Monthly Archives: June 2010

Sails, sails, and more sails

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It’s been crazy sails these last few weeks,  and I’m talking the noun, not the verb. MY genoa is in terrible shape and I took it to a couple of local sailmakers to get quotes on possible repairs or worst case, replacement via insurance. What an education this has been.

I’m reluctant to name names here as one nun does not a convent make, but I’m not at all happy with the service I received at one of the lofts. I had my main repaired at UK Halsey a few years back and the experience was fine, but this time I had several promises made re. communication and estimates, none of which happened. It’s disturbing when I proprietor looks you in the eye and says he will do such-and such, but it never happens. I know they are busy but then you should be vague, or not make the promise.

But more of a concern is his assertion that my genoa had been made of an expensive laminate called Vectran, which accounted for it’s unusual yellowish tint. When I asked for a replacement via insurance, he gave me three estimates, the highest of which was almost $9,000.00. The sailcloth and the sail itself would be imported from China.

My experience at Lieche and McBride was vastly different. The sailmaker spent a great deal of time with me stretching out the sail, going over it and describing what could and couldn’t be done. He also suggested the sail wasn’t worth repairing.

What happened next was startling. He assured me that the fabric was merely good old fashioned 8 oz. Dacron, possibly yellowed by age and the time the vessel had spent in the tropics. An ancient character showed up at the loft (the original owner) and he recognised the cloth immediately. Apparently, sometime in the 80s a batch had been turned out of the mill discoloured. This cloth had been sold to a broker in eastern Canada at a discount, who then flipped it, touting it as an expensive new high-strength cloth and 50% more expensive. Doyle bought up a lot of this and unknowingly turned out “premium” sails that were in fact quite ordinary.

The old sailmaker gleefully recounted names of guilty parties involved.

The story gibes with what I know about the sails. They were in fact purchased out east at the correct time, and sold to a PO as premium sails. Apparently more than a few folks got taken in this scam.

OK, so by chance this old guy was around when this went down and so knew why the sails were yellow. But calling it Vectran? He showed me a sample of Vectran, and it’s usually sold as part of a laminate – strips of cloth with a clear mylar film, not a solid sheet of the stuff. UK Halsey insisted this was a laminate cloth, yet every laminate I’ve ever seen shows two clearly distinct materials, not a solid, uniform sheet.

L&M then turned out a replacement estimate for an offshore-quality 8 oz 140 genoa for $3400.00, made out of US cloth in either the US or at the Sydney loft.

Talk about a bad taste in my mouth.  It sure goes to show the importance of shopping around.

After talking with my insurance broker, I decided to not go with a new sail right now, as if we made a claim our deductable would then double to $2,000.00! I’ve got a lead on a good used 150 out east that I think I will scoop when I get back from this sailing trip.

And talking about sails! I left Victoria because I needed to get away (God did I need to) and since I have a job started next Friday I figgered there was no time like the present. There are times when I deplore the fact that I don’t have an anemometer aboard. I checked the winds reported around Victoria when I headed out, but they weren’t very accurate. I was expecting to find winds in the mid teens, but it sure didn’t feel like that when I got out.

I’ve come to realise that this boat is significantly overcanvassed, especially for our area, which regularly blows up to gale force in fine weather. Anything over 15 knots and you should be looking at putting a reef in, and yet other boats around me will still be sailing under full main and genoa. Even though I’m sailing with a storm jib these days, I still find that rule holds.

Anyway, I read AFTER the fact that there were gusts in the 24 knot range in the area that I was passing through when I ripped the head right off the main.

You read that correct – it came clean off during a gybe. The only thing holding the rest of the sail aloft was the leech line and the luff boltrope.

This wasn’t an ugly gybe at all; the main was dead centred when I swung the stern through the wind. At the time I was doing over ten knots through Enterprise channel, but there was a good flood at the time. Nothing felt untoward and I was shocked to look up and see the sail ripped through like that.

I’ve had a while to think this through and I’ve come to a few conclusions.

