Fall Sailing

Mr. Kane is right: some of the best sailing is in October. Especially now the seasons are dawdling. Indian Summer malingered until Halloween, and the herons keep striding along the tidemark. The eagles have come back up river, and there's a seal in the Bay, so there must be fish afin. The Bay is still full of ducks, too. You put up rafts of them on every tack. If the sun's behind you, the shoreline flickers like an old movie when the birds jump.

Heron

Turning Toad

The Toad sails like a dream. She doesn't heel down into the water, she gets up on it and scoots. She's more weatherly than Sharpie. Goes twice as fast. Actually gets up and surfs to windward in a stiff breeze. And she's a stately Toad. She barely leans to the wind, and the rush of water under her bow sounds like a waterfall. She glides imperially

Boarded

Not that there weren't contretemps with the boards. They refused to go down at first. I kept bolting more metal to them. First some strapping. Then six pounds of streamlined zincs. Then more bar steel. Tried stitching footrope leads to their edges, but it was too ugly. I'd made the jewels out of Spanish Cedar, because I could shape them out of a single wide plank, and it's so gorgeous finished bright. But the stuff floats like air. Took twenty pounds of sinkage to make them drop.

In fact, the first few weeks in the water were filled with anguished details. I couldn't get the gaff to peak up, and the mast kept trying to pop out of the tabernacle. The combination of free rotation, Dacron stays, and underscaled ironmongery made it scary to spread her wings. I wedged the butt of the mast to keep it from twisting, but the stretch in the shrouds still let the mast bend over sideways. Because there is only 4 inches of the mast buried in the tabernacle, all that lateral force made the stick look like a cork about to pop. Woah.

Tabanac

Splinted

I took nine 2X2 lengths of eucalyptus and splinted them around the mast/tabernacle junction, then seized them with truck binders. Makes an ugly great facies at the butt of the mast, but secures it. Then I respliced the shrouds and hardened them to the max, repeatedly, until the stretch was minimized. Now the mast still bends, but not as much, and not at the joint. After two weeks of futzing I finally hoisted all the Dacron in a breeze. Woosh.

Still couldn't get the gaff up. Tried all kinds of purchase arrangements, short of lowering the mast and adding a separate peak halyard. Eventually I twigged to fastening a downhaul to the jaws of the gaff, to seesaw it up. That worked. Jury rigged but joyful we've been chasing the wind. I'll add a peak halyard, replace the stays with galvanized, and add a foot of bury to the tabernacle.. later. Now is the time to sail.

A little peaked

Stern Quarter

Everything else works like a charm. The old ten horse outboard is the perfect match for this hull, there's so little in the water. The steering has been flawless. The hull is perfect. Don't let looks fool you: scows are hot boats.

The woods have been in flame, too. Despite the long drought, soaking rains this fall brought out the colors. The show came on slowly, but got more and more intense as October blew through. The late oaks were a dozen shades of orange-sienna. We only had light touches of frost here on Brooklyn Neck until this last week, and we're still eating salads out of the garden. The second planting of peas never really plumped out, so it's pod peas for second planting next time. In the end it was a great year for pumpkins and squash, but we only got enough garlic to separate and replant. The bean boys got caught out in the rain. With a bumper crop in the field, they couldn't get enough dry to thrash. Eventually they recovered most of the crop over east, but Mr. Bean reportedly plowed under all his Jake's Cattle.

Ed's Pumpkins

Big Sharpie Wing and Wing

Max sold his horses, and went shopping for a new pair. After perusing the Amish marts in Pennsylvania and Ohio, he found the boys he wanted on PEI. It's remarkable how widespread the horse farming net is, for such a down to earth business. Thanks to the Amish there's still a tech infrastructure and good blood lines. Max is delighted at how the new boys handle. Fall plowing and manure spreading.

Speaking of: I've enjoyed the rest from this journalizing, and am still wondering what's next. Hoping to reinvent myself for the millennium. All the old forms seem stale to me. Despite which, I have a pile of commissions waiting in the shop. So the way ahead leads back, for a ways. While I'm thrashing about in the aftermath of boatbuilding, the Toad has zenned me. Calms the spirit. Silences the inner monologue. Guess that's what she's for.

Big Sharpie by Chops

Excuse Me

And you can't take yourself too serious on this yacht. She farts. The lady gets up on a plane and shushes along until there's a flaw in the wind. Then she settles down, and the air under her belly.. well.. farts.

This beast isn't a solo craft. It takes two to tangle with. I've had lots of jovial crew. Doctor Bob and Sean, Kayak Mike and David the Chicken King, Jo and Mr. Mann, Jim Torbert and Ross and Dan Joy. The Feeneys. And Peggy, of course. All the other Cathance boats have been hauled now, and the town docks are out. The duck hunters have gone home. The Bay is a solitude for old crank sailors. David still has his big sharpie moored in the Abby, and we sailed in consort with her down through Chops last Sunday week. A cat ketch and a gaff rigger. Must have looked the grand anachronism from shore.

David Steers Toad

Bon Voyage

Sharpie has 12 feet on the Toad, which means that her hull speed ought to put us in her wake, but guess who walked away. Dodging the tide in Chops may not offer a true test, but I think this Toad will show her heels to a lot of surprised skippers. Don't expect to hear much from me until the ice makes.