Articles - Page 40 of 51 - Small Boats Magazine

SYNCHRONY

The Tread Lightly's mizzen was the feature that drew Steve to the design.photographs courtesy of Steve Judson

The Tread Lightly’s mizzen was the feature that drew Steve to John Welsford’s design.

Steve Judson of Annapolis, Maryland, was thinking seriously about building a Scamp. His wife had given him the plans for Christmas and he had thought highly of the Scamp’s performance during a test sail. But he had his heart set on a boat with a mizzen so he could more easily heave to. He did a bit of research and discovered that John Welsford had designed another boat with a hull very much like that of the Scamp, but longer and equipped with a mizzen. Welsford’s Tread Lightly is 13′ long with a beam of 5’. That’s 13″ longer than the Scamp and 4″ narrower.

The shortened cabin leaves more room in the cockpit; eliminating the bulkhead and hatch makes access to day-sailing gear easier.

The shortened cabin leaves more room in the cockpit; eliminating the bulkhead and hatch makes access to day-sailing gear easier.

The Tread Lightly was designed with overnight cruising in mind and so it has a cabin with sitting headroom and room for a solo sailor to sleep with legs stretched out under a bench in the cockpit. Steve planned to use his boat primarily for daysailing and found his inspiration for a number of modifications to that end in Bob Trygg’s Tread Lightly, GIZMO. He shortened the cabin to provide more space in the cockpit, and eliminated the bulkhead that enclosed the cabin to make more a readily accessible space for stowing gear. Fore-and-aft benches took the place of the bridge deck in the original design; the side decks are 2″ narrower to keep them from crowding the side benches and footwell. The Tread Lightly centerboard was drawn offset to port, and Steve put his on the starboard side and pushed it a 2″ farther from the centerline to make more room in the footwell.

The step for the mizzen mast is above the tiller, allowing both the mast and the tiller to be on the centerline and not get in each other's way. Note the yuloh's fitting connecting its handle to the blade of one of the oars used to make the yuloh.

The step for the mizzen mast is above the tiller, allowing both the mast and the tiller to be on the centerline and not get in each other’s way. Note the yuloh’s fitting, which connects its handle to the blade of one of the two oars that were combined to make it.

He also made a few modifications of his own. He equipped the mast with a tabernacle to shorten his time at launch ramps. The tabernacle required the replacement the foredeck with an anchor well and moving the mast 3″ aft from its designed location.

Cutting the Tread Lightly's foredeck provided clearance for the mast to heel to pivot in its tabernacle and recessed well for the anchor.

Cutting the Tread Lightly’s foredeck provided clearance for the mast to pivot in its tabernacle and created a recessed well for the anchor.

Steve used recycled lumber for almost all of the solid wood parts, and even worked bits of maritime history into the construction of his Tread Lightly. He made his mooring cleats of teak from the decking of both the USCG barque EAGLE and the WWII submarine USS TORSK. A bit of Santa Maria, a wood also often used for decking, cast off from the PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II became another cleat and part of the pinrail. The pinrail also had some Osage orange from the schooner SULTANA. Steve’s brass builder’s plate is mounted on a piece of mahogany from the ferryboat GOVERNOR (formerly KULSHAN of Washington State) used by the Coast Guard when it operated a base at Governor’s Island in New York harbor.

He used less notable pieces of wood too: the boom was once a mast for a sailing dinghy, the yard is a section of a Star-class sailboat. The spars were dimensioned to fit a lugsail that Steve had on hand; its shape is slightly different than the main drawn by Welsford, but has the same area.

For auxiliary propulsion, Steve made a yuloh from a pair of 5′ oars that were too short to use on any of his other boats. A carbon-fiber ferrule joins the oars at the handles to make a 10′ long yuloh. He reshaped inboard and added a section of fiberglass tube added at a slight angle for a handle to get the proper feathering action when stroking.

Auxiliary power is provided by a yuloh fashioned from two short oar joined by a carbon-fiber ferrule.

Auxiliary power is provided by a yuloh fashioned from two short oars joined by  ferrule. The two halves of the yuloh are easy to store aboard SYNCHRONY.

Steve launched his Tread Lightly this year, christened it SYNCHRONY, and has sailed solo and with his wife on the tidal waters of several of the rivers that feed Chesapeake Bay. He reports that the boat—beyond being easily trailered, launched, and sailed singlehanded—is a magnet for compliments.

Have you recently launched a boat? Please email us. We’d like to hear about it and share your story with other Small Boats Monthly readers.

A Leeboard for a Motorboat

In the wind, our canal boat, BONZO, wanders like an off-leash dog. The design, Phil Thiel’s Escargot, is intended for thin waters that aren’t likely to be subject to breezes, but my son Nate and I often get into little skirmishes with the wind on Seattle’s Lake Union, Lake Washington, and Puget Sound. The hull draws only 6″, and above the waterline are flat sides, each measuring 70 sq ft, so when the wind’s on the beam, BONZO’s bow falls off, sometimes quite precipitously. And motoring into a headwind is like balancing a broom upside down—there’s a lot of movement at the bottom to keep the top in line. The boat is also slow to respond to turns.

The dark ipe board on the outside of the leeboard is meant to provide a structure stronger than a pivot bolt going through the leeboard and the hull.

The dark ipe board on the outside of the leeboard is through-bolted to the sheer guard and the hull and meant to provide a structure stronger than just a pivot bolt going through the leeboard and the hull.

I thought a leeboard, something you don’t often see on powerboats, might help. A little more lateral resistance would both keep BONZO on course in the wind and provide a pivot point for turning. I got some confirmation of the notion of improving steering just a few days before I started the project when I saw a Boston Whaler equipped with two large leeboards. Its owner had it outfitted as a push boat with two braced, vertical bumpers on the bow and was using it to move a houseboat out of a marina slip, a job that required maneuvering in close quarters. He said that he could spin his Whaler around in its own length with the leeboards in place.

The single leeboard has deep roots. Howard Chapelle notes: “The single leeboard…was a very cheap and simple off-side centerboard, in effect, which not only required no case but was also out of the way of cargo placed in the hold or on deck. The advantages of the single were so great, particularly in scows carrying deckloads, that the centerboard never replaced it before the end of sail.”

The single leeboard has deep roots. Howard Chapelle notes: “The single leeboard…was a very cheap and simple off-side centerboard, in effect, which not only required no case but was also out of the way of cargo placed in the hold or on deck. The advantages of the single were so great, particularly in scows carrying deckloads, that the centerboard never replaced it before the end of sail.”

At a local store selling salvaged construction materials, I bought a gymnasium bleacher seat, 16′ of flawless 1-1/8″ vertical-grained Douglas fir. I edge-glued a full-width piece to a 3″ strip to get a 12″ wide leeboard that would fit right under the sheer guard and ride above the waterline when retracted. The 4′ length would put 30″ of the board beneath the hull when deployed.

The board is not weighted so a haul-down is require to lower it. The line to raise the board has a single block and a runner to halve the effort required to lift the board.

The board is not weighted, so a haul-down is required to lower it. The line to raise the board has a single block and a runner to halve the effort required to lift the board.

I took BONZO out on Puget Sound for an overnight cruise and the leeboard seemed to live up to my expectations. Turning was sharper and in what little wind I had, leecocking didn’t seem to be a problem. When we get out of the August doldrums into the fine sailing breezes, we’ll be able to do some more testing. We’ve already rigged the boat with a mast partner and a new mast to carry a square sail I made for one of my other boats. I’d only intended it for downwind sailing, but who knows, maybe with the new leeboard we’ll soon be sailing on a beam reach in a canal boat.

The Solar Eclipse

The homeward leg of my overnight cruise with BONZO was on Monday, August 21, the day of the solar eclipse; Puget Sound was to get a 95 percent eclipse at 10:20 am. I anchored on the east side of the Sound that morning. I didn’t have goggles for viewing the eclipse directly, so I had to improvise. I took a section of the stovepipe from the stove, and used rubber bands to hold a piece of tin foil over one end and a square of toilet paper over the other. I didn’t have a pin to poke a hole in the tinfoil, so I pulled a bristle from a wire brush that we use to clean the portable gas grill we often carry aboard.

To watch the eclipse I made a pinhole viewer with a piece of stovepipe, aluminum foil and toilet paper.

To watch the eclipse I made a pinhole viewer with a piece of stovepipe, aluminum foil and toilet paper.

 

Just before the peak of the eclipse, the breeze turned cool and fog settled in over the Sound and shore. It didn’t get as dark as I had hoped, but the sunlight took on an odd silvery cast. I retreated to the cabin, slipped the stovepipe into the sleeve of a black jacket, and aimed it out the slightly open doorway at the sun. Each pinhole cast a crescent image of the shadowed sun.

Each of the holes I poked in the aluminum foil projected an image of the obscured disk of the sun.

Each of the holes I poked in the aluminum foil projected an image of the obscured disk of the sun.

As the sun was returned to its full brightness, the fog cleared, and I headed home with BONZO, leeboard deployed, running straight and true.

Milford 20

The diminutive yacht OYSTER, a Milford 20, is a modern take on the early New Haven sharpies that worked the oyster beds along Long Island Sound’s Connecticut shores. Inspired by Mark Fitzgerald’s FLORIDAYS in Reuel B. Parker’s The Sharpie Book, the 20′ 6″ OYSTER was designed and built by Neville Watkinson of Milford Boats in Christchurch, New Zealand, and carries either a cat-ketch or a cat-schooner rig.

The sharpie design is well known, but the elements setting the Milford 20’s classic design apart are the counter stern and the cabin with its elliptical port-lights and trim, details that would usually be found on a much larger yacht. OYSTER has been greatly admired at recent classic and traditional boat events in our area of New Zealand. Its classic lines, beautiful counter stern, and immaculate finish readily show the careful thought that has been given to the integrity of the design and the quality of craftsmanship.

The 52-page build manual is comprehensive, with full sequential notes on the whole process enhanced with clear photographs and detailed drawings. The documentation would put the boat within the range of an amateur builder with good woodworking skills and access to a reasonable range of tools and workshop facilities. On OYSTER, the time and care that went into building the coach roof, coamings, lazarette, bulkheads, portlights, rails, and moldings were well rewarded. OYSTER took approximately 1,000 hours to build and outfit.

OYSTER, the first Milford 20, had sapele chine logs,sheer clamps, frames floors, and keelson. Any durable straight-grained wood may be used.Neville Watkinson

OYSTER, the first Milford 20, had sapele chine logs, sheer clamps, frames floors, and keelson. Any durable straight-grained wood may be used.

Construction largely follows that of traditional plank-on-frame boats, but uses plywood for sheathing the hull. The Milford 20 is built upside down over a ladder frame without any temporary molds; the hull is built around the permanent timber frames and longitudinal members. The bottom is 12mm plywood, the sides 9mm, and the deck 6mm. To plank the strong curve of the counter, three layers of 3mm plywood were laminated. There are three 12mm plywood bulkheads: The bulkhead in the bow is open, and the stern bulkhead, set just ahead of the rudderpost, encloses a lazarette that provides buoyancy when its watertight hatch is sealed. The addition of some foam throughout the hull would be advised to add sufficient positive buoyancy to support hull and crew in event of a capsize. The hatch on the foredeck provides access to the anchor, which stows in the bottom of the boat where it can contribute to the boat’s stability.

A double luff tackle (with a double-sheave block and a triple-sheave block) stretched out along the top of the trunk greatly eases the burden of raising the board. The anchor and chain have their place in a box in the bow.Matt Vance

A double luff tackle (with a double-sheave block and a triple-sheave block) stretched out along the top of the trunk greatly eases the burden of raising the heavily weighted board. The anchor and chain have their place in a box in the bow.

The boat’s centerboard has an unusual construction. It’s a stack of thirty 1-7/8″-thick NACA foil sections, 17 of them hardwood, nine of them half wood, half lead, and four of them entirely made of lead, adding 121 pounds to the board’s weight. The stack is assembled on three 10mm stainless-steel rods with threaded ends for nuts and washers to pinch the epoxy-slathered sections together. The board then gets its sides sheathed with 6mm plywood, a leading edge of oak before a layer of epoxy and ’glass or Dynel.

The plans include a sheet devoted to the installation of an air-cooled gas engine. It is "intended as a concept guide" rather than a DIY guide. In the construction manual the designer notes: "The clutch, timing belts and pulleys cost more than the engine! This is one reason I would probably just go with electric drive if starting over."Neville Watkinson

The plans include a sheet devoted to the installation of an air-cooled gas engine. It is “intended as a concept guide” rather than DIY instructions. In the construction manual the designer notes: “The clutch, timing belts, and pulleys cost more than the engine! I would probably just go with electric drive if starting over.”

Although not essential, auxiliary power makes it possible to get through marinas and lulls in the wind. OYSTER has a 6-hp, air-cooled Honda GX 200, an industrial four-stroke engine, neatly and unobtrusively mounted under the bridge deck. The engine was easy to start with a pull or two of its cord, quiet, and provided ample power for launching and hauling out as well as for a short passage in a short choppy seaway. Milford Boats reports that the inboard pushes the boat along at 4.5 to 5 knots and sips gas at the rate of about 1 gallon per sailing season.

The optional inboard motor will keep the Milford moving at up to 5 knots when there isn't any wind.Matt Vance

The optional inboard engine will keep the Milford moving at up to 5 knots when there isn’t any wind.

The engine is set to port, and a belt drive turns the prop shaft that emerges from the skeg forward of the rudder. The three-bladed prop is protected by a stainless-steel plate connecting the skeg and bottom of the rudder. The prop doesn’t feather or freewheel and causes a little drag, but this is a minor concern as the auxiliary power is a major benefit. A bracket for mounting a small outboard to one side of the hull may be a more appealing option to those who are uneasy about installing a shaft log. The long, slender hull and cockpit geometry suggest that the boat could be comfortably rowed if a builder wanted to fit a thwart or two and oarlocks.

Sitting on the trailer designed for it, the Milford 20 doesn't obscure the view to the rear. The towing weight with trailer, boat, rig, and gear is 1320 lbs.Neville Watkinson

Sitting on the trailer designed for it, the Milford 20 doesn’t obscure the driver’s view to the rear. The towing weight with trailer, boat, rig, and gear is 1,320 lbs.

The build manual includes plans for a steel trailer custom-fit to the Milford 20. It was easy to use and, with the boat aboard, weighs around 1,320 lbs—an easy towing load for a small to average-sized vehicle.

At the launch ramp, two of us easily assembled the schooner rig in about 20 minutes. While the unstayed Douglas-fir masts, each weighing 30 lbs, are not heavy, they are awkward to maneuver, and best handled by two. Once the masts are stepped, the rest of the preparation is quickly accomplished. Most lines and sheets are kept in place when the masts are down for trailering, so it takes little time to rerig the boat at the ramp.

Similarly, retrieving the boat from the water and securing it on the trailer at the end of our outing took about 20 minutes. With all sailing gear packed easily in the boat and the masts resting in three crutches, one in each mast step and a third in the hollow rudder post, the Milford 20 is ready for travel. The compact and low profile of the boat on the trailer makes for easy towing and clear all-round vision on the road.

The Milford 20 has a third mast step for sailing with a single sail. A deck plate covers the hole in the forward end of the cabin roof when the that step is not in use.Neville Watkinson

The Milford 20 has a third mast step for sailing with a single sail. A deck plate covers the hole in the forward end of the cabin roof when that step is not in use.

We sailed OYSTER on the open water of Lyttelton Harbor on the east coast of New Zealand’s South Island on a late autumn day under clear skies with a breeze at 5 to 8 knots, later rising to over 10 knots. The Milford 20 is only about 4′2″ across at the widest part of the bottom, but was extremely stable under sail. It proved to be a responsive and easy to handle while underway. The thoughtful placement of the fittings and lines ensures that any adjustments can be made from a sitting position in the comfort of the main cockpit.

The low sharpie profile makes the floorboards the best seating for the crew. The mainsail sheet is led to the tiller.Neville Watkinson

The low sharpie profile makes the floorboards the best seating for the crew. The mainsail sheet is led to the tiller.

The cockpit isn’t deep, so the floorboards, along with throw cushions and a broad coaming, provide comfortable, dry seating as well as a secure feeling while underway. Even as the wind strength increased soon after we got underway and both sails were reefed, it was not necessary sit out on the windward side decks to counter the heeling. If we had additional crew sitting in the cockpit forward of the bridge deck/mizzen partner, they too would have been very secure, dry, and well clear of the rigging as we sailed the boat from rear cockpit.

Both cockpits are long enough to sleep in—6′2-1/2″ forward and 5′11″ aft—but the available spaces in the forward cockpit, either side of the centerboard trunk, have maximum width of about 22” and the aft cockpit has a 4’2″ maximum width. The limited space would be rather restrictive for sleeping. It would be a much more practical proposition to carry a tent and camping equipment on board for parking the crew onshore overnight. The generous space under the fore deck and in the enclosed aft compartment provide adequate out-of-the-way stowage for cruising and camping gear.

With a hull draws only 10", and a forefoot right at the waterline, the Milford 20 takes well to nosing up on a sandy shore.Matt Vance

With a hull that draws only 10″ and a forefoot right at the waterline, the Milford 20 takes well to nosing up on a sandy shore.

During our sail we raised the centerboard and ran OYSTER gently on a sandy beach, stepped ashore, and made a cup of hot coffee using a small portable stove and supplies stowed in the watertight locker under the lazarette. The hull is well protected by Dynel, providing a hard, damage-resistant surface. The Milford 20’s light weight—695 lbs for the hull, including the weighted centerboard—and its shallow 10” draft made the beach landing and relaunching a very easy exercise.

The balanced rudder is 37″ long and 13″ tall at the trailing edge, and has a shape typical of traditional sharpies but with a more modern feature: a 6″-wide horizontal bottom plate to keep water from decreasing the rudder’s effectiveness by slipping under it.

The cat-schooner rig, seen here, has 67 sq ft in the main and 76 in the foresail. The alternate cat-ketch rig has 80 sq ft in the main and 62 sq ft in the mizzen. The designer favors the cat-schooner rig.Matt Vance

The cat-schooner rig, seen here, has 67 sq ft in the main and 76 sq ft in the foresail. The alternate cat-ketch rig has 80 sq ft in the main and 62 sq ft in the mizzen. The designer favors the cat-schooner rig.

The modest sail area performs very well in both light and brisk breezes. However, having a long and slender hull and a tall rig, the Milford 20, like most sharpies, needs to be sailed with no more than 10 or 15 degrees of heel. It did sail comfortably with the lee rail under, although it is preferable to reduce heel in a choppy sea to prevent water from entering the cockpit. In winds of 10 to 12 knots, reefing the main would be advised for stability and comfort and in 15 knots it’s recommended that both sails be reefed. Reefing either sail is easily managed from the cockpits.

The Milford 20 obviously does not sail as close to the wind as a sloop-rigged boat of similar size, but it was very secure with a desirable positive helm. It moved readily in light airs, in a rising wind, and was very comfortable both upwind and running downwind.

The structure and configuration of the boat makes it a safe and pleasurable sailing boat in a range of conditions on moderately sheltered waters. It is not an offshore or coastal cruiser but an able craft that could appeal to sailors of all ages and abilities. The dry, secure cockpit and centralized rig controls would obviously have a wide appeal for older sailors or those with limited mobility.  For the inexperienced, it is easily managed and forgiving underway.

Overall the Milford 20 design appeals as a very elegant, classic craft for home building, and gives a great sailing experience for both experienced and inexperienced sailors. It also would be a suitable craft for a couple or family of four; a delight to sail and appealing to those who want a safe boat for leisure and pleasure.

Peter Braithwaite ONZM has had a career as a teacher, school principal, administrator, training manager, consultant and foreign-aid adviser in New Zealand and the Pacific islands. He now lives in Christchurch where he continues his lifetime passion for recreational sailing and building small boats from RC pond sailers to competitive racing dinghies and harbor racing yachts. For the past ten years he has been the organizer of the Canterbury Classic & Traditional Boats group that promotes and organizes regular regattas and activities for classic, restored, and replica traditional boats in the local region.

Milford 20 Particulars

[table]

Length/20′6″

Beam/5′8″

Draft, board up/10″

Draft, board down/3′3″

Sail area/145 sq ft

Displacement/1,360 lbs

Hull weight (including centerboard)/695 lbs

[/table]

 

Schooner rig

Schooner rig

 

Ketch rig

Ketch rig

Plans for the Millford 20 are available from Milford Boats on paper for $120 and as digital files for $80.

Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats Monthly readers would enjoy? Please email us!

Drake Raceboat

Clint Chase of Chase Small Craft wrote of his Drake Raceboat: “This was the first boat that I designed totally from the numbers.” It’s the third in his series of Drake Row Boats and, at 18′3″, it fits in between the Drake 17 (17′4″) and the Drake 19 (19′2″). While the Drake Raceboat has a familial resemblance to these two American-born relatives, I suspect that there is some Finnish blood in its veins. The fine entry, the ‘midship cross section as close to semicircular as you can get with four wide strakes, and the light laminated frames look a lot like they came from the boats Finns use for racing on their vast network of interconnected lakes.

With no keel and very little deadrise to the garboards, the Raceboat won't roll on its side when resting on a beach.Christopher Cunningham

With no keel and very little deadrise to the garboards, the Raceboat won’t roll on its side when resting on a beach.

The Drake Raceboat kit includes all of the computer-cut plywood parts for the boat as well as engineered wood panel pieces for the building forms. There are eight molds, all notched to fit mating notches in the two girders that support them. Five of the molds are faceted where the planks land; the remaining three are curved to serve as forms for laminating the boat’s three frames. Eight 3/16” strips are glued up over the form to make up each frame, and after the epoxy cures, the frame faces are planed flat. Placed back on the mold, a template is used to trace the facets for the planks.

Each plank is made up of three pieces of 4mm plywood to be joined with an unusual three-step scarf joint, which has an internal interlocking puzzle joint concealed by the outside steps. The planks have 1/2” laps between them; to keep the limber plywood running fair between molds, a temporary clamping batten is used when gluing the laps.

The inwales, made of 1/2″ stock, extend just past the frames fore and aft. The outwales run from stem to stern and are built up of three pieces, making a distinctive broad flange that stiffens the sheer. The oarlocks rest on pads fastened to these wide rails. While the kit doesn’t include parts for flotation compartments—the instructions recommend the use of float bags instead—the boat I tested had small sealed compartments in the bow and stern. The builders, Jim Tolpin and Oscar Lind of Port Townsend, Washington, asked Clint to provide patterns for the plywood pieces. The compartments were sealed, but at my suggestion were each given a small hole in the bulkhead to allow air pressure to equalize.

The flotation compartments in the ends of this Drake are an option requested by the builders.Christopher Cunningham

The flotation compartments in the ends of this Drake are an option requested by the builders.

This boat tipped the scale at 82-3/4 lbs, a bit over Clint’s predicted 75 lbs. Jim and Oscar made some modifications in addition to the flotation compartments that would account for the additional weight. They substituted solid mahogany for the plan’s plywood seat, breasthooks, and stretcher; added 1/2″ brass half-oval running from stem to stern and 6’ lengths along the gunwales amidships; and applied several extra layers of paint. Even with the extra weight, their boat seemed feather light. The mahogany breasthooks made solid handholds for a tandem carry.

Here with builder Jim Tolpin at the oars, the Raceboat looks quite voluminous, but the breadth at the sheer belies the slender waterline.Christopher Cunningham

Here, with builder Jim Tolpin at the oars, the Raceboat looks quite voluminous, but the breadth at the sheer belies the slender waterline.

I’d heard from the builders that the Raceboat was rather tippy, but I think much of their uneasiness could be attributed the boat’s wide beam. Getting aboard requires a long step to plant a foot on the centerline and a long reach to get a hand on the far gunwale. The boat’s light weight and rounded midsection make it quick to react to weight planted off center. I’m 6′ tall and have limbs long enough to make the stretch and keep the boat flat. Any rower seated and centered on the thwart will likely feel stable and secure.

The footboard is adjustable for a wide range of lengths and provides a broad and solid base to push from to put power into rowing.Christopher Cunningham

The footboard is adjustable for a wide range of lengths and provides a broad and solid base to push from to put power into rowing.

The rower’s bench is a fixed 10-1/4″-wide thwart that’s set on a short riser glued just forward of the ’midship frame. The footboard is pinned to a pair of 24″ rails with holes every 2″. Although the increment works well enough when adjusting for leg length, a spacing of 1″ between holes would offer not only finer adjustments but also the ability to set the footboard at a different angle to suit the rower. That’s a minor point and an easy modification to make while building the boat; the structure of the footboard is quite solid and provides a foundation for a powerful stroke.

The boat is quite easy to accelerate; a half dozen strokes and it was off and running. I did some speed trials in a marina where there was neither current nor wind. With a lazy, relaxed effort I easily maintained 3-3/4 knots; a sustainable exercise pace brought the speed up to 5 knots.

When rowing a fast boat sometimes requires stopping quickly. Driving the feathered blades in does the job. The light weight of the Drake Race Boat makes this maneuver possible without putting undue strain on the rower.Christopher Cunningham/Jim Tolpin

Rowing a fast boat sometimes requires stopping quickly. Driving the feathered blades in does the job. The light weight of the Drake Race Boat makes this maneuver possible without putting undue strain on the rower.

It wasn’t easy getting a steady reading on my GPS while I was doing sprints at full effort. Even though the Raceboat is rowed from a fixed thwart rather than a sliding seat, the shifting of my weight as I leaned aft to the catch and forward at the release created an equal and opposite reaction in the boat, dramatically slowing it down on the drive and speeding it up on the recovery. Fluctuations in speed may not be quite so noticeable in a heavier boat, but in the lightweight Raceboat they spanned at least 1-1/2 knots. I’d estimate that the boat’s sprint speed averages out around 6 knots. It’s a fast pulling boat.

The flare of the sheer strake and the wide flange of the gunwale are evident in when the boat is viewed from one end. Christopher Cunningham

The flare of the sheer strake and the wide flange of the gunwale are evident when the boat is viewed from an end.