One is that I had too much canvas out, although I think that was a minor issue. After all, it ripped at the first seam, at a batten, and if it were really a loading issue it would have happened much further down the sail where the stresses are at maximum. I was also sailing a broad reach at the time.

I think the real mistake was with the halyard. I had recently replaced the halyard with a larger line of special low stretch double braid. The old halyard was quite stretchy and while grinding in the sail it would squeal and make all kinds of noises. This one is silent and makes no indication of tightening; the winch just gets harder to turn. With so little stretch and me expecting (and not getting) some kind of aural feedback, I fear I severely overtightened the luff of the sail.  A good hi-tension whack as the sail gybed was all it needed to rip the old sail at the seam.

It was a not a good day.

When I left the harbour and turned off the wind, the vessel heeled right over (again, too much canvas), and it turned out that Tracy and I had neglected to properly affix drawers and lockers. It’s not usually part of my departure protocol to go through all the drawers and locker doors to make sure they are properly latched, but it sure is now!
Three drawers full of crap flew open and spilled over the cabin sole.  A locker that we use for all our papers and magazines and documents flew open. Everything in the first 1/3 of the quarterberth also hit the sole.   In short, it looked like a bomb had gone off down there.

Oh, and the bilge pump stopped working.

I went as far as Cadboro Bay, dropped the hook, and grabbed myself a beer. What else could I do?

Anyway, I spend the next day repairing my main. 5 hours of hand sewing and it was if not good as new, as strong as it was before I ripped it. The next day we sailed to Monetgue and the following day to Ganges. The sail works fine and I’m a lot wiser. From now on I keep a permanent reef in the main unless it really is “light air”. I’ve been making great time under a #3 jib and reefed main even sailing a broad reach and with winds below 15 knots.

I’ve gotten into the habit of cruising like I was racing and that explains my anxious wife and some of the sail damage I’ve encountered over the years. I’m gonna cool it and go a little slower (most of the time).

A shot of the ripped sail. Ripped right apart just above a seam and a batten. In the picture is my sailmaker’s palm, whipping twine, scissors, sail needle and clear, reinforced duct tape. I’ve tried “official” sail tape, but its very expensive and just falls off.

In this picture I’ve traced lines where the cloth will be trimmed and where the seam will be.

A nice clean edge and the sail seams ready to sew. I might not have needed to fold the cloth over but I wanted it to be as strong as possible.

I taped the two parts together just to hold it while sewing.

Starting at the luff. Thank God for my sailor’s palm or I wouldn’t have gotten through all that material. Like 6 layers of 8 oz cloth.

One entire seam done. Another still to go.

The one downside to this repair is that by folding the cloth at the seam, it shortens the upper section a bit. Since we are talking a triangle, the leech no longer matches. Oh, well. It’s over 40 feet up; hopefully it won’t be too obvious (as it turns out, you can’t see it).

Starting on the second row of stitches. A rather long and tedious process. I think I could have used a smaller needle and twine.

The sail is back together again. 5.5 hours later. I’m not glad it ripped, but I am glad that I was able to repair it. One more developing skill in the toolbox.



This is Sailing?

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We were away this weekend with a student doing sail training and it went great. The above is a compilation of the best stuff. Of course I wouldn’t do the gnarly with just any new sailor; this lady had her own kayak tour company for many years, and has kayaked in 30 knots, so she was on it like a fat kid on a Smarty. The weather this weekend couldn’t have been better: light winds in the beginning and ending with 40 knots after she had learned what she came for. After rounding Trial Island we had to turn around because those gales and the size of the rollers right on the nose made headway too difficult. I saw it as a final great teaching moment when I turned tail and headed back to Cadboro Bay.

