A New Cruising 'chute

A cruising 'chute is not, despite its name, a parachute: the flow of air is completely different. Nor is it a spinnaker, although the airflow across both is the same; that is, from luff to leech.

It's more like a large, lightweight genoa, in that it has a luff, attached at the head to a ha'lyard and at the tack to the stemhead: it is triangular, with the foot and the leech meeting at the clew, where the sheets are attached. Both sheets pass forward of all stays and of the sail's own luff-rope, and pass, outside all, to blocks on the quarters, and thence to winches on the coamings.

It's not, usually, a staysail: it carries its own luff-rope from head to tack, and is set flying.

The tack is not changed as it is with a square-sail or a spinnaker. Changing the tack of a spinnaker is a cumbersome, skilled business of moving the spinnaker boom across the foot of the sail, so that the former tack becomes the clew, and the former clew becomes the tack. This is usually done with the wind astern of the boat. The tack is changed while wearing ship (in modern speak, gybing).

To take a cruising 'chute from one tack to the other, the clew is passed forward of the sail, and sheeted down the other side of the boat. This takes fewer people and less skill than changing the tack of a spinnaker. But it can't be done head to wind: only by wearing ship.


StJohn had suggested (in conversation, as you do) that sailing Saga downwind in light airs would be easier with a cruising 'chute than with her heavy genoa. He'd drawn from his father a horror of sailing downwind under a boomed mainsail, with its attendant preventer and collapsing genoa. Both had the skill to helm goosewinged, but found it concentrated and tedious work; one can never sail in a chosen direction. 

So Julian became the proud owner of a brand-new cruising 'chute.

A sunny, calm day in November was the perfect opportunity to try out the new sail, especially since he had found a sailing Buddy attributed with some knowledge of these things.

First try, of course, with the boat secured to the pontoon.

From its bag, the sail was enclosed in a long sock, or snuffer. One end (becoming the head of the sail) was snap-shackled to the spinnaker ha'lyard, and hoisted aloft. The other end (which became the tack) was attached to a long tack-line which passed through a block at the stem-head, and then aft to the cockpit.

Aft of the pulpit, or forward?

The instructions said forward, but it didn't look right. The tack-line fouled the top of the pulpit and slid side to side across it, threatening the safety of the lights. Saga's forestay, unlike many, is 12 or 14 inches abaft the stemhead; leading the tackline abaft the pulpit placed it well forward of the forestay. The wise old buddy and the enthusiastic new skipper argued happily for a long time, over coffee. Isn't this one of the joys of cruising under sail?

Attaching the sheets exposed several dilemmas. The sheets are modern and synthetic. They are slippery blighters, and will undo almost any knot as soon as your back is turned. And they did.

It became clear, too, that if either of the sheets was allowed to slacken it would fall into the water, pass under the forefoot and slide along the keel. On the way it would snag the log impeller, the propeller and the rudder.

The sail having been hoisted, but not set, the moorings were slipped and Saga moved gently out of the marina into the flooding Crouch.

The zephyr from the South West was perfect. The snuffer was lifted and the l'ard sheet hauled. The new sail blossomed in all its glory, like a blood-red, radial-cut rose. It gave 2.5 knots through the water which, against the tide, gave less than half a knot over the ground. A few degrees of helm to windward sent Saga ferrygliding toward the moorings and the Northern bank; a few degrees to l'w'rd and she crossed to the Southern bank. An hour and a half against the flood brought the Royal Corinthian's abeam; perhaps half a mile from the marina entrance! No other test of the efficiency of this lightweight sail could have been better.

So Saga turned upstream.

The snuffer tamed the curved, turgid expanse of thin nylon in a moment. Two or three minutes later the ha'lyard was unhooked, the tack-line and the sheets coiled, and the whole thing was bundled below. The test results were improving!

By then the marina was abeam: 100 minutes against the flood and 8 with it!

By the time the main and genoa were set Saga was well into Cliff Reach: less than 1 knot through the water and 3 over the ground, with the Spring tide covering the saltings and making the channel, wide as it is, difficult to see. Bridgemarsh Island had disappeared.

Opposite Bridgemarsh marina, in Raypits Reach, Julian again brought out the 'chute while his Buddy held station in mid-stream. The ha'lyard worked perfectly but, by the time he'd reeved the tack-line the ha'lyard was three times 'round the forestay. As he attached the sheets they wriggled themselves into every possible wrong arrangement.
It's surprisingly difficult. whilst standing on a squirelly foredeck, surrounded by a network of lines, sheets and tacks, even to see where they are, let alone see where to reeve them.
And then the whole assembly tucked itself neatly around the wrong side of the forestay, and the boat had to be gybed twice to coax it back.

But finally it was done. The genoa was rolled away, and the 'chute liberated from its snuffer. Blanketed by the main, it sagged into the water.

Then, main handed and zipped away, the cruising 'chute showed its real value. A broad reach along Easter Reach and a fine (too fine!) reach along Cliff Reach brought the marina abeam once more.

The engine started at the first touch of the button, the snuffer doused the 'chute without a hitch and Julian slid Saga into her berth with millimetric precision.