Sandweaver 16

The LS has bought another boat.

Sandweaver 16

He had become too old and fat and lazy for the Hobie Tandem Island.   It was an exciting and fast boat,  but not the coastal cruiser he had hoped for.   He resented the need to find a beach on which to pitch his tent.   Pitching a tent is something to be done overnight,  especially when coastal wild-camping,  and tides simply don't coordinate with day and night.   When cruising the coast in a dinghy it's necessary to sail with the tide,  and anchor,  sleep and eat when the tide is contrary.

So he sold the Hobie to a charming lady in Norfolk who knew exactly where and how she wanted to sail it.   She's about half the age (and girth) of the LS,  with ten times his energy.

The LS has bought a Sandweaver 16.   Sixteen feet (4.87m to you) of fibreglass with (alas) an aluminium Marconi mast and a Bermudan mainsail with roller-furling jib.   It's astonishing how a grown man can dream for so long about a varnished clinker dinghy with a balanced lugsail and then get a Sandweaver 16.   A triumph of common sense over romanticism?

The keel didn't rest on the rollers

One of the essential features of a cruising dinghy is that it can,  unlike most yachts,  be trailed from home to a launch site,  and then taken home from the same,  or another,  launch site.
The trailer,  and the position of the boat on the trailer,  are important.
The weight of the boat should be taken on all of the keel rollers.   The side rollers and slides are there to prevent the boat rocking side to side,  not to take its weight.   At purchase,  the Sandweaver was not fitted to its trailer:  its keel didn't touch two of the rollers  at all,  and its entire weight was borne on the two slides and the forward roller.   A couple of hours of anxious (scary) work with blocks,  jacks and spanners underneath the boat readjusted it all.

Break-back release pin & spring

The boat should be fore and aft on the trailer so that the weight of the tow hitch is about the same as a person:  no more than 7% of the weight of the fully loaded trailer:  in this case 35Kg (95lbs).   With the keel on the rollers the boat moved fore and aft fairly easily,  and the bow snubber of the trailer was adjusted to this.
It's important,  of course that the boat is easy to launch and recover:  a break-back trailer is one of the best ways to achieve this.   The pivot was oiled and the release pin & spring sprayed with easing oil,  and cleaned.   Sadly,  the outer arms of the trailer had been pinched tightly to the draw bar.   Adam advised that spreading the trailer arms might damage them or the weld,  and that it might be better to use the trailer without breaking its back for the time being.

The trailer was tested (to partial destruction) on the A14 and A1 for the Sandweaver's shakedown cruise.   It did not do well,  so it was taken to F S Trailers at Huntindon,  where Paul declared that "the bearings are shot:  the stub axle might be bent".   The tyres and mudguards need replacing,  and he quoted a very reasonable price for freeing the breakback mechanism.

The winch strap was at the wrong angle

The trailer winch,  which hauls the boat onto the trailer,  was in good condition and needed only cleaning and oiling.   The winch strap was sound and the carabiner which links the strap to the boat was not too bad.
But the U bolt in the stem of the boat was in entirely the wrong place,  so that the strain on the winch forced the bows down toward the trailer.   The best place for that U bolt is at the same height as the winch so that the boat is pulled straight onto the trailer.   The angle had caused the U bolt partially to pull out and had caused stress crazing in the fibreglass of the stem.
The U bolt was replaced with an M12 ring bolt through the stem band and stem,  and held with a shaped timber pad,  a large square washer and Nylock nuts.

The boat was described in the advertisement as "ready to sail":  an exaggeration bordering on an untruth.

The end-stop was missing from the mainsheet track,  and the mainsheet had been cobbled together with a set of blocks and jamcleats,  but no traveller car.   The first tack would have brought disaster.   A pair of blocks from the LS's bo's'n's* store and an endstop & car from Force 4 chandlery sorted out the mainsheet.   The shakedown cruise revealed that the mainsheet was a little heavy,  so the 2-part purchase was replaced with 3 parts.

The reefing lines were harder.   The mainsail had cringles for slab reefing,  but the boom had no cheek blocks:  it did have two tube cleats,  but they both faced aft!?   The LG's jury-rig involved 4 lengths of Hempex (and is too embarrassing to be shown in a photograph).
Later,  a pair of cheek blocks was screwed to the after end of the boom and 6mm Hempex used as reefing lines.   They are led forward to tube cleats on the boom.   The two forward reefing lines were led to nylon horn cleats on the mast below the gooseneck.

