[bolger] Re: Don't Try This At Home...

Thanks, David, I will reply to your home address as I meant to do with this
letter. My apologies to the group for taking up it's time with personal
business. I would just add this: I am always open to contributions by boat
builders of stories or pictures for Duckworks Magazine.

Chuck

>
> I would be honored to be featured on your Web site! As it happens, I
> spend most of my time (when not sailing/rowing/building boats, surfing,
> or fishing) working for my wife's Web development shop.
> (www.aardvarkelectric.com)
>
> She got her start when she put up a site devoted to her passion,
> gargoyles (www.aardvarkelectric.com/gargoyle) As a result of her talent
> and hard work, I am able to spend way to much time getting into trouble
> in the waters around Montauk.
>
> Lemme give the copy a once-over for style, spelling. Even my writing
> benefits from a good edit ;-)
>
> Thanks again for your flattering offer!
>
> David
>
>
>
> "chuck leinweber" <duckwork-@...> wrote:
> original article:http://www.egroups.com/group/bolger/?start=424
> > David:
> >
> > You probably don't know me, my name is Chuck Leinweber. I am a
> subscriber
> > to the Bolger newsgroup where you posted this letter. I run a minor
> web
> > page called Duckworks Magazine. I am always looking for material,
> and I
> > have to tell you this letter really caught my eye. This is really
> good
> > writing. I would like, with your permission, to reprint it as a
> feature
> > article in Duckworks Magazine. I can't offer you any money, only the
> > satisfaction of sharing your story with other boat builders.
> >
> > Check out the website:http://www.hilconet.com/~dworksmg/and let
> me know
> > what you think
> >
> > Thanks for your time.
> >
> > Chuck Leinweber
> >
> >
> >
> > > Bolger Boat Builders --
> > >
> > > I've been launching my teal, "lil' winnie" off the beach at Ditch
> > > Plains in Montauk, NY and rowing or sailing out about 300 yards to
> > > chase after bonito, also called "false albacore." I actually caught
> one
> > > of these inshore mini-tunas, and the ensuing 15 minute struggle to
> boat
> > > the thing made me feel a little like the old man and the sea.
> > >
> > > It also made me want to catch more of them.
> > >
> > > Unfortunately, shortly after my first catch, the fish stopped
> biting,
> > > and no matter what I trolled up and down the beach, they ignored my
> > > offering. All around me there were dozens of these beautiful fish
> > > jumping and rolling, but for two days straight my rod remained
> unbent.
> > >
> > > So October 1, after a morning of lots of fishing and no catching, I
> > > rowed back to shore, and drove home to get my sailing rig. A
> foolhardy
> > > plan was taking shape in my brain.
> > >
> > > When I got home I told my wife she had to drive me back down to
> Ditch
> > > Plains, and that she should expect a call from the Montauk Point
> > > concession stand (6 miles from of Ditch Plains,) beach in about 4-5
> > > hours. I also quizzed her on a proper description of lil' winnie and
> > > told her if she didn't her from my after 5 hours, it might be a good
> > > idea to grow concerned.
> > >
> > > Once back at the beach, a small crowd gathered as I rigged the sail
> on
> > > the hull. I didn't dare tell them of my plan, lest my day end in
> chorus
> > > of "I told you so's." The whole thing almost ended right there as
> the
> > > boat drifted perilously close to the surf-washed jetty while I
> struggle
> > > to get the rudder in place.
> > >
> > > But, a couple of quick tacks and I was clear of the rocks. Another
> > > couple of minutes and I was well outside, falling off the wind (out
> of
> > > the SSW) for an easy reach to the point.
> > >
> > > I was a BEAUTIFUL day. October was announcing its perfection in
> every
> > > way. Sky blue, water warm, wind fair, crowds thin, fish swimming all
> > > around me. I settled in, put our my line and hoped (but not too
> much,)
> > > that a fish might change its mind about honoring my offering.
> > >
> > > Now most people think the beach at Ditch Plains faces South -- it
> > > doesn't, it's more Southsoutheast. And the further East you go, the
> > > more the land bends to the North. While my initial course (East)
> was a
> > > comfortable relationship of swell and wind, it was also taking me
> > > further away from the land with every passing minute. My plan was to
> > > hold this course until I had cleared the point, then jibe and come
> back
> > > Westnorthwest on another reach. What I didn't want to do was spend a
> > > lot of time running before the wind and swell, where my little boat
> > > felt vulnerable to an unplanned, (and uncontrolled) jibe, broach,
> and
> > > ultimately, sinking. (She's a fine little craft, but alas, negative
> > > buoyancy when swamped.)
> > >
> > > I held to this plan until I was about due South of the Candle, at
> which
> > > point a quick recalculation told me that a was going to have to
> round
> > > Block Island to get far enough East of the point for a comfortable
> > > reach back to the West. Not entirely comfortable with the thought of
> > > being 10 miles out at sea in a 12 foot, flat-bottomed craft,
> sporting a
> > > wopping 16 inches of freeboard, I pulled the tiller to weather, let
> out
> > > the sheet, and began my run past the point, a fine swell at my
> stern.
> > >
> > > You'd be amazed how little it takes to get a boat on plane when
> you're
> > > running before a good swell. You'd also be amazed how unpleasant the
> > > normal pleasant sensation of surfing can be when you've got the
> "wrong
> > > board for the conditions."
> > >
> > > Lil' winnie charged down the face of the swells, and threatened to
> go
> > > straight for the bottom, except I was crouched all the way in the
> > > stern, trying to keep her bow up. Of course, since she's a
> > > double-ender, there was no room for me and the tiller, so I had
> almost
> > > no steerage. We plowed forward and I hoped that what little bit of
> helm
> > > I had could keep her from veering off into some sort of deadly