To make the most of the Drake Raceboat’s speed, it’s essential to have good technique and a good pair of oars—spoon blades, of course, for a good purchase, and a low swing weight for quick recoveries. On my second day of rowing trials, Tom Regan of Grapeview Point Boat Works delivered a new pair of 8’ spoons. They were a good match for the Raceboat. With slender blades that were nimble in and out of the water, the oars could keep up with the boat.

The Raceboat tracked well and there was no need to correct its course on a straight run. It also responded well to turning strokes and was easy to spin around in place as I pulled one oar while backing the other. There wasn’t much wind during the weekend when I rowed the Raceboat, perhaps about 8 knots but while I was rowing across the wind I didn’t feel the boat had any tendency to weathercock. The wind was offshore and made the water flat, but I did have a few powerboat wakes to drive through. The Raceboat cut through them smoothly and they passed by without much effect on the hull.

Pushed hard, the Raceboat maintains its trim well and makes little fuss passing through the water.Christopher Cunningham/JimTolpin

Pushed hard, the Raceboat maintains its trim well and makes little fuss passing through the water.

The Raceboat I rowed arrived on a small trailer but could be set on roof racks. I regularly cartop a 100-lb tandem decked lapstrake canoe, by lifting one end at a time. A compact SUV like mine provides enough of a span to keep steady an 18’ boat as light as the Raceboat, which is much lighter and easier to manage. If your back and height aren’t a good match for the lift, a trailer is the better way to go

While the Drake Raceboat is designed “for the greater speeds in race conditions,” you don’t have to compete to appreciate the boat. It will give you an exhilarating workout and reward improvements in your stamina and technique, but it’s not so high strung that you can’t take it out for a relaxing outing.

Christopher Cunningham is the editor of Small Boats Monthly.

Drake Raceboat Particulars

[table]

Length/18′3”

Beam/48.5″

LWL/17′

Depth/14”

Displacement/306 lbs

Hull Weight/75 lbs

[/table]

 

The Drake Raceboat will be available as a kit in November of 2017 from Chase Small Boats. You can also build from the plans package, which includes templates for the molds and forms for the bow and stern—planks will require spiling.

Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats Monthly readers would enjoy? Please email us!

The Texas 200

ARR & ARR, my homemade Ross Lillistone-designed Flint, surged north-northwest under reefed sail in the Lower Laguna Madre on the Texas Gulf Coast. It was midday on a hot Monday in June, and I would be in the 14′ 10″ open boat all day every day through Friday, so I was covered from head to toe to prevent sunburn, insect stings, and lacerations. I had a neck gaiter pulled up over my nose and ears, a wide-brimmed hat, UV-blocking gloves, and neoprene booties to protect my feet from mud riddled through with jagged shells that would steal shoes, slice skin, and rub in flesh-eating bacteria. I had just begun the Texas 200.

It wasn’t as if my gut hadn’t tried to warn me back at Port Mansfield the day before, as soon as I had put the boat in. I had secured my boat in the marina slip and walked down the dock looking at other boats that had arrived for the 200, recognizing some from pictures and videos posted to the Texas 200 Facebook group and excited at finally seeing them, including the FLYING M and a Bolger Featherwind named HELLO KITTY. After a few hellos to the boats’ crews and a brief conversation or two, I walked back down the dock, and at first my slip seemed empty. Only after a few steps did I finally see my Flint way down low on the water taking up a smidgen of the available space, like a water bug in a swimming pool.

A heavy lump had settled in my gut, and I wondered then if I might have misjudged myself and my boat. I tried to reassure myself that the forecast for the week was favorable, only fair and following winds at 10 to 15 knots. The lump wasn’t going anywhere, though, and I wondered if I should pull the boat out and drive home.

ARR & ARR, lies loaded in its slip at Port Mansfield close to the start of the Texas 200, about ready to shove off. Drybags and sealed buckets loaded with lightweight, bulky gear and lashed down to anchor points at the bottoms of the frames ended up functioning only marginally well as makeshift emergency flotation.Photographs by the author except as noted

ARR & ARR lies in its slip at Port Mansfield close to the start of the Texas 200, about ready to shove off. Drybags and sealed buckets loaded with lightweight, bulky gear and lashed down to anchor points at the bottoms of the frames ended up functioning only marginally well as makeshift emergency flotation.

In the morning, before the captains’ meeting, I stopped by the docks again. The sun was just below the horizon, and the sky glowed mango yellow. My boat was fine, but it still seemed so tiny and low. I told myself I could join the other entrants and drive to Port Lavaca to park our cars and trailers near the finish line, have lunch, and then decide whether to get on the charter bus taking us all back to our boats at Port Mansfield or to drive my car and trailer back to Port Mansfield and pull out of the event. There was still time to mull it over.

When it came time to get on the bus, I joined the others. As fields of corn and sorghum and windbreaks of oak and mesquite drifted by at 70 miles an hour outside the bus window, I told myself I could withdraw anywhere along the route. It would be more logistically challenging with up to 200 miles separating the boat and the trailer, but it would always be an option. My satellite tracker had buttons that could send three different messages home to my wife, Victoria, in Austin; I’d programmed one to say, “Life and limb are not in danger, but I could use your help. Please meet me wherever my track eventually stops.”

The next morning, I carried my last three dry bags of gear down to the slip, finished loading the boat, cast off, and rowed out of the harbor. The lump was gone. It seems that it fed on idleness, and I had had things to do that morning.

Roger Siebert

.

When I rowed out of Port Mansfield I was almost certain I was the last to start this year’s event. I hadn’t expected to see more than one or two other Texas 200 boats until I reached the first camp, but there they were, at least one sail on the horizon far ahead and one or two on the horizon behind. Boats that caught and passed me flew the Texas 200 burgee and crews aboard hollered and waved.

The winds were a perfect 10 to 15 knots and building, and my destination for the evening lay another 10 miles downwind. The water was dark olive green under mostly sunny skies, and as each wave caught me, it lifted my boat’s stern, hissed and gurgled its way forward just beneath my gunwales then rolled off ahead, a lacy train of foam on its back.

The Texas 200 started in the Lower Laguna Madre without much wind, but by midday I had to put two reefs in. It may look like there is a lot of loose gear in the cockpit, but everything not stored inside the boat's buoyancy compartments was tethered to the boat or to me on the assumption that everything on board would at some point try to jump ship and either sink or float away. The tethers paid off later in the day when ARR & ARR capsized.

The Texas 200 started in the Lower Laguna Madre without much wind, but by midday I had to put two reefs in. It may look like there is a lot of loose gear in the cockpit, but everything stored outside the boat’s buoyancy compartments was tethered to the boat or to me on the assumption that everything on board would at some point try to jump ship and either sink or float away. The tethers paid off later in the day when ARR & ARR capsized.

Land lay at the horizon to the left and right, but it had changed from thin, mostly gray fuzzy lines in the distance to thicker green ones near enough to make out the wind turbines strung out all along the mainland coast. The land closed on me over the next few miles until I entered the Land Cut, where the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) becomes a 20-mile-long, 100’-wide dredged path through the Saltillo Flats, a low-lying stretch of mud, shell, sand, and salt flats. Spoil islands lie on the east side of the channel, mostly covered with scrub and grasses, some bearing fishing shacks. Smaller cuts lead away from the channel into the flats on both sides.

The wind had been shifting from southeast to more easterly throughout the day, and at the start of the Land Cut, the channel turned slightly east of north, which put me on a beam reach. The water was only ruffled, but the wind was barely hindered by the spoil islands and made for some exhilarating sailing.

What appeared to be the last of the sails behind had come near enough to tell that it was the Pathfinder I had first seen at Port Mansfield Harbor two days earlier. My boat seemed to have slowed to only a knot or two, so I figured it was the perfect time to shake out a reef and put some distance between me and the Pathfinder again.

I hadn’t gone half a mile with that reef out when an exceptionally strong gust hit and heeled the boat over hard. I let the sheet fly, but it was too late. The leeward gunwale submerged, the boom hit the water, the wind pushed the boat on over onto its side, and I plunged in feet-first.

I righted the boat and reboarded, and the Pathfinder, Peter Menegaz’s FLYING M, pulled alongside, luffed, and slowed to a crawl. Peter and his crewman Joe asked if I was all right. Joe offered a bilge pump, but I declined, figuring I could empty the water faster with my bucket.

FLYING M circled while I emptied the water and put the reef back in my sail. I sheeted in and got moving again, and FLYING M fell in behind me. The capsize and recovery had taken only minutes, and I was embarrassed but cooler for the dunking.

The Texas 200 is not a race. No one seems to care who reaches the finish at Magnolia Beach first, and no one records results anywhere that I know of. You challenge yourself, not others, which made my failed attempt to outpace another boat even more ridiculous.

FLYING M followed me all the way to the first camp, a mud and sand beach on the spoil island side of Land Cut, the dredged channel between Lower and Upper Laguna Madre. I beached my boat just inside one of the side cuts that heads out into the flats. My feet sank in the mucky sand beneath the shin-deep water next to my boat, but on shore, the footing was firm as I lugged camping gear from the boat to the dry spot I had picked out among the yellow beach daisies and fleshy green glasswort.

On the first night we camped on one of the Land Cut's spoil islands. I set my tent near a side cut, visible at the right, leads out into the Saltillo Flats.

On the first night we camped on one of the Land Cut’s spoil islands. I set my tent near a side cut, visible at the right, that leads out into the Saltillo Flats.

My original plan was to take the battery that powered the boat’s electrical system inside the tent each night to recharge my cell phone, handheld VHF, and video camera, but the capsize had fried the battery. My phone had been on all day, so its battery was mostly drained. I had packed two spare phone batteries, an older one that holds only about half a charge and a new one. I decided to reserve the older battery for emergencies and to save the new one for the fourth day of the 200, when I’d need to navigate through passes in almost a dozen oyster reefs over a course of about 40 miles.

Just beyond our camp was a fishing shack, a ramshackle box missing huge swaths of siding and with exposed, rotting rafters, sitting on a pier that was missing almost half of its planks. Still, the shack provided the only shade at the camp, and sailors filled almost every inch of that shadow.

I returned to my tent and nibbled at a mix of dried fruit and nuts—what was supposed to have been my lunch—debating whether I wanted to also heat up a dinner. Kim Apel walked over from the next tent and insisted that I join him and his group after they got their gumbo going. I ended up in a long conversation with Joe and so missed out on the gumbo, but I was grateful for the offer, and it felt good to be among such people.

At dusk I crawled into my tent, its flaps rolled up to prevent it from becoming a sauna, and bedded down. The wind stayed strong into the night and beat, fluttered the rolled-up flaps, and drummed the windward panels, which kept me from falling asleep for a good while.

I woke during the night to a deep thrumming permeating the night air. A tugboat was pushing two barges through the Land Cut, appearing ghostly gray in the light of a gibbous moon. After the tugboat passed, it revealed all along the western horizon, countless blinking red lights atop the mainland’s long stretch of wind turbines. I kept an eye on our boats pulled up along the shore to see if the tugboat’s wake might do anything that would need attention, but it left barely more than a ripple. A few of our boats adjusted their haunches, as if snuggling into different sleeping positions, and that was it.

I woke again while it was still dark, feeling rested but hungry. With my phone turned off, I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I guessed from the position of the moon that it was close to dawn, so I made a cup of coffee and ate a baggie of granola with milk. A coyote yipped in the distance. Shortly after breakfast, the eastern sky lightened, and other sailors began to stir, so I broke camp and loaded the boat.

 

The wind hadn’t slackened overnight, so I left the two reefs in my sail, humbled into taking more care after my dunking. Through the morning’s sail, the clouds grew more numerous and larger, their bellies turning gray while still glowing bright white around their edges. Each time I felt like shaking out a reef, I glanced behind and saw the gurgles and foam in my wake slipping away at 3 or 4 knots, and I left things alone. I scarfed down a bit of jerky and an energy bar while I was still in the Land Cut and had the chance, assuming I would have my hands full managing the boat later in the day.

The day turned windy, with gusts reaching 25 knots. In Baffin Bay, with the waves on my quarter and building, my push-pull tiller required a fair bit of force to keep the boat from broaching. The daggerboard tapped against the sides of its slot, spilling water into the forward section of the cockpit. Sharp wave crests lapped a cup or two over the windward gunwale. The waves were only 2′ tall, but big enough to push my boat around.

A half dozen dolphins surfaced around my boat; two leapt half out of the water right next to my bow. I had been quite anxious about the waves and the water coming aboard, but the dolphins, playing as if we were in a kiddie pool, calmed me. ARR & ARR apparently wasn’t going fast enough or creating a big enough bow wave for the dolphins, and they soon they headed over to a small sloop gaining on my starboard quarter.

After I crossed the bay, I ducked in and out of the shelter of some spoil islands, and where the waves were smaller I could move to the center thwart and sponge out the water that had spilled into the forward half of the cockpit. When I built the boat, I thought about running a couple of tubes through the bottom of the center-thwart buoyancy compartment to allow shipped water to flow aft where I could bail it out. I wished I had done that.

3. ARR & ARR rests on the bottom in only inches of water at Camp Two, on the west side of Padre Island, about halfway between Baffin and Corpus Christi Bays. Other Texas 200 boats here include a Bolger Dovekie (cream topsides and leeboard); a sloop designed and built by the late Joe Dobler (yellow topsides), renamed JOE COOL by its current owner; and a couple of Jim Michalak-designed Mayflies (dark brown boat and tan boat at right).

ARR & ARR rests on the bottom in only inches of water at Camp Two, on the west side of Padre Island, about halfway between Baffin and Corpus Christi Bays. Other Texas 200 boats here include a Bolger Dovekie (cream topsides and leeboard); a sloop designed and built by the late Joe Dobler (yellow topsides), renamed JOE COOL by its current owner; and a couple of Jim Michalak-designed Mayflies (dark brown boat and tan boat at right).

Camp 2 was on the western shore of Padre Island. The ground was sandy and flat for about 100’ inland, where it rose up in grass-covered dunes. Between the shoreline and the dunes, a meandering rivulet of water snaked inland from Laguna Madre. A black skimmer swooped in and raced within inches of the water angled its lower bill almost straight down, ripping a miniature bow wave and wake down the rivulet’s middle.

 

The next morning, on the way to Corpus Christi Bay, the wind blew 10 to 20 knots across water sheltered by Padre Island, so I made good headway on nearly flat water on a broad reach, even with two reefs in. Four dolphins rose from the dark olive water right next to me. One surfaced so close that I could have reached out and touched its curved, gray back.

The winds built and became more easterly as the day progressed. By the time I entered the bay, the wind had backed from my quarter toward my beam, and with a fetch of 2 to 3 miles, the waves built up to 2′ again. The boat started taking water. I heeled the boat to raise the weather rail, but there was a limit to how much I could do that without dipping the lee rail, and as wave tops continued to splash aboard, water accumulated forward where I couldn’t get to it.

I headed up toward the windward shore to get into sheltered water; sailing on a close reach left my starboard flank less exposed and only a few wave tops spilled aboard.

On the morning of Day Three, we sailed north along the 42-nautical-mile length of Upper Laguna Madre, on the way north to Corpus Christi Bay. The lagoon is 5 miles wide and yet has an average depth of only 3’. The stern light is wired to a 12-volt system that powers the boat’s lights, horn, and sound system.

On the morning of Day Three, we sailed north along the 42-nautical-mile length of Upper Laguna Madre on the way north to Corpus Christi Bay. The lagoon is 5 miles wide and yet has an average depth of only 3’. The stern light is wired to a 12-volt system that powers the boat’s lights, horn, and sound system.

The chop stirred up the bottom across miles of shallows, turning the water gold under the midday sun. I closed on the windward shore until I was in calmer water, where waving swaths of dark brown sea grass waved across the bottom. Water had almost filled the forward part of the cockpit, and instead of turning to parallel the shoreline and sponging out as I sailed, I beached the boat and took a break. I pushed the button on my satellite tracker to send Victoria the preprogrammed message that I wasn’t on my planned route, but everything was okay. I bailed out the boat and tucked my last reef.

It was a gorgeous beach, with calm water, fine sand, and grass-covered dunes. I checked my chart and found my position on Mustang Island. I pushed my boat into knee-deep water and climbed aboard, eager to get going again. I was glad to have the company of the two other boats, even if for a short while. Within a couple of miles, the Hobie left the sloop and me behind, and I followed the sloop through Shamrock Cove and toward Stingray Hole, where the sloop went around Point of Mustang and also disappeared. I was undercanvased, but I didn’t want to shake out a reef and then have to hike out. I wanted to keep my weight low for stability and to be able to move forward when necessary to sponge out the cockpit.

ELSIE B, a folding schooner, passed me in the Intracoastal Waterway on the way to Corpus Christi Bay on Day 3. Visible above the gunwale at the boat's middle is a large hinge that allows the boat to be folded in half for transport and storage. ELSIE B has participated in every Texas 200 so far and is the inspiration for the Texas 200’s logo.

ELSIE B, a folding schooner, passed me in the Intracoastal Waterway on the way to Corpus Christi Bay on Day 3. On the gunwale at the boat’s middle is a large hinge that allows the boat to be folded in half for transport and storage. ELSIE B has participated in every Texas 200 so far and is the model for the Texas 200’s logo.

I arrived at Camp 3, Mud Island, about two hours before sunset, to the sight of nearly 60 boats pulled up all along the shoreline. This year, the Texas 200 offered two routes; the traditional 200, from Port Mansfield at the southern part of the Laguna Madre to the finish at Magnolia Beach; and the “Hard Way,” which started at Magnolia Beach, joined us traditional types at Camp 3, and then headed back to the finish back at Magnolia Beach along with the rest of us. Mud Island was the first time the two fleets were combined as one.

After setting up my tent, eating a hot meal, and studying the next day’s route on the charts, I was disappointed that not enough daylight remained to walk the beach to see the Hard Way boats and meet many of the sailors I had read about.

 

Day 4 was the longest, at 43 nautical miles, and most difficult of the trip. Some of the oyster reefs would be easy to avoid—the deep-water gap between Poverty and Spalding Reefs is about a quarter mile wide and easily negotiated with chart and compass alone. Other passes, like that between Cedar and Ayres Reefs, were narrow, and sometimes winding, requiring either local knowledge, a GPS device, or the patience to slowly poke and prod your way along. Day 4 was what I had saved the better of my two charged phone batteries for, and I wasn’t sure how long it would last while constantly operating a navigation app with the phone’s GPS enabled, so I checked and double-checked my planned route for accuracy in case I had to fall back on navigating with chart and compass.

I launched shortly after sunrise but was still behind half the fleet, a loose trail of sails sprinkled across the water all the way to the horizon. Behind me came FLYING M and one of the Hobie trimarans. The air felt cool with the sun still mostly tucked behind clouds at the horizon, and my boat left a gurgling wake in nearly flat water. The more Mud Island shrank behind, the more fetch the wind had to build the waves, and I was soon pushing and pulling the tiller to stay on course again. The action wasn’t as extreme this time and the sailing was actually pleasant.

FLYING M and I sailed side by side only 100 yards apart as we neared the wide gap between Pauls Mott and Long Reef. A line of white tumbling wave tops appeared directly ahead of me, running out from Pauls Mott to starboard. I turned to port and aimed around the farthest edge of the churning waves and toward FLYING M, but I hadn’t reacted quickly enough. My daggerboard plowed into the shell bottom. I spilled the air from the sail and jerked the daggerboard up. The grinding ended, and ARR & ARR moved ahead again. Once the churning waves were behind, I pushed the daggerboard back down clear of the boom. FLYING M had pulled ahead during my grounding, and I fell in behind them on a course that would take us between Poverty and Spalding Reefs 2 to 3 miles ahead and then to the more challenging Cape Carlos Dugout.

Before this trip I was worried about having a daggerboard instead of a pivoting centerboard. When the daggerboard hit bottom—and in the Texas 200, it is “when,” not “if”—something would break or the boat would capsize. Because I was mostly sailing downwind, I kept the daggerboard as high as I could without allowing its top to get in the way of the boom and had originally thought that my kick-up rudder blade, sticking farther beneath the surface than the mostly raised daggerboard, would warn me when I got into less than 2 feet of water. But the daggerboard always hit first. Sometimes it would grind on the shell bottom like at Pauls Mott, and at other times it would hit mud and feel more like I had firmly pressed a brake pedal. The boat was never moving so fast that it broke anything or capsized. After the shells on the bottom had worn down the edge of my daggerboard, it was easy to shrug off additional damage and accept that it had become my makeshift depth sounder.

Dolphins are a common sight in the Texas 200, and they are not at all shy. One surfaced repeatedly next to ARR & ARR on the approach to Corpus Christi Bay on Day 3.

Dolphins are a common sight in the Texas 200, and they are not at all shy. One surfaced repeatedly next to ARR & ARR on the approach to Corpus Christi Bay on Day Three.

Cape Carlos Dugout and Cedar Dugout were unexpectedly easy channels to navigate. I had my phone’s navigation app, the pilings marking the channel, and FLYING M traveling the same course only 50’ ahead. It was easy to be cautious as the water in the dugouts was smooth between the surrounding reefs and a shortened sail nudged me along at only 2 or 3 knots. In Cedar Dugout, the water lapped the edge of a long shoal only inches deep to starboard, and a few dozen bright pink roseate spoonbills sauntered ankle deep on the shoal, a few here and there dipping and swishing their long paddle-like beaks.

After crossing Mesquite Bay, I followed the bottom contours of my navigation app into Ayres Dugout, which ran adjacent to a small island with a short, steep beach. Three or four boats were pulled up on the beach, so I came ashore for a quick break too. One of the sailors helped me land and held my bow until I got out and took the boat from him. I thanked him, pulled the bow onto the beach, and began sponging out the forward area of my boat. The other crews relaunched and sailed into Ayres Bay on a path that would take them around the southern edge of the Second Chain of Islands. They seemed to be following the course I had plotted for the bay, so I quickly tucked my sponge away and shoved off to follow them.

Little by little, their sails shrank in the distance ahead. After I entered San Antonio Bay and set my course northeast toward Panther Reef Cut, the other boats passed Ayres Point and turned more eastward, toward the southern edge of Panther Reef and much closer to Matagorda Island. The water would be calmer there, which was enticing. On my chart, I didn’t see an obvious path through the reef where they were headed, but I knew that at least some of those sailors had completed previous Texas 200s and wouldn’t be going that way if there weren’t a way through.

After I passed Ayres Point, I turned toward the other boats and shot a bearing on their cluster of sails so I’d know what course to steer after they’d disappeared over the horizon. I wished I had plotted several courses for each day, a primary course and a couple of alternative ones. As it was, deciding to alter course meant juggling phone and chart and trying to memorize new courses on the fly.

I pulled out my phone to see where my new bearing would take me, knowing that the navigation app would show greater detail on the depths at the reef and probably the way through, but my phone’s battery was dead. I pulled out my chart and between double-checking my course against the sails on the horizon, steering the boat through the waves, and glancing at the chart to figure it all out, I determined I was heading toward Pelican Point some 5 or 6 miles distant, with the low green line of Matagorda Island stretching across the horizon to starboard a mile or two away.

I was back on a close reach, but the waves remained choppy and water continued to come aboard. Whenever the chop subsided for three or four waves, I crept onto the main thwart and sponged out some of the water, and whenever the chop steepened, I pointed higher to take them more on the bow, but still, little by little over the next 4 miles, the water coming aboard outpaced my sponging and was within inches of the top of the main thwart in the forward area.

The boat was sluggish as a result, and of course the water always went to the side of the boat that was lowest, which was like having a crewman constantly moving to the wrong side of the boat. On one steeper dip to leeward, water flowed over the lowered end of the main thwart into the part of the cockpit I occupied. I leveled the boat and bailed that out. I was pleased with the discovery that I could shift some of the water aft simply by heeling the boat, and then could bail it out from where I sat.

With me and all gear aboard, the ARR &ARR floats low in the water, while sailing in Aransas Bay on Day 4. I had reduced my original inventory of gear from 240 pounds to 150 before leaving home, but I could have ditched more. I carried water for the entire trip, but I could have taken on fresh water at Corpus Christi, halfway into the 200, and carried only have of the 65 pounds I had on board at the start. A lighter anchor with less chain would have helped as well.Asmus Freytag

With me and all gear aboard, the ARR &ARR floats low in the water, while sailing in Aransas Bay on Day 4. I had reduced my original inventory of gear from 240 pounds to 150 before leaving home, but I could have ditched more. I carried water for the entire trip, but I could have taken on fresh water at Corpus Christi, halfway into the 200, and carried only half of the 65 pounds I had on board at the start. A lighter anchor with less chain would have helped as well.

I wanted to land somewhere I could bail everything out. A pair of white beaches lay about a mile dead ahead, and I was still within about a mile of Matagorda Island to starboard. I couldn’t tell whether the white beaches to the east or the green land to my southeast were closer. I checked the chart and figured out roughly where I was, and it appeared even on the chart that I was about equidistant to both shorelines. The beaches to the east were closer to my destination, so I continued toward them.

As I approached the two beaches, the gap between them grew. I aimed for the windward beach, so I could use the leeward one as backup in case I had more leeway than I was guessing or in case the wind backed before I got there.

I sailed and bailed, but it was difficult to keep up with the water coming aboard. The more water the boat had in it, the faster it came aboard. It sloshed around 6” deep even in the main area where I sat, and I became disheartened with the whole trip. I couldn’t help concluding that it had been stupid of me to enter the Texas 200. It wasn’t the boat—it was a good boat, just not the best choice for me for this event. It wasn’t the conditions—wind speeds were perfect, and the chop was only 2 feet high. It was my lack of experience—I had sailed this boat in windier conditions plenty of times, but not in such shallow waters and in this sort of chop.

