Llama

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.

Sailing LLAMA—a junk-rigged Mikesboat—to Capers Island with five friends aboard was the kind of outing that tells you immediately what a boat is made of. I’d always been curious about Mikesboat on paper, but loading her up with a small crowd and pointing her toward open water was my first real test of what the design could handle. She sat down a bit with all that weight, but in a good way, taking on a steadiness you don’t get when she’s empty. From the first reach out of the creek, it was clear this hull actually likes being loaded.

With six bodies aboard, the junk rig required some thoughtful trimming, but once dialed in, LLAMA moved better than I expected. She’s never going to point like a modern sloop, and tacking with that many people takes coordination, but as long as we built momentum and picked our moments, she behaved. When she hesitated in irons, the mizzen trick and a little patience got us through without much drama. There’s something charming about a boat that rewards technique rather than brute force.

The trip out toward Capers was calm, social, and almost comically spacious for such a simple plywood design. Everyone found a seat, nobody felt cramped, and LLAMA just kept humming along. The chop in Bulls Bay kicked up a bit, but she shouldered it without complaint. The vibe on board was easy: a mix of sightseeing, passing around snacks, and watching that long, flat hull slide across the water with surprising confidence.

By the time we beached on Capers, it felt like LLAMA had earned a spot in the “boats worth keeping” category. This wasn’t a stress test or a heroic passage—just a friendly, real-world outing with enough variables to show what she can and can’t do. And for a boat I bought half out of curiosity and half out of instinct, she proved something important: she’s capable, she’s social, and she can carry a small crowd to a barrier island without turning the day into work. More outings will reveal more quirks, but this one made me trust her.