Sailing HideAway A Dirty Little Day Sail

Have you ever wondered what sailing is really like.   I'm sure you've seen the videos of the flying racing sleds with mountains of water washing the deck every few seconds where speeds of 50kn are not unusual.

Well, that's not sailing- That's racing with a capital Yikes!  I know, I know- most sailors race, in probable fact that is what most sailors do.   We've tried racing on the HideAway and actually won a trophy after the only other 23 Com Pac in the race T-boned into the committee boat.   Usually though we just sail around the course and if the committee boat is still there we anchor for the party.

In this video, A Dirty Little Day Sail,  we show what sailing is really about.  

Sailing HideAway Sun Down at Bunce's Pass

 

Mullet Key Bunce's Pass Tampa Bay

In the mid-80s North Beach at Ft Desoto Park featured large Australian pines with their glorious abundant shade, a small creek wound between them full of fish and birds to feed on them.  The beach of white sand ran in splendid isolation for miles.  Our Nebraska family had made their first journey to the Sunshine state so naturally we had to show off a bit.   We hitched the Laser to the station wagon and were off. An odd choice of sailboat for a family of five, but it was all we had those days.  The kids loved it and it was fun for everyone to sail.

The main attraction at North Beach was a long, wide sand bar that was larger and further offshore than today’s version.  I don’t recall how many kids piled on the Laser that day for the short sail back to Mullet Key.  I remembered thinking there was little to worry about in these protected waters.  A strong gust hit the sail, and the Laser proved what a water rocket she is.  I grabbed for the dagger board - too late, as the dagger board found sand, my passengers and self were airborne.  The water shallow and warm, and the sand soft, the kids wanted to fly again; their still shaking Captain, happy everyone was in unbroken condition, declined.  

Fortunately, son Jim, volunteered to help me sail back to the boat ramp. 

The afternoon grew late, the sun low- we pushed off, bound for Bunce’s Pass boat ramp.   Progress was slower than anticipated. Luckily, we had a good while before the sun and horizon were scheduled to meet.  Bubbling water under the stern gave evidence that we were making way, albeit slowly.  Jim noticed a picnic table ashore was making better progress towards the boat ramps than we were.  A discussion ensued.  The verdict was in.  We were making negative speed over ground.  The tide was pushing us towards the Gulf of Mexico, the spectacular sun set notwithstanding, a maritime disaster was unfolding. 

Some sailing lessons require pain.

We did not realize how perilously unprepared we were. Of course we were wearing our life jackets and had a throw cushion, but no drinking water, marine radio, or alternate means of propulsion found their way aboard.    As we drifted with the tide we could see our family, in the fading light, standing at the end of one of the docks far away.  Communication was reduced to enthusiastic cushion waving.    The Laser’s dagger board is too cumbersome to use as an alternate means of propulsion so I fish-tailed the partially raised rudder hoping to propel the boat to shore or at least run it aground, a skill I had demonstrated earlier.   We didn’t know about “walking a Laser”- had we known, we may have been able to gain the shoals unassisted and eventually found the boat trailer.

The sun was setting, the tide was running, we were in trouble  

We noticed a small fishing boat – you know the kind – aluminum- not a john boat- leaving another dock at high speed.  It turned towards us.  Hurray!  He was either coming to our rescue or in a hurry to go fishing, either way he would have to pass by.   

If you have been around boats awhile, you could determine that something was not right about our rescuer.   He was standing, amid ship, legs spread.  His right hand occupied by a mixed drink in a real glass, the left held a coil of what I hoped was a tow line.  The helm unattended, the boat raced towards us at full speed growing a large beard. Its Captain steered the boat, between drinks, by shifting his weight. An impressive display of seamanship or alcohol powered foolishness matters not if you’re the one being rescued.  

Bunce's Pass Rescue- Illustrations by M.M.Maloy

Ya’II need a tow?

He circled as he threw the tow line, which we tied, with some haste, to the base of the mast.  Remembering the day’s earlier lesson at the Shallow Water Flying Sailboat School, and sensing this was a one speed Captain, I removed the dagger board and laid it near the large hole in the boat it formerly occupied. Our rescuer slowly accelerated until the line was taught then opened full throttle.   Taking his unusual helm position, he could not hear my comments concerning the speed his craft had attained nor the short time it took to achieve it. All purebred racing sailboats, including the Laser, offer tons of racing strategy options, yet none discuss the competitive advantage of a boom-high fountain erupting from the dagger board well like a wet volcano. 