The main ha'lyard appeared to be OK.
The shrouds are held out by adjustable spreaders,  the ends of which,  being sharp metal and wire,  are covered by plastic or rubber boots to prevent the spreaders tearing or chafing the sails.   The boots had perished and cracked;  they were easily replaced.   

At purchase the jib had a wire luff with a swivel at the peak:  the tack roller lay on the broker's desk and was thrown into the sale.   The boat is now rigged with the Martin-Wykeham furling gear:  it can't be reefed.   A block at the stemhead and a 6mm line from the well through the block to the forestay ensured that the mast could be raised and lowered by one person.

Jib sheet fairlead and camcleat

The jib sheet sliders had been adjusted to be used by crew sitting forward in the boat,  but the LS will usually sail alone.   It was a simple matter to readjust the angle of the camcleats.

Rudder:  screw removed!

For a while the rudder was a mystery.   The vendor had pointed out that the uphaul didn't work:  had the bungee downhaul hardened over time?   No,  it hadn't:  to prevent the rudder floating up someone had driven a screw through the rudder cheeks into the rudder!   With the screw removed,  a spare length of cord as an uphaul and the fairlead moved to provide a fair lead the rudder lifted perfectly.
At the shakedown cruise it became clear that the downhaul bungee cord was not up (?down) to the job.   It was replaced with a downhaul cord and safety-release cleat.
The entire assembly was dismantled and given three coats of varnish.

Stainless steel engine mount
bolted to the stern deck

Electric outboard motor

The bracket for the outboard motor is something that the LS has not seen before.   Even though it's stainless steel it's lighter and smaller than most,  and it can be mounted and dismounted from within the boat.   It holds the Torqeedo 503 perfectly:  the long shaft projects well below the transom so that the propeller is in clear water.   The motor itself,  when not in use,  fits across the stern of the boat forward of the transom,  aft of the thwart.
If one must have an outboard motor an electric machine is a joy.   No petrol or oil,  no plugs to foul, no ignition to fail.   Virtually no noise,  and enormous torque from a big,  slow-turning propeller.

Rope tidies

The boat itself is spacious,  being nearly 2m in the beam,  but has little stowage space.   There are no lockers or lazarettes;  no bins or crates.   It's a day-boat,  with no attempt to provide sleeping space.   Curiously,  there was nowhere to hang lines,  but this was quickly put right with a set of rope tidies from Bayside Marine.   There is no galley,  no pantry,  no heads,  no tent and no bed.
There are two anchors:  one is a grapnel,  which most sailors don't like,  although it does have 2m of chain and 15m of line;  the other is a folding Fisherman,  which the LS doesn't like.   A coastal cruising dinghy is unlikely to anchor in water deeper than 5m (although Margaret Dye would have disagreed) so about 30m of line would be better than the 15m available.
The bo's'n's store has a Danforth anchor with 5m of chain and 50m of line,  but,  having seen a Danforth trap and ruin someone's fingers,  the LS is likely to use this only if nothing else is available. In the event,  he did use it.

There are two thwarts;  one aft at the helm,  the other forward across the centreboard case.   They are nearly 6 feet (2m) apart.   Two six foot planks,  resting on these thwarts,  alongside the side benches,  became an excellent bed.   Even better with the inflatable mattress and a sleeping bag.

*

For those who enjoy apostrophes this is a lovely word:  two sets of missing letters and a possessive!

Those who don't enjoy apostrophes can ignore my glee.

Challenger

Gerry had arranged to take ten cadets aboard one of the TSYT Challengers for a week:  he needed another adult volunteer;  he preferred one with some sailing experience.

Guess who had sailed a Challenger some years ago!   And guess who agreed with alacrity!!

We met at 0830BST on Monday outside the school and assembled the luggage.   Some of the youngsters were travelling light:  a sleeping bag and a small holdall.   Others had brought everything they might (or might not) need for a month on a cruise liner.

They were all lads;  no lasses.   This was not sexist:   the layout of a Challenger is such that there must be an equal number of lads and lasses,  and not enough lasses elected to go.

Lads in a group tend to go feral quite quickly;  as we assembled at the bus it had already begun.

Gerry was more afraid of a 'starburst' and that he might lose cadets to all points of the compass;  that, too,  had already begun!

