A warm, semi-dry summer day with number-one son, Bud, in town is excellent motivation for time on the water - number one son being the curious mixture of rabid dirt-track aficionado, consummate computer geek/gamer and far more at home shepherding 40 tons of freight across the American continent, than piddling around on reality-sized sailboats...
We undocked in the usual manner, semi-rigged for day sailing and proceeded to idle past the other boats - except the little outboard wasn't idling. Indeed, the usually faithfully effective little motor was running wide-open and we were going almost nowhere... This drew a skeptical look from trucker son and provided just enough oomph to get us away from the safety of our slip, but with no control once broadside to the feeble breeze wafting across Monroe Bay... a breeze that eventually nestled us against some pilings despite our best efforts to be almost anywhere else...
Something was terribly amiss - embarrassingly so... Enter, deliverance by jack-knife... We pulled the motor out of the motor-well while Deanna held us against the pilings, we caught our breath when we saw what used to be the prop... it was just one huge nest of barnacles and other marine life, only roughly reminiscent of a propeller... whew... well, now we knew the problem, and in short order a folding knife that had spent recent years languishing, and forgotten, in a galley drawer dispensed with all those cavitation producing creatures...
After that, sailing in the soft drafts of early afternoon was anticlimactic, and eventually a tad boring... in time we decided to try trolling at sailing speed. In the past I'd met with some success catching blues and mackerel, dragging lures behind a boat, so I had some hope... No Joy! For awhile we seemed to be at the right speed for genuine saltwater, but even at our dawdling pace I'm not convinced we were slow enough for brackish-water fish... in any case, neither lures nor squid strips could entire a fish hungry enough (or stupid enough) to rise to the barbed enticements and eventually Deanna retired to an empty berth for a summer catnap ...
Almost on cue, the afternoon wind piped up and over an hour or so, we went from barely any discernable wake at all to a nice boiling wake trailed behind Angels Wings. Although we were not at remotely the speeds Bud is used to at his beloved Midwestern dirt tracks, the sensation of speed is a well known intoxicant to sailors and soon had us trimming sails, "racing" after a larger boat flying a Jolly-Roger and speculating how we must have terrified the opposing skipper because of the speed with which he went hull down in front of us - this incredible sea-battle was soon captured on Bud's digital "film" from almost every reasonable angle with the promise that it would fuel many stories and tales back home over the coming months.
It was great fun and tacking across the Potomac we got finally curious how fast we really were going... Unless our GPS was hallucinating, we were doing nicely above theoretical hull-speed for our meager 19 foot LWL. We were seeing pretty consistently 6.8 knots; however, I finally suspected we must be getting some assistance from the river current and tide, so we reversed and sailed on a reach the other direction and still logged around 6.4-6.5 knots... exhilarating, entertaining and pleasant... at least I figured the bottom was still reasonable clean, even if the prop had succumbed to the marine life - and the stories we'll get to tell (and a few we'll conveniently forget...).
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There is something in the American Contract that commands that on Memorial Day weekend we must eat a burger or something previously alive, take in a sporting event of some sort and do something out of doors with the family, while we pause to remember all those who made it possible - it is in the agreement, trust me I've seen it.
Saturday night the grandson and I took in the sprint car race (checking off the sporting event requirement) , so bright and (not so) early on Sunday we checked the tides, winds and forecast... yep tide was okay, we'd be back before low-tide prevented us from getting back into our slip; winds were supposed to be 8-10 kts, super... great sailing although the forecast said there was a possibility of drizzle here and there... no biggie, it is warm... so pack the sodas, chips, snacks and sandwich making stuff and throw an extra gallon of gas in the kicker's nearly empty tank, and we're off...
15:45 -- Three or four hours of more or less downwind sailing found us well out of sight of the village, at which point we decided to start our beat home - as we said at the time, expecting some smashin' and bashin' as we wended our way back through the occasional whitecaps we'd been softly sliding over... a few passing raindrops were of no great threat, so we did our 180, avoiding three tugs wrestling with a couple of coal barges...
An hour later we had made almost no progress... the wind had died, dead calm... okay, crank the kicker go find some wind... save gas we don't have much - oops no running lights either other than battery operated flashlights... better hurry, but still have three hours until sundown...