> broach
> > > and/or jibe.
> > >
> > > Finally we were north of the point and I coaxed her through a
> somewhat
> > > controlled jibe, pulled to weather and began an easy reach toward
> false
> > > point. Since the whole run had only taken about an hour, I decided
> to
> > > try and beat the tide and press on to Montauk Harbor, and ultimately
> > > South Lake Beach.
> > >
> > > By now the wind was stronger, and since it was coming off the land,
> > > gustier too. But other than a little more jumping on the rail now
> and
> > > then, the reach to Shagwong was uneventful. I knew that past
> Shagwong I
> > > was going to be close to the wind, and against the tide as well.
> But,
> > > since it was only a mile and a half from Shagwong to the harbor, I
> > > wasn't too worried.
> > >
> > > I should have been.
> > >
> > > As I rounded Shagwong, I hit the full force of the outgoing tide. In
> > > addition to that, I had the chop from the wind coming out of the SSW
> > > and a swell coming up the sound from astern. All this made for a
> > > confused sea that did not favor my flat-bootomed, plumb-sided hull.
> In
> > > addition, the wind was now even gustier -- I was alternating between
> > > nearly being knocked down by the wind, or rolling her over to
> weather
> > > from not getting off the rail fast enough. And worst of all, I
> wasn't
> > > making any headway against the tide. As time slipped by and the
> jetty
> > > drew no close, I had visions of a coasty helicopter circling
> overhead
> > > because I had failed to show up at the concession stand (now 3 miles
> > > behind me.)
> > >
> > > Now there's nothing I value more than the chance to make a REALLY
> bad
> > > choice, see just how bad that choice is, and somehow walk away
> scared,
> > > unscathed, and a little wiser, and my frustration at my lack of
> headway
> > > was offering me just such a chance.
> > >
> > > I reasoned that the wind was so gusty because I was just a few dozen
> > > yards offshore, and that if I went further offshore, I would find
> clear
> > > air, and in that clear air I could set and hold a stead course. I
> fell
> > > of the wind and headed out into the sound.
> > >
> > > I did find clear air and plenty of it. I also found wind over tide
> over
> > > swell. I was high on the rail, with the sail half-luffed, trying to
> > > keep winnie from burying her lee gunwale as she pounded through the
> > > confused seas. Then all hell broke loose, or more specifically, my
> > > mainsheet.
> > >
> > > I had never really worked out a satisfactory way to attached the
> block
> > > to the boom, and now, in the midst of all the pounding, my "system"
> > > showed just how deficient it really was. The boat rolled violently
> to
> > > weather as the boom swung to lee. Without the stability of wind on
> the
> > > sail, she rocked from rail to rail, threatening to swamp. I tried to
> > > deploy the oars to get her pointed into the wind, and nearly threw
> both
> > > of them overboard. Panic set in as my brain issued and then
> > > countermanded a series of wildly errant and potentially disastrous
> > > orders. I was sinking and the wind was blowing me toward Rhode
> Island.
> > > Finally a voice cut through the chaos.
> > >
> > > "The boat is still afloat, she's not taking water. Don't do
> anything to
> > > make things worse."
> > >
> > > I obeyed. Crouching low, on my hands and knees in the middle of the
> > > boat, I held perfectly still and I obeyed.
> > >
> > > "Good. Now, without dropping them overboard, use the oars to get the
> > > bow into the wind."
> > >
> > > Ever so gingerly I slid the blades into the water and began to turn
> her
> > > windward. With the confused sea this was less than easy and I knew I
> > > couldn't get back to shore without regaining control of the sail. I
> > > held her steady with the oars and examined the damage. Reattaching
> the
> > > block wasn't an option, so I looped the sheet over the boom, shipped
> > > the oars, hardened the sheet, and made for land.
> > >
> > > As I beat back toward the beach, I saw just how futile my efforts
> had
> > > been. Aside from heading toward the beach at a nice clip, the tide
> was
> > > taking me down the sound at amazing speed. However, the pace slacked
> > > noticeably as I neared shore. When I got about 40 yards out, I put
> the
> > > tiller over and began beating back up the beach. The wind was still
> > > quite qusty, but I was making steady progress to the West. After
> about
> > > an hour I was in front of Gin Beach. I had to swing away from the
> beach
> > > to make the harbor, but as soon as the the West jetty came abeam, I
> > > tacked, and made for sheltered water. Now all that remained between
> me
> > > completion of the journey was an easy reach across the lake in a
> brisk
> > > wind.
> > >
> > > Normally this would be the part of the story where everything comes
> > > apart, I lose my boat, and finish the day a little older, a little
> > > poorer and a lot wiser. Well, the rudder did jump out of the
> gudgeons
> > > (all that pounding must have worked it up and out,) and if that had
> > > happened in the sound, I would have been done for. But as it
> happened,
> > > I was right next to a marina, in flat water, and I popped right
> back in.
> > >
> > > The reach across the lake was triumphant! In a fresh breeze and flat
> > > water, lil winnie sailed across the water at a fine clip. I sat on
> the
> > > rail the whole way, scared and smug and happy.
> > >
> > > With a quarter borrowed from a drunken fisherman I phoned my wife,
> "I'm
> > > at South Lake, can you come pick me up?" I was an hour late and five
> > > miles from our designated rendezvous.
> > >
> > > Nonplussed she answered "Glad you called, I was just about to start
> > > worrying."
> > >
> > > Hoping your sailing is less "thrilling" but just as satisfying,
> > >
> > > David
> > >
> > >
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> eGroups.com home:http://www.egroups.com/group/bolger
>http://www.egroups.com- Simplifying group communications
>
>
>
>
>

