herself, the rest of the crew simply tied her to the mast so there was no risk of her going overboard. 

His boat performed well in the race, but then he had to move his boat from Clearwater back to Gulfport. It was still too rough to go outside without a full crew, so I went up to Clearwater just to keep him company as he brought the boat down via the more sheltered Intracoastal Waterway. This man loves to teach and pointed out a lot of valuable information to me.

Then came the unintended lessons: right as we were about to go under a bridge, his diesel engine died. He steered the boat through the bridge, glided over to the side of the waterway, and put an anchor down. The problem was immediately obvious: both his Racor filter and his engine filter (often called the "secondary" filter) were black with dirt. He put a plastic red Solo-type cup under the Racor and drained the fuel. He passed the cup to me, and I set it on the nearby galley counter. He changed that filter and the engine filter, and we were shortly on our way. About a half an hour later he pulled the boat over again, put the hook down, and checked the filters, which were clogging up again. He has some clear tubing in his fuel system. He looked at the fuel going to the engine, and it seemed clean, so he started her up again. Eventually she sputtered, but we made it back to Gulfport with just one more round of filter changes.

Unfortunately, it's a very bad idea to drain fuel into a Solo cup. Diesel dissolves that kind of plastic, and we had a mess to clean up in the galley. Keep a glass jar (maybe the size spaghetti sauce comes in) with your engine tools, wrapped against breakage, in case you have to drain your Racor filter.

So then the question was "why?" My friend believes that the rough three days of racing sloshed the fuel around with vigor, essentially scrubbing a lot of dirt collected over years of use back into the fuel. Diesel engines are very sensitive to supply interruption. A tiny air bubble can bring it to a stop, which is why your manual explains how to "bleed" the engine of air bubbles. A tiny bit of water can stop it, which is why you should have a Racor-type filter, which catches water as well as dirt. Dirt in the fuel can stop it. This is all because of the way diesel engines work: very small jets spray a very fine mist of fuel through injectors. Because that spray is so fine, the smallest (noncombustible) thing can replace the diesel, depriving the engine of fuel. Gas engines aren't as sensitive to these things as diesels are. My friend got rid of his fuel and cleaned his tanks, and solved the problem, at last for then.

Eventually my friend needed a new engine, and then he suddenly had fuel interruption problems again. He had his tank cleaned, and got rid of the old fuel (if your boat holds a lot of fuel, there are companies that will "polish" it for you and clean it up) -- but the problem persisted. What my friend eventually discovered was that his fuel lines were so clogged with dirt that it didn't matter how clean his fuel and tank were. He replaced those hoses and had no more problems.

Later on, I also had the same problem, again stemming from sailing in rough water, but in spite of my previous experience with my friend, I didn't realize what the problem was at first. All I knew was that the engine would unexpectedly die. The first time it happened, someone suggested that my propeller had caught a piece of line floating in the water and then released it. He said, "Sometimes that happens." When it happened two more times, however, I discounted that theory. I didn't picture a stray rope catching on my propeller *and* spontaneously freeing itself three times. Each time I bled the engine, and each time the engine started up. I was thinking I had a little air leak in the fuel system somewhere, but I took a "wait and see" attitude. Then one evening while taking the boat out for a moonlight sail on the Gulf with friends, she died completely, and bleeding didn't get her going again. Now, on this engine, parts had to be taken off the engine to get at that filter, and the Racor was in an inaccessible place (if your boat is like that -- move it!) I thought I was out of fuel. With no fuel gauge, it can be hard to know when getting fuel is crucial.

At the fuel dock, the boat took only five gallons. That's when it dawned on me -- dirty fuel. 

Several days later, a friend climbed down into the very deep lazarette at the back of the boat, we pumped out all the dirty fuel, and he cut a hole in the tank. We started passing him pieces of oil pad. My oil pads are about 24" square, and we cut one into fourths. We passed a piece down to him, and he passed it back up soaked up at least 2 lb. of sludge -- and he had barely begun. What a mess, but it had to be done.

This is a big pile of oil pads, sometimes called "engine diapers," but that is also the correct name for

something else, so at the store I suggest you ask for oil pads. You lay one under your engine to catch

oily drips so they don't go into the bilge. Unless you have a big clean-up, if your engine is running properly,

you should just put one under your engine, check it periodically, and replace as necessary. One may

well last a year or more. The material they are made of absorbs petroleum products but not water,

making them very good for cleaning up small petroleum spills. You can buy them in smaller quantities

and for most people, having three or four on hand is plenty.