The drive to Portsmouth (ably executed by Brian) was boring.   The halfway stop at a service station on the A3 was nothing special (apart from the mini-starburst!).   The arrival at Gunwharf Quays was unremarkable.   Chas,  as ever,  was cheerful and smiling when he met us,  but the lads were horrified at the prospect of carrying their own kit half a mile to the boat.

But the sight of the boat was electrifying.   It brought back exciting,  long-forgotten memories to those of us (me!) who had sailed her before.   The long,  clean hull.   The tall mast.   The snake-pit of lines,  ha'lyards,  sheets and winches.   The stowing of kit and allocation of bunks.   The explanation of the heads.  The skipper's briefing.   The galley and the saloon.

We moved out of the marina about mid-afternoon and headed South down the channel.   At 5q-Outer Spit South Cardinal we turned West along the Solent.
It was a lovely afternoon,  calm water,  little wind and a sinking sun ahead.
There were no marina spaces at Cowes and we found ourselves alongside the breakwater in the North Basin.   With the tide falling the ladder became longer and longer:  the cadets had hoped to run ashore,  but the skipper thought the ladder too dangerous.   As the Westerly breeze rose the boat was pushed away up to 2 metres from the wall,  and reaching the ladder became almost impossible.   The lads were not pleased.   One or two had already decided that they wanted to be anywhere except on a boat.

High water on Tuesday morning made the ladder shorter,  so they used the marina showers and heads and felt a little better.

The weather had deteriorated and the wind had risen,  but the waves in the Solent had not yet built.
The lads were taught how to set the yankee and the staysail and we sailed Westward into the teeth of the rising gale.   Half a dozen tacks later we reached Yarmouth to discover that the skipper had recorded Force 8,  gusting 9,  during the afternoon.
Once again we moored on the breakwater,  this time within a few metres of the Ferry terminal.   but this time the wind pressed the boat against the ladder and running ashore became straightforward.

Wednesday was race day.   Three closely matched Challengers around a standard triangular course.
Your author hates racing.   It pushes people and machines to their limit;  sometimes beyond their limits.   With luck the machine breaks before the people break,  but the people always become aggressive.  Or perhaps those who race do so because they are already,  by nature,  aggressive.
Your author allows that the drive to win fosters improvements in the design and construction of the machine and,  possibly,  in the skills,  strength and fitness of the people.
The lads were bored.   When racing a big yacht the skipper and mate are intense and focussed;  the helmsman (in this case,  your author) did his best.   For the crew (the lads) it was hours of waiting punctuated by minutes of frantic hard work.
We came second.
That evening,  back in Cowes,  they desperately wanted to run ashore.

Thursday was a gentle day.
The afternoon and evening were devoted to the classroom.   The navigator showed them around a chart of the Solent and helped them with a night pilotage plan.   For the first time they were enthusiastic and excited.
The night exercise went well and the boat was sailed safely into Gunwharfs Quay.

Did the lads enjoy the trip?   It was hard to tell.   On the long journey home some slept and some used their smartphones.
Landlocked Sea Cadets!   It makes one wonder.

DCA Medway Cruise

At seven o’clock on a Saturday morning in June the M11 and the M25 were plagued with weekend drivers,  but it took Opal,  on her trailer,  less than 90 minutes to reach Upnor and the Medway Yacht Club.   The seeds of the cruise had been sown in March,  when John Basley,  from the MYC,  invited the Eastern Region to launch from their slipway on the North bank of the Medway,  and had germinated into conversations with Steve the Bo’s’n and Catherine the Sailing Secretary.   The cruise had blossomed with a conversation between John,  of the DCA,  and Norman,  of Lower Halstow Yacht Club which would make the Eastern Region members welcome on Saturday evening.

Opal was off her trailer and waiting on her launching trolley when Dave arrived with his Roamer.   A few minutes later Mark arrived,  expecting to sail with Gerald.   Opal and the Roamer were afloat and waiting when Gerald trailed Susie to the slipway.   As she launched John and Opal were a mile or so downriver,  running before the Westerly wind against the new flood.   He ate lunch in the cockpit,  under way,  keeping clear of the two coasters carrying the flood upriver,  counting the buoys as he passed them and watching the thick,  black thunderclouds gathering overhead.