Wet Volcano Towing Co. Illustrations by MMMaloy

The Promise

After the long tow (we were nearly in the Gulf when rescued) we arrived, drenched, humbled, and saved from a likely disastrous encounter with the Gulf of Mexico. Our rescuer circled between the Laser and the docks slowing slightly when coming along side to accept his tow line. He hollered “I only ask you to watch for somebody in trouble and rescue them”. The translation:  “If you see someone dumb as yourself drifting towards oblivion - help them “.  He reached down into his liquor locker, mixed another drink, and then, standing amid ships, roared off towards St Petersburg. It was raining salt water a few weeks later when I fulfilled my promise.

Somewhere in the long history of sailboat racing

Shouldn’t there be a trophy for losing a race to a picnic table while sailing a Laser?

SMALL BOATS ROCK!  

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The Night The Sky Fell - Sailing HideAway

 

Sailing HideAway original art by Matt Maloy

Two very friendly sailors can stand in HideAway’s companion way. The height of the house protects all but head and shoulders from the November night, heavy with cold.  A fresh breeze off the Gulf of Mexico rippled the dark water. There was no moon.  Unusually bright stars were in magnificent view. Only the horizon was missing.  The HideAways were alone in their favorite gunkhole south of Sand Key.  

“Kinda reminds me of Kansas - Up on that hill, overlooking an open field… A late summer night”--- Remember?”

“But the moon was full, the air was warm, we had a blanket, and the stars were brighter - It was wonderful”

“Just wait for THIS show to start”

“When?”

“About one AM”

“Ha!”

“They’ll be faster than speeding bullets, more powerful than loaded trains and able to leap small sailboats in a single bound” I fervently hoped.

“Ha!”

Let The Show Begin!

Four billion years ago a mass of primordial material two miles long had ambitions of becoming a planet.  It is still wandering the universe collecting things from which stars are made and, unlike most of us, shedding the unneeded stuff.

First discovered in 902 AD, the comet was often found and lost much like a tourist from a tundra state.   Found again in 1366 and 1699, named Tempel-Tuttle in 1865-66, found again in 1965, and finally 1997.

As the comet comes closer to the earth, tiny bits of space dust are blown off like parts from my old pickup.  These we know as meteors, shooting stars, or a left front turn signal cover.  

In 1833, as now, you could occasionally see a shooting star and make a wish, but nothing could prepare you for events to come that night.  In a time when light was made only by the sun, moon or fire, this night the sky blazed with streaks of light so bright they woke you from a deep sleep.  Standing on your porch, you realize there is a point when an event changes from being interesting to becoming a potential disaster over which you have no control.   Are the meteors just flying by or does the world end tonight?  No one knew, and even if they did the telephone, television or radio had not been invented yet to assure you everything is going to be alright as thousands upon thousands of meteors rocketed across the night sky.

Nice show – OK, Turn It Off…. Now…   OK?....

One hundred and eight seven years later they started coming a few at a time, building suddenly to hundreds, then hundreds upon hundreds, with no let up for hours.  Huddled in HideAways companion way, we watched in wonder as the meteors came east of north - bow to stern a mere 87 miles above the earth and flying 160,000 mph.  Without a horizon the larger meteors seemed on course to collide with the Gulf of Mexico, or perhaps, us.

I was beginning to realize my importance in the universe was smaller than a grain of sand blown off the tail of a lost comet.  After some time, and this will read a bit strange; I could sense a meteor coming.  Not quite a sound, more than a feeling, I could point out the larger ones before they arrived. A conundrum; if light is faster than sound, how could I “hear” a meteor before it could be seen?     

When you are anchored some distance from reality, far from rescue or comfort or real understanding of what is happening, the thought that we aren’t invincible gnaws on the edge of confidence.  I remained silent as a Leonid meteor all these years. 

Space Alien Dancers? Sailing HideAway

The Party Appeared

Meanwhile, on distant Shell Key beach, by Pass A Grille channel, a huge bonfire raged.   Silhouetted dancers, who looked like cave drawings of semi-alien space beings come to life, silently twisting and leaping and twirling with moves that seemed not of this earth.