 

I wasn’t in danger. Land lay on every side, albeit over the horizon much of the way around; the water was wading depth sometimes a half mile from shore and so warm that hypothermia was virtually impossible. My boat has somewhere around 600 lbs of buoyancy and would float fully swamped. Indeed, it can still make headway under oars while swamped. The most realistic threats were sunburn and dehydration, but I had plenty of sun protection and drinking water. What seemed threatened more than anything else was my pride, and the fact that I was even thinking about such a dumb thing irritated me. So the boat slogged toward shore at about a knot, and I bailed and bailed, grumbling at myself for worrying about how stupid I might appear for—get this—having been stupid.

I was only a couple hundred feet from the searing white beach on what I guessed was Pelican Point when the daggerboard grated against the shell bottom. I pulled the board out, clambered overboard, and dragged the boat toward shore, more relieved than happy. I was too tired and disgusted with myself to be happy.

As I waded, the bottom dipped once, from thigh to sternum deep, but then rose again, continuously this time, until I had the boat’s bow pulled up on shore. I bailed most of the water out then pulled the boat higher onto the beach to finish bailing and sponging.

The beach was steep and made of coarse shells almost too bright to look at under the afternoon sun. A light breeze came over the ridge of greenery inland, and it felt pleasantly cool because I was drenched up to my armpits.

I flipped the page on the chart book looking for the spot where everyone would converge for the night’s camp, Army Hole, an abandoned airfield near the far end of Matagorda Island, but it wasn’t on the chart. I flipped another page. There it was, still at least 15 miles away. It was already midafternoon.

I tucked the third reef in the sail, pushed the boat out to thigh-deep water, and climbed aboard. It was good to have a responsive boat again. I sailed around Panther Point without grounding, although the chart showed only 1’ of water there, and stayed within a mile of the shoreline for the 6 or 7 miles to the First Chain of Islands. There were times when water would still sneak aboard, but I knew that the more water I had aboard, the more work it would take to match the pace of the ingress, so I sponged it out as soon as it came in. With less sail up, and with the responsiveness of a drier boat, it was easier to sail even while forward removing water. While it helped that the chop was gentler this close to the windward shore, I suspected I’d gotten at least a little smarter about how to handle it all. Whatever the case, I was enjoying myself again.

The Corpus Christi Bay side of Mustang Island provided the perfect opportunity for a quick break. The Gulf side of the island sees people take a break of a different sort, Spring Break, when thousands of college kids descend upon the miles of broad sandy beaches.

The Corpus Christi Bay side of Mustang Island provided the perfect opportunity for a quick break. The Gulf side of the island sees people take a break of a different sort, Spring Break, when thousands of college kids descend upon the miles of broad, sandy beaches.

A lime-green Goat Island Skiff shot by with almost all sail up, passing me about 100 yards to starboard. It was John Goodman aboard GIR.  He yelled out “Woo-hoo!” as raced ahead on plane, heading straight for the islands I had set my course to. It felt as if Superman had swooped in to show me the way through.

I followed GIR as she headed straight for what appeared to be a small wooden water tower on one of the islands. GIR shrank in the distance and doglegged left, cutting around the northern edge of the island.

I followed, although at a fraction of the speed. I cut left at the water tower, and then doglegged back right at the island’s edge, and my daggerboard ground to a halt on the oyster-shell bottom. I got out and walked the boat to deeper water, got back in, and promptly ground to a halt only 50’ farther on. I walked the boat again and, that time, left the islands behind.

I was elated that GIR had shown me a way through and that only deeper water remained between me and Army Hole. I had 8 or 9 miles to go but there would be no more reefs.

About 4 miles later, as I approached Vanderveer Island and the last stretch to Army Hole, the sun hung low in the sky, about to duck behind the denser cloud cover at the horizon. I doubted I’d reach Army Hole before dark, and I didn’t want to be on the water at night. Every once in a while, a wave top tossed a pint or so of water into the front of the boat, and water was sneaking in through the daggerboard slot again. I sponged it out but I wasn’t ready to shake out a reef.

Ahead there appeared to be beaches suitable for campsites dotted along the Vanderveer Island shoreline. I considered heading for one and setting up camp by myself while it was still light and meeting up with the rest of the boats at the finish the next day. I could send Victoria two messages: one letting her know I was stopping for the day and another letting her know that although I wasn’t on my planned route, everything was okay.

I continued to skirt the island and rounded the turn in the island, and with the sunlight coming from behind me, Army Hole’s long main building and picnic pavilion roofs gleamed white against the darkening horizon ahead. The final 2 or 3 miles would be in the lee of Vanderveer Island, which meant flat water the entire way, so I crawled forward and took out a reef. ARR & ARR sped up, but it still didn’t seem fast enough. As the sun had slipped to within a few degrees of the horizon, I shook out another reef, sat on the gunwale, tucked my toes beneath the hiking strap, and pulled in the sheet. The boat took off, and I thought I might make it after all.

The sun set when I was about a mile out, and the light and the wind faded, but I was so, so close. I was too close to save any time by stopping and shaking out the last reef, so I kept sailing.

I made Army Hole in the last of the twilight, and another sailor helped pull my bow onto the grassy shore. I set up my tent in the dark, slipped inside, and ate a quick cold dinner. I was wet, hungry, sore, and exhausted, but I had made it, more than 40 nautical miles in one very long day. I stretched out on my sleeping mat in my still-damp clothes and fell into a long, deep sleep.

Spending five days with the Texas summer sun beating down on and reflecting off of the water makes complete coverage a necessity. Previous Texas 200 participants have had to drop out as early as day 2 from sunburn alone. Lightweight, quick-drying synthetic pants and shirt are best—cotton doesn’t provide adequate protection, especially when wet. Carrying a change of clothes prevents them from becoming too foul. I had only one neck gaiter and it was quite rank by the end of the event. I enjoyed my separate set of sleeping clothes—a pair of shorts and a T-shirt until Day 4 when water seeped into their dry bag and soaked them. The bicycle mirror provides a limited but useful view of where I was heading when I was rowing. I commute by bicycle, so I was already used to that type of mirror.

Spending five days with the Texas summer sun beating down on and reflecting off of the water makes complete coverage a necessity. Previous Texas 200 participants have had to drop out as early as Day Two from sunburn alone. Lightweight, quick-drying synthetic pants and shirt are best—cotton doesn’t provide adequate protection, especially when wet. Carrying a change of clothes prevents daily apparel  from becoming too foul. I had only one neck gaiter and it was quite rank by the end of the event. I enjoyed my separate set of sleeping clothes—a pair of shorts and a T-shirt until Day Four when water seeped into their dry bag and soaked them. The bicycle mirror provides a limited but useful view of where I was heading when I was rowing. I commute by bicycle, so I was already used to that type of mirror.

 

It was already light when I woke to the last day of the 200. Only about 20 miles of easy sailing lay between me and the finish at Magnolia Beach. I took my time eating breakfast, taking down the tent, and preparing the boat.

Most of the fleet was already gone by the time I pushed off. The wind blew a steady 10 to 15 knots with gusts up to 20, and I had 4 or 5 miles of a broad Espiritu Santo Bay to cross, so I sailed double-reefed.

The bay is only about 6′ deep, so the waves were choppy, even if only about 2′ high, but they were regular and going my direction. With the steeper sets, water sprayed outward from the gunwales.

Water flowed from the daggerboard trunk into the forward cockpit, but I’d lashed an empty 5-gallon water can in that part of the cockpit and functioned as a buoyancy tank, making it unnecessary to bail. I made good headway across the 4 ½ miles of Espiritu Santu and threaded through the ruins of more than a dozen platforms about halfway across the bay, so I certainly wasn’t at risk of dozing off or anything, but the whole thing seemed routine by then. Just outside the entrance to the channel between the islands, a lone dolphin surfaced 50′ off my port bow. It moved slowly and surfaced only once. Its dorsal fin had a chopped, jagged edge; an old wound likely from a boat’s propeller. I felt for the poor thing but admired its resilience.

11. I was all smiles at the finish at Magnolia Beach. Beaches like these, made up of coarse shell fragments, may seem benign, but even the slight rocking caused by waves as small as these would wear through paint in the just a couple of hours.Roger Siebert/Ross Stapp

I was all smiles at the finish at Magnolia Beach. Beaches like these, made up of coarse shell fragments, may seem benign, but even the slight rocking caused by waves as small as these would wear through paint in just a couple of hours.

I negotiated the narrow 1/3-mile-long passage between Dewberry and Blackberry islands and sailed into the sheltered waters of the 175-yard-wide ICW channel behind Blackberry. After about 5 miles of dodging barges and powerboats, I exited the channel between the twin jetties at Port O’Connor, and headed northwest toward Magnolia Beach, sailing the last 8 or so miles in the lee of the shore, close enough to stay sheltered but far enough out to enjoy the ride.  I landed on Magnolia Beach, the finish of the Texas 200. It had been a long, wet, hot five days with plenty of stumbles, but with a wealth of amazing moments too. At the post-event dinner, I stuffed myself with shrimp, sausage, corn, and potatoes and swapped stories with the other sailors. I hadn’t even pulled the boat out of the water yet, and already I wanted more.

Roger Siebert is an editor in Austin, Texas. He rows and sails his Flint on local lakes, and has trailered it to a few of his favorite places on the Florida coast. 

The Ross Lillistone Flint

The Flint is a 14′ 10″ open boat Ross Lillistone designed primarily as a rowboat but which can also take sails or a small motor. It’s built using 1/4″ plywood and dimensional lumber. A profile of the design appears in Small Boats Monthly’s October 2016 issue.

I built my Flint to use the 55.7-sq-ft balance-lug sail. I also coated the outside of the hull with fiberglass, beefed up parts such as key joints and the rudder, added inwales and splashboards, and replaced the designed tiller with a push-pull version. My modifications added at least 50 lbs to what is normally a very lightweight boat.

I set out on the Texas 200, with about 150 lbs of gear, including a 22-amp-hour battery, and 8 gallons of drinking water. The weight turned out to be too much for the conditions, even as mild as they were. I originally thought I would have about 10” of freeboard at the sheer’s lowest point, which isn’t much. A few weeks after the event, as I was patching dings and scratches on the boat’s bottom, I noticed watermarks on the topsides that indicated the actual freeboard during the event had been only about 7″. It’s no wonder I had such a difficult time in the bays. The load also made the boat easier to capsize, in that not much heeling was required to push the leeward gunwale under.

The Texas 200

Although the route runs through parts of the Intracoastal Waterway, the Laguna Madre, and the bays of south Texas and is protected from the Gulf by barrier islands, the wind can build up a steep chop over depths that average in the single digits. For more information, visit the club’s website or Facebook page.

Editor’s note: Hurricane Harvey

On August 25, 2017, the eye of Hurricane Harvey swept over the Texas coast near Corpus Christi, right at the halfway point of the route of the Texas 200. Texans from outlying areas converged on the stricken area with small boats to aid official agencies in the rescue effort. The damage caused by high winds, storm surge, and flooding has yet to be fully assessed, but it seems clear that the area will take years to recover. Donations to charitable organizations will help provide much needed assistance to Texans suffering the consequences of the storm.

If you have an interesting story to tell about your adventures with a small boat, please email us a brief outline and a few photos.

Back-Country Baking

If there is anything that can improve upon a day on the beach, fresh baked bread might be it.photographs courtesy of the author

If there is one thing that can improve upon a pleasant day on the beach, fresh baked bread might be it.

My wife and I went canoeing on our very first date and I proposed to her while we were on a 72-day canoe trip to Hudson Bay. We continued to canoe-camp after getting married, but now that we have kids, I often feel like we are relearning how to enjoy it. The biggest difference is the amount of time we spend in camp. In addition to hauling a huge dry bag full of painting supplies, board games, and books, we started bringing a reflector oven, plus mixes for baking cookies, cakes, and breads.

I once looked forward to camp sweets just as much as our young daughters do now. Pineapple-cherry dump cake baked in a Dutch oven was a staple of my Boy Scout troop campouts. The recipe was easy: dump a can of pineapples and cherry-pie filling in the Dutch oven, top with a cake mix, put the lid on and cover oven with coals. Dutch ovens can be used to make a wide variety of cakes, pies, and casseroles. Many are cast iron, which is way too heavy to carry on a portage, but we often use a lighter, aluminum one that heats almost as well and doubles as a frying pan.

Set in the coals of a fire set in a steel fire box, an aluminum Dutch oven bakes a blueberry cobbler with the addition of heat from coals set on a lid with a rim.

Set in the coals of a fire in a campsite’s steel fire box, an aluminum Dutch oven bakes a blueberry cobbler with the addition of heat from coals set on a lid with a rim.

When I started guiding canoe trips, I learned an easier and lighter baking technique for a one-burner camp stove that bakes with steam. It uses two pots—one that fits inside the other. Place a few pebbles in the bottom of the large pot and cover them with water. Pour the cake, muffin, or bread mix in the small pot and set it inside of the large pot. With the lid on the large pot—tinfoil will do in a pinch—turn the stove to simmer. Add more water before it all boils off and the pot gets damaged. Breads and cakes won’t get a crisp brown crust, but they will always be moist.

These peanut butter-chocolate rolls were baked using a pot-in-pot method. Three rocks in the larger put elevate the smaller pot to keep boiling water under the smaller pot. Not shown is the pot lid. The rolls aren't browned, but they're fully cooked.

These peanut butter-chocolate rolls were baked using a pot-in-pot method. Three rocks in the larger put elevate the smaller pot to keep boiling water under the smaller pot. Not shown is the pot lid. The rolls aren’t browned, but they’re fully cooked.

Neither of these techniques is as fun or versatile as the reflector oven we’ve been using more recently. Our oven weighs just 17 oz and folds nicely into notebook-sized pouch. The oven is placed close to the fire and uses radiant heat to cook. It’s more versatile than our Dutch oven because it acts like a regular oven—we’re only limited by the size of pan. I’m careful to keep an even fire heat, and I rotate the baking pan to prevent burning. Like all outdoor baking, there’s no temperature control, so I do a knife test occasionally to see if it’s done. Cookies, cakes, and breads have all turned out great, and I’m looking forward to trying my luck roasting stuffed fish.

Baking in a reflector oven doesn't require a large fire. Chocolate-chip cookies are almost ready to eat.

Baking in a reflector oven doesn’t require a large fire. Chocolate-chip cookies are almost ready to eat.

If there’s a downside to the reflector and Dutch ovens, it is that you need a campfire. During dry summers, fire bans would prevent their use. When fires are permitted, many places we camp have established fire rings, and other areas (such as the coast of Lake Superior) have rock or sand beaches where fires can be made that have no lasting fire scars, and wood is plentiful. The camp stove used for the pot-in-pot method aren’t often subject to fire-hazard restrictions.

You don’t need to have kids to have a good excuse to add baking to your camp cuisine. The aroma and taste of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls in the wilderness is something you’ll not soon forget.

Andrew Breckenridge is a geology professor living on Lake Superior in Duluth, MN. His fleet includes four canoes, a sailing dory, and a nearly finished Core Sound 17. His current dream trip is the Inside Passage.

Recipes

We usually just use mixes available at the store or find a recipe online. Here are two of our favorites.

Cinnamon Rolls

These were my go-to dessert on layover days when I guided trips for the Boy Scouts.

biscuit mix

sugar (white or brown)

cinnamon

margarine or butter

Nutella

Stir water into the biscuit to make a firm dough. Add some sugar to the dough. Roll out the dough on a flat surface (like the bottom of a canoe) to around 1/4” thick and coat with sugar, cinnamon, and melted margarine. Cut the dough into 1” strips and roll up. Place the rolls into a greased pan, with ample space for them to expand, and bake. Drizzle with Nutella.

 

15-year-old Birthday Cake

This is the one and only birthday cake I’ll never forget. It was a surprise cake that was served on my 15th birthday during a 9-day canoe trip on the Bloodvein and Gammon rivers in eastern Manitoba. If nothing else, the recipe proves that being on the trail makes everything taste better and creates great memories.

chocolate cake mix

peanut butter

grape jelly

15 wooden matches

Bake two layers of chocolate cake using the package directions and a round cake pan. Spread peanut butter and jelly over the bottom cake layer. Add the second cake layer, then top with 15 matches. Light quickly, and sing even faster.

You can share your tricks of the trade with other Small Boats Monthly readers by sending us an email.

A Simple Tiller Tender

The bungee doesn't need to be removed to use the tiller. Just push it or pull it and it will hold the new rudder angle.SBM photographs

The bungee doesn’t need to be removed to use the tiller. Just push or pull the tiller and the bungee will hold it at the new angle.

In my years of solo cruising in small boats I’ve found that there are many times when it’s helpful to have both hands free while sailing. I can free one hand by securing mainsheet with a cam cleat or slippery hitch, and then I just need something to hold the tiller in place so I can grab a bite to eat, take a compass bearing, or pull on a jacket.

There are a number of tiller tenders available commercially, but they tend to be bulky, overly complicated, and come at an added expense; from what I’ve seen, many of them also require you to engage and disengage them or adjust their tension.

On a recent cruise, though, my brother showed me a tiller tender that eliminates all those problems. It’s cheap, simple, and utterly reliable. It doesn’t need adjustment and there’s nothing to engage or disengage; you can steer the boat normally with the system in place, and whenever you need to let go of the tiller, it stays where you positioned it.

To set this system up for a conventional tiller, run a line athwartships under your tiller from rail to rail. If your boat has open gunwales or a pair of cleats well aft on the gunwales, you don’t need to add anything to anchor the ends of the line. This line needs to be just taut enough to minimize play in the tiller when the system is in use.

The tiller tender requires only a short line run across the boat under the tiller an toggled bungee loop to squeeze that line to the tiller.

The tiller tender requires only a short line run across the boat under the tiller an toggled bungee loop to squeeze that line to the tiller.

Next, take a short bungee loop with a plastic ball on the end and pass the looped end around both the tiller and the loop you just rigged. Take enough turns with the bungee around both the tiller and the loop of line to pull them tightly together before tucking the plastic ball through the bungee to finish the wrap. You can always adjust the tension if you find the bungee is not tight enough and not providing enough friction to hold the tiller in place, or too tight and making the tiller hard to move.

That’s it. Your tiller tender is ready for action. You will still be able to steer normally, but the friction of the system will hold the tiller in place when you let go. You can set the tiller to hold a steady course or push the tiller hard over to tack or jibe while you tend to the sheets.

After rigging this system on my own boat, I found myself sailing hands-free most of the time, with just a slight nudge of the tiller now and then. I doubt I’ll ever go cruising again, or even daysailing, without having this simple tiller tender in place.

One caveat: as with all tiller tenders, be aware that your boat will keep right on sailing if you fall overboard with this system rigged. Act accordingly.

Tom Pamperin is a freelance writer who lives in northwestern Wisconsin. He spends his summers cruising small boats throughout Wisconsin, the North Channel, and along the Texas coast. He is a frequent contributor to Small Boats Monthly and WoodenBoat.

Editor’s note:

 

A bungee loop can also be used as a tiller tender on a Norwegian tiller.

A bungee loop can also be used as a tiller tender on a Norwegian tiller.

To give this system a try, I made a standard tiller that I could attach to the rudder of my Caledonia Yawl (pictured here in the photographs above) and sailed without the mizzen mast in place. I was impressed how well the bungee worked with a standard tiller and wanted to use the same method to create a tiller tender for a Norwegian tiller. I first thought about using the same length of line but set fore and aft instead of athwartships, but a thole pin presented itself as a better place to start. I put the bungee loop over the push-pull tiller and then wrapped it around both tiller and thole.

With a Norwegian tiller, the bungee can be looped a thole pin or other upright. If the bungee loop has the tiller running through it before it is wrapped, the tiller can be lifted to disengage the tiller tender without loosing the bungee.

With a Norwegian tiller, the bungee can be looped onto a thole pin or other upright fixture. If the bungee loop has the tiller running through it before it is wrapped, the tiller can be lifted to disengage the tiller tender without loosing the bungee.

That’s all it took, and the bungee worked just as well in this new arrangement. I could change course by pushing or pulling the tiller and leaving it to make the boat come about or hold a straight course. I could also disengage the tiller by lifting it—along with the bungee—from the thole and have complete freedom of motion. The tiller follows me after I tack and gets wrapped with a thole pin on the windward rail.

The tiller should be held on the weather rail where it is accessible when the boat heels in a gust.

The tiller should be held on the weather rail where it is accessible when the boat heels in a gust.

You can share your tricks of the trade with other Small Boats Monthly readers by sending us an email.

Pioneer Swag Tent

Closed up against rain or cold, the tent is cozy without feeling cramped. The attached flap of PVC vinyl provide a place to take off shoes before entering to keep dirt out of the tent.photographs by the author

Closed up against rain or cold, the tent is cozy without feeling cramped. The attached flap of PVC vinyl provides a place to take shoes off to keep dirt out of the tent.

If you learned “Waltzing Matilda” in grade school you might recollect that the song is not about a dancing girl, but about a “jolly swagman camped by a billabong under the shade of a coolibah tree.” The coolibah tree is about the only thing in the song that is what it sounds like, a tree. Waltzing is Aussie slang for traveling on foot and Matlida is slang for a bedroll, or swag. The swagman was a drifter who had fallen on hard times and was looking for work. The song was written in 1895, and these days the term swag has come to mean a portable sleeping shelter falling somewhere in size between a bivibag and a tent. They’re common in Australia, and have recently crept into the North American market.

The swag has webbing and buckles to keep the roll tightly rolled up.

The swag has webbing and buckles to keep the tent and mattress tightly rolled up.

Like drifters, many of us who cruise in small boats need a place to sleep, and a swag tent could be an option worth considering. The Pioneer Swag Tent is made of 12-oz ripstop canvas made waterproof by its tight weave and durable water-repellent (DWR) coating. I poured a quart of water into a bowl I formed with the fabric and left it there for a couple of hours. No water seeped through, and the underside of the fabric felt dry. The rain that fell on the tent overnight beaded up and rolled off.

The instruction included with the swag note: "All canvas camping equipment should be seasoned. This is when you wet the fabric to let it swell around the stitching. This will make the stitching seams waterproof." The fabric has been treated with a waterproofing product to make rain and dew bead up and roll off.

The instruction included with the swag notes: “All canvas camping equipment should be seasoned. This is when you wet the fabric to let it swell around the stitching. This will make the stitching seams waterproof.” The fabric has been treated with a waterproofing product to make rain and dew bead up and roll off.

The bathtub floor is made of coated vinyl and rises up about 1-1/2″ to meet the canvas top. An extra piece of the vinyl is sewn on to serve as a foot mat. It’s a nice touch that keeps grit out of the bed and stinky shoes out of the tent. I tucked my shoes under the mat and they stayed dry on the night it rained.

Three sectioned aluminum poles support the tent. Guy lines to two tent pegs pull the canopy tight. Another four pegs anchor the corners of the floor.

Rolling back the canvas top exposes the bug netting and allows a cooling breeze to flow through. The netting can be rolled back as well for entry and stargazing.

Rolling back the canvas top exposes the bug netting and allows a cooling breeze to flow through. The netting can be rolled back as well for entry and stargazing.

The top of the tent unzips and rolls back to uncover a nearly full-length bug mesh that also unzips to uncover the interior space. The head end of the tent has a doorway with a bit of an awning over it and provides another way to get into the tent. I had enough room in the tent to crawl in through the end doorway head first—easier than backing into it—and I turned around once inside. The tent is 7′ long and 3′ wide, slightly longer and narrower than an American TwinXL bed. At the head end the inside space is 31″ high, 17″ at the foot.

The door at the head end of the tent is rolled up to the right. The opening was a tight squeeze as an entry, but a reasonable option in a downpour. I could crawl in faster head first and then turn around inside. The guy line wasn't a significant obstacle.

The door at the head end of the tent is rolled up to the right. The opening was a tight squeeze as an entry, but a reasonable option in a downpour. I could crawl in faster head first and then turn around inside. The guy line wasn’t a significant obstacle.

The mattress is egg-crate foam with a non-woven fabric cover, equipped with a zipper to make it removable for washing. The foam is 2” thick and surprisingly comfortable. I’m used to self-inflating sleeping pads that allow me to set a level of inflation that keeps my hips and shoulders off the ground, so with just 2” of foam, I expected to ground out and feel pressure points, but I felt evenly supported and remained comfortable through the night.

The 2" egg-crate foam, zipped into a washable cover, is surprisingly comfortable on hard ground. I preferred having the textured side down.

The 2″ egg-crate foam, zipped into a washable cover, is surprisingly comfortable on hard ground. I preferred having the textured side down.

There are two pockets inside the tent—one canvas and one mesh—for storage of glasses, a flashlight, and other small items. The tent comes with a zippered duffel made of the same rip-stop canvas as the tent and it’s made oversized to accommodate a sleeping bag. I’d recommend a waterproof duffel or dry bag for carrying the swag tent in an open boat to keep it fully dry and to serve as flotation.

In a timed trial, I set the swag tent up in 3 minutes and 45 seconds and then got it knocked down, rolled up with a sleeping bag and pillow in it, and zipped into the duffel in 3 minutes 47 seconds. The duffel measures 36″ x 14″ x 14″.

The duffel has some extra room beyond what the tent and mattress require, so the swag tent can be rolled up along a sleeping bag and pillow inside and still fit. While the duffel is bulky, it takes up as much space as the four or five separate bags the gear might ordinarily occupy.

The duffel has some extra room beyond what the tent and mattress require, so the swag tent can be rolled up along a sleeping bag and pillow inside and still fit. While the duffel is bulky, it takes up as much space as the four or five separate bags the gear might ordinarily occupy.

The first two nights I slept in the Outback Swag Tent were at the end of summer days with temperatures in the high 80s. With canvas covers the top and the end unzipped, the mesh allowed a cooling breeze to make it easy to fall asleep. On the rainy night, I kept the top cover zipped up and opened the end door for fresh air. On all of the nights I slept in the swag tent, I was just as comfortable as I would have been in my bed at home and I even slept longer.

In the middle of a cool morning, with the temperature at 60 degrees and a bit of a breeze blowing, I stepped into the swag tent for a nap and zipped up the cover. I felt warmer immediately just being out of the breeze. I didn’t have the sleeping bag with me, but I didn’t need it. The small enclosed space and the insulating properties of the canvas are good measures against the cold. In 20 minutes the temperature inside the swag tent had gone from 60 degrees to 78 degrees, warm enough to nap comfortably without a sleeping bag.

