A sailboat evokes a certain kind of emotion
Issue 113: March/April 2017
Many a captain will tell you a sailboat is a conscious being. She can be a jealous thing, a sensitive gal whose dependability rides greatly on the love and attention bestowed upon her.
I found myself explaining this phenomenon to my first mate last fall on beautiful, unpredictable Lake Ontario. A light breeze was blowing us from Kingston, Ontario, toward Main Duck Island, our destination. With the help of our 9-horsepower Yanmar inboard, we were making good time and expected to be entering the narrow channel to the inner harbor in about 5 hours.
“She’s a good girl,” I said to David, while patting the coaming of my 24-foot sloop. “And don’t forget to mention it every once in a while.” We had spent our summer working on other people’s boats, saving cruising chips for an adventure cruise to the Bahamas. “Don’t let her see you putting in too much time on other vessels — no, no, no,” I continued. “You’ve got to show her some love, give her a little compound cleaner and wax every once and a while, keep her pretty.”
Although David caught on quickly in matters of sailing and boat repair, he seemed skeptical about this whole conscious-fiberglass-boat thing.
It had been a beautiful summer, most of which we spent sailing between Belleville and Kingston, Ontario. We were fine-tuning our little 1970 Hurley 24 and becoming more experienced sailors. This was our second trip to Main Duck Island that season and, although we couldn’t yet see her pristine waters or lushly treed shores, our hearts and minds were already relaxing on her rocky beaches.
In my musings, the putt-putt-putt of the diesel engine became the sound of lapping waters and the calls of exotic birds sunning on the beaches and perched in the trees of our favorite island. A change in rhythm called me back to reality. The steady putt-putt-putt that had set me off dreaming had changed to a drawn out cry for fuel, puuuutt, pu..u..ut . . .
Eyes wide, I looked over to the first mate. Our thoughts of Main Duck’s picturesque shoreline quickly focused on her harbor entrance: a treacherous 400-foot stretch navigable only with careful attention to a range marker. Hardly wide enough for one boat motoring, it certainly allows no room for tacking. We would need an engine, and ours had just stopped.
As if on cue, Lake Ontario started to kick up some short, choppy waves, enough to challenge our equilibrium, especially while hanging upside down in a musky engine bay bleeding fuel lines. It wasn’t long before David made an offering to the sea: his lunch. The lines were bled, but Ol’ Faithful would not start. We changed the fuel filter and tried again. No dice.
Feeling quite defeated, we talked through the options: beat upwind back to Kingston with our tails between our legs, sail downwind to Main Duck Island and anchor off her lee shore nestled between wrecks of ships much bigger and stronger than ours, or sail into Main Duck’s School House Bay and pray to the old man and the sea that we will be able to repair the engine with the help of only the waterfowl. Another option we tossed out was to tow our 5,000-pound boat with our rowboat, furiously sculling. The thought of beaching her and spending the winter as castaways seriously crossed our minds.
Remembering the advice of much wiser sailing friends and family, we remained (kind of) calm and bled the lines no less than six times before finally . . . putt-putt-putt! Ol’ Faithful was faithful to us once again. Climbing out of the engine bay I retook my place at the tiller and fixed my sights on a green blur in the distance. We would motorsail cautiously into the protected harbor of the Canadian bird sanctuary.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed David’s diesel-stained hand, resting on Cicindelle’s deck, start to rub ever so gently from side to side. Perhaps it was my exhaustion or the diesel fumes, but I think I even heard him whispering sweet nothings to our little girl.
Hannah Verra has the adventure bug. She has cycled extensively in Europe and recently completed a 3-year bicycle trip from Toronto, Ontario, to Guatemala and back. She homesteaded in Mexico for several years, subsistence living and teaching English. Hannah grew up in a sailing family and has owned Cicindelle, a 1970 twin-keel Hurley 24, since she was 18. A new chapter of her life has her sailing the Great Lakes and waters between Canada and the Bahamas.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