The first few drops were big and heavy,  dimpling the river and killing the wind.   As the shower strengthened the drops became hailstones,  turning the water into a seething,  bubbling froth.   The ice accumulated in the little boat and on the skipper’s drysuit until he was sitting in an ice bath.   As the hail and then the rain abated the black clouds lowered,  flickering with lightning and deafening with thunder.

As the storm moved away to the East the wind returned gently and he was able again to count off the buoys.   The PHM ‘No 16’ was mistaken for ‘No 14’ and he crossed to the South bank looking for the two cardinals.   The flood,  now at its strongest,  carried him into Half Acre Creek and he spent an anxious hour struggling out again.   And there,  around the corner,  was the real ‘No14’ and beyond it,  the cardinals at the mouth of Stangate Creek.

During the storm the wind had backed toward the South West so that,  in Stangate Creek Opal tacked with long boards to the S’E and short boards,  back against the flood,  to the West.  At the mouth of Halstow Creek the wind was exactly contrary;  the creek itself was a maelstrom of breaking water.   With Opal deep-reefed the boards were equal,  but even with the fair tide flooding up the creek each one gained no more than a hundred metres or so to windward.   When,  occasionally,  Opal refused to tack and had to be gybed around there was no gain at all and even a loss.

Dave later estimated this wind “at the top end of F5”;   he and his Roamer wisely anchored in Stagnate Creek during the worst of it.   At the same time Susie was safe somewhere in the maze of channels East of Stagnate Creek;  neither Mark nor Gerald was able to say quite where!

As Opal finally rounded the corner into Halstow bay the wind died away and a weak sun came out.  Under full sail she glided across the flat water toward the LHYC clubhouse,  passing smoothly between the moored yachts and whispering into the grass an hour before HW.

Ken,  a member of the LHYC,  had prepared his sailing yacht and was waiting for the DCA members at the landing stage.   John secured Opal to a post and Ken showed him the clubhouse,  how to operate the door lock,  the location of the kettle,  the microwave and the shower.   Was ever a soaking sailor made more welcome?!

And there,  coming round the corner,  were the Roamer and then Susie.   Before they were halfway across the bay both dinghies were under oars and being rowed the last half mile to the jetty.

The Three Tuns was packed and heaving with marathon runners who had run an extra ten miles to celebrate and were now rehydrating.   All tables in the restaurant had been booked weeks ago (Saturday nights are popular,  and it’s a lovely pub!) and there was a waiting list for tables in the bar,  but eventually one came free and the four sailors dined and supped.

Medway Estuary

Four o’clock on a Sunday morning.   The last quarter of moon was high in the South and the air was clear and dry and calm.   The tide,  following the moon,  had covered the mud in the bay and would reach HW at about 5.15.   Opal was afloat by a quarter to five,  moving gently through the moorings on the slack water.   The light Westerly wind and the new ebb carried her East down Halstow Creek and North down Stangate Creek.   At the cardinals both wind and ebb were dead against her.   For a futile hour she made no progress upriver at all,  and eventually anchored on the ledge between the East Cardinal and the Isolated Danger for a second breakfast.

To the East Dave’s Roamer,  and then Susie,  crept out of Stangate Creek and turned right toward Queensborough.   They intended to wait for a few hours,  perhaps over lunch,  and then catch the new flood up to Upnor,  but,  within the hour,  the Roamer appeared,  tacking upriver.   For a boomless standing lug she sails remarkably close to the wind!

By  eleven o’clock John had also tired of waiting for the tide and weighed his anchor - which refused to leave the bottom!   Eventually,  he cut the rode,  losing the anchor and committing himself to the wind and tide.

The long beat upriver was concentrated sailing,  both tiring and relaxing,  stimulating and exciting.   Keeping the boat as close to the wind as she would lie while keeping the speed up to cover the tide.   Judging the moment to tack before running into the muddy bank yet using as much of each board as possible.   Estimating by eye the potential collision courses with other boats,  their tack and angle to the wind,  and then deciding which of the blighters had even seen him and which would ignore him.   A cheery wave to those who clearly knew the Rules!

The new flood helped to carry the three boats the last mile or so;  and then the back eddy at the slipway took them each in turn by surprise.

The electric winch was a blessing,  the club restaurant and bar was welcoming and the club officials were very friendly.

The boats were loaded and secured and the motorways were relatively clear.   The delay at the Dartford Crossing was normal.

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.