The nights I slept in the Outback Swag Tent, I was just camped in the back yard. After one night in it I had the information I needed and could have gone back to my bedroom, but I liked the cozy space and slept well. The Outback Swag isn’t meant for backpackers. At 18.7 lbs for the tent, mattress, poles, stakes and duffel, it’s heavy by backpacking standards, but it’s also heavy duty and should hold up to a lot of hard use providing years of comfortable camping.

Christopher Cunningham is the editor of Small Boats Monthly.

The Pioneer Swag Tent is manufactured by Outback Swags and is listed at $249. There are currently three US retailers listed on the home page. Thanks to Mule Expedition Outfitters for the loan of the tent for review.

Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.

GYPSY SOUL

GYPSY SOUL brightens up a dreary winter landscape.Photographs courtesy of Scotty Pugh

GYPSY SOUL brightens up a dreary winter landscape.

Scotty Pugh of Sardis, Tennessee, grew up riding dirt bikes and later indulged his passion for motorcycles as he collected vintage Harley-Davidsons. But a ride gone wrong landed him a hospital trauma ward for a week and he was forced to consider something else to focus his interest upon. “Wooden boats,” he thought, “will keep me entertained.”

Scotty's shop was an old rural grocery store that was part of his childhood. He couldn't stand to see it go down, so he rebuilt it into a shop. The photographs on the wall are a mix of motorcycles and wooden boats.

Scotty’s shop was an old rural grocery store that was part of his childhood. He couldn’t stand to see it torn down, so he bought it and rebuilt it as his boat shop. The photographs on the wall are a mix of motorcycles and wooden boats.

After he built his first small wooden boat there was no turning back. GYPSY SOUL, a Caledonia Yawl, is his fourth boat. While he had acquired a lot of the necessary skills building the first three boats, “the road to building the yawl was not without some curves and potholes.” Work was interrupted when he was installing floorboards and “acting like I was 20 again, inflamed a muscle in my hip and mashed a sciatic nerve. That took me down for couple weeks.” While work on the yawl was slow, it was not without its daily rewards. “The more I’m buried in technology at work, the deeper I bury myself in wooden boats at home.” Scotty’s career has been in the highly technical field of robotic welding, so he counts the time he spends with a hand plane as meditation.

As engineer and longtime woodworker, Scotty is, by his own admission, "a bit ticky about correctness, so construction took awhile." His tidy work with the epoxy fillets paid off in the bright-finished boat.

As engineer and longtime woodworker, Scotty is, by his own admission, “a bit ticky about correctness, so construction took awhile.” His tidy work with the epoxy fillets paid off in the bright-finished boat.

Scotty spent five years building GYPSY SOUL, often working with Juilio, his sweetheart at the beginning of the project and his wife by its conclusion. One cold morning in December last year, Juilio called from work: “If I can get the afternoon off can we launch the boat?” The yawl was not quite finished, but close enough that it was ready to sail. Scotty called his parents to announce the plans to launch, and his 83-year-old mother insisted that they wait for her to get to the ramp. She warned him that if she wasn’t “standing on the dock when the boat hit the water there would likely be adjustments to the will.” Scotty agreed to delay the launch long enough to give his parents time to get to the lake. “Pop has some neat old tools,” thought Scotty, “so it wasn’t worth the risk to rush.”

The most recent version of the Caledonia design calls for seven strakes; Scotty opted for the original four-strake hull.

The most recent version of the Caledonia design calls for seven strakes; Scotty opted for the original four-strake hull.

At the ramp, GYPSY SOUL slipped into the water for the first time. Scotty and Juilio hadn’t sailed a lug rig or a mizzen before, but hauled in the main sheet and took off. “We peeled off into a close-hauled beat, sailed across on a beat, and back on a run. Upwind she is a filly! On a reach you could pull a water-skier. What wonderful big-block power those sails gather. Downwind, stable, light on the tiller, a wonderful gurgle of chines underwater.” His mother, who had never seen a boat sail, said, “When the wind took that boat, the way it moved was like magic.”

Scotty has two cat-rigged boats and two sloop-rigged boats, but the Caledonia's lug rig with the mizzen is his favorite by far.

Scotty has two cat-rigged boats and two sloop-rigged boats, but the Caledonia’s lug rig with the mizzen is his favorite by far.

Since the winter launching, Scotty and Juilio have sailed many of the lakes and rivers of West Tennessee, and while GYPSY SOUL’s home waters are well inland, she’s not landlocked. Scotty and Juilio have entertained the idea of driving 45 minutes from home to launch in Pickwick Lake, make their way to the Tennessee Tombigbee Waterway, and in a week’s time sail out into the Gulf of Mexico.

GYPSY SOUL does most of her sailing on the Tennessee River, but she was built with island-hopping the Florida Keys in mind.

GYPSY SOUL does most of her sailing on the Tennessee River, but she was built with island-hopping the Florida Keys in mind.

After a 25-year career, Scotty is ready for an early retirement so he can devote his time to boats. “I don’t want to build wooden boats for a living, but for the poetry of it.”  While there will be other boats, GYPSY SOUL is tied to an important time in his life. “I had my house rented to pretty young gal who turned out to love classic literature and history. I taught her to sail, we built GYPSY together, got married, and the small-boat thing fits us and our lives perfectly. I may be buried in GYPSY.”

When Scotty taught Juilio how to sail, she was quick to pick up the skills and "the touch." She's handling the main sheet here, but Scotty notes: "She's the best helmswoman I've ever sailed with."

When Scotty taught Juilio how to sail, she was quick to pick up the skills and “the touch.” She’s handling the main sheet here, but Scotty notes: “She’s the best helms man or woman I’ve ever sailed with.”

 

Have you recently launched a boat? Please email us. We’d like to hear about it and share your story with other Small Boats Monthly readers.

Looking Back at What’s Ahead

A few years ago I adapted my W.P. Stevens-designed decked lapstrake canoe for sliding-seat rowing. The canoe has taken well to oars and outriggers and now makes better speed than with a pair of paddles, but it’s no longer so easy to see where I’m going. Out on open water I can look over my shoulder occasionally and not worry about running into something, but I prefer getting my exercise on the flat protected waters of Seattle’s ship canal where I have to keep an eye out for tugs, barges, pleasure craft, and racing shells, as well as often erratic rental kayaks and electric launches. An occasional glance forward isn’t enough to spot and keep track of everyone, so I never get to settle into a steady rowing rhythm. I’ve tried those little mirrors that clip onto glasses, but they didn’t work for me. I never was able to develop a knack for getting my head aimed in the right direction.

The side mirror, given a trial with a suction cup n a piece of acrylic sheet screwed to the port outrigger, gave me a blind starboard side and left me guessing where I was headed.

The side mirror, during a trial with a suction cup on a piece of acrylic sheet screwed to the port outrigger, gave me a blind starboard side and left me guessing where I was headed.

I happened to have an inexpensive (around $10) wide-angle mirror that I use for backing my car up to a trailer hitch. It’s designed to clip on to a car rearview mirror, but will just as easily clip to a piece of plywood. My first attempt for a forward-view mirror for my canoe was to mount the mirror on my outrigger. Although the mirror wobbled a bit as the outrigger flexed, it was steady enough during the recovery to get a good view. But while I could see forward, it wasn’t readily apparent where I was headed. I saw the bow in the mirror at an angle and had to imagine an extended centerline to guess where I was headed.

The fitting at the top of the dowel provides vertical adjustment for the mirror.

The fitting at the top of the dowel provides vertical adjustment for the mirror.

We had done a Reader Built Boat article on a boat designed in Finland for racing; it was equipped with a mirror set on a short “mast” on the centerline, aft of the rower. I thought it looked rather clunky but decided to give it a try. I used a 3′ length of 1-1/4″ oak dowel for the upright and a block of mahogany with a matching hole for its base. I cut a slot in the top of the dowel for one leg of an aluminum angle and screwed the other leg to a piece of plywood cut to accept the rearview mirror.

The saw kerf through the hole makes the fit snug without binding the dowel so it can be rotated to aim the mirror. I'll get rid of the clamp after I screw the block down.

The saw kerf through the hole makes the fit snug without binding the dowel so it can be rotated to aim the mirror. I’ll get rid of the clamp after I screw the block down.

I clamped the block to the plywood base for my outriggers and the setup did indeed look clunky, but I got the mirror aimed and headed out rowing. The mirror, measuring 11″ by 3″, isn’t very tall, but it offers a nearly panoramic view forward, and although the convex curve of the mirror shrinks things, I could see even small objects like ducks quite easily. With the 3′ dowel, the mirror is just high enough to see over my head—any lower and I’d get distracted by my hat moving about. The mirror quivers a bit at the catch, but that’s not a problem. Any rolling of the boat will cause the mirror to move side to side, but the image remains stationary.

The wide-angle mirror shows what's ahead as well as enough of a view to the side to hold a course at the right distance from shore.

The wide-angle mirror shows what’s ahead as well as enough of a view to the side to hold a course at the right distance from shore.

Because the mirror is centered on the boat, there’s no guessing what I’m headed for: my course will take me right to whatever is in the middle of the mirror. The wide-angle view makes it easy to row along a shore or a marina and keep a safe and steady distance. I can even row with confidence down the narrow space between parallel piers or docks.

I had anticipated that's I'd shorten the dowel, but I liked having it tall enough to keep the top of my head out of the mirror image.

I had anticipated that I’d have to shorten the dowel, but I like having it tall enough to keep the top of my head out of the mirror image.

The dowel, of course, is right in the middle of my line of sight over the stern, but that’s a small price to pay for the improved view forward. I still check over my shoulders now and again, but I can row at a steady pace without having to ease off to twist my spine to look over the bow. The mirror is almost as good as having eyes in the back of my head.

 

Tango 13

I have been told that one should build the boat that best suits the nearest body of water—that’s the way to get the most use out of it. My closest body of water is a reservoir that limits powerboats to 10-hp engines, and on any given weekend sailboats, kayaks, and aluminum fishing boats abound, but there are no big powerboats. I didn’t take the advice and built a classic runabout with a 40 horsepower motor. The closest water without a horsepower limitation is at least an hour’s drive away, boat and trailer in tow. Seven years later, and now with a toddler in tow, it is nearly an all-day event to take the runabout out and we are using it less and less. I found myself longing for a vessel to take advantage of the manmade lake just 10 minutes from home, so I began searching for an outboard skiff design that could handle our family of three with 10 hp or less. I discovered that there are many choices among small power skiffs between 12′ and 17′, and just deciding what to build turned out to be quite the exercise. I wanted something that stood out and found what I was looking for in the Tango Skiff.

The transom extensions flank the motor, supporting its otherwise cantilevered weight and bringing the Tango on plane fasterBrad Boelke

The transom extensions flank the motor, supporting its otherwise cantilevered weight and bringing the Tango on plane faster.

The Tango Skiff has interesting hull extensions that create an attention-grabbing geometry aft of the transom. The additional running surface and buoyancy of the extensions appealed to me because of my previous experience with small outboard-powered boats. When operated solo, many of them with a conventional transom will squat under the weight of the motor and the skipper and set the bow pointing skyward.

The Tango Skiff is a modern design that evolved in the early years of the new millennium as designer Hank Bravo experimented with a way to overcome the squat by adding volume and planing surface behind the motor. His 12′ prototype, powered by a 3.5-hp outboard, jumped on plane and ran 20 percent faster with the extensions than without and that he didn’t need to shift his weight forward or carry ballast when running solo. Tango Skiffs continued to evolve from that first 12′ boat and are now available in 12′, 13′, 14′, 15′ and 17′ versions.

I chose the Tango 13 because it would fit in the “half” section of my two-and-a-half car garage. My big runabout, and, most importantly, my wife’s car, also still fit in the two garage bays. The Tango Skiff measures 13′ from the bow to the end of the extensions.

The plans for Tango Skiff come in PDF file format; no full-sized, printed patterns are provided. The shape of each part is transferred to the plywood using a grid scale shown on the plans of 1 grid square equals 1” square. Many parts are cut oversize and trimmed to fit during assembly, which helps eliminate much of the fear of not transferring something properly. The instruction manual included with the plans has lots of helpful color photos and a detailed materials list.

The Tango Skiff 13 is built entirely from five sheets of plywood, three at 1/4″ and two at 3/8″. I think the most daunting part for a new boatbuilder is scarfing plywood panels together. I overcame this by doing half-lap joints that I cut with a router instead of true scarfs. I found this much easier especially on 1/4″ ply. By February the project was ready to move to the garage for assembly, but it was still too cold for epoxy, so I waited until April to do more work.

Once the project was moved to the garage the assembly went quickly. Assembly is just like any other stitch-and-glue boat. The panels are stitched together and epoxied, the stitches are removed, fillets are made, and fiberglass tape is applied to the seams then a lot of sanding follows. There is one interesting departure from the normal stitch-and-glue process: a built-in chine step. It is formed when the side planking laps past the bottom planking in the forward third of the chine. This creates a void, which is then filled flush with thickened epoxy. In the finished boat, this functions like a sprayrail to keep the occupants dry.

At the bow the edges of the bottom and side panels are not butted together, as typical in stitch-and-glue construction. The side panels overlap the bottom panels; when the gap created is filled with epoxy it creates a step that knocks down spray.Chris Atwood

At the bow, the edges of the bottom and side panels are not butted together, as typical in stitch-and-glue construction. The side panels overlap the bottom panels; when the open angle between them is filled with epoxy, it creates a step that will knock down spray.

The hull gets stitched together with cable ties around a center half-bulkhead, then the bow and stern compartments and the seats they support are added. I found the center seat flexed more than I liked when I sat on the forward or aft edge, so I added small knees beneath it for support. Two triangular panels are stitched to the extensions of the bottom panels to create the distinctive stern.

The Tango Skiff 13 calls for a 6-hp motor, which is a nice fit for the boat, but I purchased a 9.9-hp, which, at 84 lbs, weighs 24 lbs more than a 6 hp. I emailed the designer about this change and while he recommended sticking to his 6-hp maximum motor size he suggested beefing up the transom. To help with the added load and strain, I added a 3/4″-thick laminated knee to tie the transom to the bottom of the boat, added an additional layer of plywood to the transom, and added 3/8″ knees to tie the top of the transom to the gunwales.

The only lumber required other than plywood is the material for the rubrails. The plans actually call for the use of plastic material sold at home-improvement stores as exterior trim, but I substituted African mahogany. I used Interlux Brightsides paint—Hatteras White on the bottom, Flag Blue on the sides, with a boot stripe of Fire Red. I launched the boat after 140 hours of construction. We christened it HALF NUTS.*

With a hull weight of about 130 lbs and an engine weight of 84 lbs, the Tang 13 draws only a few inches .Chris Atwood

With a hull weight of about 130 lbs and an engine weight of 84 lbs, the Tango 13 draws only a few inches.

 

The Tango Skiff 13 sits lightly in the water, drawing only a few inches; the added flotation of the extensions aft of the transom clearly helps offset the weight of the motor. I was curious about lateral stability with the relatively narrow beam of 4′8″, but the boat is quite stable for a vessel of these dimensions. I believe the extensions contribute to this as well.

I really like the contour the designer put into the seats; it adds another elegant touch to what is mostly a simple boat. The fore and aft seats of the TS13 provide ample storage underneath with hatches for everything needed for a day trip to be stored out of the way. The plans come with an alternative seating arrangement combined with a center console if you prefer. Another great built-in feature is the fuel tank tunnel in which the aft seat bases are divided into two separate compartments with space between them for the fuel tank. A 3-gallon tank fits nicely there and provides plenty of range.

With just its skipper aboard, this Tango, with 9.9 hp outboard, more powerful than the 6-hp motor recommended by the designer, can reach a speed of 24 mph.Brad Boelke

With only its skipper aboard, this Tango, with a 9.9-hp outboard, more powerful than the 6-hp motor recommended by the designer, can reach a speed of 24 mph.

The Tango, thanks in large part to the stern extensions, has very little bow rise when coming on plane and will stay on plane at speeds as low as 11 mph. With just myself onboard the boat feels very light; it seems to more ride over the water than cut through it. On a windy day the boat is so light you can feel the wind trying to push the vessel off heading as the gusts come and go. Another effect of the hull extensions is that the skiff corners flatter than similar boats. There is no skeg to provide lateral resistance, so the boat tends to skid slightly in high-speed cornering, but backing off the throttle slightly will bring the bow down enough to carve a nice corner without skidding.

In slow-speed maneuvering there are no surprises and the extensions allow more than enough room for the tiller to be turned nearly hard over. The anti-ventilation plate of the motor sits just below the bottom of the extensions so there is never any worry about the prop contacting the hull. While I have not yet had the boat out in any serious chop, it rides right over small boat wakes and slowing to the minimum planing speed allows the bow to cut right through larger wakes. The little Tango feels solid for such a light stitch-and-glue skiff.

With a family of three aboard, there's plenty of room and capacity to take on almost another 200 lbs.Brad Boelke

With a family of three aboard, there’s plenty of room and capacity to take on almost another 200 lbs.

I clocked the maximum speed at 24 mph with just a slight porpoise when riding solo at full speed, which I could attribute to the transom angle. When built per the plans, is only about 8 degrees; not angled enough for the prop shaft to be positioned perfectly parallel the bottom of the boat without shimming the motor. With my 35-lb son onboard the porpoising is eliminated and the boat hits 23 mph. With our family of three onboard (totaling about 310 lbs—maximum capacity is 500 pounds) top speed only drops to 21 mph which is rock-steady and comfortable to cruise at all day long. You can really cover a lot of water in a short time at 20 mph, so I am very happy with the decision to go with the 9.9-hp motor. It is almost too much motor when I’m solo, but add even the lightest passenger and it is perfect. My only concern with it is trailering over our rough highways and for that reason I use a transom saver to transfer some of the motor’s cantilevered weight to the trailer while transporting. If towing a long distance I may elect to unbolt the motor and remove it from the transom.

With sizes from 12′ to 17′ there is a Tango Skiff for just about anyone. It’s a wonderful multi-purpose boat that is simple and quick to build, and can be made to look elegant as well. The Tango Skiff 13 fits the bill perfectly as a small, lightweight boat for a young family or for older kids learning to handle an outboard. For more utilitarian purposes, most people would want at least the 14′ version. We look forward to exploring more waters with our Tango Skiff.

*The name HALF NUTS is a play on the boat’s diminutive size and a reference both to our rambunctious three-year-old son, for whom this boat is meant, and my surviving testicular cancer. My wife bought me the plans for my birthday in August 2016 and I planned to begin the build January 1, 2017 so that our three-year-old son and I could enjoy the boat the following summer. In November 2016 I was diagnosed with stage-III testicular cancer at age 35. My world was turned upside down, but in the back of my mind I still wanted to start this project at the first of the year. It turned out to be great therapy. I wasn’t even strong enough to drive a car in the beginning of the build, but with the help of my father, we drove the 5 hours, round-trip, to pick up the BS1088 plywood in January as planned. We got right to work, and in my basement I transferred and marked each part on the plywood. My Dad cut them out with my sabersaw as I was too weak from chemo to cut a straight line or stand for long. After we had all of the pieces cut we had to wait until spring for the temperatures to rise enough to use epoxy. I had major surgery at this time to remove what was left of my cancer and it took a couple months to recover. I am now cancer free.

Chris Atwood is a 35-year-old corporate pilot and flight instructor, a metastatic testicular cancer survivor, and repeat boatbuilder having previously built a Glen-L Zip runabout and a CLC Wood Duck kayak.

Tango 13 Particulars

  • Length: 13′
  • Beam: 4′8″
  • Weight: 130 lbs
  • Capacity: 500 lbs
  • Cost: $1,600 (plus motor and trailer)
  • Time to build: 140 hours

Downloaded plans for the Tango 13 are available from Tango Plans for $29.

Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats Monthly readers would enjoy? Please email us!

Tenderly Dinghy

When John Harris of Chesapeake Light Craft (CLC) came to WoodenBoat School here in Brooklin to lead a six-day class in building his newly designed Tenderly Dinghy and brought two finished boats with him, I jumped at the opportunity to see the progress as he taught, and to take the finished boats for a spin in Great Cove.

While Harris didn’t draw inspiration from any one particular lapstrake design, the general English clinker day boat aesthetic is apparent. He was looking to do justice to a vision from Swallows and Amazons in a kit boat with attributes that would make for a great dinghy—plenty of volume, good to row, and a worthy daysailer. Harris aimed for a salty-looking design with good stability and carrying capability, and achieved that in a boat 10′ long with a beam of 52″ and a payload limit of 425 lbs. “At a more technical level, what I was pursuing was the most shapely boat I could manage in an amateur-construction context,” said Harris. “Tenderly has a lot of shape for a stitch-and-glue boat. The really full bow in plan view transitions seamlessly into a hollow waterline.”

A few details elevate the Tenderly from a simple kit boat to classic lapstrake heartthrob. The open gunwales, the breasthook and quarter knees, the bead wale, and lovely sheerline belie her mostly plywood construction. When the eight optional floorboards are added, which make for more comfortable seating in the bottom of the boat and drier gear, the very finished appearance is the icing on the cake. What a looker.

The transom and the full bow offer room to stow proper oars. Handholds in the transom ease handling the boat on a cart and launching into a chop from a beach.Anne Bryant

The transom and the full bow offer room to stow proper oars. Handholds in the transom ease the tasks of handling the boat on a cart and launching into a chop from a beach. Note the plug closing the daggerboard trunk.

The recommended 8′ oars fit inside the boat when shipped, which is a great advantage. Oftentimes, tenders have to give up 6″ to 12″ of oar length to make the oars short enough to stow in the boat. With a guest or two and some groceries in your Tenderly on the way to your boat at anchor for a sundowner, you’ll be glad to have the proper oar length.

Floorboards come in handy as dry, comfortable seating when sailing in light air when weight isn't needed shifted windward to counter the boat's heeling.Aaron Porter

Floorboards come in handy as dry, comfortable seating for sailing in light air; the sturdy aft thwart extends forward into the boat and acts as a perch for when bigger wind requires weight to counter the boat’s heeling.

The Tenderly has a lug rig. It is an easy rig to handle, set up, and stow onboard should this be a tender for a larger vessel and need to have its rig fit inside. She’s also got nice bit of sail area, 62 sq ft, and needs very little hardware to deploy it: a couple of small cleats do the job for the downhaul and the halyard, which runs through a dumb sheave—a hole—in the masthead. The head and foot of the sail are lashed to the yard and boom with 1/8″ line. I suppose one could add a jam cleat to the aft edge of the daggerboard trunk for the mainsheet that could effectively free up a hand should you need it.

While the Tenderly is well suited for solo sailing, the CLC web site notes it has "plenty of sprawling room for two adults or a bunch of kids" while under sail.Aaron Porter

While the Tenderly is well suited for solo sailing, the CLC web site notes it has “plenty of sprawling room for two adults or a bunch of kids” while under sail.

 

In Harris’s Build-Your-Own Tenderly class each of the seven students began their own boat on Monday and the following Saturday had the assembly complete to take home for finishing. The Tenderly kit employs CLC’s LapStitch construction method, which eliminates the traditional setup of molds on a ladder frame, so builders can quickly assemble the hull around three full frames and two partial frames; tabs on these pieces fit in precut slots in the planks to assure proper placement and alignment. The transom, quarter knees, and breasthook are installed after all of the planks have been stitched together.

The Lap-Stitch hulls go together quickly. the serpentine line aft of amidships is made up of he interlocking puzzle joints that join the plank sections.Anne Bryant

The LapStitch hulls go together quickly. The serpentine line aft of amidships is made up of the interlocking puzzle joints that join the plank sections.

The seven boats were well underway when I visited on day two, and the builders, most of them beginners, had already gone from a stack of kit pieces to stitched-up hulls. With the hulls flipped upside down, cyanoacrylate glue, dripped into the laps between stitches, would hold the pieces together when the wires were removed and before epoxy could be dribbled into the laps between planks. On the third day the hulls were flipped upright and given the first epoxy fillets and a layer of fiberglass on the interior up to the top of the fifth strake.

Fiberglass is cut into wide strips to fit between the frames. The glass on the inside covers five of the seven strakes; galls on the outside covers four.Anne Bryant

Fiberglass is cut into wide strips to fit between the frames. The ‘glass on the inside covers five of the seven strakes; ‘glass on the outside covers four.

On day four the hulls were flipped and the bottom four strakes were glassed with 6-oz cloth, and the skeg and bead wales were epoxied in place. Builders installed the daggerboard trunk, center thwart and mahogany inwales, outwales, and spacers on the fifth day and finished the interior installation on the sixth. The boats were then ready to take home for paint and varnish and putting the sailing rig together.

The class was an accelerated process with long days in the shop; a builder working at home on the sailing version with daggerboard trunk, rig, rudder, etc. could spend about 150 hours building the Tenderly. The 250-page building manual is geared for the amateur builder and has many color photographs and well-thought-out instructions.

The Tenderly will fit in the bed a full-size pickup truck. State laws may limit the how far a load can project beyond the truck (4' is common) and may require flagging.Anne Bryant

The Tenderly will fit in the bed of a full-size pickup truck. State laws may limit the how far a load can project (4′ is common) and may require flagging.

With a hull weight of 100 lbs (130 lbs rigged), the Tenderly was an easy two-person lift to get it into a pickup truck; the 52″ beam gave just enough clearance between the walls of the bed. A dolly made it possible to move the boat around solo.

With a cart, the Tenderly is easy to move around single-handedly.Anne Bryant

With a cart, the Tenderly is easy to move around singlehanded.

Empty and with the daggerboard up, the Tenderly only draws a few inches, which is great when you’re launching from a rocky beach. It hovered lightly in very thin water, and as I hiked a leg up to get aboard, then shifted my weight across the gunwale, it was stable even though I didn’t plant my foot directly in the middle of the floorboards. As a cruiser who appreciates a dinghy that is easy to load, board, and launch from a beach, I find this high degree of stability a necessity.

