Exciting sail surfing the chop on the Cooper River

My buddy and I decided to try a new way of getting LLAMA—my Michalak Mikesboat—onto the water. The closest ramp to my house sits just upriver from a very low railroad trestle on the way to the Cooper River. The only way through was to launch with everything kept flat and folded. We eased the boat into the water, ducked under the bridge with the spars on deck, and motored out toward the mouth of Filbin Creek. That’s where we planned to anchor and rig up.

Neither of us had ever stepped the masts at anchor. In gusty wind, it showed. As soon as we dropped the hook, LLAMA started sailing around in little half-circles, catching puffs and seeming to accelerate with every sweep. We took turns holding the mizzen, steadying the main, keeping the halyards clear, hooking the lazy jacks to the boom. It wasn’t dangerous, just chaotic—a floating puzzle that moved every time we thought we’d solved it. And we solved it a couple times. Eventually, everything clicked into place, the sails went up, and we got underway.

Once moving, LLAMA settled down. The wind was on the beam, and we were plowing water like a tugboat. We meandered down past the old navy base and pulled up on the beach at Drum Island to take a little break.

We made the entire trip down the Cooper River toward Charleston Harbor on one long tack, sliding under the Ravenel Bridge with that feeling you only get when the day starts hard and suddenly becomes easy. A couple of friends spotted us near Cooper River Marina and snapped a photo that made the whole outing look graceful.

Out on the harbor, the chop was lively, but LLAMA handled it well. Mikesboat is essentially a scaled up Piccup Pram, and the multichine shape keeps things calm as long as you don’t push it. A bit of ballast would’ve helped her settle. In the bigger gusts, we would have benefited from a downhaul to flatten the sail. But nothing ever crossed into truly uncomfortable -- just exciting. It was the sort of sailing where the boat talks back to you just enough to keep things interesting.

When we finally turned for home (right before my GPS track failed me), the trip changed character. The wind shifted, the sails filled from astern, and suddenly we were drag racing back up the river. LLAMA’s hull doesn't look like it wants to plane, but there were moments when she felt right on the edge—surfing down the faces of steep little river waves, as we slowly worked our way past them. The ride was quick, a little wild, and an absolute blast. It was one of those runs where you can’t quite tell if the boat is working hard or just enjoying itself.

By the time we reached Filbin Creek again, we were grinning and a little spent. The day had started with a makeshift rigging circus and ended with a race home. As adventures go, it was exactly what a small, quirky boat like LLAMA is built for: a little problem-solving, a little unpredictability, and a whole lot of joy once everything lines up.