No language for a Sunday

I’m a patient man. I think I learned it during a long business career, or maybe it was in my marriage or parenting; yes, that was it, parenting. In any event, it takes a lot to make me really loose it. This morning did it.

The morning started out well enough with Rubicon moving along briskly and on course but the windvane was having trouble keeping the course. This was because the rig was unbalanced. I had rolled up some of the Genoa during the night as the wind started to come up so I had a small headsail while I was still flying the full main. The best plan appeared to me to put a reef in the main, roll up the Genoa and fly the Solent staysail with one reef. I wrote earlier in the week that the windvane and I are getting along fine and Hydro steers a pretty good course most of the time, except for some reason when I’m napping, in which case it likes to shift the course 40 – 50 degrees and see if I notice when I wake up. Apart from that, the one area of our relationship that still needs work is reefing. When you are putting in or shaking out a reef you are changing the trim of the boat from one set of conditions to another and I’ve noticed that Hydro doesn’t like this in-between phase. An autopilot of course would simply steer you right through this transitory period. As you can’t hand steer, adjust the windvane and run up to the mast to hook or unhook a reef cringle at the same time, it presents a bit of a problem. So far, with some alacrity on my part and some tolerance on Hydro’s part we’ve always been able to accomplish the task. Not so this morning. I had eased the mainsheet and gone to the mast when Hydro decided it would be fun to jibe the boat. With the preventor set, the boom wasn’t going anywhere but with the mainsheet well eased, the upper part of the mainsail flopped over and I heard a series of quick reports - reports as in bang, bang, bang - as my three ‘Dutchman lines’ were taken out in about three seconds by the running back line on the port side. (The Dutchman System is a neat little arrangement that drops three separate monofilament lines from various points on the toping lift down thru the mainsail. It works like a lazy jacks and allows the sail to drop very neatly, either partially for reefing or all the way.) I looked up to see wisps of monofilament line trailing from the topping lift like tinsel on a discarded Christmas tree. I let out a long sigh. I’m a patient man.

The loss of the Dutchman lines was not a breakage of any major consequence, a couple of hours at the dock with a small spool of monofilament line and it can be set up again. However, having sailed the boat for five years, and five thousand miles this season, it had never happened before and it was very annoying. A short argument ensued with the windvane and I’m happy to report that I got the last word on that one.

The next order of the day was to set the Solent stay sail with a reef in it so I went to the bow, tied in all the reef furling lines holding up the foot of the sail and went to hoist the sail. I then noticed that one of the short furling lines had come out when it was last flown so I quickly took a small piece of line from my pocket and tied it in. I was interrupted during this by a wave rocking the boat and then quickly finished the job. Unfortunately, I had made an incredible rookie mistake and when I threw that last furling line through the grommet and tied up the foot of the sail the line had gone around one of the lifelines. Always check your work is a cardinal rule in this business, but one I omitted in that seemingly trivial step. I saw my error as I was hauling away on the halyard to raise the sail but it only took a moment for the wind to catch the sail and deliver an 18 inch tear to the fabric. I am a patient man and just let out a long groan before lowering the sail down.

The Solent sail isn’t the most important sail in the inventory, but it is an important one and would have been perfect for today. I can no doubt repair it without too much difficulty, but as the winds were getting stronger I gave that task a short postponement. The wind was rising and I expect it to continue to strengthen as another low pressure system approaches from the northeast. So I called in the reserve force which is my trusty Storm Jib which I hauled out of the lazarette, hanked on the stay above the torn staysail and raised into action.

When all of this activity was completed the boat was moving nicely again, and fairly quickly though perhaps not as smartly as she would have with the staysail. As I sat down in the cockpit to enjoy the balmy weather and take a little break I put my Rangers cap on and looked up to survey the sails. In the next moment the wind took my cap, along with the hat clip that I had not yet clipped onto my shirt and delivered it to the sea. That’s when I lost it. The expletives flew fast and thick and were no doubt picked up by a few Coast Guard stations. It’s a good thing there was on one else on the boat, but come on, enough is enough!

As I pondered the events of the morning I realized that for about three of hours of work on deck I had probably generated another four hours of repair work. It was also slightly disheartening. While today’s problems are relatively minor and quite repairable, there had not been any real gear setbacks since the first week of the race, though they were enough to last me. Then I thought of a comment made by my old friend Mark years ago. We were reviewing client portfolios after a particularly tough day in the market when he just looked at me, smiled and said "ya gotta love it!"

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