When rowed solo, the Tenderly picks up speed quickly. A cap on the daggerboard slot helps keep the rower's seat dry.Anne Bryant

When rowed solo, the Tenderly picks up speed quickly. The cap on the daggerboard slot helps keep the rower’s seat dry.

I rowed the dinghy over to the dock and it took off like a shot with just a couple of strokes. I think the flat bottom, sharp entry, and light construction were working with me; it responds quickly and well to turning strokes when approaching the dock or making a sharp turn.

With a capacity of 425 lbs, the Tenderly can take three on board and still maintain good freeboard for rowing.Anne Bryant/Clint Chase

With a capacity of 425 lbs, the Tenderly can take three on board and still maintain good freeboard for rowing.

The wind was light when I headed off from the dock under sail. The Tenderly moved right along and I immediately felt safe and sound as I tacked, even though I didn’t shift my weight speedily to the windward side. The Tenderly’s stability was forgiving through my quick tacks, and it stood up as I took my time to move from the lee. The lug rig doesn’t go to windward exceptionally well, but this is a daysailer for leisure and fun and the sailing performance is perfect for that.

The standard kit includes a mast step and the daggerboard trunk; the optional sailing kit incldes CNC-cut plywood for the daggerboard and rudder, blanks for the spars, and a Dacron sail.Aaron Porter

The standard kit includes a mast step and the daggerboard trunk; the optional sailing kit includes CNC-cut plywood for the daggerboard and rudder, blanks for the spars, and a Dacron sail.

The next day, I went out again with Andrew Breece, the publisher of WoodenBoat. I sat in the aft thwart and Andrew sat at the forward rowing station. With two people aboard there was good trim and balance, and the dinghy hummed right along.

We rowed out to Andrew’s yawl, MAGIC, to pull the Tenderly along for a while to see how it towed. Andrew said that he could feel very little drag as we towed the dinghy at about 2 to 3 knots while leaving the mooring field. We increased our speed to about 5 knots, and to feel the drag for myself, I pulled on the painter to see how hard it would be to get the Tenderly closer. It was sitting high in the water and came without complaint or too much effort.

Under tow, the Tenderly runs true and behaves itself.courtesy of Chesapeake Light Craft

Under tow, the Tenderly behaves itself and runs true.

When we returned the Tenderly to the dock, there were a few people looking to try it out. Our friend Megan picked up another school instructor, Clint Chase, to bring him back to the dock from a mooring he just tied a skiff to. He did the tricky shift from one small boat to the other, then leaned over the Tenderly’s gunwale to retrieve his gear from the skiff. The Tenderly’s stability kept the maneuver from being awkward or dicey. Megan rowed from the forward station while Clint, a tall gent indeed, sat aft. Well balanced, the Tenderly picked up speed despite the load. Megan didn’t have a problem staying on or changing her course.

The forward rowing station maintains the boat's trim while it's being rowed with a single passenger.Anne Bryant

The forward rowing station maintains the boat’s trim while it’s being rowed with a single passenger.

We weren’t able to get our hands on a manual-recommended 2-hp motor. Given the smooth towing and the nice balance while rowing, I’d say that a bit of speed and some weight aft is going to be just fine.

The Tenderly is rated to take outboards up to 2 1/2 hp.courtesy of Chesapeake Light Craft

The Tenderly is rated to take an outboard motor of up to 2.5 hp.

The Tenderly is a boat that is easier to build than some of CLC’s other kits, performs extremely well, and is a stable pickup truck of sorts, able to cart around your guests and your provisions. All of us here at WoodenBoat who got aboard it are still talking about how much fun we had. The Tenderly is a stout, seaworthy, and accessible design.

Anne Bryant is WoodenBoat’s Associate Editor.

Tenderly Dinghy Particulars

[table]

Length/10′ 0″

Beam/52″

Weight, bare hull/100 lbs

Weight, rigged/130 lbs

Payload max./425 lbs

Sail area/62 sq ft

Outboard/2.5 hp, max.

[/table]

The Tenderly is available as a kit ($1,699) and as full-size plans ($125) from Chesapeake Light Craft. Add-on kits include sailing components ($1,199) and floorboards ($215). 

Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats Monthly readers would enjoy? Please email us!

Drawn to the Islands

 

From the 1,900′ summit of Mount Maxwell on Salt Spring Island, my wife and I looked out over dozens of emerald islands spread out all along the southern horizon. With their forested slopes and rocky shores, these islands are the broken edge of the land, where a continent buckles under an ocean. I opened my sketchbook and drew each hill and bay, and each shadowed shore rising from a silvery sea. We had caught a glimpse of British Columbia’s Gulf islands while aboard the ferry on its hurried passage from the mainland to Vancouver Island, but as I drew the outline of each island I couldn’t help but yearn to trace their contours in my own boat, following my own route on my own schedule.

Three years later I slid ROW BIRD, my 18′ Iain Oughtred Arctic Tern, into the waters bordering the town of Sidney on Vancouver Island. I was launching very late in the day—I’d just finished a 200-mile drive from my home in Portland, Oregon, followed by the two-hour ferry ride—but I didn’t mind. Ahead of me I had a week to cruise among the islands I had drawn from the heights of Mount Maxwell, now visible, 8 miles to the north and looming over Sidney’s shore. The southern Gulf Islands, scattered to the east, promised an ever-changing horizon along with the pleasures and challenges of new anchorages.

Roger Siebert

.

I usually sail with friends, but this would be a solo trip with the freedom to do as I pleased without negotiating routes, times, or decisions. If I wanted to spend two nights in a secluded campsite or to row all day, I could. My travel would be limited only by the tides and winds and my goal was to shake myself free of electronic leashes, bolt from thoughts that tie my brain in knots, and find my freedom in the present moment.

The sun had started to set, but the air was still a balmy 65 degrees and the honey-colored water was placid and inviting. It was mid-June, and Canadian kids were still in school, so the flood tide of summer tourists hadn’t started. ROW BIRD was the only boat on the water. With no wake but my own, there was barely a ripple to be seen in any direction. I rowed a half mile north along Sidney’s suburban edge to a cove I’d found while studying satellite photographs on my computer back at home. It had just room enough to allow my boat to swing at anchor between a commercial dock, the boulders protecting a waterfront trail, and a tattered, creosote-stained pier.

As I set up my cockpit tent, three pairs of walkers on the trail stopped to watch me preparing to spend the night aboard. I stretched my nylon cockpit tent between ROW BIRD’s masts, and tied down the rib-like battens that make the whole thing look like a Conestoga wagon on the water. With my sleeping bag unrolled on the floorboards, my pillow and book at the head of my bed, I lay down with a view of waterfront hotels and condos illuminating the edge of town. People watching me from shore must have thought a small open boat would be cramped place to spend a night, but being aboard ROW BIRD felt right; after years of camp-cruising, I knew every inch of the boat, and her familiar motion in the water made it easy to make myself comfortable and content.

Although lacking developed facilities for small boats, downtown Sidney made an easy first overnight and a convenient stop for anything I needed. Within a five-minute walk of the water I found two grocery stores and lots of restaurants and shops.photographs and video by the author

Although lacking facilities developed for small boats, downtown Sidney made an easy first overnight and a convenient stop for anything I needed. Within a five-minute walk of the water I found two grocery stores, lots of restaurants, and shops.

I awoke earlier than I’d hoped, thanks to an early-morning delivery truck rumbling by. Soon after the sunlight hit the water I brought the boat to shore, and three people approached. A young couple who love to kayak told me about their favorite stops in the islands. Then a silver-haired woman in an exercise outfit asked where I was headed, and when I told her of my plans, she spoke of her own small-boat adventures through the islands and stared wistfully at the islands a few miles away.

The tide was rising, so I set a 4-lb claw anchor off the stern with an Anchor Buddy, rowed ashore to set my 8-lb Danforth-style anchor on shore and let the elastic stern line pull the boat into deeper water. With ROW BIRD afloat, I headed for Beacon Avenue, Sidney’s main shopping street, and bought a cup of coffee and a pumpkin scone; I was ready to start my journey.

After stowing my anchors in their canvas bags, I took to the oars. I set a course 8 miles south-southwest for D’Arcy Island and listened to the weather report on my VHF radio. In Canada the weather is announced in both English and French, so the broadcast cycle is twice as long as what I was used to. Impatient to get to the English version, I struggled to translate French and convert metric measurements, reaching back to rusty skills acquired in high school. A high wind advisory had been issued for Haro Strait, the dog-leg channel separating B.C.’s Gulf Islands from Washington State’s San Juan Islands.

The wind would be a problem for me because D’Arcy lies in the middle of the 7-mile-wide north-south leg of the strait and is exposed to an uninterrupted 20-mile stretch of open and often rough water to the south. Not quite 3/4-mile long and 1/2-mile wide and without any well-protected anchorages, D’Arcy sits apart from the rest of the Gulf islands and its isolation helped shape its history. For three decades, ending in 1924, it served as a leper colony for Chinese immigrants; during Prohibition it was a hideout for bootleggers smuggling whiskey into the States. Now part of the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve, D’Arcy was high on my list of islands to see, but with the wind predicted to build over the next few days, I had a small window to get there and back.

I should have hustled if I really wanted to explore D’Arcy, but I found the rocky shores of Sidney and James islands were less developed and more enchanting than the San Juan Islands I was familiar with. And no one was out on the water. Wherever I looked, if I saw boats, they were way out in the distance.

I had to navigate rocks, islets, and tidal currents, and keep an eye out for the many ferries that use Sidney as a hub. They generally stay on a defined route, but some of the passenger ferries can reach speeds of up to 30 knots and can sneak up in a hurry if you’re not paying attention.

I had to navigate rocks, islets, and tidal currents, keeping an eye out for the many ferries that use Sidney as a hub. They generally stay on a defined route, but some of the passenger ferries reach speeds of up to 30 knots and can sneak up in a hurry if you’re not paying attention.

After three hours of rowing and slow, close-hauled sailing, I approached D’Arcy’s north end—a craggy, coarse shoreline behind offshore rocks and beds of hose-like bull kelp. A few fragments of lichen-encrusted concrete walls, the remnants of the leper colony, stood eerily at the edge of the forest. The wind was patchy as I neared the kelp beds, so I raised the centerboard and took to the oars. Kelp wrapped itself around the blades like spaghetti spun on a fork, forcing me to stop every few strokes to free my oars.

The large logs lining the shore of D’Arcy Island, are a testament to the strength of the winds and storms that hit the exposed southern shore of the island. Visitors arriving by kayak and other hand-carried small craft can take advantage of primitive campground near the cove, but I had no safe place to stay if the water got rough.

The large logs lining the shore of D’Arcy Island are a testament to the strength of the winds and storms that hit the exposed southern shore. Visitors arriving by kayak and other hand-carried small craft can take advantage of a primitive campground near the cove, but I had no safe place to anchor if the water got rough.

I rowed the mile around the west side of the island and arrived at the southernmost point close to low tide. Bony fingers of jagged granite stretched into the water. Even for a small boat, this was a treacherous place to maneuver; every few strokes I had to look over the bow for unseen rocks. After several moments of uncertainty, I spotted a silvery mast behind a rocky outcropping and knew I’d come to a place more suitable for landing.

“Ahoy,” I called to a deeply tanned man relaxing in the cockpit of the sloop, “how’s the anchorage here?”

“Fine now,” he answered. “But I was anchored out here recently, and that time it was too rough to go ashore and too rough to leave. I didn’t sleep so well.”

If the wind that had been forecast didn’t kick up I could spend the night anchored here near the gravelly beach, so, hoping for the best, I pulled the bow of my boat ashore and set an anchor near the beach wrack from the last high tide. I spent a few hours exploring D’Arcy’s brushy trails and drawing in my sketchbook, but late in the afternoon, the treetops above me swayed as the predicted southerly front arrived. Thinking of the sailor’s recent experience, I decided that staying could make for a dicey situation. I boarded ROW BIRD and headed north for the more sheltered waters that the other Gulf Islands could provide.

Although I had been looking forward to spending a quiet night at D’Arcy, I wasn’t disappointed by the change in plans. I had no specific route to follow, just a list of places I wanted to see, and the weather, tides, and currents would guide me. Content to go with the flow, I felt a greater sense of freedom than I would have had if I’d held tightly to a fixed itinerary that put me at odds with the elements.

The locals warned me that Sidney Spit can get quite crowded during the summer when the passenger ferry is bringing visitors from the mainland, but I arrived in the off season, and is was very quiet.

The locals warned me that Sidney Spit can get quite crowded during the summer when the passenger ferry is bringing visitors from the mainland, but I arrived in the off season and it was very quiet.

The front’s early wind provided a gentle push and I sailed northward on a broad reach, winding my way through a series of rocky islands, uninhabited but for the scores of seabirds I could hear calling in the distance. Sidney Spit on the north end of Sidney Island’s was the one bit of island coastline that was free of rocks, but I was unsure about it as a place to go ashore, having read that it can be as crowded as Coney Island on a hot summer weekend. But when I approached the slender mile-long neck of sand at the north end of the island that evening, just two people were strolling the beach; a quiet group of kayakers had settled in at the campground, and a few larger craft were tied to the mooring buoys, and floating above a vast eelgrass bed. The dock was empty—I’d have it all to myself. At dusk, voices in the distance softened, then grew quiet, and the only sound was the wind ruffling my cockpit tent.

 

Just before dawn I was awakened by a raft of river otters foraging and splashing around the docks; I got up before the sun was in the sky, and the light scattering of clouds indicated a clear day ahead. I intended to head northeast toward the eastern Gulf Islands that back up against the rough waters of the Strait of Georgia. The first step was to make the 8-mile passage to North and South Pender, a pair of islands separated by a slender 30-yard-wide gap. During the night, the flood tide had flowed into the 100-mile-long strait and in the early hours of the morning all that water retreated on the ebb, straining through the passages between the Gulf islands. I tried to time my departure to coincide with the slack tide’s still water and catch the flood that would push me much of the way to the Penders, but my start was a bit too early, and I made it only about 4 miles.

Traveling by a shallow-draft boat let me get in among the kelp and massive rocks to watch intertidal life and seabirds. I made a temporary anchor by wrapping the painter around a few thick stalks of kelp.

Traveling by a shallow-draft boat let me get in among the kelp and massive rocks to watch intertidal life and seabirds. I made a temporary anchor by wrapping the painter around a few thick stalks of kelp.

I had to tie my boat in a patch of kelp off Imrie Island, a 70-yard-wide grassy islet, and wait out the last of the ebb. It was a peaceful place to be—the kelp dampened the waves and the patches of smooth water between its stalks provided a clear window to the underwater world. Milky white jellyfish the size of saucers pulsed below, and dull-green fish hid in the kelp fronds. Oystercatchers with their bright blood-orange hued beaks paced about their stony nests on the outcroppings of lichen-tinted rock surrounding Imrie.

By the time the tide turned and the flood began to work in my favor, an intensely puffy headwind was blowing from the northeast against the current, causing steep choppy waves with a height that matched to ROW BIRD’s freeboard. Each time ROW BIRD started to move, there was a moment of quick acceleration, then heeling, followed by spray splashing over the gunwale. When I stopped to put another reef to the mainsail, I drifted toward half-submerged rocks. Setting the newly shortened sail again just in time, I slid away from the rocks.

The sound of water on the hull made it seem like ROW BIRD was rushing forward, but in the sloppy waters our actual speed was a crawl. Keeping the boat flat was the main thing on my mind, but after a few minutes, I realized that if I was going to make forward progress, I’d need more sail up, so I stopped and let a reef out. I hauled the main up again and while the chop persisted, this time there was almost no wind. Seconds later it reappeared, shot the boat forward and only by hiking out, something I never do in ROW BIRD, was I able to keep the rail out of the sea.

The anchorages at Portland Island range from open bays with sandy bottoms to steep rock-bound coves. Waves from ferries, known as “ferry wash” can cause rolly conditions and its best to anchor with a stern line tied on shore to keep the bow facing the wakes.

The winds were irregular but never entirely absent, so I usually rowed with the masts up, ready to take advantage of any breeze that might pipe up.

I had to concede that the water was too rough, so I abandoned Pender as my destination for the day. Portland Island was about 3 miles to the northwest, and I figured I’d find easier going in the sheltered coves on its south shore, so I steered for Princess Bay, the island’s biggest anchorage. Initially, I couldn’t see the ¼-mile-wide anchorage even though I was looking right where it should be, but as I got closer the islets that masked its entrance seemed to separate themselves from the island creating openings that had looked, just a few minutes earlier, like an unbroken wall. The water in the bay was still and flat, sunlight glinted off the smooth water, and crooked, weathered trees clung to the rocks at the edge of the bay.

I set my anchor and started cooking dinner. ROW BIRD’s cockpit is snug but the floorboards have room enough for my kitchen activities. Sitting cross-legged, I tended my camping stove, which I set near the centerboard trunk. I mixed couscous in a dried lentil soup mix, added water, slowly stirred and simmered it to a thick, mortar-like consistency. Then I turned the stove off, covered my concoction and waited until the pot cooled enough to hold in my bare hands. As I ate I was warmed by a small south-facing cliff that radiated the heat it had gathered from the day’s sunlight.

Portland Island is a botanist’s delight, since it lacks non-native deer that have overgrazed the native plants on many other Gulf Islands. On the extensive network trails I found views of wildflower prairies, wetlands, and conifer forests.

The anchorages at Portland Island range from open bays with sandy bottoms to steep, rock-bound coves. Ferries, like the one just coming into view at left, leave wakes known as “ferry wash” and can cause rolly conditions. It’s best to get the boat off the beach before the wake hits and, at night, to anchor with a stern line tied on shore to keep the bow facing the wakes.

The next morning I got up early to catch the flood tide toward the Penders, hopeful I’d reach the pair of islands this time. I put my drysuit on but the cool gray sky chilled me, and as I emerged from Princess Bay, a breeze from the southwest filled from behind. The tidal atlas indicated that a shift in the current’s direction lay ahead and I anticipated bumpy sailing.

Through my binoculars, I saw dark ripples in the water and low-lying rocks near the northwest edge of Moresby Island. Rounding the dark line a few minutes later, instead of the sailing getting gnarly, the wind abruptly died, and I took to the oars, leaving the sails up, and “motorsailed.” When smooth, leaden water between Moresby and Pender islands stretched as far as I could see, I dropped the sails and continued rowing. I set a course across 2 miles of open water toward the Penders and lost myself in the rhythm of the oars.

ROW BIRD handled the changeable spring conditions well, including calms, lumpy seas, and strong winds. The mizzen sail is a useful safety feature for heaving-to.

ROW BIRD handled the changeable spring conditions well, including calms, lumpy seas, and strong winds. The mizzen sail is a useful safety feature for heaving-to.

The pale rocky cliffs of North Pender shimmered in the tiny ripples around ROW BIRD as I drew near the island. Pigeon guillemots, soot-black but for white patches on their wings and comical cherry-red feet, came and went from their nests in the cliff’s hollows 50′ above me. Then, with a quarter mile left to go before making the entrance to Bedwell Harbour, a 2-1/2-mile-long inlet between the two islands, I felt myself being pushed back. An unanticipated current seemed to be pouring out of the harbor. The flood should have been flowing in by this point, pushing me into the harbor, but I was being moved south away from the island. I pulled hard on the oars to keep myself from being carried toward open water. I crept through the current and eventually glided into slower moving water on the opposite side of the mile-wide entrance.

I poked along the north shore of South Pender Island, weaving around huge boulders rising from the water—arranged as if they were in a Japanese stone garden—and skirting the towering hills that rose from a gray band of deeply fissured rock. The breeze was light and fluky, but after the hard pull on the oars, I couldn’t be troubled to row to the campground, so I raised the main and mizzen and sailed slowly up Bedwell Harbor.

The Beaumont campground by Skull Islet , like others in the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve are geared toward small boats, with protected beaches and easy access to well-maintained tent sites and trails.

The Beaumont campground by Skull Islet, like others in the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve with protected beaches and easy access to well-maintained tent sites and trails, are geared toward small boats.

I came ashore at the Beaumont campground on the shore of South Pender. ROW BIRD was the sole boat there; the whisper of the wind in the trees was interrupted only by the calls of birds. The beach was a shell midden, white with countless bleached fragments of shells that crunched underfoot.

After I set up my tent, I walked the steep Mount Norman trail. By the time I reached the 800′-high summit, the highest point on the Penders, my shirt was soaked in sweat despite the cool air. From an observation deck above the trees, I stared out at the islands below, tracing my route to the campground below and envisioning where I’d go next as I drew the scene in my sketchbook.

First Nations people in British Columbia still use parts of the National Park Reserve for traditional hunting and gathering and some areas, such as the burial ground on Skull Island (seen off the bow) are closed to the public as a sign of respect to the local tribes.

First Nations people in British Columbia still use parts of the National Park Reserve for traditional hunting and gathering and some areas, such as the burial ground on Skull Island (seen off the bow), are closed to the public as a sign of respect to the local tribes.

At dawn the next day, I sat on the shell beach looking over to Skull Islet, a round, 60-yard mound of slanted rock strata crowned with a dozen trees that was a burial site for First Nations people. The harbor waters were tranquil, but the weather radio predicted a strong storm two days out, and I knew I’d have to run for home or hunker down. I reviewed the tidal atlas to see where I could go with my remaining two days. Its arrows marked the flow of water through the islands that would push me north, south, or east—all the wrong direction—so I’d likely need both days to get safely back to the ramp at Sidney.

I spent the day at camp, and the following morning I headed homeward through the choppy waters of Haro Strait. Once I cleared the 2-mile ope- water crossing, I hugged the south shore of each of the Gulf Islands I came to. The intricate shorelines, rocky outcroppings, weather-worn shingled cottages, and meadowy pockets offered much more to see than the open water the shortest course would have taken me through. None of the islands—Moresby, Rum, Brethour, Domville, Forest—offered a good place to anchor for the night, so by late afternoon so I had decided to return to Sidney Spit for my final night.

The plip-plop of rain on my tent started slowly as the morning sky lightened. I sat on the floorboards, tidying up the cockpit, reluctant to don my raingear and head back to Sidney and bring an end to the trip. Low clouds blocked the sunrise. I eventually got underway and despite the drizzle, decided to loop around some of the islands closest to the town of Sidney before heading to the dock.

The Gulf Islands are in Vancouver Island’s rain shadow. While the west coast of Vancouver may receive more than 20’ of rain a year, the east side can receive less than 2’ annually.

The Gulf Islands are in Vancouver Island’s rain shadow. While the west coast of Vancouver may receive more than 120″ of rain a year, the east side can receive less than 35″ annually.

ROW BIRD slid through the still, rain-flecked water as I rowed past the end of the spit. A half mile later the flag on my mizzen, a navy blue silhouette of a bird in flight on a white field, flickered about, so I set sail. As the wind grew, the hull started to hiss as it cut through the water. Close-hauled, I traveled past a cluster of rocky islets called the Little Group. When spray started to splash aboard and darker clouds approached from the south, I sensed that the full force of the predicted storm was coming. Soon, I had to feather the mainsail to handle the gusts as ROW BIRD bounced along parallel to the Sidney waterfront. I was in control for the moment, but I knew that with the rising wind, it was time to head in.

Two hours later, having put ROW BIRD on her trailer, I stood overlooking the cove where I spent my first night in Sidney. The flags along the edge of town snapped and blew straight back. Eastward, whitecaps covered the water between the shore and the nearest islands.

I ducked into a café for a cup of tea. As I flipped through my sketchbook, I paused at the drawing of the islands I’d made with pencil and pen, brush and watercolor at South Pender on the summit of Mount Norman. I had sailed the archipelago and now knew something of those islands, rocks, and coves. I’d traced their edges with ROW BIRD’s wake and filled the space within their outlines with my footsteps.

Bruce Bateau, a regular contributor to Small Boats Monthly, sails and rows traditional boats with a modern twist in Portland, Oregon. His stories and adventures can be found at his web site, Terrapin Tales.

If you have an interesting story to tell about your adventures with a small wooden boat, please email us a brief outline and a few photos.

Mizzen Staysails Add Power

The author's red mizzen staysail was designed and made for WAXWING, his François Vivier-designed, lug-yawl rigged Ilur.John Hartmann

The author’s red mizzen staysail was designed and made for WAXWING, his François Vivier-designed, lug-yawl rigged Ilur. Sailmaker Stuart Hopkins writes about this sail: “We drew a 40-sq-ft sail to be tacked on the weather rail forward and sheeted to the leeward rail aft. We cut it rather flat from 3-oz polyester (instead of nylon) ‘storm spinnaker’ cloth, in the hope it will prove useful even with the wind a little forward of the beam, and keep its shape in slightly stronger winds.”

My camp-cruising boat is rigged as a lug yawl, with a powerful and well-behaved pair of sails that is ideal for solo sailing. My cruising grounds tend to have very light morning winds during the summer months, and despite my boat’s ample sail area I have looked for ways to improve light-air performance. Enter the mizzen staysail.

I first saw one in use on the Maine coast, where Harris Bucklin and his wife Barbara were flying one in ghosting conditions on their Ian Oughtred-designed Caledonia yawl. The blue sail was not only eye catching, it was also a demonstrably effective bit of sailcloth, providing a notable gain in speed over several other Caledonia yawls sailing in company with them.

When I contacted my sailmaker, Stuart Hopkins of Dabbler Sails, he was enthusiastic and replied “I’ve had four yawl-rigged boats through the years, and every one of them had mizzen staysails—lovely, useful things.” A few weeks later I had taken delivery of the new mizzen staysail and was out on Lake Champlain in 5–7-mph winds, doing sea trials aboard WAXWING, my Vivier-designed Ilur.