I was lucky, and my fuel hoses were OK. We had a fabrication shop make a cover for the hole in the fuel tank, with a diesel-resistant gasket (I had them make me a second one to have on hand just in case something happens to the one I have, since it was custom). Surprisingly, that fabrication was inexpensive.

It was a real hassle to do all of that, but I don't worry about getting caught in rough water now. Think about it -- as I've said before, when the ship hits the fan, turning the engine on and being ready to use it can be a good strategy, especially for newer sailors. You need to be sure your tank isn't all clogged up with gunk.

However, I urge you to check with your engine manufacturer and find out which algae-controlling additive they recommend -- and then use that specific brand (and do use it)! I say to check with the manufacturer because part of my problem was that I just picked something off West Marine's shelf. I knew no anti-algae agent had been in the fuel, so I followed the  instructions on the bottle to "shock" the tank by using a larger dose than usual. As it turns out, that can be a very bad idea, because if you have lots of live algae in the tank, they will all die at once, and sink to the bottom, which is where your fuel line picks up its fuel. My problem started when I shocked the fuel with this stuff. When my friend cleaned the tank, he found extra heaps of sludge around the fuel pickup. We had to pass him other tools to clean that area out well.

My Yanmar manual actually states not to use the product I used (sorry but I don't remember the name), so I went to the Yanmar dealer. They showed me exactly what to use and made sure I knew how to use it.

Check both your Racor (a valuable and relatively inexpensive engine protection) and your "secondary" filter (the one built into the engine) periodically as part of sensible routine engine maintenance.



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Sailing in Gusty Winds -- a great link!

People who have sailed for many years mostly know this information, but this blog is for people with less experience, and one of the more challenging situations for newer sailors is when the weather turns gusty. You could be unexpectedly caught in gusty weather for a number of reasons. You might have expected to get back in long before the bad weather hit, but something goes wrong and you don't make it.

You need to know how to handle gusty weather. Not only will you and your companions be uncomfortable otherwise -- someone could be hurt. They could be moving toward the head when a gust hits and fall in the cabin (fall in the cabin and you're very likely to have a bad fall), or sprain something when thrown off balance, or be hurt while moving forward to deal with something.

The webpage listed below covers what to do extremely well. I'll just make a few comments in case the information doesn't quite make sense. Here's the website:

http://learntosail.hubpages.com/hub/Three-Sailing-Tips-for-Less-Heel-in-Gusty-Breezes

And here's the core, with my comments in blue:

"1. Luff up on a Gust
Watch the water to windward. Look for dark, ruffled spots that signal the arrival of a gust. Point up toward the wind just before the gust arrives. This will luff the forward part of your sails and depower them--but keep the boat driving and on her feet!"

 Start learning to read the surface of the water now. The surface does change as the wind changes. On a light wind day, you can see puffs of stronger wind coming to take advantage of them. On rough days, you can see them coming and strategize.

So what does "luff up" mean? It means to make the sales "luff," or shake. It typically (but not always) starts at the luff, or leading edge, of the sail. You make the sail luff by steering more directly into the wind. A sailboat pointing into the wind can't sail because it can't catch any wind, and it can't use the sails as an air foil. The boat is depowered, which is what you need in too much wind. You need to depower the sails. This is one way to do it, and if the gusts are significant, you need to be in position before the gust hits.

You can also steer into the wind as you feel the wind rising. Gusts often occur on a curve -- the first increase will not be the peak, and you still have time to ease its impact on your boat, but also learn to read the waves.

What does "still driving the boat" mean? The writer is suggesting that you don't point the boat completely into the wind -- just enough to weaken the effects of wind on your sail. You're still moving, and the boat is "on her feet" -- not heeling excessively.

So what this is really about is steering. Now, steering is easier when the boat is in balance, which is covered a little further below.

"2. Ease your Sheets / Back your Blocks
Move the mainsheet car down the traveler track to leeward. Ease the mainsheet a few inches. Then, set your headsail sheet blocks back a few holes along the Genoa tracks. These actions cause the top of your sail to open--or twist--to spill high octane wind up high. This keeps heel down for a more balanced boat."