Our world had been condensed to thousands of flying space ships and a group of interstellar cave aliens wildly gyrating around a huge fire on a sand bar in Florida.

We were caught up in a late night space horror movie – Not unlike today’s Covid situation.

The Morning After

Sleepy from waiting for oblivion and thankful the sky did not fall, the partially awake HideAways ran aground next to a beach covered with party remains and left over space cadets.   Of the pile of exhausted dancers, one bone thin survivor rose, cursing the dumb sailors as he waded with unprotected feet, shirtless, into the chest deep November water.  Smoke from his cigarette burning his eyes, he winced as he gave our stern a hearty push.

“Are you the dancers we saw last night?”

“Whaaa??”   He groaned “Weren’t no dancers ‘cause we don’t dance”  

“By the fire?”

“No fire mon”

 I tried to offer thanks, but he had turned towards the beach, flicking his cigarette away as he walked, still laughing at the dumb sailors, he retreated to the warmth of the herd.  We caught a fast tide from Pass a Grille channel doing 5kn under bare poles, a befuddled Captain at the tiller, bound for the next opening of Structure C.

This Just In

Recently, scientists discovered meteors release Very Low Frequency radiation (VLF). Radio waves that may have been heard, or in my case, felt, by hundreds of “Earwitnesses” over the centuries.  Studies have shown that aluminum foil, plant foliage, pine needles, thin wires, dry frizzy hair and especially, wire rimmed glasses can become an antenna.  I have a vision of a frizzy haired space scientist laying in the grass at night on a hill in Kansas. He has taken off his hat and laid it beside the foil wrapped remains of supper that he had dropped on pine needles imported from Colorado for my vision.  After cleaning and reinstalling his wire rim glasses he hears a strange sound. He spies a light in the night sky. He has discovered Electrophonics.  This is important because I was wearing wire rimmed glasses the night of the space alien cave dancers.  That is why I could feel/hear the meteors before they passed over. (I hope)  Further studies proved meteors and comets have all the building blocks of life on earth.  Proving what my generation already knew.  We are Star Dust.

Leonid meteor shower 2020 dates  SE United States

November 16-17 - 77 degrees at 25 degrees altitude - 15 per hour predicted - excellent viewing expected - no moon.  Next major 2031.   Bring your own frizzy hair.  

SMALL BOATS ROCK!

Sailing HideAway Glass Paperweight
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And the Dinghy Bobbed

SV HideAway and Dinghy 

The commercial satellite image proved our anchorage, in what is now Shell Key Preserve, was impossible to reach.  Viewed from our paper chart it didn’t exist. 

The Intra-Coastal Waterway turns towards the Gulf of Mexico between St Pete Beach FL and Shell Key.  A band of water, too insignificant to be named a channel, snakes through, around and behind Shell Key on the south side of Pass-a-Grille channel.   

Shallow draft vessels could, in the last millennium, continue around the southern edge of Shell Key and work their way around a mix of shallows and sand bars weaving behind boats not drawn far enough ashore behind Shell Key. The reward was an anchorage with 8 foot depth in sight of a mile long deserted beach on the Gulf of Mexico.

Not To Run Aground Means You Gave Up Before You Tried

HideAway has a 28” draft and a kick up rudder. The primary advantage of the shallow draft is chest deep water when I run aground. Usually, the boat can be pushed off and under way quickly, sometimes without the crew fully aboard.  Sections of the shallow channel required PPP navigation skills:  Pushing, Poling and Pulling.  Most days these difficulties prevented overcrowding. Only crazy sailors stayed the night willing to risk the channel closing on the low morning tide.

A foot trail on the East side of Shell Key, leading to the Gulf of Mexico, ends too far north from Ft Desoto Park and too far south of Pass-a-Grille channel to interest the casual beach party enthusiast.  The other access involves anchoring in the Gulf.  A risky business on a calm day.  The East side of the anchorage is dotted with Mangrove islands and small channels suitable only for kayaks and the adventuresome Sea Pearl. 

The HideAway is a Com Pac 23 foot classic, old time, sailing vessel with round ports on her house and along with her wooden pram, looks like she were from a different century.  The sight of her anchored often attracts attention from the nautically inclined. Visitors, both power and sail, wave or slowly cruise around HideAway, then, perhaps, more waves and pleasing comments are exchanged before they continue on. 