The staysail is 40 sq ft of 3-oz cloth, which represents a 30percent  increase in sail area over the original rig’s 133 sq ft. Deployment is straightforward. I had lashed a small block to the head of the mizzenmast, and placed a halyard cleat on the mizzen step. I already had four small horn cleats, one at each corner of the cockpit, which are normally used when setting up my boom tent for camping aboard. Once the boat settles in on a reach, I hoist the staysail by its halyard, and take the tack line forward to the cleat on the windward gunwale. The staysail sheet runs from the clew, passing through a low-friction thimble on a Dyneema loop aft that’s dropped over the leeward cleat on the aft gunwale. The staysail sheet can be secured with a small clam cleat within easy reach while I’m at the helm.

The mizzen staysail's tack is secured to the windward rail, here secured to a cleat originally installed for the boats overnight canopy.John Hartmann

The mizzen staysail’s tack is tethered to the windward rail, here secured to a cleat originally installed for the boat’s overnight canopy.

Over a series of trial runs with and without the staysail set, the new sail translated into a roughly 10 to 15 percent gain in speed as measured by GPS. The increased speed is noticeable even without GPS. When shooting pictures for this piece, my friend Christophe was the photographer. He sails a Sea Pearl, which has about the same sail area (136 sq ft) as my boat, but with a waterline line almost 6′ longer than the Ilur, usually leaves WAXWING well astern. I was ahead of Christophe as we started out, and I set the mizzen staysail. A few minutes later, the Sea Pearl was still well astern. Christophe hailed me: “Hey, luff up and let me catch you!” I think he might have said that to make me feel good, but the staysail was clearly making a real difference.

My staysail is a low-aspect sail, and doesn’t add noticeable heeling moment to the boat; it doesn’t affect the balance of the helm significantly either. It is a reaching sail, and in the 3-oz fabric, is stiff enough to manage sailing as far upwind as a close reach.

Tacking is easy, even singlehanded. With the boat balanced to sail hands-free, I walk forward, uncleat the tack line, and return aft. I then bundle the staysail to the mizzenmast, and come about. Once the new heading is established, I unbundle the staysail and go forward again to cleat the tack line to the new windward cleat before returning to the helm and trimming the staysail sheet.

The mizzen staysail is a beautiful, effective, and easily managed addition to a yawl or a ketch rig’s quiver. It isn’t a sail I’d deploy in close quarters or when short-tacking in confined environs, but on a longer light air reach, it is indeed a lovely, useful thing.

John Hartmann lives in central Vermont. He built his Ilur dinghy, WAXWING, to sail the 1000 Islands region of the St. Lawrence River, Lake Champlain, and along the coast of Maine. He details the Pythagorean mooring system he used at Nubble beach in the Technique article in our November 2016 issue.

More on Mizzen Staysails
The editor's mizzen staysail for his Caledonia Yawl was cut from a jib he had salvage. Angling the foot up to raise the clew was the only modification required.Christopher Cunningham

The editor’s mizzen staysail for his Caledonia Yawl was made from a jib he had salvaged. Angling the foot up for clearance was the only modification required. The jib’s cut had a bit too much luff curve for the sail’s use as a mizzen staysail and loses power when on a close reach. As Stuart Hopkins suggests above, the sail should be cut rather flat with only a slight curve in the luff.

 

 

 

The cat-ketch rig of this Core Sound 17, with its tall mizzen mast, allows flying a large (85 sq ft) mizzen staysail. The cat-ketch rig of this Core Sound 17, with its tall mizzen mast, allows flying a large (85 sq ft) mizzen staysail. Drawings for this mizzen staysail call for a nearly straight 17' luff, 6" of round in the 12' 8" foot just forward of center, and 6" of hollow in the 13' 7" leech just above center. The owner occasionally finds it handy to fly the mizzen staysail with the main and mizzen reefed.Marty Loken

The cat-ketch rig of this Core Sound 17, with its tall mizzen mast, allows flying a large (85 sq ft) mizzen staysail. Drawings for this mizzen staysail call for a nearly straight 17′ luff, 6″ of round in the 12′ 8″ foot just forward of center, and 6″ of hollow in the 13′ 7″ leech just above center. Here the main and mizzen are still reefed after the wind eased and the mizzen staysail went up.

 

You can share your tricks of the trade with other Small Boats Monthly readers by sending us an email.

Canned Heat with the Solo Stove

The stove takes some tending to keep it going, but small sticks are all that it requires.photographs by the author

The stove takes some tending to keep it going, but small sticks are all that it requires.

There was a time when a campfire involved clearing the duff from a patch of ground and making a ring of stones. As pleasant as that might have been, it left a scar on the land, both in a circle of scorched earth and butchered trees, living and dead, for firewood. Charcoal tended to get scattered around good campsites, leaving its mark on clothes and camping gear. When I saw the Solo Stoves on the web they looked like a good way to enjoy the benefits of a campfire without being so hard on the natural landscape.

I bought the Titan model, measuring 8″ tall and 5-1/16″ in diameter, advertised as suitable for two to four people. The Lite is the smallest model, listed as a solo backpacking stove for one or two people, but I didn’t need something so compact and could afford to carry a large stove aboard. The two larger stoves, the Campfire (9.25″ x 7″) and Bonfire (14″ x 19.5″) models, are more than I need. A lot of outdoor gear is designed with backpacking and light weight in mind, but the Solo Stove is made of stainless steel at about 1/40″ thick and is just as sturdy as the kitchen cookware that I’ve bashed about for decades.

Air enters the stove through the row of holes at the bottom. Half of the air enters the burn chamber through openings hidden beneath the flange supporting the grate; the other half rises between the stove's inner and outer shells, being heated as it goes, and emerges from the row of holes at the top of the burn chamber. The pot support is at right.

Air enters the stove through the row of holes at the bottom. Half of the air enters the burn chamber through openings hidden beneath the flange supporting the grate; the other half rises between the stove’s inner and outer shells, being heated as it goes, and emerges from the row of holes at the top of the burn chamber. The cookware support is at right.

The stove itself is 5-5/8″ tall and 5-1/16″ in diameter. The cookware support brings the overall height to 8″. There are sixteen 1/2″ holes around the base of the stove. Some of the incoming air travels across the bottom of the inner liner of the stove to a central hole and then to a vent set below a heat-resistant nichrome wire grate that supports the firewood and lets ash pass through to an ash pan. The rest of the air travels upward between the outer and inner walls, getting heated as it goes, and through twenty-two 3/8″ holes at the top of the burn chamber. According to the manufacturer, the heated air results in “a more complete combustion and a hotter fire with less smoke.”

The stove is easy to light and doesn’t take any careful arrangement of tinder, kindling, and firewood. Kindling should be about 3″ long to fit into the stove. A bit of crumpled newspaper, protected from wind by the walls of the stove, catches fire quickly and gets the kindling going. I chopped sticks as thick as my thumb to 6″ lengths. That initially left one end sticking out of the stove, but as the lower end burned away the sticks would fall into the burn chamber.

When the fire is going strong there is indeed very little smoke and what does emanate from the stove dissipates a couple of feet above the ground. The visible effect of the secondary-combustion airflow is to concentrate the flame as it flows through the opening at the bottom of the pot support. With a full load of wood burning and no cookware in place, there is a satisfyingly hypnotic flame flickering 12″ high. That’s bright enough to bathe a campsite in a circle of appealing and useful amber light.

At night the Solo Stove Titan puts up a flame bright enough to illuminate a campsite.

At night, the Solo Stove Titan puts up a flame bright enough to illuminate a campsite.

With pot on the support, flames licked the sides, blackening them with soot. I put a quart of water in the pot and the punky driftwood and old yellow cedar, which had lost most of its fragrant and flammable resin, brought the water to a boil in 8 to 9 minutes. The large burner on my electric range, set on high, took 4 ¼ minutes to get a quart to boil in the same pot.

Running on rather poor fuel, the stove brought a quart of water to a boil in 8 to 9 minutes.

The bottom of the stove is wide enough to provide a fairly steady base for cooking as long as the ground it’s on is level and flat.

Keeping a fire going in the Titan did require having wood ready to load into the stove every few minutes, but not so often that it felt like a nuisance. Tending the fire would fit right in with minding the cookpot. As for gazing into the flame, there’s still plenty of time to slip into that relaxed state between re-stoking.

Left to burn themselves out in the Titan, each of the fires I set left only a couple of tablespoons of powdery ash and a few peanut-sized coals in the ash pan. The stove’s double wall kept the bottom of the stove from getting hot; the dry grass that I’d set the stove on showed no trace of scorching. The interior surfaces of the stove got a bit sooty, but the exterior, though colored by the heat, remained soot-free and easy to put away in the included stuff sack without making a mess of my hands.

Soot accumulates only on the inside of he stove, so handling it after it has cooled down won't blacken your hands. The included stuff sack keeps the two pieces together.

Soot accumulates only on the inside of the stove, so handling it after it has cooled down won’t blacken your hands. The included stuff sack keeps the two pieces together.

The Solo Stove Titan has a minimal impact on the environment, both in fuel it consumes and the traces it leaves behind. It’ll cook dinner and when the meal is over, it will provide the flickering firelight we have been enjoying for tens of thousands of years.

Christopher Cunningham is the editor of Small Boats Monthly.

Thanks to reader Marty Stephens for suggesting this review.

Solo Stove sells the Titan model for $89.99 through their web site and a network of dealers.

Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.

Truck-Bed Liner Paint as Interior Finish

The author was equipped to spray the truck-bed liner, and while that produced the desired results, she decided that rolling the coating on would be quicker and less expensive.photographs by the author

The author was equipped to spray the truck-bed liner, but while that produced the desired results, she decided that rolling the coating on would be quicker and less expensive.

The first time I saw truck-bed liner paint as the interior finish of a pulling boat was while reviewing Sam Devlin’s Duckling for Small Boats Monthly. Thick for durability and textured for traction, it immediately made sense to me. I grilled Sam about where to find the thick coating, how to apply it, how long it lasts, and if there were any fading or chalking issues with the product he used. I row year-round in the San Juan and Gulf islands, where long hours of exposure to the summer sun and gravelly and sandy beaches mean my boats get hard, grinding use. The bed liner won’t stop an errant sharp knife point from puncturing it, but it will handle anchors and anchor chain, the bottoms of coolers transferred from a sandy beach, and gravel stuck on the bottom of rubber boots. Sam has even used truck-bed liner on the exterior of some small boats where a durable finish is more important than a perfectly flat one.

Black is the longtime standard color for truck-bed liner paints, but too dark for my taste and too hot in the summer sun, so I surfed the web looking for a do-it-yourself tintable bed liner. Some manufacturers—Duplicolor, Plasticoat—make water-based bed liners that may be easier to work with, but my research suggested they produced poor results. I went with Monstaliner, a tintable aliphatic hybrid urethane polymer that can be rolled or sprayed, and ordered a couple of free paint chips from among the 39 colors available.

I chose a light slate gray color that will, combined with the pebbly texture, reduce most of the glare I used to get from the previously high-gloss surfaces in my rowing dory, MAC. It is also guaranteed to have 100 percent UV permanent color for a minimum of five years. The online application instructions are detailed and complete. Monstaliner comes in a kit that includes textured rollers, masking tape, abrasive pads, and more—just about everything you need to do the job—but I already had all of the prep materials and was equipped to spray it on, and so just bought the “coating only” kit with the coating, tint, catalyst, stirring stick and mixing paddle for an electric drill.

Proper surface preparation and careful taping are a universal requirement for applying any coating. The supplied instructions reminded me that the time spent on application is only a fraction of the time prepping and cleaning up. After taping gunwales and those surfaces I didn’t want to spray, I scuffed the remaining painted interior surfaces with Scotchbrite pads and vacuumed up the fine dust, followed by a wipe-down with a rag and MEK (methyl-ethyl-ketone). Bed liners have a high VOC rating so I suited up with goggles and a respirator and got lots of ventilation going in my shop. Just before spraying, I ran my gloved hand along the inside of the hull to make certain it was dust-free.

Whether sprayed on or applied with textured rollers supplied by the manufacturer, the truck-bed liner creates a thick coating with a textured non-slip surface.

Whether sprayed or applied with textured rollers supplied by the manufacturer, the truck-bed liner paint creates a thick coating with a textured non-slip surface.

Following instructions, which called for over 10 minutes of constant mixing with the paint paddle in my cordless drill, I added tint, then catalyst, to the bed liner paint. To apply the coating, I used a gravity-fed spray gun and a 1½-gallon hopper connected to a 10-gallon compressor at 120 cfpm (cubic feet per minute). I used a a 1/8”-diameter texture tip on the spray gun—the larger the diameter on the tip, the more texture on the finished surface. The 10-gallon capacity of the compressor made it easier to do long sweeps with the sprayer without the compressor motor constantly running.

I went through a lot of nitrile gloves—the coating that got on them got sticky rather quickly. An hour after finishing the first coat I repeated the process. Cleanup took gallons of MEK and acetone. If you get the kit with the disposable rollers, a quart of MEK or acetone should suffice—much kinder to the environment. In retrospect I would have saved time, money, and solvent if I’d bought the kit and rolled the finish on.

As thick as the coating is, it conceals imperfections and wear and tear in a well-used boat.

The coating is quite thick, concealing imperfections and wear and tear in a well-used boat.

The results speak for themselves. Spraying all interior chines, corners, and edges prior to the sides and bottom effectively softened and hid 15 years of dings, scrapes, and small gouges that I had filled, sanded, and painted in previous years. I could see them before spraying, but they are now under a uniform, consistent, and virtually impermeable surface. The marked contrast between MAC’s unrefinished seat and the new bed liner reminds me of how worn my old boat was looking. I plan on fastening a varnished mahogany plank on top of the old plywood seat to complement the gunwales. With my old dory given a new and very appealing finish, I look forward to taking an overnight rowing/beach-camping trip with my 11-year-old grandson and seeing how the truck-bed liner holds up to the sand and gravel we’ll bring aboard when launching from the beaches.

Dale McKinnon began rowing in 2002 at the age of 57, and in 2004 rowed solo from Ketchikan, Alaska, to her home town, Bellingham, Washington. In 2005 she rowed from Ketchikan to Juneau. Her previous articles for Small Boats Monthly include rowing the Columbia River and the Columbia River estuary, how to row rough water, and reviews of NewGrips and CrewStop rowing gloves, Exped sleeping pads, and the Devlin Duckling 17 and Fairhaven Flyer.

Monstaliner is only available from the manufacturer and shipped only to the US and Canada. A gallon of base coat plus catalyst for spraying runs $128.60 and the tints, sold in one-pint cans, cost $18.50 to $48.75. A gallon roll-on kit costs $145.40.

Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.

PETIT BATEAU

 

PETIT BATEAU patiently awaits a grandchild.photographs by Bruce Holaday

PETIT BATEAU patiently awaits a grandchild.

Bruce Holaday got an early start with boating. His father ordered a $50 pram from the Sears & Roebuck catalog and turned Bruce loose with the boat on a clear-water lake in Indiana. Bruce spent his boyhood summers in the company of ducks, turtles, muskrats, and fish. The experience of independence and of being in command of his own vessel stuck with him; the prospect of a grandchild got him thinking about his childhood and the important role a boat played in his growing up.

Bruce, now living in Oakland, California, and the director of an environmental non-profit, wasn’t a skilled woodworker so he decided a kit boat would the smoothest sailing to a successful build. He found Joel White’s Shellback Dinghy in the WoodenBoat Store catalogue and ordered a kit for the sailing version of the boat. The Shellback is 11′ 2″ long, has a beam of 4′ 5″, and carries a standing lug sail. In the past quarter century it has earned a reputation as an easy boat to row and sail. With a recommended capacity of 1 to 3, it could carry grandparents and an infant grandchild, and would be a good boat for a young boy or girl to strike out on his or her own as Bruce did when he was a child.

Bruce sails the boat from a ramp across from the Coast Guard base in Oakland.

Bruce sails the boat from a ramp across from the Coast Guard base in Oakland.

The kit had all of the pieces shaped and ready to assemble, but Bruce found many ways to make the boat distinctive, from a brass name plate inside the transom to a copper plate on the breasthook to surround the painter’s padeye.

The launching of PETIT BATEAU preceded the arrival of a grandchild, by a long shot.

The launching of PETIT BATEAU preceded the arrival of a grandchild, by a long shot.

Bruce launched the boat and christened it PETIT BATEAU, but he was a bit ahead of the grandchild schedule. Without the boat to occupy his free hours, he felt boredom settling in and cast about for another project. He settled on writing a children’s book about the boat the fun of being a young skipper. He found a publisher in South Bend, Indiana, not far from the lake where he first took command of the Sears & Roebuck pram.

The book, A Boy’s Boat, was published in March, 2017. Bruce describes the book as “the story of eleven-year-old Jack and PETIT BATEAU, the 11-foot-long dinghy that Jack’s grandfather made for him. During Jack’s summer of learning how to row, sail, and scull the boat, he comes to know all the creatures of a small cove, the joy of warm sunny mornings on the water, as well as the darker shades of nature and the challenges they present for a small boy and his small boat.”

While this is the scene Bruce has been hoping for, the boy is not a grandson, it's his office manager's son.

While this is the scene Bruce has been hoping for, the boy is not a grandson. It’s his office manager’s son.

There is no grandson Jack. The book, like the boat, is ahead of the grandchild schedule. Bruce’s daughter is engaged to be married in October, and the arrival of a “Jack” or a “Jill,” if here is to be one, may still be a long way off. He may have to come up with something else to stave off boredom. PETIT BATEAU can keep him company while he waits and hopes.

Drifting Off

Building my first boat was a means to an end. I had done a lot of backpacking and bicycle touring but I’d grown tired of lugging a heavy pack on the trails and dodging cars and trucks on the roads. I imagined that with a boat I could travel with lots of gear and have a plenty of elbowroom, so I studied charts and set my sights on cruising north to explore the long inlets of British Columbia. I didn’t have the money to buy a boat so I had to build one. I read Gardner’s Dory Book and Building Classic Small Craft and ordered plans for a Chamberlain dory skiff. My parents let me set up a temporary workshop in the back yard, and after I had an enclosed space and a workbench hastily knocked together with construction lumber, I was ready to get started on the skiff.

I had a lot to learn about building a boat. I was 25 and I’d been using tools for quite a while and thought I was a fair woodworker. Before I turned 10, I had built a couple of forts in the back yard, in my early teens I made two bunk beds for myself and a bunch of skim boards, and at 17 I built a plywood diving helmet and a pump to supply it with surface air. But the skiff, with its curves and wide array of unfamiliar materials posed problems I hadn’t anticipated. When I started shaping the stem, for instance, I was convinced that white oak couldn’t be planed. I worked on it with files as if it were metal until I learned how to put proper edges on my growing collection of woodworking tools. I also mangled a lot of bronze boat nails hammering them into undersized pilot holes thinking the small holes would provide a better hold. With all the trouble I had, I often wondered what I had gotten myself into, but when the planks went on the curves emerged, and the frustrations began to loosen their hold on me.

Eventually I finished the skiff and rowed and sailed it north up the Inside Passage, calling it quits after 700 miles when the weather window started to close. I’d spent a good part of a year building the boat and only a month putting it to its intended purpose, but I wasn’t left feeling that I’d made a bad bargain. I could have continued using the skiff to cruise the waters of Washington and British Columbia, but I was drawn back to boatbuilding. I erected another temporary shed in my parents’ back yard and built a gunning dory for my father. Then I started building boats for my friends. I was looking at plans instead of charts; the means had become an end.

I got a commission to build six flat-bottomed rowing skiffs for a summer camp, three one year, another three the next. The repetition meant that the work got easier—I knew exactly what I needed to do—but I couldn’t put my heart or my head into it. An important element was missing. What engaged me more was building some thing new and unknown, a boat more complex than those that preceded it. I built a lapstrake Whitehall and upping the ante kept me on the left side of the learning curve where I could be more engaged in the work. But sometimes that led to unhappy consequences.

Learning “on the job” was giving me valuable experience, but it was often getting me into trouble, and having things go wrong was costly. Hammering the last nail in the hood end of a plank halfway up the port side of the Whitehall, I split the plank. The Port Orford cedar I was using was not only expensive, it was rare. I couldn’t afford to lose any of it. I also had a lot of labor invested in the plank; by the time I got to nailing it into the stem rabbet, I had already scarfed its two pieces together, shaped it, beveled its edges and fastened almost its entire length. Tapping that last bronze boat nail in was supposed to finish the job, but the plank buckled and a split started slowly working its way aft. There was nothing I could do to stop it; I had to let go and let the split run its course. I threw myself down on the dirt shop floor and pounded my fists against the packed earth.

What happened was exactly the result I would have predicted if I had put an ice pick in the pilot hole and pried it open. The hood end needed to be steamed to take the twist without relying on the nails. The mistake I had made was in not thinking things through before I embarked upon a task. When I made a mess of things like that I would end my day annoyed with myself and discouraged with boatbuilding. My last moments of wakefulness in bed would be colored by the failures I’d experienced during my day in the workshop. At some point I shifted my thinking as I drifted off to sleep and focused on the work ahead rather than behind. Anticipating and solving boatbuilding problems became my nighttime routine and usually steered me clear of trouble in the shop in the day that followed. It was also a very reliable way to fall pleasantly asleep no matter what distressing things might have happened during the day.

My replica of the Gokstad faering was my most challenging project. I had only a small set of lines to work with—no offsets, no construction details, no instructions. Almost every step required a lot of pondering in advance of execution. The stems are carved to include the upswept ends of the planks. The Viking builders, I imagine, just started with a crooked trunk and took an ax to it. I needed to take a more methodical approach and it took me over a week to come up with one. I wasn’t in the shop when I found the solution—I was in bed. On the lofting, the shape of the stem was created from the baseline up and the centerline out. That wasn’t giving me the information I needed. I eventually used a common problem-solving tool: approach the problem from the opposite direction. My point of reference wasn’t going to be the centerline but the outside face of the block of wood I’d carve to make the stem. I laminated the block, drew the lofted profile on the outside faces and then drilled holes along the plank-edge lines, setting the depth of each holes from a line indicating the face that I’d drawn on the lofting. I chopped away wood until I reached the bottom of the holes and I had my stems rough out.

The Gokstad faering has only three strakes and the planks are long, wide, and heavy, and I couldn’t manage them quickly enough to steam them and then get them clamped on the building jig fast enough to bend and twist them effectively. That became another problem to ponder while I was falling asleep. The solution was another simple reversal: instead of bringing a steamed plank to the boat from the steam box, I’d bring the steam box to the boat. I made a lightweight steam box out of insulating foam that I could slip over the end of a plank that was clamped in place to the middle of the building jig. I’ve used foam steam boxes ever since—I even wrote an article for WoodenBoat about it—and I have a problem to ponder to thank for that.

I built and outfitted my Caledonia yawl in the difficult time of a divorce and working out a new interior arrangement for the boat was my refuge at the day’s end when I needed to guide my thoughts in a way that gave me peace of mind. I continued the habit with my most recent boat and heaped up a long list of problems to solve: a pop-top cabin and doors that worked with the top up or down, a sink with running water, a heat exchanger for hot running water, an indoor rowing station, etc. While I could argue that many of the ideas I had for the boat were to make it more comfortable for cruising, I had come to enjoy drifting off to sleep with three-dimensional puzzles turning over in my head. I no longer think about boatbuilding problems as impediments to getting a boat finished. They are opportunities for solutions that I’ve learned to savor.

There are a lot of troubling things going on in the world today, the kinds of things that can keep me up a night. I have more boats than I have room for, but I need my sleep. I’ll have to make room for one more.

Peeler Skiff

Moving back home to Eastern Washington after being away for decades required that I get a boat. Lakes Coeur d’Alene, Priest, Chelan, and Roosevelt, together with the Columbia and Spokane Rivers, needed to be re-explored. Alright, as my wife correctly noted, “required” is too strong a word. Nonetheless, the move gave me a good excuse to buy or build a boat.

My requirements were simple. The boat would have to be light enough to tow behind our four-cylinder SUV, small enough to fit in the garage, and capable of getting two of us and our gear the 50 miles from the south end of Lake Chelan to Stehekin on the north end and back again in the afternoon when the lake gets rough.

Although there are many affordable aluminum and fiberglass boats that would serve my purpose, I wanted something distinctive. Fond memories of my uncle’s 16′ Thompson Sea Coaster, with its lapstrake hull and mahogany deck, prompted me to look for a small wooden boat to restore, but I didn’t find one nearby. While searching for an old boat, I came across the Peeler Skiff, a 15′ plywood kit boat from Chesapeake Light Craft.

Although I am proficient in the use of hand tools and have built a model, I’d never built a boat before. Before purchasing a boat kit I studied the thorough and well written Peeler Skiff construction manual, read posts on the Chesapeake Light Craft’s Builder’s Forum, and watched YouTube videos about stitch-and-glue construction, roll-and-tip painting, rotary steering installation, and striking a straight waterline.

The kit parts are assembled using cable ties rather than copper wires The aft frame's center section is precut to be removed after it is no longer needed to stiffen the frame during construction.Fred Corbit

The kit parts are assembled using cable ties rather than copper wires. The aft frame’s center section is precut so it can be removed after it is no longer needed to stiffen the frame during construction.

Eventually, I became confident that I could build a Peeler Skiff and bought the kit. I was able to build the boat in my 12′ x 20′ garage—adequate room for building, flipping, and painting the boat. The garage is heated so I was able to build the boat during the winter using the MAS epoxy with non-blushing slow hardener supplied with the kit. I kept the garage around 60 degrees Fahrenheit as recommended for curing of the epoxy.

My inexperience with boatbuilding caused me to waste some epoxy, and as a result, I had to order more epoxy than what came with my kit. The extra epoxy allowed me to practice laying down good fillets before applying them to the boat.

There were some new tools I bought that turned out to be useful in construction, including a Shinto rasp, a Japanese saw, and a set of rifflers for smoothing fillets in tight corners. Because I was a novice at applying epoxy, and there were many high spots that had to be leveled, the tool I used most was my orbital sander connected to a shop vacuum for dust collection.