Chuck --

I would be honored to be featured on your Web site! As it happens, I
spend most of my time (when not sailing/rowing/building boats, surfing,
or fishing) working for my wife's Web development shop.
(www.aardvarkelectric.com)

She got her start when she put up a site devoted to her passion,
gargoyles (www.aardvarkelectric.com/gargoyle) As a result of her talent
and hard work, I am able to spend way to much time getting into trouble
in the waters around Montauk.

Lemme give the copy a once-over for style, spelling. Even my writing
benefits from a good edit ;-)

Thanks again for your flattering offer!

David



"chuck leinweber" <duckwork-@...> wrote:
original article:http://www.egroups.com/group/bolger/?start=424

> David:
>
> You probably don't know me, my name is Chuck Leinweber. I am a

subscriber

> to the Bolger newsgroup where you posted this letter. I run a minor

web

> page called Duckworks Magazine. I am always looking for material,

and I

> have to tell you this letter really caught my eye. This is really

good

> writing. I would like, with your permission, to reprint it as a

feature

> article in Duckworks Magazine. I can't offer you any money, only the
> satisfaction of sharing your story with other boat builders.
>
> Check out the website:http://www.hilconet.com/~dworksmg/and let

me know

> what you think
>
> Thanks for your time.
>
> Chuck Leinweber
>
>
>
> > Bolger Boat Builders --
> >
> > I've been launching my teal, "lil' winnie" off the beach at Ditch
> > Plains in Montauk, NY and rowing or sailing out about 300 yards to
> > chase after bonito, also called "false albacore." I actually caught

one

> > of these inshore mini-tunas, and the ensuing 15 minute struggle to

boat

> > the thing made me feel a little like the old man and the sea.
> >
> > It also made me want to catch more of them.
> >
> > Unfortunately, shortly after my first catch, the fish stopped

biting,

> > and no matter what I trolled up and down the beach, they ignored my
> > offering. All around me there were dozens of these beautiful fish
> > jumping and rolling, but for two days straight my rod remained

unbent.

> >
> > So October 1, after a morning of lots of fishing and no catching, I
> > rowed back to shore, and drove home to get my sailing rig. A

foolhardy

> > plan was taking shape in my brain.
> >
> > When I got home I told my wife she had to drive me back down to

Ditch

> > Plains, and that she should expect a call from the Montauk Point
> > concession stand (6 miles from of Ditch Plains,) beach in about 4-5
> > hours. I also quizzed her on a proper description of lil' winnie and
> > told her if she didn't her from my after 5 hours, it might be a good
> > idea to grow concerned.
> >
> > Once back at the beach, a small crowd gathered as I rigged the sail

on

> > the hull. I didn't dare tell them of my plan, lest my day end in

chorus

> > of "I told you so's." The whole thing almost ended right there as

the

> > boat drifted perilously close to the surf-washed jetty while I

struggle

> > to get the rudder in place.
> >
> > But, a couple of quick tacks and I was clear of the rocks. Another
> > couple of minutes and I was well outside, falling off the wind (out

of

> > the SSW) for an easy reach to the point.
> >
> > I was a BEAUTIFUL day. October was announcing its perfection in

every

> > way. Sky blue, water warm, wind fair, crowds thin, fish swimming all
> > around me. I settled in, put our my line and hoped (but not too

much,)