What I didn’t expect was the smell coming out from under our bed when we got back to Fisherman’s wharf. I have little sense of smell so it’s always Tracy who starts to complain when something goes wrong in the plumbing. It was with total resignation that I pulled our bed apart to get at the perfidious holding tank yet again. What I found was the drain for the forward compartment was plugged and the whole thing was flooded with seawater that came over the bow. This is one design flaw of tour boat – the hole that drains into the bilge is about 1/8″, so guess how often it plugs? And it’s waaaay down under the tank so I pretty much have to stand on my head to get a clothes hanger down into it. There are lots of hoses along with the tank, and when it fills up with water it doesn’t smell too good, although there aren’t any leaks.

I have been feeling a little down since we got back. I dunno if it’s the inevitable fall after a high, or if it’s just that I so much prefer my time on the water than at shore. I’ve been thinking a lot about this and it makes sense. Life afloat is immediate, uncomplicated, demanding, and most often peaceful. It requires personal resources to overcome immediate obstacles. The scenery is gorgeous and stunning. There are very, very few abstractions.
Shore life is filled with demands, schedules, and a multitude of abstractions, many of which have a negative connotation. I got a parking ticket the other day, which is a classical example. So much of what make modern urban life is abstract, confusing, demanding and totally delusional.  While I can feel anxiety while pounding upwind in 40 knots, I know that is a rational and reasonable emotion, based on what I’m experiencing. But what does finding a parking ticket mean? That I have several big bills to take care of this summer? That my blog is waaay overdue? That I have jobs waiting and commitments to keep?

Stressing about making a meeting on time is far more negative for me than trying to decide if the waves are getting dangerous and if I should turn tail.

Maybe it’s the social component. At sea there are only a few of us, and by and large I trust those I bring aboard. All the challenges I face are environmental, mechanical and perhaps spiritual. And almost always immediate. But most of the challenges ashore are about social commitments, which is as abstract as it can get. It’s always commitments to others that makes my head spin ashore, and the more social I am, the more intertwined those commitments become. I can see it is the web of community that so many find reassuring, but to belong means to surrender part of yourself. Maybe that part is just ego. It would be the deepest of ironies that once I find that one thing that makes my life so blissful, that which that I’ve spent so much of my life searching for, To realise that it is simply a refuge and the way forward is to turn away from it.

I still remember a quote; I don’t recall if it was from Hesse or Geothe (I’m paraphrasing): The way forward is not back into some imaginary childhood paradise but ever more into sin; ever deeper into human life.

Boat for Hope Weekend

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Yesterday was a real hoot. Not only was the weather wonderful for a change, we participated in Variety Clubs Boat for Hope. It was a real joy to see the smiles and hear the laughter of not only the kids but their parents as well; we fostered special needs kids and know how overwhelming the job can be.

I think the pics speak for themselves:

The day started out rather hellish though and I would dissuade anyone who wants to get printing done to a deadline from using Island Blue. I told them I needed a banner for this weekend as I wanted to advertise my boat as we went around in the harbour. They assured me it would only take a few days. I dropped off the file Tuesday afternoon and the fellow said he would have a proof ready for me the next morning. I didn’t get a proof until Thursday afternoon which didn’t give me a chance to make revisions (I would have increased the font size). He checked and assured me again that it would be ready the next day. I stopped by Friday afternoon and it turned out that they forgot to print both sides. He told me the art store was open later than the printing side and I could pick it up later that evening. Problem is the art store closes at the same time.
The next morning, while getting everything ready for the Boat for Hope, I called them several times to see if it made it in. Nobody answered the phone. In the end I had to drive downtown to check, and it was there but it took them quite a while to find it as it had been left in the print side of the store (closed for the weekend). In the end we did get it mounted on the boat but the whole thing was very stressful and I was late for the sail. It was totally unprofessional and none of the promises were followed up.