Paradise vs the Personal Watercraft Vehicle

We arrived late afternoon, secured our favorite anchorage, and broke out preparations for cooking supper.  A jet ski departed a large power boat anchored in Pass-a-Grille channel and roared towards our slice of nirvana.  Arriving, he slowed and circled the HideAway. 

We waved- He waved.  

The jet ski continued circling, his wake interrupting our plans for steaks on the grille. 

The dinghy bobbed.

The wakes got taller. The speed higher. The circles larger. 

We rolled. The dinghy bobbed. Pans clattered. 

I waved again. He gunned it.

The intentional pest, in the gathering dusk, did not see the partially submerged sand bar off our East side.

“One more lap” I surmised.  “Linda, Come on up and watch the show!”

The impact was quiet as far as crashes go, nonetheless, the sight of the offending captain somersaulting over the handle bars then rolling down the sand bar like a large beach ball in a 20kn wind was worth the wait.  He was slow to get up.  When he did, he walked gently back to his broken jet ski, found a beer in the wreckage, sat down on the overturned craft, and popped it open.

The sun and the horizon were getting closer together and we were past hungry.

“You gonna call it in?” Linda asked as I reached for the marine radio.  “Not yet” I replied “let’s let him contemplate his place in the universe awhile.” 

The dinghy bobbed.

We waved.

He displayed the Florida State Bird.

I shut off the radio.

His situation was uncomfortable.  Had his state of affairs been serious we would have attempted rescue.  Although he had few provisions for a night at this singles bar, he was in no immediate peril.  Without a radio to hail the mother ship a half mile away he would have to wait.

The jet ski, abandoned by the low tide, was too far inland for a single hand rescue.  The captain turned away, taking an interest in something moving in the shadows.

Steaks Sizzled On the Grill

The steaks were delicious, and in the fading sea breeze, the aroma surely carried ashore to the Florida Birdman, sparking a satisfying, mouth-watering hunger response. We hoped.

We tuned in “A Prairie Home Companion” on the FM to be informed and entertained by the folks of Lake Woebegon MN.  In those days this involved wine, much laughter and cigars.

As darkness walked ashore, the captain sat on his Personal Watercraft Vehicle, sipping on the last of his beer, awaiting rescue.

The dinghy bobbed.

Well after dark, a search light on a small skiff found us.

We pointed.

The rescue boat closed in on the shore accompanied by loud discussion, which at times did not speak kindly concerning the ship wrecked captain’s cognitive skills.  The rescuers attached lines on the jet ski and dragged it off the bar by boat and hand.  Picking up jet ski parts as he stumbled along, the defrocked captain, head down, followed.

As they motored off into the night we waved a toast.

They waved back.

The Florida State Bird did not fly.

And the dinghy bobbed.

It was a quiet week in Lake Woebegon.

SMALL BOATS ROCK!   

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The Magic Pearl Fiddles

The Magic Pearl - Secret Gunkhole

 Fiddling about with a Magic Pearl

 In the years before being possessed by a large, deep draft keel sloop named the HideAway, we sailed the skinny waters north of Ft Desoto in a 21 foot cat-ketch Sea Pearl known as the Magic Pearl.   Magic could sail downwind, on her own, in less than 12 inches of water.  Sailing the shallows of Mullet Key, a small dolphin made circles around us, gently nudging the rudder as if to beckon us to change course and follow. Naturally, we did.   

It was a Zen Experience sans the Effort  

 Silently under a reefed mizzen, we weaved through the narrow passages between mangrove balds, occasionally using a long wooden pole to push us along. Alone in this remote, uncharted place, Magic might well have sailed into centuries past.  Our favorite destination was an unnamed barrier island covered with large, shady Australian pine trees. The island had a small hook of an anchorage known only to members of the Secret Shallow Drafter Sailing Society.  (SSDSS- rhymes with ssdss). On a hot summer day a Free Range Human could relax in the soft white sand, listen to the sea breeze whistle through the eight Aussie pines and enjoy a full view of the Gulf of Mexico in their abundant shade. Under deep blue skies and calm seas, dolphins jumped. Sea birds hunted.  Souls soothed. 

