EC Report |
|
In a sense, the 2006 Everglades Challenge for Chuck
Leinweber and me was two contests. One was to get
the boat ready on time, the second was to complete
the course. A Duckworks article
in February outlined some of the changes that were
made to get Oaracle, our Jim Michalak-designed Frolic2,
prepared. This report will tell how those changes
worked out, and give a few other lessons learned.
Chuck will be providing a complete narrative of our
adventure in an upcoming issue of Small
Craft Advisor, as well as posting scads
of pictures
on Duckworks.
|
Why we
did it -- for the sharktooth necklace
awarded to all finishers.
(click
images to enlarge) |
|
Helen and I suffered greatly in our 2004 Everglades
Challenge attempt
from the lack of decent cushions, something I went
on extensively about in the February article. That
wasn’t a problem this time. The life-vest
cushion covers we sell through Duckworks
worked magnificently. The covers hold two standard
orange life vests each; they seemed a little high
for Oaracle so I made covers that hold only one vest
and they worked fine. The caned canoe seat planned
for rowing didn’t arrive in time, so I cut down
a curved, portable cedar seat from a rowing boat.
It worked well, with a life vest cushion for long
stints at the oars and by itself for quick bursts.
The 13-square foot mizzen added to help counteract
a slight lee helm when on the wind and to help control
the boat when the main is being raised, lowered, or
reefed; it did the job I intended it to. On the first
day when we had to reef the main, it helped control
the boat, and also later when we had to shake the
reef out, and then put it back again. We spent the
first and third nights at anchor (the second night,
we were sailing), and the mizzen kept the boat pointed
into the wind. The mizzen came down on the fourth
day to ease the weather helm as we were blast reaching
down the coast toward Cape Sable, on Florida’s
southwest tip. We didn’t put it back up for
the last sail across Florida Bay, and probably should
have. We spent much of the morning and early afternoon
close reaching and hard on the wind in narrow, shallow
channels and shallow bays. That meant the leeboard
couldn’t be fully extended, which created some
lee helm. The mizzen would have offset some of that,
We also had a polytarp jib of about 50 square feet.
That was used on the first day for an hour or so,
when the wind went light. One of the 2x2 four-foot
sticks we used under PVC pipe to beach launch the
boat was jury rigged as a whisker pole, and we ran
wing and wing. It seemed to help. On the second night
when we were broad reaching at around 4 mph, we could
have reset the jib, but the conditions seemed too
perfect to mess with it. We’ll call the mizzen
a success and say the jury is still out on the jib.
The jury isn’t out on the “oardles,”
the hybrid oar/paddles that were made from a donated
double paddle from a local Tallahassee kayak/canoe
shop, Wilderness Ways. They were a resounding success.
To get to Checkpoint 1 on the Challenge, it’s
necessary to pass under a bridge with 9 feet of vertical
clearance (so the mast must be down) and where the
pilings are only 10-feet apart – too narrow
to row. We were able to row up to the bridge, pull
out the oardles and use them as long paddles to get
under the span, and then reship them as oars and get
to the checkpoint – all with a tide slightly
against us. My impression is the oardles, with their
spoon-shaped blades, outperform both standard commercial
oars and the narrow-bladed oars I built with Oaracle.
In addition, the plastic blades seem nearly indestructible.
A major advantage was storing the oardles on the cabin
top in the rubber
clips that Duckworks sells in different
sizes. It took only a moment to snap the oardles securely
in place, and only a moment to snap them out, ready
to paddle or row. Also a success were the folding
metal steps sold by Duckworks and which
were installed on the seat framing as rowing foot
braces.
While not a necessity, the basic electrical system
made onboard life easier. The 31-amp hour AGM battery
provided more than enough power. It was nice to flip
a switch and have a 24-LED light come on in the cabin
to help find things at night (Chuck was impressed
with its brightness) and the red LED light over the
compass provided perfect illumination for night sailing.
The battery also came in handy for keeping the charge
up on Chuck’s cell phone. I may install LED
running lights. The AA battery-powered Tektite lights
worked flawlessly, but it was slightly hairy a couple
times leaning out of the cabin to fasten the bow lights
to the foredeck cleat when the winds were blowing
and the sea was bumpy.