The plywood pieces in the kit are precisely cut on a CNC machine. Pieces to be joined to form long panels had tight, curvy puzzle joints. The bulkheads had tabs that fit in slots in the bottom to assure proper position and alignment, and the aft flotation-compartment sides also had tabs to fit slots in the transom and center bulkhead. Pre-drilled holes in the panels further assured properly positioned pieces.

Foam cut from sheets provides flotation without the poured foam's propensity for rot.Courtesy of Chesapeake Light Craft

Foam cut from sheets provides flotation without poured foam’s propensity for creating rot.

The skiff has three flotation compartments, one in the bow and two in the stern under the side benches. Together these compartments, filled with stacks of sheet foam shaped to fit, provide 1200 lbs of flotation in the event of a swamping.

The boat has to be flipped a few times during construction, so it is wise to enlist the help of some strong friends and to have sturdy sawhorses ready. During the holiday season, I had several family members over to my house to watch football and we flipped the boat during halftime.

While the hull was upside down, the extra epoxy I purchased made it possible to add an optional second sheet of 6-oz fiberglass on the bottom as recommended in the manual. The doubled ‘glass, covering the 3/4″ thick plywood bottom, the 3/4″ thick doubler over the center seam, and the two skids, made a stiff bottom.

The center console option adds a seat with a backrest and a storage compartment for battery.Courtesy of Chesapeake Light Craft

The center-console option adds a seat with a backrest and a storage compartment for battery.

In a basic Peeler Skiff, the skipper sits at the stern and steers with the outboard’s tiller, but I much prefer, and strongly recommend, the center-console option. With it, the boat looks good and drives nicely. The center console brings the weight forward to help keep the bow down, provides a seat and backrest for a passenger, and incorporates a storage compartment that I use for my battery. On the console, I deviated from the construction instructions in once instance. Instead of using wood screws to hold down the top, I permanently affixed stainless steel hanger bolts in the console and used stainless steel washers and cap nuts at the top. The change provides an attractive accent that matches the steering wheel and gives me easier access to the steering system than I’d have with wood screws and finish washers.

The skipper has a non-skid cockpit to stand on; for longer runs there's room to set up a folding chair.Merilee Corbit

The skipper has a non-skid surface to stand on; for longer runs there’s room to set up a folding chair.

The various paint and varnish options had me scratching my head, but what I selected has worked out well. For the bottom, I used Petit ViVid antifouling paint directly over sanded epoxy. For the finish coats and boot stripe, I put Interlux Pre-Kote primer on the sanded epoxy and then applied Interlux Brightside. Where my passengers and I would stand, I added Interlux Intergrip in the final coat of paint for a nonslip surface.

For my brightwork, I used Interlux Schooner Varnish. I think the varnished woodwork is what prompts many of the compliments the boat gets. I painted the bottom, transom and some of the horizontal surfaces in the interior, but the natural wood shows on the interior’s vertical surfaces, center console, splash rails, sheer strakes, breasthook, quarter knees, inwales, and outwales. The varnished okoume, with the interesting puzzle joints, is a beautiful sight.

The instructions estimate a construction time of about 200 hours. It took me about 250 hours to get from kit to launch, not too far off the mark considering the extra layer of glass on the bottom and the center console construction.

The fuel tank rides just in front of the transom. The motor is bolted on to give it a solid, permanent connection to the boat.Merilee Corbit

The fuel tank rides just in front of the transom. The motor is bolted on to give it a solid, permanent mounting.

The Peeler Skiff, at around 325 lbs, is a very light boat. It is approved for up to an outboard motor up to only 15 horsepower, so I purchased a 15-hp Tohatsu with a 20″ long shaft, an electric start, and power tilt. My motor came with well designed remote controls that I attached on the starboard side of the center console. With one hole drilled in the forward corner of the main seat and holes drilled in the starboard bulkheads, I neatly routed the control cables to the motor. Because I had selected a motor that was within the Peeler Skiff’s Coast-Guard rating, I was able to have the Tohatsu dealer install it. The shop mechanics appreciated my new boat and took pride in their work, which made me comfortable when they were drilling the holes for motor mount bolts into the shiny transom.

The center console brings the weight of the helmsman and the battery forward to improve the Peeler's trim. Merilee Corbit

The center console brings the weight of the helmsman and the battery forward to improve the Peeler’s trim.

The 15 and 20 hp Tohatsu motors weigh the same, and I was tempted to put on a 20 hp motor for a little more speed. I’m glad I didn’t cheat—while I may have gotten away with using 20 horsepower when the water was smooth, I go fast enough with the 15 horsepower motor and feel comfortable loaning my boat to friends and family even though some of them are novice boaters. With 15 horsepower, with two of us aboard, and loaded with gear and gas, my Peeler Skiff quickly gets to a plane and moves along a smooth lake at 18 mph. At that speed it only uses about one gallon of gas per hour.

The boat always feels solid even though the flat bottom does cause me to pull back on the throttle to minimize pounding when the water is very choppy. At those times, I think the extra sheet of fiberglass really pays off.

The Peeler carves through turns without skidding and banks enough to make it easy to remain standing upright.Merilee Corbit

The Peeler carves through turns without skidding and banks enough to make it easy for the skipper to remain standing.

The boat rides a bit bow-high; I installed a small hydrofoil stabilizer on the cavitation plate of my motor to help keep it down. When turning, the boat is steady and does not skid around. At all times the boat feels stable, even when the people on board move around or when they shift to one side to put out the fenders while docking.

My Peeler Skiff was fun to build, looks great on a trailer and on the water, and performs as well as I hoped it would. It has now taken me on dozens of trips and has attracted numerous admirers. It is the rule, not the exception, that I get compliments about the boat at every launch ramp and gas dock. I would build another Peeler Skiff if only I had another excuse.

Fred Corbit grew up around small boats in Eastern Washington. As a preschooler, his mother would put him in a life jacket and let him alone to row a small wooden boat that was tethered by a long line to a dock on Lake Chelan. Later he learned to drive his uncle’s Thompson outboard skiff, and when he went off to college he sailed Lasers and Hobie Cats. When he began a career as a lawyer in Seattle, he raced J-24s and Soling sailboats, and kayaked on Puget Sound. He and his wife now live in Spokane where he is a United States Bankruptcy Judge.

Peeler Skiff Particulars:

[table]

LOA/15′ 2″

Beam/6′ 3″

Hull weight/325 lbs.

Rated capacity/4 persons or 840 lbs. (1000 lbs. persons, motors, gear, 15 hp motor)

Recommended outboard/8 to 15 hp

[/table]

 

Peeler Skiff plans ($134) and kits ($2547)can be purchased from Chesapeake Light Craft. (2017 prices)

Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats Monthly readers would enjoy? Please email us!

RoG

We met the RoG microcruiser by JF Bedard at the Cedar Key Small Boat Meet on Florida’s Gulf Coast. First seen, she was scooting confidently east toward the bright white beach of Atsena Otie Key. The wind was variable over the southwest quadrant and puffing up between 25 and 30 knots. Whitecaps appeared, died, then hackled up again. The RoG tore along, heeled to the puffs, but its pilot started the mainsail sheet and it stopped instantly, waiting upright and stock still like a gun dog for a command, mannerly and calm. The mainsheet came in and the RoG rushed for the beach again.

When inclement weather threatens, the cabin can be enclosed and protected by a fabric covering.Lucie Laliberte

When inclement weather threatens, the cabin can be enclosed and protected with a fabric covering.

JF Bedard (Jean-François—he’s formerly of Montréal) created the RoG as a graduation project for Westlawn Institute of Marine Technology. An abbreviation for “River of Grass,” RoG is a nod to the Florida Everglades and the Everglades Challenge that JF endured aboard the prototype. His microcruiser shows its digital heritage as a complete, compact solution to a set of intelligent parameters, which were imaged, examined, balanced, and revised in the abstract of an advanced computer’s algorithms before a single stick was cut.

RoG is constructed in stitch-and-glue fashion with 6-mm Bruynzeel marine plywood throughout. The hull, three bulkheads, and two ring frames present themselves as a solid unit of obvious strength; each member is epoxy-bonded to support its neighbors. The plywood elements themselves provide 300 lbs of buoyancy; a further margin of safety is provided by two compartments, one set low in the bow and the other in the stern under the cockpit footwell, enclosing 5-1/2 cu ft of foam for an additional 340 lbs of buoyancy.

The cabin table drops down to extend the side benches into full-length bunks.JF Bedard

The cabin table drops down to extend the side benches into full-length bunks.

RoG was designed, in some part, for the 300-mile Everglades Challenge, a Florida thin-water endurance voyage, but for less grueling adventures the RoG is a charming miniature cruiser. It is just 15′ 3-1/2″overall, 5′ 9″ in the beam, yet it has a deep, comfortable, private cabin with built-in bookshelves forward, obviously designed for a contemplative sailor. The cabin has sitting headroom and offers a chart-sized nav/dining table that drops down to seat level to form two full-sized berths, which are 6′ 3″ long, 24″ wide at the shoulders, and 16″ wide and the head and feet.

The cabin provides sitting headroom and a table for dining and navigation. The RoG's designer, JF Bedard, takes a look here at a chart of Florida Bay.JF Bedard

The cabin provides sitting headroom and a table for dining and navigation. Here the RoG’s designer, JF Bedard, takes a look at a chart of Florida Bay.

Aft of these bunks is considerable storage in the spaces under the cockpit seats and footwell for bedding and cruising gear. A pair of large, fixed acrylic windows and a big, airy companionway hatch reaching to the foot of the mainmast dispatch any claustrophobia. The hatch cover is poly-canvas, supported across its breadth by two sprung battens, and when furled, the mainmast and the commodious anchor well in the bow are within easy reach.

The anchor here is secured to a bow roller, but the well in the bow has room for it as well as the rode and chain. The well has a canted bottom and a scupper to drain water overboard.JF Bedard

The anchor is secured to a bow roller, and the well in the bow has room for the rest of it along with the rode and chain. The well has a canted bottom and a scupper to drain water overboard.

The mast tube has a drain that opens to the cabin, rather than creating a through-hull fitting and the risk that poses. The drain remains plugged until water can be drained into a bucket. The bottom of the well is angled to drain water through a scupper in the starboard side.

Running wing-and-wing, the Rog shows the open transom that makes the cockpit instantly self-draining.Lucie Laliberte

The RoG running wing-and-wing shows the open transom that makes the cockpit instantly self-draining.

The cockpit is generous: four sailors would not be crowded, with room for a fifth hanging in the big companionway. A fore-and-aft centerline ridge stiffens the cockpit sole and adds height to the rudderhead assembly. It’s a comfortable footrest when the RoG is heeled; hiking straps provide an additional connection to the boat. The high freeboard, the open stern, and the absence of a coaming and toerail make the cockpit feel vulnerable initially, but RoG’s good manners dispel the sense of risk.

Working in light air and in the lee of islands, the oars can be kept in their locks, ready for rowing when the sails aren't filled.Michael Johnson

As the RoG works in light air and into the lee of islands, the oars can be kept in their locks, ready for rowing when the sails aren’t filled.

Oarlock blocks are integrally mounted at the outboard edge of the cockpit, placed so a seat on the bridge deck, just forward of the cockpit, is your rowing station. The sweeps would be awkward to stow aboard a small boat, but JF provided a transom hatch through which a pair of oars up to 10′ 6″ long can be tucked out of the way and out of sight, resting in oval slots in the frame beneath the starboard cockpit seat and extending into the cabin.

When the oars are not needed they can be stowed out of the way under the starboard deck. The cover for the access hatch is retained by an internal bungee cord.JF Bedard

When the oars are not needed, they can be stowed out of the way under the starboard deck. The cover for the access hatch is retained by an internal bungee cord.

When JF is sailing RoG, however, he keeps the sweeps mounted in their locks with their blades secured by cords at the transom. This sleek, flyweight hull should row easily in anything but a stiff headwind that retards her high-freeboard resistance. During the Everglades Challenge JF could row at 2.5 knots over a long stretch, around 5 miles, and push harder for a short while to bring the RoG up to 3-1/2 knots. Having the rudder down and a bit of centerboard down helps with tracking on a longer passage.

The centerboard pendant is served by a self-tailing winch set in a recess at the forward end of the cockpit seating platform. With the board up, the boat takes 6″ of water, 46″ with the board down, with 50 lbs of lead at the board’s extremity.

The RoG is rigged as a cat-ketch with 150 sq ft of fully battened sails, 100 sq ft in the main and 50 sq ft in the mizzen. The tapered masts are of carbon fiber, unstayed and equipped with glued-on sail track. The snotter-tensioned, aluminum-tube sprit booms are angled downward and self-vanging. Simple 2x-advantage downhauls are obvious and quick. The mainmast’s foot is close at hand from the companionway hatch so the skipper has a firm footing for mainsail work. Main and mizzen sheets, along with mizzen halyard, downhaul, and snotter converge at the handling bridge/mizzen partner bisecting the cockpit athwartships. The main’s halyard, downhaul, and snotter are secured with cam cleats at the aft edge of the cabin.

In the Cedar Key puffs we took our tucks. Topping lifts keep the booms from dropping when the halyards are eased to a marked position to lower the sails. The downhaul’s hook gets reset and retensioned in a reefing grommet on the luff. A dedicated outhaul brings a leech grommet to the sprit, and the snotter is adjusted to tune the sail’s shape.

The sheet leads for main and mizzen are well placed and tacking is effortless: the tiller goes across behind the mizzenmast, the sails assume their duty on the new heading. JF’s GPS tracking indicates the RoG tacks through 90 degrees and better.

On and off the wind, the tiller was gentle and obedient, easily managed by two fingers. One of Bedard’s touches is a tiller line that loops around the perimeter of the cockpit, under the bridge deck, and across the cabin, just beneath the companionway molding. With this connection, the pilot can make course corrections from anywhere in the cockpit or even from the cabin’s interior.

In strong wind, the sheeted-home mizzen occasionally caught the RoG in irons. This is a stumble for many yawls and ketches, and can be avoided if one slacks the mizzen sheet as a craft passes the eye of the wind. As we paced his microcruiser this way and that in the heavy puffs, challenging and besting bigger boats, JF showed me RoG’s “automatic” heave-to. He started the mainsheet and, once again, the boat stopped, its sheeted mizzen managing the boat’s attitude without a swoop or heel.

The pump, tucked under the mizzen partner, moves water in and out of the ballast tanks. The four valves direct the flow to and between the port and starboard tanks. The centerboard winch is visible at right.JF Bedard

A pump, tucked under the mizzen partner, moves water in and out of the ballast tanks. Four valves direct the flow to and between the port and starboard tanks. The centerboard winch is visible at right.

The RoG is designed for water ballast stabilization in heavy weather. We had no ballast aboard but felt no lack of stability. JF prefers to keep the RoG light and lively and seemed reluctant to utilize the ballast option in anything but serious seaway. In that event, a diaphragm pump on the port side of the cockpit, with the help of four Y valves in a locker, moves water into, out of, and between two ballast tanks. Each has a capacity of about 9 ½ gallons—80 lbs—and is set amidships about 16″ off center and extends along the bottom then up the side up to the sheer the bottom. Filling the windward tank adds 80 lbs, which improves performance in a breeze, and filling both tanks increases overall stability and adds momentum to plow through a chop, giving the RoG the characteristics of a heavier, deeper boat.

When the breeze picks up, up to 160 lbs of water can be pumped into the windward ballast tank to help counter heeling.Michael Johnson

When the breeze picks up, up to 80 lbs of water can be pumped into the windward ballast tank to help counter heeling.

Tiny and eager, it’s like a terrier when she planes; 9 knots is not uncommon. Reefed down in whitecaps and heavy puffs, we were steadily advancing, with negligible leeway, at 6 knots.

RoG is phenomenally light at 450 lbs with the sailing rig and is eminently trailerable, easily singlehanded, but is in no way a skittish craft. There is some gravitas built into the lines and rigidity in its tiny dimensions.

The virtue of the RoG is JF Bedard’s balanced design judgment. The RoG is one of a new generation of vessels appearing fully realized, not by a massive mainframe at MIT, but by laptops—a democratization of invention. Aesthetics and structure are tightly interlocked. The digital designer changes a curve of the bilge, and immediately, changes in buoyancy and wetted area are computed and shown. Optimal solutions are possible over hours rather than years of trial and error. Better solutions depend on how you ask the questions; what are the priorities?

The little RoG is a constellation of compromises, but Bedard has weighed each bargain between technology and function with delicate attention, striving for a happy solution. He’s intelligent, technically sound, confident, and he adds a human factor of delight in sailing as a dance with nature. Before giving himself over to the water life, he was a successful professional musician. The dance comes naturally.

Jan Adkins is an author and illustrator living in Gainesville, Florida. He is a frequent contributor to WoodenBoat magazine and the author of over 40 books. “Getting Started in Boats” is a regular feature he does for WoodenBoat.

RoG Particulars

[table]

Length/15′ 3.6″

Beam/5′ 9″

Draft, board up/6″

Draft, board down/3′ 10″

Displacement/975 lbs

Weight, fully rigged/450 lbs

Sail area/150 sq ft

[/table]

 

The orange areas are flotation compartments; the black areas are water-ballast tanks.

The orange areas are flotation compartments; the black areas are water-ballast tanks.

The cabin can sleep two. Note that the oar handles extend into the cabin.

The cabin can sleep two. Note the oar handles extending into the cabin.

Bedard Yacht Design offers the RoG as plans and full-sized templates at $239 and as a complete kit, with around 140 CNC-cut Bruynzeel plywood pieces, for $2,549.

Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats Monthly readers would enjoy? Please email us!

Rowing the North Sea

In the autumn of 2011 Erik Schouw-Hansen and I were discussing our next adventure. In 2010 we had sailed together to the Shetlands—Erik crewed aboard my 31′ sloop on the first leg of a voyage from Norway to the Caribbean and back. We were both born and raised on the west coast of Norway, so for our next trip it was natural to look westward across the North Sea to the Shetland Islands. We wanted to try something new and settled upon rowing a small, open boat across the North Sea the following summer. We set mid-June the following year as our deadline to be ready for departure, and from that point we would wait for favorable weather conditions.

In Norway the faering is well known, and has proven its seaworthiness over many centuries. It was a natural choice for us, and we set our sights on finding one suitable for the crossing. After asking around, I heard about a newly built Sunnmørsfæring that would meet all our requirements. I called the owner, Leif Reidar Røv, and to our good fortune, he was enthusiastic about our adventure and was more than happy to lend us his boat.

In the early spring and we put a fresh coat of oil on the boat and prepared it for the crossing. After we launched it the seams tightened up as the wood swelled, but we still took on some water during the trip.Henrik Yksnøy

In the early spring we put a fresh coat of oil on the boat while preparing for the crossing. After we launched it, the seams tightened up as the wood swelled, but the boat still took on some water during the trip.

The faering was built by the boatbuilder Jakob Helset in Bjørkedalen, a small village on the northwest coast of Norway famous for boatbuilding. Hundreds of boats from faerings to replicas of Viking ships have been built here.

Leif’s faering is 17′ long and a bit fuller in the bow than most other faerings, but this suited us well, as our equipment list continuously grew longer and the space we needed grew larger. The keel was a bit deeper than those of traditional faerings, making it a better sailing boat, and adding a huge benefit: the ability to keep on a steady course while rowing in strong wind and big waves. The trade-off was that it wasn’t as good a boat for beach cruising, but we intended to launch, just once, in Norway, and land, just once, in the Shetland Islands.

We were off to a good start after finding the boat and bringing it back to my home in Volda, but there were a lot of things we needed to do over the winter. One of our most important preparations was to have covers made for the boat. They would be crucial in providing shelter and a measure of comfort on board. The cover at the stern would be a sleeping shelter. The cover over the bow would protect the gear and drinking water stowed there.

Before departure tried to figure out where to store all our gear, and how to distribute the weight. Henrik checked the fit of the aft part of the boat where we slept during the crossing.Erik Schouw-Hansen

Before departure, we tried to figure out where to store all our gear and how to distribute the weight. Here Henrik was checking the fit of the aft part of the boat where we slept during the crossing.

For our safety equipment, we brought a life raft, two satellite messengers, a handheld VHF, two survival suits, and flares. The range of the VHF would not be very far when while seated in a faering at sea level, so we would have to rely on meeting up with other vessels in transit to get updated weather forecasts.

We had to prepare ourselves as well, and spent many hours in the gym and swimming pool. During the spring, we also did some rowing in the faering. Our longest training trip lasted six hours, but six hours does not get you very far in the North Sea. It would have helped if we had rowed even more, but Erik lives in Bergen, a seven-and-a-half-hour drive from Volda, and he wasn’t able to spend many hours rowing with me in the faering before we left.

Henrik Yksnøy

While the faering was docked at a marina in Henrik’s hometown of Volda, we rigged the tarp decks for the first time, and prepared the open boat for ocean rowing.

 

We weren’t the first to set out on this crossing in a faering. Ragnar Thorseth, a Norwegian adventurer, crossed the North Sea alone in a faering during the summer of 1969. Olav Lie Gundersen and Tommy Skeide repeated the feat in 2005 in a type of Norwegian faering called a geitbåt; then, after reaching Shetland, they continued the voyage and rowed all the way to the Faroe Islands.

We did not have to wait long for our window of suitable weather. On the day we finished getting our gear collected and were ready to leave Volda, the weather report looked promising. We put the faering on a trailer, packed our things in it, and drove south to Florø, the most westerly town in Norway and the closest we could get to Shetland for our departure. The straight-line distance from Florø to Shetland is about 200 nautical miles. I am the optimistic one of us, so I guessed we’d make the crossing in four or five days; Erik put his money on ten days or more.

At long last we were on the North Sea and heading to Shetland. It took a long time for the Norwegian coast to disappear below the horizon.Erik Schouw-Hansen

At long last we were on the North Sea and heading to Shetland. It took a long time for the Norwegian coast to disappear below the horizon.

 

We were ready to launch at 4:00 am on Wednesday, June 20, 2012. We had been awake for 20 hours already, and I was tired and exhausted. We remembered most of the important things on our list, but managed to forget the tiller. I knew exactly where I had left it back home, but to drive seven hours home and seven hours back to pick it up was out of the question. From now on, every hour was valuable; we had no time to lose. We had to take this weather window, as it could easily be the only chance this summer.

We made a new tiller, improvised from a piece of wood and some pieces of thick steel wire we found in the harbor. It didn’t look as nice as the one we left behind, but it was functional.

We weren’t off to a great start, but the conditions were perfect. The seas were calm and there was a light breeze from east, just as forecast, and a light drizzle as well, but we only cared about the wind and the waves and hardly noticed the rain.

Henrik gave our cobbled-together tiller a try. Served our needs, as we didn’t steer actively, and kept the rudder in a fixed position to keep us on track. In an attempt to avoid tendonitis, I tried som wrists braces in the beginning of the trip. But after the burn on my wrist, I had to take it off. So Im afraid I cant give any conclusion whether its efficient or not.Erik Schouw-Hansen

Henrik gave our cobbled-together tiller a try. It served our needs, as we didn’t steer actively, and kept the rudder in a fixed position to keep us on track. In an attempt to avoid tendonitis, I tried some wrist braces in the beginning of the trip, but after the burn on my wrist, I had to take them off.

We wanted to take full advantage of the good conditions, so we rowed together for 20 hours straight. I could hardly stay awake, and desperately needed some rest. To get a chance to sleep, we started rowing on shifts, six hours on and six hours off. The wind was picking up, still from the right direction, over our stern, and we were making good speed, on average, 10 nautical miles for every 6-hour shift. That put us on par with our best estimates. If we could maintain a pace of 40 nautical miles per day, we could make it to Shetland in only five days.

Roger Siebert

.

It was a physically demanding task to close the distance to Shetland, but in spite of the hard work, neither of us had an appetite and we hardly managed to eat. It may be that the movement in the boat was making us a little seasick, and the exhaustion of rowing for hours on end made us long for sleep more than food. That first day we ate less than a meal, a few snacks, and a little chocolate.

Our meals were dehydrated and needed only boiling water to prepare them—simple enough, but a wave caught me off guard, and I poured hot water over my left wrist. It was a serious burn, and the only thing I could do to treat it was to reach over the side of the boat and hold my hand in the cold North Sea water. Our first-aid kit was well stocked but obviously had its deficiencies; some treatment for a burn would have been highly appreciated. After a while the pain subsided and I was back in the routine, rowing toward Shetland.

All of our navigation was done with this handheld GPS. Here Henrik is checking our position and measuring the distance left to Shetland. The gloves he’s wearing were a crucial part of our outfitting.Erik Schouw-Hansen

All of our navigation was done with a handheld GPS. Here Henrik was using it to check our position and measure the distance left to Shetland. The gloves he was wearing were a crucial part of our outfitting.

We rowed through the night and in the dark passed the first offshore oil and gas platforms, our first milestone. This meant we were getting somewhere. We were definitely in the North Sea where there are quite a few platforms, and keeping the required distance away from them was at times proving to be difficult, as the wind was determining our course more than we were.

It was hard for me to motivate myself as we rowed away from the Norwegian coast. The high mountains followed us for days—they just wouldn’t disappear—and it seemed as though we made hardly any progress. That was one of the drawbacks of rowing rather than sailing—we were always looking backward. I had to remind myself to turn around occasionally and look over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. One time I turned my head and found an oil-rig supply vessel just a few hundred yards away. I hadn’t even heard it, and I didn’t think they noticed us until I called them on the VHF. In swells, fog, and rain, a faering is difficult to spot, and a small boat made of wood rarely shows on a ship’s radar.

On the second day, Erik had a visitor while he was rowing. A whale as long as the boat swam alongside us for a few seconds. Erik was shouting, both thrilled and frightened; I was in my sleeping bag and scrambled out as fast as I could to see what had raised the alarm. Erik doesn’t always get “port” and “starboard” correct, so I was looking in the wrong direction and just missed seeing the whale.

For the first days of the trip the sea was quite flat and made the rowing easy. Here the sun has just gone down, and Henrik is preparing for the night watch.Henrik Yksnøy

For the first days of the trip, the sea was quite flat and made the rowing easy. Here the sun had just gone down, and Henrik was preparing for the night watch.