 Arriving late, we left Magic in ankle deep water about 50 feet from the landside shore, threw out a small anchor, and ran bare foot in the sand across the island towards a Gulf Of Mexico sunset.  Our flat bottomed Magic Pearl would be aground before our return, thus, it had no need of an anchor light.  This is worth mentioning because its occupants, intent on racing towards the setting sun, had left their artificial light generating device stored safely onboard. 

  A Sailor Knows the Sun Does Not Set

 The earth rises.  Indeed, the rising and spinning of the very earth you are standing on will require even the above average trailer sailor to question their place in the universe. The effect, according to extensive study by an unknown science research foundation funded by a beach bar & grille, self-published the Earthrise Theory as a fine explanation as to why sailors are known to walk in an irregular manner, especially after the earth has risen. 

 Reluctantly, the crew turned to leave this special place, made larger by the retreating tide, to return to the Magic Pearl.  Sharp as they are, the crew was quick to notice that without a moon, the darkness was complete. We walked hand in hand for a good long while before realizing that our Magic Pearl had vanished.

 There are two accounts of what happened after we stopped, barefooted, to get our bearings. One version alleges screams and running bare feet were involved. The other, not so much. Either way, the conversation centered on the strange sounds emanating from the blackness in the sand near our feet.  Did I mention we were of bare foot?  

The sound, that grew louder as the possibilities of the cause evolved, was of silverware clinking together.  After listening awhile, Linda mentioned her feet were covered with creepy crawlies of the unidentified variety, and that she would be departing soon.  As she too vanished into the darkness, I asked her to bring back a flash light.  I could not understand her reply.

 

Eventually I found our Magic Pearl fully aground with one lee board down, the mizzen sail partially set and the anchor rode streaked artfully across the beach. On board, Linda handed over a flashlight with which I scanned the shore.  The skinny light beam revealed only wet sand and sea grass.  Alone, I walked towards the gulf bravely, some would say foolishly, as Linda declared.  Finding nothing remarkable, I turned off the light and stood silently to fully appreciate the dark of the night, the sounds of the Gulf of Mexico, the vastness of interstellar space and the sweet olfactory sensations of my low tide surroundings.   I began to hear the silverware clinking about the time I remembered my feet were still unclothed.  

 

Fiddler Crabs Holding Claws - How Sweet

 

I Flashed the Light On

 In the dimming light powered by batteries long past their use by dates, the entire beach had turned from white to brown in color and was moving away from me at a good pace over the nearby undulating sand dunes. Tens of thousands of small crabs carrying what looked like large fiddles, scrambled sideways across the sand as one being.   It looked like entire beach was leaving without taking me along for the ride.  I stumbled - almost fell, as I lost contact with what a typical Free Range Human would construe as reality.   I shut the light off.  In the night, the earth stood still. Reality returned along with the infernal clinking.  

 

Before long, I identified the Fiddler Crabs as they lounged on my bare feet looking up at me with their beady eyes - All of them snapping their one large claw.  Do you know any blue grass? I inquired to no response. They meant me no harm. I apologized for disturbing them and took my leave with their song in my heart, my feet intact.     Our Pearl had performed her Magic once again.

 

 

The Magic Pearl - Three Rooker Bar

 

SMALL BOATS ROCK!

 

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Something to Prove - Sailing HideAway

Recently, Mr. E- our 25 year old outboard, developed a cough and was too tired to power the HideAway back to the boat ramp requiring a four person rescue team to put her back on the trailer. 

After obtaining a degree of safety in HideAway’s dry slip, Mr E.  appeared to run a bit warm - Then he refused to idle.  Spark plugs were pulled, examined and tested.  Deemed by the Dry Slip Committee as;   “Probably OK”- we proceeded down the logic tree to the carburetor.

Nothing brings more fear in the two cycle outboard engine owner than the carburetor. The Carburetor is  chock full of tiny parts so particular that they demand special mixed drinks and a degree of cleanliness not often found aboard 40 year old sailboats, nor the ancient mariner who ponders these mysteries. 

And don’t ask about the identical choke linkages that only make sense on February 30^th.

What Do You Do When Your Nozzle Well Rots?