18:15 - Whew... wisp of a breeze... motorsailing... breeze adds about half a knot, throttle back to save our meager gas... Rory suggests the drifter... super, that seems to get us another quarter knot or so... Deanna on the tiller as we nurse Wings along, playing with the wind and trying to use minimal throttle...
19:45 -- Wind died again -- okay we'll cut the corner around the village point, maybe save thirty minutes as dusk draws... Deanna asks how much water is under us because we're well to the side of our normal track... "Oh, about six inches to a foot..." I shrug with false confidence... within the minute we crunch to a halt... aground... oops.
Getting dark, aground... we try all the usual - weight forward, weight to the side, crawl out on the boom, use precious gas gunning the kicker harder - it labors dutifully making frothy bubbles in the water, but Wings just laughs at us... okay, last resort... Deanna suggests one of us gets off and push... skipper is the biggest lardbutt aboard, may as well be him... one lardbutt over the side, Wings chuckles quietly and then floats free... push to deeper water... now to get back aboard in the dark... no working ladder... after several attempts it clear that ol' lardbutt is about thirty too many years out of shape to scale the side - getting seriously dark now, but desperation is the mother of invention... handy mooring line makes for an expedient, if sloppy, Swiss-seat, hook to the jib halyard, Deanna and Rory hoist ol' lardbutt aboard... whew... totally dark now... three miles to go...
22:00 -- Putted home slowly, navigating the old-fashion way by chart and flashlight -- without further fanfare, should have been outa gas long before, almost five hours of motorsailing on a gallon and a half - the Lord supplies... yep ran aground at the slip... no matter, thirty minutes later Wings floats free in the tide, a little before midnight we walk her safely back in her slip looking no worse for her Memorial Day, and then dash to the village McDonalds just before the drive-in window closed (to satisfy the burger requirement). So much for day-sailing... gas? It took almost 3.7 gallons to fill the 3.5 gallon tank, go figure... Angels Wings has re-verified her name, despite seriously ham-fisted skippering...
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What to do when week after week of bleak, chilly and soggy weather unexpectedly gives way to three or four beautiful days of almost too-bright sun, unseasonably 80-90 degree temperatures and just enough wind to whisper, "drifter..." Go day-sailing, of course... More to the point was to give Deanna's long-suffering grandson, Rory, a little taste of what his year and a half worth of assistance made possible.
Rory was appointed Skipper-for-a-Day once we cleared the marina; however, once in the Potomac it still took an hour or so to work free of the lee of the shore. It was an exercise in patience weaving in and out of dozens of crab pot floats, but avoiding them was not an altogether unwelcome means of working out some of the kinks (both boat and crew) accumulated over the winter.
The usual skipper, an increasing rotund and still lame gallute following a winter motorcycle mishap, filled in where he could, but Rory and Deanna shepherded Wings back and forth until we got enough room to begin to pick up a breeze... then it was Katy Bar the Door... the GPS zoomed right up to 1.5 knots for awhile, then teased us with blistering 2.0 knots and then fell back as the wafts disappeared again- eventually, however, Rory coaxed Wings up to nearly 4.0 knots during a fleeting interval of more obliging wind... all in all a wonderful day of modest sun-burn, some low key deck scrubbing and just enjoying the water and each others company...
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Unlike the last few years, global-warming has yet to rear its head in the Northern Neck of Virginia this year. The lagoons and estuaries of the mid-Potomac have been partially iced for some weeks and the marina around Angels Wings is no exception. Previously, winter sailing was often possible, but this year a small icebreaker would be needed to get a reliable channel to the river most days. So, we sit and try to putter on other projects.
Deanna, ever the perfectionist, has become dismayed with the dissimilarity between the various tones of the woods she's working with for our little chunk's cockpit - to me, they look great, but Deanna wants even nature's random splendor to match as much as possible. I figure by the time we replace the combings, handrails, drop-boards and other wood, we'll have multiple tones and I find that pleasant, but to the thorough craftsman it must be disconcerting.