> > that a fish might change its mind about honoring my offering.
> >
> > Now most people think the beach at Ditch Plains faces South -- it
> > doesn't, it's more Southsoutheast. And the further East you go, the
> > more the land bends to the North. While my initial course (East)

was a

> > comfortable relationship of swell and wind, it was also taking me
> > further away from the land with every passing minute. My plan was to
> > hold this course until I had cleared the point, then jibe and come

back

> > Westnorthwest on another reach. What I didn't want to do was spend a
> > lot of time running before the wind and swell, where my little boat
> > felt vulnerable to an unplanned, (and uncontrolled) jibe, broach,

and

> > ultimately, sinking. (She's a fine little craft, but alas, negative
> > buoyancy when swamped.)
> >
> > I held to this plan until I was about due South of the Candle, at

which

> > point a quick recalculation told me that a was going to have to

round

> > Block Island to get far enough East of the point for a comfortable
> > reach back to the West. Not entirely comfortable with the thought of
> > being 10 miles out at sea in a 12 foot, flat-bottomed craft,

sporting a

> > wopping 16 inches of freeboard, I pulled the tiller to weather, let

out

> > the sheet, and began my run past the point, a fine swell at my

stern.

> >
> > You'd be amazed how little it takes to get a boat on plane when

you're

> > running before a good swell. You'd also be amazed how unpleasant the
> > normal pleasant sensation of surfing can be when you've got the

"wrong

> > board for the conditions."
> >
> > Lil' winnie charged down the face of the swells, and threatened to

go

> > straight for the bottom, except I was crouched all the way in the
> > stern, trying to keep her bow up. Of course, since she's a
> > double-ender, there was no room for me and the tiller, so I had

almost

> > no steerage. We plowed forward and I hoped that what little bit of

helm

> > I had could keep her from veering off into some sort of deadly

broach

> > and/or jibe.
> >
> > Finally we were north of the point and I coaxed her through a

somewhat

> > controlled jibe, pulled to weather and began an easy reach toward

false

> > point. Since the whole run had only taken about an hour, I decided

to

> > try and beat the tide and press on to Montauk Harbor, and ultimately
> > South Lake Beach.
> >
> > By now the wind was stronger, and since it was coming off the land,
> > gustier too. But other than a little more jumping on the rail now

and

> > then, the reach to Shagwong was uneventful. I knew that past

Shagwong I

> > was going to be close to the wind, and against the tide as well.

But,

> > since it was only a mile and a half from Shagwong to the harbor, I
> > wasn't too worried.
> >
> > I should have been.
> >
> > As I rounded Shagwong, I hit the full force of the outgoing tide. In
> > addition to that, I had the chop from the wind coming out of the SSW
> > and a swell coming up the sound from astern. All this made for a
> > confused sea that did not favor my flat-bootomed, plumb-sided hull.

In

> > addition, the wind was now even gustier -- I was alternating between
> > nearly being knocked down by the wind, or rolling her over to

weather

> > from not getting off the rail fast enough. And worst of all, I

wasn't

> > making any headway against the tide. As time slipped by and the

jetty

> > drew no close, I had visions of a coasty helicopter circling

overhead

> > because I had failed to show up at the concession stand (now 3 miles
> > behind me.)
> >
> > Now there's nothing I value more than the chance to make a REALLY

bad

> > choice, see just how bad that choice is, and somehow walk away

scared,

> > unscathed, and a little wiser, and my frustration at my lack of

headway

> > was offering me just such a chance.
> >
> > I reasoned that the wind was so gusty because I was just a few dozen
> > yards offshore, and that if I went further offshore, I would find

clear

> > air, and in that clear air I could set and hold a stead course. I

fell

> > of the wind and headed out into the sound.
> >
> > I did find clear air and plenty of it. I also found wind over tide

over

> > swell. I was high on the rail, with the sail half-luffed, trying to
> > keep winnie from burying her lee gunwale as she pounded through the
> > confused seas. Then all hell broke loose, or more specifically, my
> > mainsheet.
> >
> > I had never really worked out a satisfactory way to attached the

block

> > to the boom, and now, in the midst of all the pounding, my "system"
> > showed just how deficient it really was. The boat rolled violently

to

> > weather as the boom swung to lee. Without the stability of wind on

the

> > sail, she rocked from rail to rail, threatening to swamp. I tried to
> > deploy the oars to get her pointed into the wind, and nearly threw

both

> > of them overboard. Panic set in as my brain issued and then
> > countermanded a series of wildly errant and potentially disastrous
> > orders. I was sinking and the wind was blowing me toward Rhode

Island.