NOZZLE WELL

I developed a strong, personal, relationship with vintage OEM (Always) 2 cycle outboard parts, and exploded, unreadable diagrams.  I came into possession of a new Carburetor Repair Kit, with Float. {Apparently a new float assembly is important to achieve the nirvana of a smooth idle).  Later, I developed a fanatical need for a chunk of plastic called a “Nozzle Well” with its all-important and easily misplaced fragile gasket.   Not one of these parts came with the slightest hint of instruction, nor could such knowledge be found in all of known cyberspace. 

    

I Made Up My Own Instructions

I disassembled the offending carburetor on my home wood working bench, taking photos, making videos and laying out each piece in sequence of removal.  The new Nozzle Well was missing a threaded shiny brass thing with a hole in it that the old one possessed. I cleaned the old one and screwed it into the replacement well.  Then I noticed a small rubber hose that ran from the Nozzle Well up to the maze of channels & other unknown stuff before vanishing into the underside of the carburetor top.  The replacement hose inside diameter was way too small to fit over the easy to reach fitting-I didn’t want to try the infinitely more remote end. I left the old one alone, keeping the new one “just in case”.

Out of curiosity, I removed a 2” bolt, of unknown function from the top of the carburetor.  It was just a bolt. Great, I thought, somebody lost the right part and stuck in this bolt- No wonder it won’t idle.   Using a large magnifying glass I studied the exploded chart and discovered the hole was supposed to have just a bolt.  Eventually, I put the carburetor together only shy two or three parts that I hoped were with the boat.

Three hours later I had the carburetor installed.  I hooked up the gas line, rechecked the plug gaps and pulled the starter cord.  Mr. E started on the third pull AND idled perfectly!              

I prepared my bill and gave it to my CFO.  I included 16.42 hours of labor, at the going rate, along with parts and freight costs.  She is still laughing.

Ready to Sail

Sunday is a good day to go sailing because most people sail on Saturdays.  Besides, it was the only day we could schedule a launch and both of us wanted to prove that we still could handle the boat.  Sunday turned out to be the club race day.  I haven’t seen so many witnesses in years.  

Let’s do this!

I threaded the rig through the parking lot, one potential victim saw me coming and wisely moved his little sport car, others ran for safety.

New Technology & Old Habits Collide

I backed down the ramp with no issues.  Then I started to push HideAway off the trailer, however the boat stopped when an old fender board hung up on one of the brand new trailer guides.  I started to pull the boat back on the trailer and realized I needed the power of the winch. As I started to crank I noticed a masked man had jumped aboard, made quick work of the offending fender board and then hopped onto the dock with all the confidence of youth.   The crowd cheered.  We cheered – HideAway was free at last!  

SMALL BOATS ROCK!!

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Sailing Before the Storm - Sailing HideAway

In times of quarantine it's good to get away for awhile.  This video was shot last August as hurricane Dorian threatened our area.   May we all have the same good fortune as that day.

SMALL BOATS ROCK!

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Sailing HideAway- Installing New Trailer Guides- The Video

The proper way to bring in the New Year is a first day morning sail on the HideAway.  After a perfect launch sequence New Year’s Eve we tied off on a finger pier and went to our sailing club party.  Of course, we stayed for the World Famous Cooler Drop, a celebratory paper flute of champagne, and danced a jig or two before retiring aboard the HideAway. 

The first morning of the new decade brought sunny skies and light air- more of a float than a sail, but after exceeding the sailor’s allowed time ashore, we were happy to be aboard.

Recovery was a different story.  Overconfident perhaps, I don't know- but somehow, backing down, I jacked our new trailer away from the dock. Somehow, Linda didn't see it.  Somehow, the keel missed the keel board- landing between the trailer bunk supports which heeled the boat over- way over- towards the dock.  Somehow, I got too far down the bumpy ramp and put the rear truck wheels in the water up to the bumper.   Bob C. saw our predicament and came running to help.  He saved more than the day.  

Recently, we had non-sailor guests aboard for a sail on Boca Ciega Bay-Gulfport Fl.  We went over the usual safety list.  We explained that because of HideAway’s small size everybody is a crew member and that whomever is on the tiller is the Captain. The confirmed wind that day was 14-18 kn gusting to 23 kn. Because of this we may need to talk very loudly and that all commands must be repeated.  The boat will heel 25 degrees, but will not tip over, you may feel some spray and the rigging may howl.

