Reef Early and Often
Issue 3 : Nov/Dec 1998
For too many years, sailing, for us, meant not only doing it, doing all of it, but overdoing all of it. We virile males pushed and horsed vessel, crew, guests, and ourselves not only to their full capabilities, but also well beyond until something physical or interpersonal broke. “Testing the limits,” I believe counselors of adolescents call it.
When we got our first sloop, we noticed that the mainsail was adorned with three rows of rather quaint pieces of rope. It took us several seasons to learn what they did … and it took another season to learn how to do it. It took even more to actually do it.
We learned that these pieces of rope are called reef points. On a sailboat, as in a car, it is possible to adjust the power according to conditions. The prudent sailor would no more try to sail through heavy winds with full sail up than a sensible driver would move through heavy traffic with full throttle down.
The three sets of reef points enable a vessel to shorten sail and be appropriately suited to roughly 20, 30, or 40 knots of wind. Otherwise, you ship lots of water over the side and/or break something. If that happens, both vessel and relationships may be severely damaged.
Only once have I ever set out with a triple reef. That was when David came from Alaska for his first (and thus far, only) sail on the Maine coast. Unfortunately, his one available October day found it blowing a gale. Therefore, we set out.
Suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of a snow squall. We struggled to find Round Pond in the approaching darkness — a simultaneous whiteout and blackout. Once we located the harbor, we had to locate the considerably smaller mooring. Just as David found the mooring, the prop found the pendant. “Oh dear,” I said politely. To unwind the mess, I dove, naked as a jaybird, from the white deck into the whitecaps. I have not employed three reefs since.
It was only after two decades of living in this state of arrested development — cruising with too much sail up, too little ballast down, too much seawater over the gunwales and into the cockpit, too many numbing rainy days, too much terrifying fog, too many broken gaff jaws, and too many rough passages accompanied by too much lunch lost overboard — that we made an important discovery: One can deliberately choose to avoid excess. It is possible not to subject self, others, and vessel to the punishing, brutal, uncomfortable, and unsafe experiences which lie in endless supply offshore.
It was then we discovered a New World which forever trans-formed our lives at sea. We had landed upon what is now known as the “Comfort Factor.”
At first, of course, this was a discovery made in the names of women and children. While others reveled in the new order, we men merely tolerated sanity at sea. But now, when faced with a decision about whether to set out, to stay out, to motor rather than sail, to reef, to hang it up for the day at cocktail hour rather than groping in the dark, we have begun to hear ourselves say, “Let’s consider the Comfort Factor.” By doing so we have enshrined Cruising Rule 12:
Reef early and often.
It has dawned on us that a version of the Boston ward heeler’s political advice — “Vote early and often” — may also be good nautical advice. At sea, you can’t control the winds, but you can control the sails.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