What's the "mainsheet car?" I could show you a picture of mine, but yours might look different. The "traveler track" moves across the beam of the boat. Sometimes it's across the cabin top, as mine is. Sometimes it's in the floor of the cockpit, right in front of the companionway. Sometimes it's at the back of the boat. Some smaller boats don't have travelers -- my little 25' Irwin didn't have one.

If you have a traveler, you release both traveler lines, and then pull on the leeward line. If the wind is coming over your port side, you pull on the starboard traveler line, and move the sail controls to starboard. This causes "twist" at the top of the sail. You can spot this because the curve of the leech -- the back edge of the sail -- will now have a more exaggerated curve in it, especially toward the top. This makes the sail more inefficient. It's an easy and quick way to depower your mainsail. If the gust was significant enough to make your boat heel too much, she should immediately settle down and heel less, what the author means by "keeping heel down."

But what does a "more balanced boat" mean? Without getting technical, the more balanced the boat is, the less physical exertion it takes to steer the boat. But it *also* means that the boat is more in control. Using the traveler to move the sail to leeward is a quick and effective method to "spill the mainsail" so it can't hold as much wind. You have effectively, temporarily turned your mainsail into a smaller sail.

OK, so what does "back your blocks" mean? The sheets for your headsail come back to the cockpit after being led through a moveable block that sits on a long track. The position of that block can dramatically affect the shape of your headsail. When the winds pick up, adjusting your mainsail as described above may not be enough to get your boat back in balance and sailing easily (which you judge easily by the amount of effort needed to steer her). If you move those blocks back toward the stern, you ... twist the headsail as well, causing wind to spill out of the top, and in effect, making your headsail smaller. 

Now, this isn't as easily (or as safely) done as adjusting the traveler. To move the blocks you have to first notice where the load is. Which is the working sheet? Well, in the scenario above, the wind was coming across the port side of the boat (a "port tack"). This makes the STARBOARD sheet carry the load. The port sheet is slack. So that's the one to adjust first, even though it won't change the sail. Slide it back as much as you think you need. Now, if you've gone out and practiced, you'll be able to make an educated guess. If you haven't practiced that yet, then your rule of thumb might be -- the stronger the gusts are, the more you should move it back.

Now you have to move the loaded block, and that can be more dangerous. You have two choices.

First choice is to switch to a starboard tack. The problem with that choice is that tacking isn't a lot of fun in rough water and winds that are overpowering your boat. It's not impossible, but make sure there's no one in the cabin and that everyone is secure (they do have PFD's on, right?) After the tack, your starboard sheet will be the "lazy" sheet and you can move the block toward the stern easily.

If tacking seems like a bad idea (whoever works the sheet is going to have to pull hard and fast on the new working line, and the helmsman should watch his or her progress, and not complete the turn until the new working sheet is under control and tight enough), here is how to move the block while the sheet is under load:

Always remember: ONE HAND FOR YOU AND ONE FOR THE BOAT. Don't use both hands doing this in rough water. 

Step firmly on the working jib sheet FORWARD of the block. Keep the tension on that sheet with your foot, hold on to something firm (not just a life line, but a stanchion or cabintop handhold, or bimini frame if it's very secure), and slide the block back. If you have to do this more than once to make sure you are holding on to the boat, so be it. You can do this twice. 

If you have two people on the boat, that second person should be on the helm. You'll be standing on the high side of the boat, and that will make it easier for you to do this.
 
"3. Reef your Sails
Combine the first two actions with sail reefing. One of the great misconceptions in sailing is that reefing is a heavy weather tactic. Nope--it's a balancing tactic. Reef earlier than you think necessary. Reduce or change out the headsail. Tuck a reef or two in to the mainsail. Reefing keeps the boat on her feet and the helm light as a feather."

 If you're going to change your headsail, please be aware of the weather before you are in it, and change the sail before it's actually needed. Changing a headsail can be extremely dangerous in high winds and/or rough water. When a boat is out of balance, the bow bounces around and moves unpredictably. If you slip up and the sail goes into the water, do you know what you have to do? You have to whip out your knife, cut the sail free and let it go, because a sail in the water at the bow can sink a boat. 

So do it while the winds are low.

Another option is to partially furl your roller furler, but understand that if you do that more than a couple of times it will permanently deform your headsail. This is not something covered by insurance, even though it's weather related. The result is that your headsail will always perform more inefficiently, and your boat will slow down some. Well, that's life -- safety first, but if you pay attention to the weather, you may avoid having to use your headsail in this way.