The old Forespar Mini B galley obtained on eBay
worked well. I was worried it would falter in windy
conditions because of a lack of a wind screen, but
once lit, it would keep going and heat water. One
slight drawback is it took about 20 minutes to boil
a quart of water in the coffeepot. Some competitors
had the new Jet Boil system, which will boil 8-12
ounces of water in 90 seconds. But, of course, you
have to be stopped or at least in calm water to use
it.
The rubber
clips hold the oardles securely. Here the
oardles are stored for trailering, with
the blades to the rear to reduce wind resistance.
When sailing, the blades go forward to clear
the cockpit. The tie down line is used only
for trailering for extra security; it's
not needed for sailing. |
|
|
Our launching system of 2" PVC pipe on 2x2
pieces of wood worked well. Chuck and I practiced
the day before and got our technique down so that
we had the boat in the water in less than 10 minutes,
and the sails up and away from shore in about 15 minutes
from the start. That compares to about an hour it
took Helen & me in 2004. We had eight of the 2x2s,
in four foot lengths (they have to store in the boat
during the race). We laid them out as a track extending
under the bow of the boat, put a piece of PVC pipe
under the bow and at the start of the track, Then
we picked up the stern and the boat easily rumbled
down the beach, until the PVC ran out of “track.”
The 2x2's were re-layed and the second push got the
boat in the water.
As slick as that worked out, we noticed a couple other
boats, including the Core Sound 17 that won the race,
used big, round, squishy boat fenders under their
boats, and made it to the water in a minute or two.
They also had the foresight to raise their sails before
the start so they hit the water, tossed in their fenders,
and were off. Something to consider for future ECs.
One thing not covered in the February article but
is well worth praising is the auto-release
clamcleats sold by Duckworks. On Oaracle,
it’s used on the line that holds down the unballasted
leeboard. A lot of the EC is sailed in shallow water
and the leeboard and (ballasted) swinging rudder blade
are going to hit a lot. With the auto-release cleat,
the line would be released with a loud pop, alerting
the crew that the board is up and the water is shallow,
but not stopping the momentum of the boat and hence
giving some maneuvering speed. I don’t mean
to sound like a commercial for Duckworks products
here, but this may have been the single most important
piece of gear on the boat. (A side note: If you’re
building a boat for the EC, make sure you fiberglass,
preferably with 2 or 3 layers of cloth, the lower
leading edges of your centerboard/leeboard and swinging
rudder. They’re going to take a lot of abuse.
We dragged ours not only through muck and sand, but
over a couple oyster bars . . .)
Those were some of the technical lessons from the
2006 EC. There were also many intangible gems to fit
into the ring of experience.
Like learning preparation and experience are vital
to a successful campaign. The lack of that was a major
problem in 2004, but more time to practice, exercise,
and actually use the boat resulted in better handling,
and confidence that we and the boat could take what
was dished out. We didn’t run into any fog this
time, but we were reefed or double-reefed probably
half of the time we were out, listening to small craft
advisories on the weather radio. It was nice to feel
comfortable in those conditions and know the boat
could take it.
Also, I learned that everything doesn’t have
to be perfect, as long as a reasonable level of preparation
is met. For example, Chuck showed me two or three
better ways to set up and do things on the boat that
will help in the future. Also, my health wasn’t
as good as I would have wanted. Chuck compensated
for my relatively poor eyesight. And still recovering
from a bout of shingles, I hadn’t been able
to exercise as much as I wanted. Aside from some residual
vertigo, that resulted in me getting worn out a couple
times. Not serious, but we had to take it easier than
I would have liked a time or two, including walking
through the muck in shallow Florida Bay. But it was
something that could be compensated for. Drawbacks
– yes. Worth missing the EC over – no!
We learned about the wonderland of Florida Bay.
As Chuck accurately noted in his blog,
for most of the day we spent crossing the bay, if
one of us had fallen out, he just could have stood
there and waited for the other person to come back
and pick him up. It’s that shallow. Currents
and tides do funny things. We were supposedly sailing
into the Bay on a rising tide. But if the tide ever
came up much, it wasn’t noticeable. Looking
at the chart, you’ll think that with a little
extra tide, you can finagle the narrow channels that
connect the shallow bays of Florida Bay. But you can’t.
Get out of the channel and you hit, even in a boat
like Oaracle that draws only a few inches. Step out
to push, and you sink up to your knees (or deeper)
in the muck. Ten yards is an eternity in those conditions.
It’s a whole education on using wind, oars,
and cunning to get where you’re going. It’s
a lesson on the importance of getting good winds.
