Sandweaver shakedown cruise

When the baby son (TBS,  as opposed to the elder son (TES),  who is a year or so older) returned from his US road trip one of his first duties was to spend a day or two at school checking his students' A level results (better than expected) and then to check the GCSE results and begin enrolling students into this September's 6th Form classes.

One of his filial duties was to 'phone his Mum and Dad (to discover whether or not they were still alive) and to chide the LS into launching the Sandweaver.

A moment of truth:  a shakedown cruise.

Rutland Water was the obvious place.   An hour or so up the A1;  no tides;   a decent slipway;  friendly,  helpful staff;  safety boats nearby.

Friday 23rd seemed as good a date as any.   0845BST outside the gate.

The roadworks on the A14 have a speed limit of 40mph;   stationary didn't seem reasonable until it became clear that a small van had broken down in the outside lane.

After that,  stationary seemed entirely unreasonable until it became clear that a lorry had broken down in the nearside lane.

Later,  on the A1,  the LS received a 'phone call from TBS to say that a mudguard had fallen off the trailer.

At purchase,  these mudguards look very solid,  capable steps.   The first step revealed that they were thin,  brittle plastic which,  in the event,  wouldn't even survive a road journey.

Later in the journey,  the bow snubber fell off and had to be retrieved.

TBS,  following the LS,  reported that the boat was riding smoothly and steadily on its trailer,  but that the trailer wheels were bouncing very fast and very violently.

Note to LS:  replace the mudguards with steps.

"Shakedown" in a very literal sense!

The people at Rutland Water are so very friendly and helpful.   The Watersports Centre is operated by Anglian Water,  which owns the reservoir and supplies drinking water.

The Sandweaver was rigged quickly and easily . . 

(More quickly and easily than a smart GP14 nearby;  stepping that GP14 mast is a nightmare.)
(Actually,  there was a hitch:  the mast has a heel fitting which carries the sheaves for the jib,  main & spinnaker ha'lyards.   This fitting should be held to the mast by two small screws.   The absence of these screws allowed the fitting to come loose and jam into the step.)

 . . and reversed down to the slipway.   A wide,  shallow,  gently-sloping slipway.   The trailer had to be detached from the car and fully immersed before the boat would float.

Three things,  perhaps.

1   The centreboard must be lifted fully and held up,  out of the way.

2    The break-back mechanism of the trailer must be made to work.

3    The rear skids of the trailer might be replaced with tilting rollers.

With the boat afloat and secured to the pontoon the engine was mounted and tested;  no problem.

Water bottles and luncheon were loaded;  no problems.

The A frame,  to hold up the after end of the boom,  was a success.

The real problem was the amount of water gushing into the boat from the centreboard case.   The vibration of the journey had loosened the pivot nut,  which,  with its washer had fallen into the bilge.   With the nut and washer replaced the gush was reduced to a seep.   The LS can live with a seep.

Note to LS:  replace the nut with a Nylock nut,  and replace the rubber sealing washers.

Why,  why do boatbuilders put the centreboard pivot bolt below the water line?

Paul Fisher often puts his below the boat,  in the keel,  where it cannot leak.

Francoir Vivier often puts his at the top of the board,  well above the waterline.

The Torqeedo 503 pushed the Sandweaver away from the pontoon,  between the children on their paddle boards,  canoes and inflatable things,  and out into clear water.

The Wykeham Martin furling gear worked perfectly,  but the jib set badly.   The ha'lyard is thin Dyneema with no purchase.   The LS couldn't get the luff tight enough,  and the line slipped on the cleat.

Two possible solutions:

1    Ditch the Wykeham Martin (TBS loves them,  but the LS is not so sure) and hank the jib to the forestay.

2    Attach a block to the head of the jib to give a 2:1 purchase.   This might be quite difficult.  The ha'lyard is part Dyneema and part wire;  the join (inside the mast) won't pass the sheaves at the top or the bottom.

The mainsail was set quickly and easily.   Again,  the LS couldn't get enough tension on the ha'lyard and the Cunningham has only one part.   The gooseneck is fixed.

The sail worked well enough,  but it's old and baggy.

The boat sailed well.   3.5 knots with little or no heeling when hard on the F2 to 3 wind.  4.3 knots downwind with (maybe) F3.

When the wind picked up a little,  and the boat heeled,  the reefing lines worked almost perfectly:  the starboard cheek block needs to be moved 2 inches forward on the boom.

The rest of the shakedown cruise was idyllic.

The reservoir is set in beautiful countryside,  the fishermen weren't too obnoxious,  and the two sailors didn't quarrel (much).   The wind was light,  but enough to give up to 4.5 knots on the beam.

Returning to the pontoon,  the jib furled perfectly;  the mainsail came down easily and was tied to the boom;   the electric motor gave perfect control between the children.

With the trailer fully immersed the boat floated on and was secured.   Taking down the mast and securing the boat for the road was easy and leisurely.

The road journey home was hell.

At 40mph the trailer ran fairly smoothly.

At 50mph it set up a vibration which shook the entire car.

The lighting board finally gave up;  it'll be replaced with LED lamps.

Perhaps a visit to the trailer workshop at Bury is called for?

Can I cruise my dinghy yet?