The New Year was ushered in as I begin a frustrating recovery after a pre-dawn encounter between my motorcycle and one of the many deer here about. The rider will mend after a few months and the deer seemed to escape essentially unscathed, but the bike was trashed and until the docs get this hunk of steel out of the shoulder, setting off metal detectors is a way of life - not to mention typing essentially one-handed... shop work in a sling is tedious at best, and each step must be planned in advance so to be accomplished wrong-handed. Happily Rory, the affable and lively grandson who was such a dependable associate when painting the hull, is back with us and readily lends a willing and enthusiastic hand. A year later his proficiency and talents have increased exponentially and any sunny day provokes pleas to go sailing. We're gunna get there...
A small victory was the installation of a modest charting/GPS package on the laptop. Largely, the skipper is techno-gizmo averse, but this seemed simple enough and after the success with the handheld GPS a couple of years back, seemed like a logical step. The SeaClear installation went without hiccup, always encouraging, and preliminary tests indicate this should be a pleasurable asset for regional navigation at least. It uses NOAA digital charts that can zoom to scary detail and the little hockey-puck GPS antenna is unobtrusive. So, once the basic electrical system is rewired this spring, we are hopeful this will be a nice gadget for sneaking up the many rivulets and creeks on the Bay and river...
We're learning patience - it's all in the nature of messing about with small boats I suspect...
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05/13/2009 | Jessica (dnjburch att msn dott com)
I love this picture of my on! It really captures his natural self!
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Whether this season finds you celebrating the Eternal Creator of Life, High Holy Days or simply enjoying holiday festivities with family and friends, we wish you every peace and all the very best in the year ahead.
• Deanna, Larry & Buckshot
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12/04/2008 | Howard and Brenda (HowieNBren att woh dott rr dott com)
Having received your Christmas card along with the picture and URL for your blog, I thought I'd check it out and really enjoyed reading all of the things you two have been doing. How talented you two are!!! Howard is the one with all of that talent here and I am quite content to be the "grunt" - But you two are accomplishing so many things with the boat...We hope to one day visit. Take care and HAPPY HOLIDAYS....Lovinginly, Howard and Brenda
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Going well into a our second year with Angles Wings, we probably haven't learned anything that other microcruiser families don't already know. But as general observation, we've noticed that what one gains in reduced maintenance, smaller outlay and ease of handling must be given-up to some degree in how much space there is to move around, modest carrying capacity and the intangibles of how it "presents" at the dock.
A few things we have found awkward concerning our little Bristol, which is truly cozy with two aboard; however, 3-4 must be family or exceptionally good friends.
• Any "stuff" must be stowed properly when not in use, or Wings looks like a trash-dump quickly.
• Dark colors seem to close in things.
• Good ventilation is hugely important in such closed space.
• One must be careful how much is brought aboard for a weekend - storage is critical.
• Wings smallish (slightly less than 6-foot) cockpit is really only comfortable for 2-3.
• Deck space is modest, although fairly stable underfoot - but the lee deck tricky in a fresh breeze.
• We have very limited ability to run today's many technogadgets - everything runs on batteries for now.
• Hard to work on a small rehab projects without affecting the entire cabin -- better to take them off the boat.
• Trash must be bagged and out of sight immediately.
Some of the many pluses:
• Property taxes are payable out of pocket change.
• Small successful refurbishments can lift our spirits exponentially.
• With thought, it is fine to substitute locally available wood for teak and mahogany.
• Heavy D/L ratios don't accelerate quickly, but the high inertia makes tacking easy.
• Painting the hull takes only a few enjoyable hours work per coat.
• The whole boat costs less than the working jib on many bigger vessels.
• Standing headroom is possible for those 6' or under.
• Will sail over the same horizons and any other boat
• 2nd-hand accessories fit right in and leave plenty of $$$ left over.
• For her size, Wings motion is very dignified and quite composed.
• Slack bilges pound very little even beating into 20kt winds -- occassional splash, but no banging.
• Fifty percent ballast ratio stands up well and seldom heels much over 20-25 deg.
• Running aground holds minimal terror.
• Some projects are bigger than others, but very little on Wings is complicated.
• Everyone is our friend - who won't chat with folks on the little black boat.
• Handholds are never far away.
Whether one feels the dividing line between microcruisers and normal boats is 15 feet or 45 feet, vessels above or below the line will have certain dissimilar capabilities - other factors being equal. Nonetheless, both have their advantages, and properly equipped can be fun and seaworthy.
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