There's a hidden, important message in all of this: how the helm feels may be your best sign of whether it's time to twist the sails, and if that doesn't do the job, to start reefing.

What this all means is that you mustn't be shy about taking your boat out, little by little, in stronger winds than you're used to. If you're used to 10 mph winds, take her out in 15. Sail her on all points of sail. Make judgments about whether your boat needs to be reefed at this point. Some smaller boats probably should be reefed at 15 mph. 

Then take her out at 18 mph, and then 20, etc. Most people are not this methodical (and it's not typical for me, but I realized that sailing was a little more risky for me than some other people, and I just made myself do it. I am now convinced it's a good idea for all newer sailors.)

Three simple tips in that article -- simple for experienced sailors, that is. As you take your boat out for recreational cruises, pick one new skill to practice each time. Then when the ship hits the fan, you'll already know how to execute the excellent tips in that article. 



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Ramp Your Skills and Experience Up Quickly!

Or, "What? This is a GREAT day to sail!"

Ever since I first started sailing, I had set myself a goal to sail every day for a week. I had no particular reason to set that goal except that I thought it would be fun and a bit of a feather in my cap.

It actually took several years to pull it off, even after I moved onto this boat. You'd think seven days of good weather would be easy to find in Florida, but we'd have two good days, and then the winds would pick up, or die down, or we'd have a low tide that would make it tricky to get the boat out of the marina. All sorts of things.

Then I joined a MeetUp group. This group connected people who had boats with people who wanted to sail. So I picked the best weather window I could spot, and started inviting people to sail. That was what did it, because I had made commitments to people who would be very disappointed if the sail were cancelled.

I did not sail seven, but eight days in a row, sailing with different people every day.

I learned something remarkable. I had, without realizing it, picked rather narrow parameters regarding when I wanted to sail. If the waves were too high from a previous storm, I wouldn't take the boat out. If the winds were over 15 mph I thought twice as my roller "furler" can't partially furl. I could always find reasons to not sail that day. But with these commitments, we went out anyway. We went out in 4' waves. We went out when the winds were up to 20 mph. We went out when the winds were 5 - 7 mph.

I learned more about sailing that week than I had in the previous year, because I had challenged myself to accept slightly more challenging conditions. My boat isn't going to sink in 4' waves, but she handles differently. That's no surprise ... but I hadn't actually *done* it.

I took a bit of ribbing at the end of the eight days, because on the eighth day I got myself in a bit of a mess and ended up with a bent rudder shaft. I can't count the ninth day as sailing, because we were towed back -- with no steering, in rough water. It was hard on us and even harder on the poor guy piloting the towboat as we jerked from port to starboard to port behind his boat in rough water.

But in thinking about it, I realized that a lot of people who belong to my club are sailing a lot if they take their boats out four times a year. I bet a lot of them are doing what I was doing -- skipping a sail unless things were perfect.

Set yourself a goal like that -- maybe more modest, since most people have to balance their sailing with work and family commitments. Aim for three days (barring severe storms -- don't go sailing out into dangerous weather just because you said you would!) -- Leave on Friday, anchor or stay at a different marina, sail again on Saturday, and return home Sunday.

It's a lot of work, to have a boat ready to go out several days in a row, but the rewards are worth it. If you can't set a string of days, think about what your preferred parameters are, and change them a little. I was astounded the day I put a smaller headsail on my little Irwin, reefed the main, and took her out in 20 mph. She sailed like a little cream puff. Set to handle the winds, it was just no big deal.

Stretch yourself. Don't let yourself get set in a rut. You'll learn things.

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Your Autopilot Could Throw you in the Drink -- Really!

I'm a big fan of autopilots. Some people call them their "invisible crew member" or some other crew nickname that shows just how valuable they can be. If you're single-handing, for instance, the autopilot can keep your bow pointed into the wind while you raise the sails. No one ever told me what I'm going to tell you now, though. I heard "You should have an autopilot" over and over, but not one person said, "However, it can throw you in the water" -- until I said it. Then others agreed with me. I think it's just a good rule of thumb that anything you put on your boat will bring risks as well as benefits.

There's a saying about sailing that the number of errors equals the number of crew members -- squared. This includes your autopilot, because they can malfunction, and they can do so unpredictably and at just the wrong time -- just like humans.