The myriad things to be done before the dinghy is ready to cruise.

A small item:  the anchor.

The boat came with a folding fisherman,  with no rode,  and a folding grapnel with 2m of chain and enough line.

The old chap doesn't trust either of these,  but he had a Danforth with 3m of chain which he knew was reliable (if dangerous to fingers).

He knew because it had held the West Wight Potter in a violent overnight thunderstorm on the Stour when the rode was bar taut and dead straight.
That thunderstorm had been a beast.
He'd been reading in the well as the evening drifted toward dusk and the sun sank over Essex.   At first he'd thought the flashes to the South were the electric trains between London and Harwich (the ones that serve the North Sea ferries out of Parkeston Quay) but they became too frequent and too bright   The constant low rumbling should have been a hint but then the wind began to rise and the rain began to fall.   By midnight the rain was torrential,  the wind screamed in the rigging and the thunder & lightning were continuous.   He peered out of the tiny cabin at the glittering mud on the North bank and tried to guess how hard the little boat would be driven onto it when the rode failed;   would he be able to crawl through the mud to firm ground?
As the dawn sun struggled through the cloud the thunder still rumbled away to the East and North.

But;  back to that small item,  the anchor.

Simple.   Unshackle the grapnel,  cut the rode from the Danforth and shackle the two chains together.   Except that the shackle on the grapnel was a block of rust and had to be cut away from the anchor with a hacksaw.   The old fool cut the bow (in two places) and then found that the pin section would not pass through the link of the chain.   So then he had to saw through the pin.   We won't mention the complication of holding it all still because the shackle was too small to be held in the vice.

The shackle on the Danforth chain was bronze,  so not rusted,  but it took half an hour with WD40 and a shackle key to move the pin.   And then it wouldn't fit through the links of either chain.   The ditty box supplied a smaller shackle which did fit.   But,  being stainless steel,  it will,  one day,  fail without warning.

A 15 minute job became 2 hours of frustration.

The old man hates shackles,  and he hates Monel wire even more.

Which is why his mainsheet blocks are attached to the boom and the traveller with selvagee strops:  simple,  reliable,  replaceable bits of cordage.

So why didn't he replace the anchor chain shackles with strops?

Summer Camp

Last week the old man had the opportunity to teach navigation to a group of teenagers.

This would be the ultimate nightmare for some people,  but the old bloke was excited on the way out and euphoric on his return.   He was also exhausted.

ENS is a 16 hour (two,  maybe three,  days) course,  but the officer in charge of the Sea Cadet’s Summer Camp wanted five days.   So the old duffer expanded the course.   And asked for a couple of boats to do some practical work.

The camp is held on a small island linked to the mainland by a causeway.   The small island is home to quite a lot of very senior Royal Navy people,  who carry lots of gold lace on their shoulders and caps.   It makes the volunteers with wavy lace feel a bit nervous,  and it makes the cadets feel very nervous.

The Leading Cadet in charge of the squad marching to and from lunch,  to and from the classroom,  to and from the accommodation ship became so nervous that he failed to salute several senior Royal Marines officers and,  on one occasion,  called “eyes right” when he knew he meant “eyes left”.   He was mortified,  as was one of his officers:  the other,  and the senior Naval people in question,  thought it hilarious.

Do we expect too much of our young people?   That a 15-year-old is in charge of a squad of marching cadets,  on a working Naval base,  under the eyes of Admirals,  is something to be applauded and congratulated.   A few mistakes are to be expected,  smiled at,  and gently corrected.   At least we can recognise their fears and help them overcome.

They are all (volunteers and cadets) housed in an old warship moored close to the island.

‘Housed’ is probably the wrong word:  it implies a degree of comfort and homeliness which the old,  stripped-out warship can’t offer.

The cadet’s quarters are cramped.   While upright and moving they are within a metre or so of other cadets all the time.   While asleep they could (if they could) reach out and link hands with two other cadets (three if they had three arms).   Privacy is available only in the heads:  a blessing not available to sailors in the Age of Sail.

The volunteers have better quarters.   The senior people have individual cabins;  the lesser people (which includes our ancient hero) have six to a cabin with lots of space.

It was unfortunate that half-way through the week a water pipe burst and no more hot water came from any of the taps.   It was even more unfortunate (though temporary) when the officer's heads became blocked.

The navigation course went surprisingly well.

Most of the class had hoped to be shooting,  or sailing,  or power-boating,  or windsurfing,  but,  instead,  they were in a classroom with desks,  chairs,  projectors and PowerPoint.   A bit like school,  really.

But,  after a noisy start,  they buckled down and enjoyed the chartwork.   It was new and fairly exciting.   It opened up a world they hadn’t thought about.   It showed that there was more to moving a boat around than just starting the engine and wiggling the tiller.   These were new skills;  useful skills with even the possibility of interesting careers.

The concept of pilotage;  that the navigator could not simply follow the buoys without a detailed plan;  was exciting and new.   Especially exciting because the plan being worked was for the harbour outside the window.

The Boat Station let them borrow two Champs (with all the appropriate paperwork and signatures,  of course) and the galley had provided bag meals.

What a wonderful evening,  and what a wonderful way to round off a great week.