> > Finally a voice cut through the chaos.
> >
> > "The boat is still afloat, she's not taking water. Don't do

anything to

> > make things worse."
> >
> > I obeyed. Crouching low, on my hands and knees in the middle of the
> > boat, I held perfectly still and I obeyed.
> >
> > "Good. Now, without dropping them overboard, use the oars to get the
> > bow into the wind."
> >
> > Ever so gingerly I slid the blades into the water and began to turn

her

> > windward. With the confused sea this was less than easy and I knew I
> > couldn't get back to shore without regaining control of the sail. I
> > held her steady with the oars and examined the damage. Reattaching

the

> > block wasn't an option, so I looped the sheet over the boom, shipped
> > the oars, hardened the sheet, and made for land.
> >
> > As I beat back toward the beach, I saw just how futile my efforts

had

> > been. Aside from heading toward the beach at a nice clip, the tide

was

> > taking me down the sound at amazing speed. However, the pace slacked
> > noticeably as I neared shore. When I got about 40 yards out, I put

the

> > tiller over and began beating back up the beach. The wind was still
> > quite qusty, but I was making steady progress to the West. After

about

> > an hour I was in front of Gin Beach. I had to swing away from the

beach

> > to make the harbor, but as soon as the the West jetty came abeam, I
> > tacked, and made for sheltered water. Now all that remained between

me

> > completion of the journey was an easy reach across the lake in a

brisk

> > wind.
> >
> > Normally this would be the part of the story where everything comes
> > apart, I lose my boat, and finish the day a little older, a little
> > poorer and a lot wiser. Well, the rudder did jump out of the

gudgeons

> > (all that pounding must have worked it up and out,) and if that had
> > happened in the sound, I would have been done for. But as it

happened,

> > I was right next to a marina, in flat water, and I popped right

back in.

> >
> > The reach across the lake was triumphant! In a fresh breeze and flat
> > water, lil winnie sailed across the water at a fine clip. I sat on

the

> > rail the whole way, scared and smug and happy.
> >
> > With a quarter borrowed from a drunken fisherman I phoned my wife,

"I'm

> > at South Lake, can you come pick me up?" I was an hour late and five
> > miles from our designated rendezvous.
> >
> > Nonplussed she answered "Glad you called, I was just about to start
> > worrying."
> >
> > Hoping your sailing is less "thrilling" but just as satisfying,
> >
> > David
> >
> >

David:

You probably don't know me, my name is Chuck Leinweber. I am a subscriber
to the Bolger newsgroup where you posted this letter. I run a minor web
page called Duckworks Magazine. I am always looking for material, and I
have to tell you this letter really caught my eye. This is really good
writing. I would like, with your permission, to reprint it as a feature
article in Duckworks Magazine. I can't offer you any money, only the
satisfaction of sharing your story with other boat builders.

Check out the website:http://www.hilconet.com/~dworksmg/and let me know
what you think

Thanks for your time.