An untended autopilot caused another boat to hit mine once. My helmsman had turned the helm over and was on my cabintop photographing the boat that ended up hitting me at the time, so we know exactly what happened. The "skipper" of the other boat 1) had his boat on autopilot, and 2) wasn't at the helm. The photos very clearly show him sitting on a side bench next to his cabin top, nowhere near the helm.

Sorry, but autopilots aren't really crew members, and a human has to be at the helm at all times. If common sense didn't tell you that, maritime law does.

Why is this important? His boat was sailing very fast, at least seven knots. He was only about ten feet away from us, silly really since we weren't racing and there was plenty of room.

So when his autopilot suddenly hiccuped and turned his boat 90º to port, at his speed even if he had known what was going on, he wouldn't have had time to steer away. His boat went right across the stern of my boat, leaving his bottom paint behind. His anchor hit my split back stay. It probably would have pulled the whole rig down except that the stay had a plastic PVC cover on it. The anchor, thankfully, rolled off the stay, damaging only the cover.

Autopilots can do that. They can be steering the boat dependably for quite some time. Then a wave hits the rudder wrong, or the power hiccups, or -- you won't always know why, but the boat suddenly makes a hard, lurching, and completely unpredictable turn.

If this happens to your boat and you're on deck somewhere instead of in the cockpit, and you're moving at 6 - 7 knots, that sudden turn can throw you into the water.

So what do you do? Because we all know we're not going to give up our autopilots.

First of all, any time you're relying on autopilot while you move around the boat, slow the boat down to the minimum speed you need to maintain steerage. That's whether you're going on deck or below decks, because you don't want to be thrown around in the cabin either. I suggest that you slow down  even if you have someone at the helm, because humans can control for things like errant waves in ways that electronic gadgets cannot. It's all about keeping the person who is out of the cockpit safe.

Second of all, always remember the old rule, "One hand for the boat, and one for yourself." Don't be up on deck doing something with both hands, and nothing to hold on to. If you have to use both hands, then you should be tethered. For instance, if you're reefing the boat, clip the tether to your PFD, wrap it twice around the mast if it's long, and then clip it to your PFD again. I know someone who did that as a storm approached. The wind hit before he was done reefing, and his boat heeled over nearly 90º. He was knocked off the cabintop but stayed on the boat, which saved his life.

Autopilots are terrific. They let you go down to the head, or grab a sandwich, or get that CD you want. Used intelligently in open waters (not near other boats, for instance -- please, I don't want to be hit again, and you really don't want to hit another boat), they are a tremendous asset. Just remember that they introduce a new element of risk along with all that tremendous convenience.

Beyond this, ALWAYS ask yourself when you get a new piece of equipment: "OK, I know the good it can do -- what can it do that's bad?" A preventer can keep you from a dangerous jybe when you're sailing downwind. I don't know how many times I've heard that. However, only one person ever pointed out that if you attach it to the boom in the wrong place, it can bend (destroy) your boom.

We're all newer sailors here, but I know for a fact that people who have been sailing for more than 60 years are still learning things. Complicating this process is the fact that we don't know what we don't know. So we don't know that the autopilot can send us for a swim, or that the preventer can bend the boom. Take all the things you have on the boat and make sure you know the downsides as well as the upsides. The internet can be a great help, but use it with caution, as the internet is packed with misinformation, some of it dangerous. As you keep poking around, you'll start to get a sense for what is and isn't likely to be true.

This one is true: your autopilot can pitch you in the drink. Turn it off if you have crew and put someone on the helm before you leave the cockpit. If you're by yourself, slow it down to steerage speed.

And have fun out there!

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Why Sailing is not Like Driving a Car, No. 2

In yesterday's entry I wrote about how important it is to train your crew well, teaching even total newcomers some useful skill that you can count on in a pinch.

For how to teach, I used the example of how one club instructor put her hands over her mouth to force her to not give too many prompts when her students should have been performing independently.

While teaching sail school, she had realized that her students couldn't dock a sailboat unless they could do it without her giving them a single prompt, and she had her hands over her mouth as they approached the safety boat to dock next to it.

Last night I happened to speak with the father of this instructor. Her father said that she had been steering their tiller sailboat for 10 years when she signed up for driver's ed at school. Neither she nor her parents expected any problems. She was a straight-A student, and many students took "Driver's Ed" for the easy A of it.