We were the last boat through Florida Bay before the
weather door closed (actually, the door caught us
by the foot and tripped us in Jimmie Channel –
the only place we actually had to get out and push).
Every boat behind us faced 15-20 mph headwinds on
the sojourn across the bay. But the fish jump, the
birds fly, the water is mostly clear and the bottom
visible, and watching as osprey sit on one of the
grey, weather-beaten poles that mark the channels
and eat a large fish is incomparable. I can’t
wait to get back.
In addition, we learned that caution pays, especially
if like us you’re largely unfamiliar with the
waters. The best example came at the end of the first
day. We were running along at nearly 6 knots, but
it was obvious we would not make Gasparilla Inlet
to get to Checkpoint 1 during daylight. Chuck suggested
going in at Stump Pass, a few miles to the north and
which we could do while it was still light, and running
down the CP 1 on the Intracoastal Waterway. It cost
us some time in dealing with the fast outgoing tide
and the lighter winds on the inside, but we later
heard other competitors talk about the nasty breaking
waves at Gasparilla. One competitor told of surfing
sideways into the inlet on a breaking wave. Everyone
we talked to agreed going in at Stump Pass was the
right decision. As if to confirm that, Matt Layden
– AKA Wizard – made the same decision
and caught up to us as we were dealing with the tide.
|
"Oracle",
our Jim Michalak designed Frolic2
|
|
Maybe the most important lesson is attitude, the
outlook of taking each day as it comes and dealing
with the conditions Mother Nature provides. On this
trip, that meant hanging on and keeping the boat in
control on some wild downwind rides and reaches, and
drifting and rowing our way through some calms. We
only had a total of about 14 miles (as the crow flies)
of windward work out of 300 sailed. It’s also
learning to roll with the punches. That was perhaps
best exemplified by Savannah Dan and Paddlemaker in
a Sea Pearl. We caught up to them in the first channel
in Florida Bay after they ran aground, and sailed
pleasantly in company for more than an hour, finishing
that channel and getting to the Dump Key Channel,
where we both went aground. Being a lighter boat,
we were able to free Oaracle with the oardles, while
the other two had to get out and push the heavier
Sea Pearl. Consequently, we got between the two small
keys in the middle of the channel and through most
of that passage about a half an hour ahead of the
Sea Pearl, during which time the wind shifted more
to the east. We realized they would be unable to follow
us in the rest of the channel, and we quickly lost
sight of them, and worried about their fate until
they finished, relaxed and smiling, the next day.
Paddlemaker explained their approach. He said realizing
the channel was now impassible, they immediately anchored
for a two-hour lunch. “If that hadn’t
been enough to solve the problem, we would have had
a three-hour lunch,” he said, grinning broadly.
Instead of a frustrating day of bumping into banks,
they sailed leisurely up to Crocodile Haulover Channel,
at the northern end of Florida Bar, and reportedly
a jewel of natural splendor. There they anchored for
the night. The next morning, relaxed and refreshed,
they rowed the four or so miles through Crocodile
Haulover, enjoying the scenery, and they had a close
reach to the finish. Yeah, we finished the previous
evening, but I think I’m jealous. The moral:
No one said you have to kill yourself to finish. There
are rewards for working with the weather and enjoying
the landscape. And no reason not to with a well found
boat with plenty of food and water.
Likewise with problems that inevitably crop up.
I found myself getting frustrated when we hit the
channel banks in Florida Bay, but except for Jimmie
Channel, we were always able to get off by poling
and rowing with the oardles. And once we were off,
I found myself wondering, “What’s the
big deal? Why get upset? We got off without too much
difficulty.” There’s a reason it’s
called a challenge; there are supposed to be problems
to overcome. Being mentally ready is important. And
getting past the problems has its own rewards. Even
after the exertions of Jimmie Channel, which marked
my physical low point, we knew that was the last serious
problem between us and the finish line. With the shift
in the wind, the last cut, Manatee Channel, would
be a reach (finding it was another matter, it’s
not charted accurately) and then we just had to beat
to Key Largo, which only required patience and attention.
About five miles out Chuck and I looked at each
other and we realized, that barring some fluke, we
were going to make it. And the shark tooth necklace,
awarded to each finisher, was in our grasp. That’s
a nice feeling to discover, too.
Other articles by Gary Blankenship & Helen Snell:
|