Chuck Leinweber

> Bolger Boat Builders --
>
> I've been launching my teal, "lil' winnie" off the beach at Ditch
> Plains in Montauk, NY and rowing or sailing out about 300 yards to
> chase after bonito, also called "false albacore." I actually caught one
> of these inshore mini-tunas, and the ensuing 15 minute struggle to boat
> the thing made me feel a little like the old man and the sea.
>
> It also made me want to catch more of them.
>
> Unfortunately, shortly after my first catch, the fish stopped biting,
> and no matter what I trolled up and down the beach, they ignored my
> offering. All around me there were dozens of these beautiful fish
> jumping and rolling, but for two days straight my rod remained unbent.
>
> So October 1, after a morning of lots of fishing and no catching, I
> rowed back to shore, and drove home to get my sailing rig. A foolhardy
> plan was taking shape in my brain.
>
> When I got home I told my wife she had to drive me back down to Ditch
> Plains, and that she should expect a call from the Montauk Point
> concession stand (6 miles from of Ditch Plains,) beach in about 4-5
> hours. I also quizzed her on a proper description of lil' winnie and
> told her if she didn't her from my after 5 hours, it might be a good
> idea to grow concerned.
>
> Once back at the beach, a small crowd gathered as I rigged the sail on
> the hull. I didn't dare tell them of my plan, lest my day end in chorus
> of "I told you so's." The whole thing almost ended right there as the
> boat drifted perilously close to the surf-washed jetty while I struggle
> to get the rudder in place.
>
> But, a couple of quick tacks and I was clear of the rocks. Another
> couple of minutes and I was well outside, falling off the wind (out of
> the SSW) for an easy reach to the point.
>
> I was a BEAUTIFUL day. October was announcing its perfection in every
> way. Sky blue, water warm, wind fair, crowds thin, fish swimming all
> around me. I settled in, put our my line and hoped (but not too much,)
> that a fish might change its mind about honoring my offering.
>
> Now most people think the beach at Ditch Plains faces South -- it
> doesn't, it's more Southsoutheast. And the further East you go, the
> more the land bends to the North. While my initial course (East) was a
> comfortable relationship of swell and wind, it was also taking me
> further away from the land with every passing minute. My plan was to
> hold this course until I had cleared the point, then jibe and come back
> Westnorthwest on another reach. What I didn't want to do was spend a
> lot of time running before the wind and swell, where my little boat
> felt vulnerable to an unplanned, (and uncontrolled) jibe, broach, and
> ultimately, sinking. (She's a fine little craft, but alas, negative
> buoyancy when swamped.)
>
> I held to this plan until I was about due South of the Candle, at which
> point a quick recalculation told me that a was going to have to round
> Block Island to get far enough East of the point for a comfortable
> reach back to the West. Not entirely comfortable with the thought of
> being 10 miles out at sea in a 12 foot, flat-bottomed craft, sporting a
> wopping 16 inches of freeboard, I pulled the tiller to weather, let out
> the sheet, and began my run past the point, a fine swell at my stern.
>
> You'd be amazed how little it takes to get a boat on plane when you're
> running before a good swell. You'd also be amazed how unpleasant the
> normal pleasant sensation of surfing can be when you've got the "wrong
> board for the conditions."
>
> Lil' winnie charged down the face of the swells, and threatened to go
> straight for the bottom, except I was crouched all the way in the
> stern, trying to keep her bow up. Of course, since she's a
> double-ender, there was no room for me and the tiller, so I had almost
> no steerage. We plowed forward and I hoped that what little bit of helm
> I had could keep her from veering off into some sort of deadly broach
> and/or jibe.
>
> Finally we were north of the point and I coaxed her through a somewhat
> controlled jibe, pulled to weather and began an easy reach toward false
> point. Since the whole run had only taken about an hour, I decided to
> try and beat the tide and press on to Montauk Harbor, and ultimately
> South Lake Beach.
>
> By now the wind was stronger, and since it was coming off the land,
> gustier too. But other than a little more jumping on the rail now and
> then, the reach to Shagwong was uneventful. I knew that past Shagwong I
> was going to be close to the wind, and against the tide as well. But,
> since it was only a mile and a half from Shagwong to the harbor, I
> wasn't too worried.
>
> I should have been.
>
> As I rounded Shagwong, I hit the full force of the outgoing tide. In
> addition to that, I had the chop from the wind coming out of the SSW
> and a swell coming up the sound from astern. All this made for a
> confused sea that did not favor my flat-bootomed, plumb-sided hull. In
> addition, the wind was now even gustier -- I was alternating between
> nearly being knocked down by the wind, or rolling her over to weather
> from not getting off the rail fast enough. And worst of all, I wasn't
> making any headway against the tide. As time slipped by and the jetty
> drew no close, I had visions of a coasty helicopter circling overhead
> because I had failed to show up at the concession stand (now 3 miles
> behind me.)
>
> Now there's nothing I value more than the chance to make a REALLY bad
> choice, see just how bad that choice is, and somehow walk away scared,
> unscathed, and a little wiser, and my frustration at my lack of headway
> was offering me just such a chance.
>
> I reasoned that the wind was so gusty because I was just a few dozen
> yards offshore, and that if I went further offshore, I would find clear
> air, and in that clear air I could set and hold a stead course. I fell
> of the wind and headed out into the sound.
>
> I did find clear air and plenty of it. I also found wind over tide over
> swell. I was high on the rail, with the sail half-luffed, trying to
> keep winnie from burying her lee gunwale as she pounded through the
> confused seas. Then all hell broke loose, or more specifically, my
> mainsheet.
>
> I had never really worked out a satisfactory way to attached the block
> to the boom, and now, in the midst of all the pounding, my "system"
> showed just how deficient it really was. The boat rolled violently to
> weather as the boom swung to lee. Without the stability of wind on the
> sail, she rocked from rail to rail, threatening to swamp. I tried to
> deploy the oars to get her pointed into the wind, and nearly threw both
> of them overboard. Panic set in as my brain issued and then
> countermanded a series of wildly errant and potentially disastrous
> orders. I was sinking and the wind was blowing me toward Rhode Island.
> Finally a voice cut through the chaos.
>
> "The boat is still afloat, she's not taking water. Don't do anything to
> make things worse."
>
> I obeyed. Crouching low, on my hands and knees in the middle of the
> boat, I held perfectly still and I obeyed.
>
> "Good. Now, without dropping them overboard, use the oars to get the
> bow into the wind."
>
> Ever so gingerly I slid the blades into the water and began to turn her
> windward. With the confused sea this was less than easy and I knew I
> couldn't get back to shore without regaining control of the sail. I
> held her steady with the oars and examined the damage. Reattaching the
> block wasn't an option, so I looped the sheet over the boom, shipped
> the oars, hardened the sheet, and made for land.
>
> As I beat back toward the beach, I saw just how futile my efforts had
> been. Aside from heading toward the beach at a nice clip, the tide was
> taking me down the sound at amazing speed. However, the pace slacked
> noticeably as I neared shore. When I got about 40 yards out, I put the
> tiller over and began beating back up the beach. The wind was still
> quite qusty, but I was making steady progress to the West. After about
> an hour I was in front of Gin Beach. I had to swing away from the beach
> to make the harbor, but as soon as the the West jetty came abeam, I
> tacked, and made for sheltered water. Now all that remained between me
> completion of the journey was an easy reach across the lake in a brisk
> wind.
>
> Normally this would be the part of the story where everything comes
> apart, I lose my boat, and finish the day a little older, a little
> poorer and a lot wiser. Well, the rudder did jump out of the gudgeons
> (all that pounding must have worked it up and out,) and if that had
> happened in the sound, I would have been done for. But as it happened,
> I was right next to a marina, in flat water, and I popped right back in.
>
> The reach across the lake was triumphant! In a fresh breeze and flat
> water, lil winnie sailed across the water at a fine clip. I sat on the
> rail the whole way, scared and smug and happy.
>
> With a quarter borrowed from a drunken fisherman I phoned my wife, "I'm
> at South Lake, can you come pick me up?" I was an hour late and five
> miles from our designated rendezvous.
>
> Nonplussed she answered "Glad you called, I was just about to start
> worrying."
>
> Hoping your sailing is less "thrilling" but just as satisfying,
>
> David
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> eGroups.com home:http://www.egroups.com/group/bolger
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>
>
>
>
>