 

After a while, it became difficult to separate one day from another. We did most things without thinking, and we hardly spoke to each other. When we changed shifts, we talked briefly about the distance achieved, strength and direction of the wind, and not much more. We did not have much energy left for small talk. I had the graveyard shift, from midnight to 6 a.m. Even though it was summer and we rowed in high latitudes, it was quite dark during these hours. It was cold as well, but the rowing helped keeping me warm.

After three days of mild weather, the wind freshened and the waves grew larger; we needed to pay attention to the waves, making sure we took them from the right angle. The wind helped us make good speed, but it was not comfortable anymore. Back home, we wouldn’t have launched the faering in these conditions, but underway we didn’t have a choice. Fortunately, we were familiar with the boat by then and able to manage it through the rough water.

In the growing waves and generally cold and wet conditions, we got into our dry suits and would remain in them, for safety’s sake, for the rest of the crossing. They were not very comfortable to wear, and even worse to row in. Sealed up inside the suits day and night, we were perpetually clammy.

Halfway into the crossing trip the wind had picked up, and we needed to get into our survival suits.Henrik Yksnøy

Halfway into the crossing, the wind had picked up and we needed to get into our survival suits.

After we crossed into the United Kingdom’s territorial waters, we rowed up close to a U.K. Coast Guard vessel. Over the VHF radio, they told us that we would have a few days of easterly winds, followed by a northerly gale. Erik and I calculated that we would reach Shetland before the weather took a turn for the worse.

Only 12 hours from the Shetland coast, Erik was rather cheerful when his rowing shift ended and he headed off to sleep that night. His high spirits surprised me because he is quite seldom so cheerful. During my watch, the wind picked up and I struggled to make progress. With the wind and the waves coming from the north, I had no choice but to turn the faering downwind in an attempt to ride out the gale. When Erik woke up, his good mood vanished when I told him we were still 12 hours out, headed due south parallel to the coast of Shetland, and not any closer than we had been when he went to sleep.

Erik Schouw-Hansen. Henrik is rowing while. The waves had picked up and made the rowing much harder for Henrik during his shift at the oars. Erik was sitting in the cabin, not yet able to sleep in the rough conditions.Erik Schouw-Hansen

The waves had picked up and made the rowing much harder for Henrik during his shift at the oars. Erik was sitting in the cabin, not yet able to sleep in the rough conditions.

Erik took his shift at the oars, and I lay under the tarp during my six hours off, hardly getting any sleep as there was a too much movement in the boat. There was no need for my sleeping bag, as we were still wearing our dry suits. When I looked out from under the tarp, I saw Erik struggling at the oars to the keep the faering headed downwind. Whenever the boat slipped away from him and veered into a broach, the cresting waves would break over the gunwales and pour into the boat.

The rudder helped keep the faering on track, but the new tiller was a bit short and difficult to reach from the rowing thwart. Although we didn’t use the rudder to steer the faering on the waves, we were be able to control the boat with the oars.

We had had water in the boat all along, but at this point we were carrying a couple hundred liters. As the boat got heavier, its handling changed and was more difficult to control, reacting more slowly to the oars and taking longer to get back on track. During our hours off we bailed, but our efforts hardly seemed to produce any results—there was still a lot of water sloshing in the bottom, and we needed to stop bailing and take some time off to rest.

Erik took this self-portrait at sunrise. The quarters were quite close with the “cabin” in the stern right at his feet. Erik, who stands about 6’ 6” tall, struggled to find a place to lie down and stretch out after his rowing shifts were over.Erik Schouw-Hansen

Erik took this self-portrait at sunrise. The quarters were quite close with the “cabin” in the stern right at his feet. Erik, who stands about 6’ 6” tall, struggled to find a place to lie down and stretch out after his rowing shifts were over.

When it came my turn to row, Erik and I had to switch positions. With the aft tarp up, there was only one seat free for rowing, and during the switch the faering was at the mercy of the waves. We had to make the move fast while reacting to every wave coming at us. The wind had picked up during Erik’s watch, and in his six-hour shift he had learned to deal with the waves. I had never rowed in waves like this, so it took some time to learn how to manage the oars and control the faering in these conditions.

The boat broached a couple of times, and more water came aboard. We were not pleased with the situation. Erik was not lying down to rest, but sat at the opening of the tarp, afraid of being under it in case we were to capsize. His fear, however, was no match for his exhaustion, and he didn’t sit there for long. He soon disappeared under the tarp, completely spent.

During the final stage to reach the coast of Shetland, we rowed together for 20 hours to avoid missing landfall. We had spent almost a week within the confines of the faering.Erik Schouw-Hansen

During the final stage to reach the coast of Shetland, we rowed together for 20 hours to avoid missing landfall. We had spent almost a week within the confines of the faering.

Erik took a new turn on the oars, and after 18 hours of our trying to control the boat in the gale, it was my watch again. I studied the GPS, and saw that we would soon pass the whole length of Shetland; the next landfall would be the Orkneys, Scotland, or England.

During my next watch, it felt like the wind didn’t have the same strength as it had only a few hours earlier. The waves didn’t break in the same way and they didn’t slam against the hull with the same strength. Still, it was not possible for me to turn the boat to put it on a course toward land. To prevent us from passing Shetland altogether, I pulled out our sea anchor and threw it over the side along with 50 yards of rope, and attached the line to the stern. The sea anchor made the movement in the boat more tolerable, and, according to the GPS, reduced our southward drift. That was very reassuring as we by this time had already passed the latitude of Shetland’s capitol city of Lerwick, situated about 18 miles to the north of the island’s southern extremity.

We been carried south by the wind for the previous 24 hours when it was Erik’s turn at the oars again. I woke him up and we discussed our strategy and next course of action. The wind had calmed even more, and we could clearly see the coast of Shetland for the first time. Sighting land gave us some necessary motivation. This was our chance to reach the coast.

The sea had calmed and Shetland was within sight, but there were still hours of rowing left.Henrik Yksnøy

The sea had calmed and Shetland as within sight, but there were still hours of rowing left.

We took down the aft tarp; no one would sleep now until we reached the shore. We pulled out the second set of oars, and rowed together. There were still swells from the north, making the rowing a struggle. We rowed for 30 minutes, then took a five-minute break. It was a pleasure to get off the thwart for five minutes, but even more painful to get back up on it. We had seat pads on the thwarts, but they didn’t help much anymore. I constantly had to change my position. I was so tired that Erik often caught me just dipping my oars in the water.

We were terrified at the thought of the wind picking up again and blowing us farther away from the island. Luckily, the wind was slowly dying until it suddenly went completely calm. In the still air, we could see more and more details of the coast. After a few more hours of rowing, we managed to distinguish the small island Bressay from the mainland, and we knew that Lerwick was not far away.

 

We took our last five-minute break just outside the guest harbor in Lerwick, and I was relieved, satisfied, proud, and completely exhausted. We arrived at the dock at 3:00 a.m., having been on the North Sea for six days and 23 hours. The final stage, where we rowed together, had lasted for 20 hours.

We made the faering fast and when we stood up, we struggled to stay on our feet, and had to sit down on the dock to keep from losing our balance. The pub had just closed—just as well for us—but some fellow Norwegians coming from the pub found us and took us aboard their sailboat. After a short celebration, we got the sleep we had longed for.

In the harbor at Lerwick, Henrik took a last look at the faering aboard the Norwegian topsail ketch SVANHILD. We spent a few days in Lerwick while SVANHILD took our boat back to Florø.Erik Schouw-Hansen

In the harbor at Lerwick, Henrik took a last look at the faering aboard the Norwegian topsail ketch SVANHILD. We spent a few days in Lerwick while SVANHILD took our boat back to Florø.

We spent a few days in Lerwick, and had no plans for the return to Norway, either for us or for the boat. Our only goal had been to get to Shetland. But it didn’t take us long to cross paths with the captain of SVANHILD, an old galleon from Florø, the same town where we started our voyage. Luckily for us, the captain was happy to bring the faering home to Norway.

We spent some great days in Lerwick, enjoying the Shetlanders’ hospitality—especially that of Charlie Hunter who took us into his home, where we got everything we needed to recover from the voyage.

A few days later, Erik and I took the ferry to Scotland and flew home across the North Sea. Looking out of the window and down on the ocean, I was happy to be flying.

Henrik Yksnøy was born in 1987 in Volda, Norway, and grew up on and by the sea. His home is surrounded by mountains and hikes the high country year-round. His interests include hunting, fishing, sailing, and kayaking. He earned a bachelor’s degree in Economics and Administration, and a master’s in Supply Chain Management from Norway’s Molde University College. Henrik works as Senior Associate in a business consulting firm.

If you have an interesting story to tell about your adventures with a small wooden boat, please email us a brief outline and a few photos.

Water-based Wood Dye

 

All of the wood on the deck of the author's is African mahogany. The kingplank and covering boards were cut from boards that were the lightest in color, dye made them the darkest pieces. Photographs by the author

All of the wood on the deck of the author’s boat is African mahogany. The kingplank and covering boards were cut from stock that was the lightest in color, and dye made them the darkest pieces.

 

My outboard runabout, WORK OF ART, often stops people in their tracks when they see the deck with its beautiful, natural-looking wood color with sparkling grain highlights. No one has guessed that much of the wood under the varnish has been dyed.

The deck planking is African mahogany, and I was hoping to find some dark pieces for the perimeter covering boards and kingplank, and lighter boards for the rest. While I did find a couple of boards wide enough and long enough to do the perimeter covering boards, they were especially light in color, the opposite of what I wanted.

I was reluctant to use stain, as it tends to muddy variations in color and mute the wood grain. After doing a bit of research, I decided to get the darker color using dye; it would provide the contrast I wanted for the perimeter and kingplank while creating a clearer grain appearance. Water-based dyes, once dry, are compatible with epoxy and varnish.

With the dye plan in mind, I resawed the mahogany to book-match the planks, and after cutting them to shape, I epoxied them to the deck’s plywood substrate, taking care with the epoxy so as not to contaminate areas to be dyed.

The Vintage Cherry dye transformed the very light mahogany—a cut-off is shown here— into a rich dark color that enhances the grain.

The Vintage Cherry dye transformed the very light mahogany—a cut-off is shown here— into a rich, dark color that enhances the grain.

I used some cutoffs to test a few water-based dyes. There are several brands available; I chose to use dyes from General Finishes. Their Medium Brown was too dark and subdued, but the dye in Vintage Cherry was just dark enough to provide the contrast I was looking for and had a pleasing ruby-red hue. I epoxied the sample to get some gloss to approach the final appearance, and I really liked it.

After a penultimate sanding of the deck, I wiped it down with a wet rag to raise the grain and then sanded the bare wood for the last time with 220-grit. I masked the areas that were to be left undyed with plastic sheeting and blue painter’s tape. Wearing latex gloves, I applied the dye with a cloth rag to the perimeter boards and the kingplank, 3′ to 4′ at a time. The instructions are to apply a “liberal amount of stain” to saturate the wood surface on manageable sections, then wipe off the excess before moving to the next area. The dye is very watery, so as with any shop chemical, use appropriate protective equipment for yourself or surrounding areas that might get splashed.

After the dye dried, I had one area that was a bit blotchy, likely caused by epoxy squeezed through a long crack in the board near its end. With some sanding and reapplication of dye, I was able to get consistent color in the area. The instructions recommend letting the dye dry 3 to 4 hours or up to 10 in cool, humid conditions. I let it dry overnight, and the following day I applied the first coat of epoxy to seal the wood, smooth the surface, and bring up the shine.

The next step for the deck involved masking the plank edges, then filling the faux caulking seams between planks with thickened, white-pigmented epoxy. Then I applied about five coats of clear epoxy over the entire deck to build the surface and smooth it over. Five coats of varnish completed the deck finishing process.

The contrast between the undyed decking and the dyed covering boards and kingplank brings out the color of both.

The contrast between the decking, covering boards, and kingplank brings out the color of both undyed and dyed wood.

A water-based dye makes for a remarkable finish while enhancing the clarity of the grain. The outcome was beautiful beyond my expectations, and in hindsight, I believe the effect of using dye significantly contributed to creating a boat that is a standout in the boat shows that I have entered.

Art Atkinson retired from Ford Motor Company after 31 years as an engineering supervisor at Body Engineering. He is currently the manager for Bloomfield Village Association in Michigan. Woodworking has been his hobby since high school and prior to building boats he made musical instruments, furniture, and kitchen cabinets. His review of the Glen-L Squirt pictured here appeared in our June 2016 issue.

Thanks to Small Boats Monthly reader Bosco Plana for suggesting this article.

You can share your tricks of the trade with other Small Boats Monthly readers by sending us an email.

Veritas Cabinet Scraper

The Veritas Cabinet Scraper has some subtle but significant improvements that make it easier to use than its predecessor.Photographs by the author

The Veritas Cabinet Scraper has some subtle but significant improvements that make it easier to use than its predecessor.

A card scraper, held by hand, works well for small jobs and fine work, but it is hard on the thumbs, tiring in the long haul, and can get quite hot. My English-made Stanley #80 cabinet scraper does the work of holding its blade at the right angle and bending it, so it’s an easier tool to use. I’ve had mine for decades, and it’s my tool of choice for the rough work of scraping newly epoxied joints and for finishing surfaces where the grain in a board or between boards is oriented in different directions. The #80, introduced in 1898, was produced in numerous versions; Veritas makes many of their own versions of workshop standards, including the #80, so I was curious to see what they did to improve upon it.

The Stanley #80 has been a standard woodworking tool for well over a century.

The Stanley #80 has been a standard woodworking tool for well over a century.

The first thing I noticed was the weight. The Stanley weighs 22 oz, the Veritas 32.4 oz. The Veritas casting is thicker and the contours are a better fit for the hands. The tops of the handles feel good in the palms and the recesses underneath the Veritas handles, not so deep and wide as they are on the Stanley, are more comfortable for the fingers. More significant are the coves for the thumbs. In the Stanley, they’re not contoured to fit and the glossy finish is quite slick, so I have to grip the tool tightly. The Veritas’ matte finish and textured surfaces aren’t at all slippery, and the contours keep my thumbs in place so I can use a more relaxed grip.

The top of the blade is guarded by the tool.

The the tool’s body guards fingers from the top of the blade, making it safer to use.

The Veritas blade is made of harder steel than the Stanley’s. I’ve been doing quick sharpening of the Stanley blade with a file, but that same file slides across the Veritas steel without digging in. That harder steel is better worked with sharpening stones and holds an edge longer.

On this piece of locust the scraper produces shavings and some coarse dust.

On this piece of locust, the scraper produces thin shavings and some coarse dust.

The body of the Veritas is taller than the Stanley’s and its blade shorter, so the cutting edge, when not in use, doesn’t extend beyond the tool. I’ve never cut myself on the exposed upper edge of the Stanley, but it does make me nervous. The corners are especially dangerous. Having the upper edge guarded on the Veritas is a good safety measure.

The bottom of the scraper is machined smooth and flat. The bright spot on the upward edge is a dent that was the only damage to dropping the tool in a concrete floor. The ding may have been caused by another tool the fell off a work table at the same time. Both survived without breaking.

The bottom of the Veritas scraper is machined smooth and flat. The bright spot on the upward edge is a dent that was the only damage after dropping the tool on a concrete floor. The ding may have been caused by another tool that fell off a work table at the same time. Both survived without breaking.

When I accidentally dropped the Veritas on my shop’s concrete floor I yelped, because that could have been the end of it. The cast metal in my old planes and spokeshaves won’t take sharp impacts well, and I’ve lost a few tools to my clumsiness. The Veritas did get a small dent in the edge rather than a chip, a good sign that the metal isn’t brittle.

The left side of this mahogany board was sanded with a random-orbit sander with a 220-grit disk. The right side was smoothed with the Veritas Cabinet Scraper. The gloss is evident at top and the matte patches show that the the scraper is leveling the surface.

The left side of this mahogany board was sanded with a 220-grit disk on a random-orbit sander. The right side was smoothed with the Veritas Cabinet Scraper. The gloss is evident at top and the matte patches show that the the scraper is leveling the surface.

In use, the Veritas has a solid feel and dresses wood surfaces to a smooth, even, and glossy finish. The quality of the edge I put on the blade is perhaps the most significant factor, but the Veritas’ greater mass makes it much quieter than my Stanley. All the changes Veritas made improved the feel of the tool.

Christopher Cunningham is the editor of Small Boats Monthly.

The Veritas Cabinet Scraper, $69, is available from Lee Valley & Veritas and from select retailers in Canada.

Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.

Stay Afloat Leak Plug and Sealant

Stay-Afloat is a soft, sticky, wax-like material made of treated petroleum byproducts.Photographs and video by the author

Stay-Afloat is a soft, sticky, wax-like material made of treated petroleum byproducts.

"A leaky boat never sinks,” or at least that is what my father led me to believe when he kept a 27′ carvel-planked sloop at my hometown’s marina. If you know a boat’s likely to take on a bit of water, you’re going to keep an eye on it and be prepared to do something about the leaks. If you’ve been lulled into complacency by a boat that doesn’t leak, a little unexpected trickle of water could lead to a sinking. A small boat kept on a trailer isn’t going to sink while it’s idle, but leaks can occur when it’s in use, so it’s a good idea to be prepared to fix them.

Stay Afloat is soft, sticky wax-like material meant to fix small leaks of the sort I get with my older lapstrake boats. None of my boats had suffered enough damage to let water aboard, but that’s a possibility worth preparing for.

To test the effectiveness of Stay Afloat I wasn’t about to poke holes in any of my boats, so I made a gizmo that could simulate leaks. It’s a plywood box with a piece of 7″ plastic drainpipe connected to it. The FAQs on the Stay Afloat website say: “Stay Afloat has been tested…at 3 meters deep for 24 hours with no compromise. It also depends on how much material you use and how big the damage area is. Common sense: the bigger the hole the more you use.”

My leak-simulating device created the pressure of water 26" deep.

My leak-testing device created pressure equivalent to that of 26″-deep water.

Stay Afloat’s documented testing depth of about 9′ provided much more underwater pressure than a small boat’s leak would be subject to. The pipe I had on hand, 26″ in length, would create less pressure than their test, but more than the draft of any of my boats would. The 26″ water column might represent a worst-case scenario of rough water. I kept the hose running during my tests to keep the water level from dropping when the test leaks were opened up.

I got my first test of Stay Afloat as soon as I filled the pipe with water. I had caulked the plywood box seams and the pipe-to-plywood joint, but there were several leaks. I smeared Stay Afloat wherever there was a leak and soon had my device watertight.

Cracks, mimicked by saw kerfs from 1/32″ to 1/8″, were easy to seal even with the full pressure. A thin crack was fixed with a swipe or two, wider ones needed a bit more. A 3/4″-diameter hole held the Stay-Afloat fix, even when applied with a geyser of water issuing up from the hole and with the full pressure from the 26″ water column. A 1-1/2″ hole was another matter. The Stay Afloat wasn’t stiff enough to keep from bulging up after being applied, and ultimately tore away from the sides of the hole. Putting a patch of cloth over the Stay Afloat didn’t help, but a flat piece of wood or metal did. The rigid patch provided more surface area to create an adhesive bond strong enough to hold the plug in place.

Soap, water, and a rag are recommended for cleaning your hands after using Stay Afloat. It is very gooey stuff, and a rag is necessary to rub it off. Stay Afloat is incompatible with adhesives, paint, and varnish, so a permanent fix for a leak stopped with it starts with the complete removal of the stuff from the damaged area. The website’s FAQs recommend that surfaces be scraped clean, then wiped down with an acetone-soaked rag.

After scraping a test piece to remove an application of Stay Afloat, it still repelled water, as I expected. With a single wipe-down with acetone, water still beaded up, but after three wipe-downs the water soaked into the wood grain, a sign that the wood was ready for permanent repair. That test was with a flat, easily accessible surface; properly repairing cracks and fractured plywood would likely require the removal of wax-contaminated wood. For leaks that occur while a traditionally planked boat is swelling up after a long period of dry storage, the Stay Afloat stays quite malleable and will squeeze out as the seams close.

The wax toilet ring has a color similar to beeswax, but like Stay-Afloat, the material commonly used is a blend of petroleum byproducts.

This wax toilet ring has a color similar to beeswax, but as with Stay-Afloat, the material commonly used is a blend of petroleum byproducts.

When I was researching Stay Afloat, I saw it was being compared to the soft wax ring used to seal the connection between the bottom of a toilet and the drain in the bathroom floor. I had recently remodeled a bathroom in my home and so had a spare ring. The waxy material is like Stay Afloat in nearly every aspect except color, and performed as well. The wax, separated from the plastic fitting that it surrounds, weighed a bit over 5 oz, so a $7 ring comes out to be a bit cheaper than Stay Afloat (the math comes to $19 for 14 oz—about $6 less than Stay Afloat for the same amount). However, you’d want to carry three rings worth because a single ring wouldn’t cover a series of leaks, then you’d need a container for them and have the very messy task of freeing the “wax” from the plastic rings.

Stay Afloat is a good way to seal leaks from the inside of a small-boat hull whether they’re chronic or sudden. Having a jar of it handy, along with a few patches of plywood, would prepare you for putting a quick stop to water getting through the hull.

Christopher Cunningham is the editor of Small Boats Monthly.

Stay Afloat is $24.99 per 14-oz jar and available from select retailers.

Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.

IRONBLOOD

Seen here in the protected waters of Matia Island, IRONBLOOD slips along easily under oar power.Doug Vliet

Seen here in the protected waters of Matia Island, IRONBLOOD slips along easily under oar power.

"After moving ashore from my first schooner, and having acquired a wife and a small son,” writes Michael Colfer of Bellingham, Washington, “I realized I needed a smaller boat.” He started his search for a boat appropriate to his new life by building a Nutshell pram. It proved too small, so he next built Pete Culler’s Good Little Skiff. Christened SHAMROCK and rigged with a spritsail, it served well for cruising the San Juan Islands and camping ashore on state park campgrounds, but while the skiff did well sailing the protected waters within the archipelago, Michael wanted a boat capable of taking on some more challenging weather in the more exposed areas around the archipelago.

The augmented keel and skeg improve upon the faering's sailing abilities without obstructing the boat's interior with a centerboard trunk.Michael Colfer

The augmented keel and skeg improve upon the faering’s sailing abilities without obstructing the boat’s interior with a centerboard trunk.

In his search for a more seaworthy beach cruiser capable of carrying more gear, Michael found his way to faerings and variations on the theme by Joel White (16′ Shearwater), Iain Oughtred (14′ 11″ Elf and others), and John Atkins (18′ 7” Valgerda). All three of these designs were inspired by Hardanger faerings of southwest Norway and had similar shapes below the waterline.

Michael built two boats to his design, IRONBLOOD (at the end of the dock) for himself, and a then unnamed faering for his son. The plan was for the two to sail and row the Inside Passage, but family obligations took precedent. After sea trials the second faering was sold.Michael Colfer

Michael built two boats to his design: IRONBLOOD (at the end of the dock) for himself, and a then unnamed faering for his son. The plan was for the two to sail and row the Inside Passage, but family obligations took precedent. After sea trials, the second faering was sold.

Michael bought plans for the Shearwater and although White’s dimensions and drawings make it possible to build without lofting, he lofted the lines and began making some modifications that would make the boat well suited to all Puget Sound waters. He added freeboard throughout and extra height to the ends to provide a dry ride in steep chop. To keep these modifications from increasing the width along the sheerline, he made the sheerstrakes closer to vertical. His changes brought the length to 17′ 3″.

Easily removable thwarts and broad floorboards provide room enough for bedding down at anchor.Michael Colfer

Easily removable thwarts and broad floorboards provide room enough for bedding down at anchor.

He wanted to improve upon the boat’s sailing abilities but didn’t want a centerboard trunk cluttering up the boat’s interior, so his keel is deeper than that of the Shearwater, adding only a little at the bow and increasing the depth to 7″ at the stern for additional lateral resistance. The change was also meant to protect the rudder, making its removal unnecessary when landing on beaches.

IRONBLOOD is quite at home in the San Juan Islands, both in the quiet coves and the passes that funnel tides and winds.Michael Colfer

IRONBLOOD is quite at home in the San Juan Islands, both in the quiet coves and in the passes that funnel tides and winds.

Michael added storage compartments fore and aft for dry storage of his cruising gear. The aft compartment has a sloped bulkhead to make a comfortable backrest when taking the helm while sitting in the bottom of the boat. The three removable rowing thwarts clear the interior for a night spent aboard at anchor. The floorboards provide a flat, level platform for sleeping.

The loose-footed sprit sail makes sailing about as simple as it gets. Light summer breezes make for unhurried passages between islands.Robert Bumpus

The loose-footed sprit sail makes sailing about as simple as it gets. Light summer breezes make for unhurried passages between islands.

Michael christened his faering IRONBLOOD, drawing upon the meanings of his surname, Colfer: col is a Gaelic word for blood, as in blood relative, and fer is the French for iron. IRONBLOOD would be at home in the fjords of Norway, but sails the waters of Puget Sound. She can carry enough gear for a week’s beach camping for two, makes way under oars well, and is stable and smooth under sail, making very little leeway.

Waters along the northern perimeter of he San Juan archipelago can get quite choppy—winds from the north and northwest have 15 nautical miles of fetch. The higher ends and freeboard keep the going drier. Here IRONWOOD is bound for Matia island.Michael Colfer

Waters along the northern perimeter of the San Juan archipelago can get quite choppy—winds from the north and northwest have 15 nautical miles of fetch. The higher ends and freeboard keep the going drier. Here IRONWOOD is bound for Matia Island.

Michael says that IRONBLOOD “will run like a scared rabbit for hours at a time given the right conditions.” The increased height at her ends keeps her dry in a chop as he intended.

He writes: “I have had her now for 12 years, and even though I am sure I will build other small boats, I doubt that I will ever sell IRONBLOOD. She is perfect for me.”

Have you recently launched a boat? Please email us. We’d like to hear about it and share your story with other Small Boats Monthly readers.