Not this young lady. She was flunking driver's ed. HUH? NOBODY flunks driver's ed!

So her dad took her to a large, empty parking lot one Sunday, one without parking bumpers or other barriers, to see what was going on.

She started out driving straight, just fine. He didn't see a problem. Then he told her to turn left -- and she turned the car right!

She was handling the steering wheel like a tiller!

So if you have a crew member struggling with some basic skill, isolate that skill and watch carefully what is going on. Several months ago, I did this with a sailor I knew. He had been sailing the Catalinas for five years but his movement across the water was often erratic and unpredictable. He obviously struggled with tacking to the point that he would know he was going to run aground on a known high point, but seemed unable to turn the boat in time to get out of the way.

So I went out with him, and discovered that he really didn't have any solid idea of how to tack the boat. He just tried something new each time, hoping he would figure it out and get it right (it turned out that someone had told him to do this -- see my many references about people who give one bad advice!)

I wrote a very detailed, 15-step method for tacking and gave it to him. He said he would read it and study it, and agreed to go out with me on one of the little 16.5' Catalinas to sort it out.

After reading the list, he politely canceled the sailing date.

He canceled s similar date with someone else.

Finally he said to me one day, "I just want to be the best sailor I can." I said, "Then go out with me and let's sort this out."

So we did, and I and my list of things to do were driving him crazy. Finally he said, "Just let me do it my way," and I said "OK."

Turned out he was doing everything right -- except for one thing: he didn't know where to start the tack. Somewhere in sail school he had not learned that (probably because instructors always prompted  him -- too much "help"). So he would, say, have the wind nearly astern when he started the tack. Of course the boat would make a broad, slow turn, and it might end anywhere, including moving in a complete circle, ending where he had been before.  If you don't tack with a plan, how will you know when to end it? Or he might not have had enough speed by the time he got to the "no-go" zone, and the boat would swing back over to starboard.

All I had to do was remind him of the "no go" zone, and explain that he should sail along, say, the starboard side, build up speed, spot where he wanted to end, move through the "no go" zone -- and stop the tack.

He did it perfectly the first time -- with no prompts. Then he did it perfectly three more times.

So then we expanded the concept to a controlled jybe, keeping the boom close to center so there wouldn't be a huge snap when the sail picked up the wind on the other side. Then he did THAT perfectly with no prompts.

So then we just sailed around, and he started calling all the moves very well: "prepare to tack," and I had to hustle to keep up with him, because he now knew exactly what he was doing. Acting as skipper and calling all the shots, sometimes he tacked and sometimes he jybed, getting it all right every single time.

Meanwhile, the wind shifted to northerly. Uh-oh! When the wind is from the north, to get into the marina you have to sail up a narrow north-south canal to get to the entrance. It certainly isn't impossible, but unless you have a motor, you have to make a series of short, quick tacks -- or run aground at a place where this man had been notorious for running aground.

No problem this time!. He took charge as skipper, executed the tacks crisply and accurately, turned into the club's basin, and expertly sailed the little boat into its slip. He told me what to do, when to do it, and used one sail, expertly managed, to get the boat home -- just as he had been doing most of the afternoon.

Give too many prompts, and you keep your crew member from learning. This person's problem with tacking is the most concrete and perfect example I can think of to demonstrate just how important it is to let anyone you're teaching to perform completely independently, even if you see them making a mistake.

If they make a mistake, discuss it *afterwards.* Give them a chance to practice it, and when they get to that point on the next attempt, put your hands over your mouth if you have to, but DO NOT PROMPT THEM OR GIVE THE CLUES. Just don't. Discuss it afterwards.

Even then, don't tell them what they did wrong. ASK them if they know what mistake they made. Give them time to think. Give them a chance to learn.

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Why Sailing is not Like Driving a Car, No. 1

Two days ago I wrote about how a sailor and his two friends ended up in a lot of trouble, going way too fast to be able to control the boat in winds and waves much too big for the sails they had up (which included a giant asymmetrical spinnaker). The title of it is "Too Much Sail Up!"

Nothing like that ever happens in a car. Cars aren't moved around by wind, waves, and current. This is why we get speeding tickets -- because we have such effective ways to slow our cars down. In the article named above, Dick ended up in a very dangerous situation because sailboats don't have brakes -- and because no one else on the boat knew how to steer her well.