Bolger Boat Builders --

I've been launching my teal, "lil' winnie" off the beach at Ditch
Plains in Montauk, NY and rowing or sailing out about 300 yards to
chase after bonito, also called "false albacore." I actually caught one
of these inshore mini-tunas, and the ensuing 15 minute struggle to boat
the thing made me feel a little like the old man and the sea.

It also made me want to catch more of them.

Unfortunately, shortly after my first catch, the fish stopped biting,
and no matter what I trolled up and down the beach, they ignored my
offering. All around me there were dozens of these beautiful fish
jumping and rolling, but for two days straight my rod remained unbent.

So October 1, after a morning of lots of fishing and no catching, I
rowed back to shore, and drove home to get my sailing rig. A foolhardy
plan was taking shape in my brain.

When I got home I told my wife she had to drive me back down to Ditch
Plains, and that she should expect a call from the Montauk Point
concession stand (6 miles from of Ditch Plains,) beach in about 4-5
hours. I also quizzed her on a proper description of lil' winnie and
told her if she didn't her from my after 5 hours, it might be a good
idea to grow concerned.

Once back at the beach, a small crowd gathered as I rigged the sail on
the hull. I didn't dare tell them of my plan, lest my day end in chorus
of "I told you so's." The whole thing almost ended right there as the
boat drifted perilously close to the surf-washed jetty while I struggle
to get the rudder in place.

But, a couple of quick tacks and I was clear of the rocks. Another
couple of minutes and I was well outside, falling off the wind (out of
the SSW) for an easy reach to the point.

I was a BEAUTIFUL day. October was announcing its perfection in every
way. Sky blue, water warm, wind fair, crowds thin, fish swimming all
around me. I settled in, put our my line and hoped (but not too much,)
that a fish might change its mind about honoring my offering.

Now most people think the beach at Ditch Plains faces South -- it
doesn't, it's more Southsoutheast. And the further East you go, the
more the land bends to the North. While my initial course (East) was a
comfortable relationship of swell and wind, it was also taking me
further away from the land with every passing minute. My plan was to
hold this course until I had cleared the point, then jibe and come back
Westnorthwest on another reach. What I didn't want to do was spend a
lot of time running before the wind and swell, where my little boat
felt vulnerable to an unplanned, (and uncontrolled) jibe, broach, and
ultimately, sinking. (She's a fine little craft, but alas, negative
buoyancy when swamped.)

I held to this plan until I was about due South of the Candle, at which
point a quick recalculation told me that a was going to have to round
Block Island to get far enough East of the point for a comfortable
reach back to the West. Not entirely comfortable with the thought of
being 10 miles out at sea in a 12 foot, flat-bottomed craft, sporting a
wopping 16 inches of freeboard, I pulled the tiller to weather, let out
the sheet, and began my run past the point, a fine swell at my stern.

You'd be amazed how little it takes to get a boat on plane when you're
running before a good swell. You'd also be amazed how unpleasant the
normal pleasant sensation of surfing can be when you've got the "wrong
board for the conditions."