There was a lot of this kind of stuff this week. My online data backup Mozy stopped working a few weeks ago and I contacted customer support. This is the email I sent to the tech support department:
 
“I have to register my EXTREME displeasure and concern at the behaviour
of one of your tech support people. He had asked to take control of my
computer to read the Mozy log file, to which I agreed, although I
informed him I could just copy and paste it into the chat window
(which is what I did on a previous chat session with a tech when I had a similar problem).
Once he had control he poked around a bit, started the mozy program and then went to my
harddrive.
The mozy log file is in the library/logs folder, but he immediately
went instead to a protected folder where I keep my critical personal
passwords (labeled “passwords”, unfortunately) and tried to open it.
When I asked him what he was doing, he said he needed the password for
the Mozy log file, which he never actually located or tried to open,
AND WHICH DOES NOT NEED A PASSWORD TO OPEN.
He then started up my chrome and firefox browsers, and I fail to see
how these two browsers have any relationship to a mozy log file.
I have no idea what this person was doing but reading this log file
did not happen. After twenty minutes of this I logged him off.
My problem still exists, nobody has answered my emails, and this guy
demonstrates some very suspicious behaviour on my computer.

On several occasions I have tried to contact customer support about this and no one responded. Obviously I had to find another backup solution and so after reading reviews I decided to try Jungle Disk. I had almost all of my first 4.6 gigs of data uploaded when it all vanished. All of it. I have another email sent to Jungle Disk tech support so I’ll wait to see what they say. Oh, and Virgin overbilled me last month to the tune of 30 dollars. When you call support they put you on hold for about an hour so I sent an email instead. That was two weeks ago and have yet to hear a reply.

I’ve been thinking about how all this stuff plays out in my life and the stress that it causes. Obviously I have too much going one: I have two businesses going, including one I’ve just started up, I’m trying to write my novel, trying to keep on top of the maintenance needs of my boat and car (the Bimmer needs new brake pads according to a light that just went on the dash), we’ve had visitors for the last three weeks, I’ve got clients to take out, job estimates to prepare, relationships to keep alive, a board meeting coming up, a RESULTS meeting on Wednesday, a Green Drinks meting on Tuesday, a scooter to paint and sell…

It occurred to me today that the problem isn’t all the stuff in my life, but my attitude to it; of course I’m choosing to get all stressed out when the banner isn’t ready for our sailing. The thing is I’m totally aware that non of this means anything. In fact, I believe that very, very little that we focus on in life means anything. We don’t mean anything and those things that we do and desire don’t either.
Now I don’t mean this in a nihilist or despairing way; I believe a few things are profound and the rest is just illusion. Whether I succeed or fail at anything only matters to my ego. And my wife of course.

But here’s the hitch. When I take something on, I have to forget this uncomfortable truth. To succeed at what I do requires me to believe it actually matters in order to throw myself into it. So money matters. It matters if my sailing this weekend generates new clients. It matters if I get my banner in time to show the world what we do. It matters if the dufous behind the counter at Island Blue knows what he’s talking about when he tells me “no problem”.

If the money didn’t matter (which it doesn’t), all the rest falls away. Perhaps I could walk through some of these hoops if I didn’t fool myself, but I sure wouldn’t walk through most. Life is too short and there is too much to value to waste time propping up a house of cards – which is what everything people do invariably results in.

I’ve been here before. The difference is that I understand that it’s ridiculous. My ego really wants it all to work out but my heart knows it doesn’t matter.

I tend to point the finger at Tracy when I get like this. I believe that for various reasons she has much less faith than I, and stakes her faith in what she calls “practicality”, which I see as little more than fear masquerading as responsibility. I have taken enough leaps of faith to trust landing on my feet and so have less vested interest in what human beings create as safety nets. Making money is very important to her, and I am afraid that her fears become my own. Certainly there is no lack of pressure to conform from the greater society.

But ultimately that’s a cop out. Whatever her fears are I choose my own (and I have plenty, I assure you), and it’s easier to blame her, or society, for my own conforming.
I know that I could stop it all tomorrow, just quit it, and nothing would change. Love would still happen, the bills would still come in, and the questions would remain. I guess I have to ask myself why I’m choosing this path.

It’s human nature to build walls around oneself for security, it’s insanity to rail against the walls that you yourself built.