The problem is that most of the people who read this blog are going to end up in a situation somewhat like Dick's some day -- unless it's happened already. Even then, something just as dangerous could happen to us again. And, like Dick, as our enthusiasm and confidence grows, we'll start inviting other people to sail with us, including some people who perhaps have never sailed before or who have very litttle experience. We'll think "I know everything I need to know to get my boat and friends in safely," but it doesn't always work out that way. All the adults on your boat should learn some skill that can help in a pinch, even if it's just "tailing" the sheets as you change a tack, or steering for short distances.

I'm going to list some reasons sailing a boat is different than driving a car, and explain a few things I feel are important about those differences. This is important because people new to sailing will tend to think about sailing as they think about driving. It's important that they know the differences.  I invite *anyone* who has a similar example comparing driving to sailing to send me an email at

Rakuflames@gmail.com

I know it can be hard to participate on this board and I want to fix that.

For now, please send only things you've noticed have to be done very differently on a sailboat than in a car. If it works well, we will open the blog up to other topics later. I have always wanted this board to be more interactive, and this may be one way to do it.

So here's some big difference between driving and sailing that occurred to me this morning. I hadn't really thought about this first one one before:

WHEN WE DRIVE, we drive in two dimensions. We're driving on what geometry calls a two-dimensional plane. No matter where we go, unless the car becomes airborne in an accident, we only have to deal with flat surfaces. We don't have to worry about whether the keel is going to catch on something. We don't have to worry about whether a mast is going to hit something. Length ("Are we there yet, Daddy? Are we there?") is an issue. Width (is that oncoming truck crossing the center line?) is an issue. But we don't have to worry about what is under or over us.

BUT WHEN WE SAIL, we sail in three dimensions. We have to pay attention to what is above and below us as well as what is all around us. Driving is like moving over a long piece of paper. Sailing is like moving through a very large tube.

WHEN WE DRIVE, it's very clear where our car is supposed to be. This makes both our car and other people's cars much more predictable than boats.

BUT WHEN WE SAIL, except in rare circumstances, there are no "lanes" on the water when sailing. Even when in a channel, often there's no hard and fast rule about which side of the channel to be on. I try to stay to the starboard side of the channel when I can, but if a section of channel is "shoaling," or starting to fill up with sand, I may have to move more to center or even port side of the channel so my keel won't play tag with the bottom.

WHEN WE DRIVE, we have brakes.

BUT WHEN WE SAIL, the closest thing we have to brakes is to put the boat in reverse. This takes several seconds. First you have to slow down in forward to a dead crawl. Then you have to shift into neutral, and then into reverse. The time we're most likely to do this is while docking, and timing can be critical. Tricky judgments have to be made at that point, so we don't give the boat too much throttle in reverse, but enough to keep from hitting that big cement pier that's coming closer and closer to our bow. (Of course if you are bringing your boat in stern first, that's all changed. You're in reverse, and now you have to move your gear shift from reverse, to neutral, to forward.)

WHEN WE DRIVE, steering is simpler. Unless we're driving on a very slippery surface such as ice, steering is easy.  There's a direct relationship between how much you turn the steering wheel on a car and exactly how far that car turns. That's why we can change lanes safely as well as parallel park without causing a traffic jam. It's very clear when to stop a turn, and the car straightens out immediately. That's because the car has traction.

BUT WHEN WE SAIL, we don't want traction. We want the boat to glide as effortlessly through the water as possible. The things that can give us traction in the water, such as barnacles and other crud on the hull, are bad, and we work hard to get rid of them.

In addition, because of lack of traction on a sailboat, deciding when to end a turn is trickier. We may spot a point on the land that we want to be the end of our turn, but we have to stop turning the wheel or pushing the tiller before we get to that point because the boat glides with no traction. It will continue to turn after we have "centered up" the wheel or tiller.


That's a very short and incomplete list of some of the important differences. Why waste blog space on it? If you're going to sail with beginners, you have to lead them past that stage where they're clueless to a point where they can seamlessly step up to their assignment and know how to do the job. If you have to go up to the bow to do something difficult like changing a sail, the boat has to be under control by a helmsman who understands the differences between driving a car and piloting a boat.

And unless you train them well, beginners will look to their driving skills to help them out. While there's some overlap, the differences are important and have to be acknowledged.

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