Lil' winnie charged down the face of the swells, and threatened to go
straight for the bottom, except I was crouched all the way in the
stern, trying to keep her bow up. Of course, since she's a
double-ender, there was no room for me and the tiller, so I had almost
no steerage. We plowed forward and I hoped that what little bit of helm
I had could keep her from veering off into some sort of deadly broach
and/or jibe.

Finally we were north of the point and I coaxed her through a somewhat
controlled jibe, pulled to weather and began an easy reach toward false
point. Since the whole run had only taken about an hour, I decided to
try and beat the tide and press on to Montauk Harbor, and ultimately
South Lake Beach.

By now the wind was stronger, and since it was coming off the land,
gustier too. But other than a little more jumping on the rail now and
then, the reach to Shagwong was uneventful. I knew that past Shagwong I
was going to be close to the wind, and against the tide as well. But,
since it was only a mile and a half from Shagwong to the harbor, I
wasn't too worried.

I should have been.

As I rounded Shagwong, I hit the full force of the outgoing tide. In
addition to that, I had the chop from the wind coming out of the SSW
and a swell coming up the sound from astern. All this made for a
confused sea that did not favor my flat-bootomed, plumb-sided hull. In
addition, the wind was now even gustier -- I was alternating between
nearly being knocked down by the wind, or rolling her over to weather
from not getting off the rail fast enough. And worst of all, I wasn't
making any headway against the tide. As time slipped by and the jetty
drew no close, I had visions of a coasty helicopter circling overhead
because I had failed to show up at the concession stand (now 3 miles
behind me.)

Now there's nothing I value more than the chance to make a REALLY bad
choice, see just how bad that choice is, and somehow walk away scared,
unscathed, and a little wiser, and my frustration at my lack of headway
was offering me just such a chance.

I reasoned that the wind was so gusty because I was just a few dozen
yards offshore, and that if I went further offshore, I would find clear
air, and in that clear air I could set and hold a stead course. I fell
of the wind and headed out into the sound.

I did find clear air and plenty of it. I also found wind over tide over
swell. I was high on the rail, with the sail half-luffed, trying to
keep winnie from burying her lee gunwale as she pounded through the
confused seas. Then all hell broke loose, or more specifically, my
mainsheet.

I had never really worked out a satisfactory way to attached the block
to the boom, and now, in the midst of all the pounding, my "system"
showed just how deficient it really was. The boat rolled violently to
weather as the boom swung to lee. Without the stability of wind on the
sail, she rocked from rail to rail, threatening to swamp. I tried to
deploy the oars to get her pointed into the wind, and nearly threw both
of them overboard. Panic set in as my brain issued and then
countermanded a series of wildly errant and potentially disastrous
orders. I was sinking and the wind was blowing me toward Rhode Island.
Finally a voice cut through the chaos.

"The boat is still afloat, she's not taking water. Don't do anything to
make things worse."

I obeyed. Crouching low, on my hands and knees in the middle of the
boat, I held perfectly still and I obeyed.

"Good. Now, without dropping them overboard, use the oars to get the
bow into the wind."

Ever so gingerly I slid the blades into the water and began to turn her
windward. With the confused sea this was less than easy and I knew I
couldn't get back to shore without regaining control of the sail. I
held her steady with the oars and examined the damage. Reattaching the
block wasn't an option, so I looped the sheet over the boom, shipped
the oars, hardened the sheet, and made for land.

As I beat back toward the beach, I saw just how futile my efforts had
been. Aside from heading toward the beach at a nice clip, the tide was
taking me down the sound at amazing speed. However, the pace slacked
noticeably as I neared shore. When I got about 40 yards out, I put the
tiller over and began beating back up the beach. The wind was still
quite qusty, but I was making steady progress to the West. After about
an hour I was in front of Gin Beach. I had to swing away from the beach
to make the harbor, but as soon as the the West jetty came abeam, I
tacked, and made for sheltered water. Now all that remained between me
completion of the journey was an easy reach across the lake in a brisk
wind.

Normally this would be the part of the story where everything comes
apart, I lose my boat, and finish the day a little older, a little
poorer and a lot wiser. Well, the rudder did jump out of the gudgeons
(all that pounding must have worked it up and out,) and if that had
happened in the sound, I would have been done for. But as it happened,
I was right next to a marina, in flat water, and I popped right back in.

The reach across the lake was triumphant! In a fresh breeze and flat
water, lil winnie sailed across the water at a fine clip. I sat on the
rail the whole way, scared and smug and happy.

With a quarter borrowed from a drunken fisherman I phoned my wife, "I'm
at South Lake, can you come pick me up?" I was an hour late and five
miles from our designated rendezvous.

Nonplussed she answered "Glad you called, I was just about to start
worrying."

Hoping your sailing is less "thrilling" but just as satisfying,

David