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Sailing Swiss Cheese Winds

 Like Swiss Cheese: The bay has holes in the wind or wind in the holes, depending on your point of view. You can be rail down one moment and in the doldrums the next.   There is nothing so frustrating as to see a boat only a hundred yards away with a bone in her teeth while you sit becalmed, although watching catspaws come close by only to fade two breaths away is in the running.

Sailing with Wide Eyes

Usually the higher wind is on the West side of the bay nearer to the Gulf of Mexico.  On this day the high velocity wind was on the East side.  That meant our never-been-on-a-sailboat guests, now promoted to crew, would have to learn early and fast on our cruise to nowhere.  It would be robust, wide-eyed sailing to the lighter winds on the West end of the bay.   

Never heard of Wide Eye Sailing?  Well, it’s a HideAway thing.  If we have new crew aboard the Captain and the First Mate watch their eyes.  The wider the crew’s eyes become the more conservative the sailing must be.   It’s time to come in if they get really wide, or missing that: If the wind in the rigging is not the source of the howling.

Returning to the same pier, Mr. E our ever hardy 28 year old outboard, coughed then ceased to function as we tied up.  The new Crew had fairly wide eyes and we were fairly worn out, so we decided to let the HideAway rest overnight.  

Now the Fun Begins

Hoping for calmer winds, we returned the next day to recover the boat. Mr. E ran for almost 10 seconds, decided he’d had enough, and quit. Usually, I can persuade him to start, but not this time.  In order to get back to the ramp we had to turn the boat 180 degrees through the 20-25kn wind and then approach the ramp under bare poles.  It’s not the sailing that's hard- it’s the concrete boat ramp that is the worry.

Richard W. came over from his boat.  It took the three of us to combat the wind, however we were successful in phase one of the project.   To gain better steerage I raised HideAway's kick up rudder slightly and shoved off.  Under no sail we gained more speed than necessary or comfortable. I fish tailed the rudder and held it askew to slow down.  Steve H. and Richard were at the dock ramp to prevent the fiberglass from meeting the concrete. 

Sailing HideAway Rudder Partially Raised 

The boat safely tied to the boat ramp dock, now all that we needed to do was put it on the trailer.  I brought the trailer around and started to back down the ramp, but by then the wind had blown HideAway's stern away from the dock. Aha! But this time I had the new trailer guides. (See the video below).   

Under normal conditions the trailer guide would be the fulcrum to lever the stern in. The wind, blowing well into the 20s, over powered both Linda and my efforts to center the boat.  Raising the white flag of surrender, I began to pull the empty trailer out when Ed M. and Steve saw our plight from the club house and came to help. Between the three of them they were able to hold the boat straight and the recovery was successful. The rest, as it has been said, is history.   

Sailing HideAway- High Wind Recovery

  

Even with careful planning and help from our heroic friends, recovering the HideAway has become too much of an adventure.

In the past we judged wind speed in terms of sailing the boat.  In both of these cases the wind and water conditions were within the boat’s capabilities.  Indeed, we have sailed much longer in much higher seas and wind conditions.  During the events described here we were under full sail with the 135 jib.  Reefing and a smaller jib would have made sailing less tiring, however, even with my full body weight I could barely pull the boat to the dock.

The sailing is not the issue

Now when we look at the wind forecast boat recovery must be in the equation.  The new trailer guides should keep us sailing for a long while yet. 

  

SMALL BOATS ROCK!!

Sailing HideAway New Trailer: Horizon 20 or Com Pac 23?

FIRST LAUNCH - WHAT'S WRONG? 

We wondered why we could not get the boat far enough to the front of the trailer to balance the load.
The initial launch/recovery left the tongue so light the boat threatened to tip back on on the trailer. 

KEEL IS WAY TO FAR AFT

During the process of adjusting various trailer parts we discovered the name on the trailer was "20 Horizon ".  The Horizon is a 20 foot centerboard cat boat that draws less and is lighter than the HideAway, a Com Pac 23.  The trailer keel board, a 2 x 6, is hopefully a SYP Pressure treated board, yet seems much to narrow for HideAways 11" wide keel.  





A phone call to Com Pac confirmed both boats use the same trailer. 

Really?    

CUSTOM TEMPERED GLASS 

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SMALL BOATS ROCK!