Sailing Backwards and BROACHING!

From the log . . .

The motor boat trip down the coast included Marilyn and myself, Ray Jonsson and his brother Harold. Harold seemed to enjoy himself, in spite of the fact that we had no sailing. He stood the 8-12 watched like the gentleman that he is and was very helpful and pleasant the whole way down.

Well friends, I haven’t quite got this figured out. If I transcribe a paragraph, write a blog entry, then transcribe another paragraph . . .

Then I have to write a blog entry, and so on, and so on . . .

When do I . . .

How do I stop?

Perhaps I should just transcribe a paragraph, write an entry and call it a day.

This is the day after the 9/3 WNS.

WNS is the abbreviation for the OCSC (google that!) Wednesday Night Sail.

It’s a long story, so I’ll just blog a tidbit for you.

Is it possible to sail backwards? Yes! In the seamanship course at OCSC, you are taught how to do this. At least I think they do, I haven’t actually taken the course, but I’ve heard some stories. But I don’t think they teach what I’m about to describe.

The crew of Xpression last night consisted of Bradley, Elena, Vicki, Fred, Meghan (#1), Meghan (#2), George (#2’s boyfriend), and myself. Divide the charter fee by eight and it’s like $15.
Sweet!

Fred and Vicki were first timers, so I decided to include a bit of what I’ll call ‘Tourist Sailing’ – with a twist.

We did the usual, setting sail on the Olympic Circle, and heading upwind for Angel Island. There is usually a ‘wind shadow’ to the lee of Angel, and it was a cool dusk downwind of the slot. So I instructed the helmsman to continue into the area off the East Garrison.

“But there isn’t much wind there” he says.

“Go in close anyway”

I replied as not so much a command, but a gentle suggestion, firm, but not overbearing. Hey, we have tourists on board.

The tide was close to the low point of the cycle, what you would think would be the last of the ebb. But the currents have their own ideas. We came to be on the windline; that particular place where the wind is transitioning from existence to being nothing at all. We also came to be on the tide rip, the place where the water can’t figure out which way to go – around Pt. Blunt, or past China Cove?

It was a warm day, at least ‘well inland’ that place that local weathermen use to describe the part of that bay area that is away from the bay itself.

Imagine the surprise of the crew! Tucked into the East Garrison, in the bubble of air that can’t go anywhere, we have ‘well inland’ temperatures!

And balanced on the windline, AND on the tideline, we are in a mythical place. Enough wind to keep the sails full, but not to overcome the tide currents. We are ‘hove to’ without the usual rudder and sail configuration.

“Who wants to eat?” suggests Vicki

She has brought some interesting yellow bread; we break out the drinks and think about taking off the foul weather gear as we bask, not in the sunshine, but in the dusk on a warm summers eve.

Fun
The crew begins to ponder our situation.

“Are we going forward or backward?”

The knot meter shows speed, but is it forward speed or backward speed?

They begin to take bearings on the shoreline, and it dawns on them that we aren’t moving at all.

Curious

We sit there seemingly motionless, but also seeming to move . . . forward!?

It is very pleasant and we enjoy ourselves with a close in view of the Island and buildings of the East Garrison.

After a while it becomes clear that we are actually moving backwards, very slowly, with complete control. Vicki offers up some cake, and we enjoy that as well.

When we’ve had our fill, I take the helm, and we sail sideways, then pivot and head for the wind twisting it’s way around point blunt.

Everyone buckles their gear tight, we play in the waves, Bradley takes the helm, I jump the halyard to set the chute and we . . . BROACH, recover, broach, recover, and BROACH one last time.

“Now you are getting the hang of it!”

I call out to George letting out the main at the right time, as Bradley recovers. I’m on the spinnaker sheet, gauging whether the water will actually enter the cockpit on the third B R O A C H.

The transition from straight and sideways, sailing backwards, in the warm air, and George’s feet standing on what used to be the vertical sidewall of the cockpit, inches from swirling water around his ankles . . .

It’s quite the contrast.

So I ease the sheet and we turn down for a rocking and rolling run back to Berkeley.
Not exactly a motor boat trip down the coast.

In fact, the batteries died, and we were a true wind ship, not being able to get the motor started, but I’ll leave that for a future post.