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Thread: A bad day turned good, part deux...

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    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default A bad day turned good, part deux...

    I motored out towards open water. Just a couple weeks ago, this passage had been completely clogged up with "lechuga aquatica." It's a rather peculiar plant that floats across the lake with the wind and finds its way into sheltered areas where it grabs hold to whatever it can and then reproduces like mad. Don't let the name fool you. The reason this plant is in such high abundance is because it has made itself completely inedible. It also has some nasty little fibers on it that bore right into your skin if you touch it. A day trying to clear this stuff out with a machete from a panga and you'll feel like you've been working with fiberglass all day with no sleeves or gloves. Lose your machete in there and it stays there. That's how my cuidador lost his cellphone the week before. Without this botanical obstacle plugging the channel, open water is a short 500 meters away.

    The 5 hp Johnson will get this boat up to hull speed without too much effort. That's around 7 knots. You can put a PT boat motor on there and it wouldn't go any faster. It's not a planing hull, though it will step up if you can get her surfing on a wave going downwind. The smell of the 2-stroke outboard with the oil in the fuel always leaves me a little queasy, so I wanted to get to open water and hoist the sails as soon as I could. With an extra deckhand I could sail her in the islands, but there are too many rocks to look for and sailing really cuts down on your maneuverability, so the motor is a necessary evil.

    As I passed through a pair of the few channel markers in the isletas, I could see all the fishermen in their pangas heading back in. The tourist pangas were flying towards Cabaña Amarrilla with their 100 hp outboards humming along, only the stern quarter of the boat still in the water. The light drizzle was pretty steady by now and I figured it was going to stay that way. As I pointed her into the wind to hoist the sails, I could see that familiar afternoon squall line over Chontales. About and hour out, I thought to myself. I'll just heave-to when it passes over and ride it out for the 15-30 minutes that it always takes to pass. I got the sails up and got on a close reach to the northeast. The swells were around 2-3 feet, a little sloppy but not a problem under sail.

    Now I've watched this squall roll in every day for the past month or so from my balcony. It's dark on the leading edge and lightens up as it goes over. The rain is usually preceded by 3-5 minutes of a hard east to west blow and then a thick wall of rain behind it. Granted, it had been drizzling all afternoon, which didn't fit that pattern, but I figured it would be the same as always. I've single-handed small sailboats on the mighty Pacific and never came close to a problem, so I didn't think much of this lake and an afternoon tropical downpour. I was relaxing, a nice gentle drizzle on my face, overcast to keep the sun out of my eyes, and the boat was pointing nicely.

    As I got out a couple kilometers, I realized my 1-hour estimate was a bit off. This thing was bearing down pretty fast and the swells were already turning into whitecaps. I was going to have to heave-to soon because the swells were getting up to about 5 feet now. That's not much in a big boat, but a 19 foot daysailer with only about a 1000 pounds of ballast isn't an ocean cruiser. My original plan was to already be in sheltered water by the time the afternoon banana wind rolled in, but my original plan got shot to hell when Union Fenosa decided to change the main power line into town on Friday morning. I had no idea how deep it was to the bottom here. Was it rocky on the bottom? Muddy? No friggin clue. It didn't really matter anyways because the only anchor I had was a little 15 lb. folding type with 4 flukes that pointed outwards. There are a lot of things to consider when choosing your anchor, but I got the one that came with the boat. With that decision made for me, it was time to ride this baby out.

    I dropped the little storm job no problem and left it on deck (since I was only going to be here a half hour anyway, right?). The mainsail decided that it liked being up there and got stuck after only about 3 feet. Now the essence of singlehand sailing is to run all lines back to the cockpit so that you can control everything without leaving the tiller. The essence of lowering sails in a hard blow is to keep the boat pointed into the wind so that there's no pressure on the sails. Sounds simple enough in theory, but it doesn't leave much in the way of a plan B.

    I decided I had to go to the mast and pull the main down by hand. The rain was getting pretty heavy now and the wind was howling something fierce. La Baby Doc told me later that she had to close up all the doors on the house because it was blowing so strong that every paper in the house was getting tossed around. I figured this was one of those moments where a life jacket was in order. If I were to slip into the water or get smacked by the boom, at least the wind would push me, dead or alive, back to Granada. I scampered up to the mast, grabbing hold of the new stainless steel rigging for support, when I realized that there was quite a bit of lightning in this squall. I guess there always is since you can hear the thunder on any given day, but out here in the open water you can really see the bolts to the east go all the way to the water. I definitely wanted to get this done quick and get back to the cockpit. The mainsail was soaked with rain now and was as stubborn as a mule. Now keep in mind, I'm standing in the middle of the boat at its highest point . . . and nobody is on the tiller keeping her pointed into the wind. A few seconds later and she was sideways to the wind and swell and rolling like a metronome. I pulled on the sail until finally something gave way and it came sliding down in one smooth motion.

    As I'm bobbing around like a cork, I now saw a sight that was truly humbling. All I could see in any direction was about 100 yards and a white wall of heavy, cold rain. The wind was howling so hard the rigging was screaming like a pack of depressed ghosts. I no longer had any idea where I was, which way I was pointing, or when this was going to pass. 15 minutes I kept telling myself. 15 minutes and it will calm down to a light drizzle and a manageable wind. I grabbed my pitiful little anchor and got her ready to go over. I had about 10 feet of heavy chain and 100 feet of line on there. I had no idea how deep it was here, but it would have to do. 10 to 1 is a good rule when it's blowing this hard. Any less and the angle on the anchor line becomes too steep for the hook to do it's job. If this was one of those 40 foot deep sections of the lake, I was totally screwed.

    I secured the anchor line to the biggest cleat on the bow and hoped it was put on properly when they refurbished this boat. I ran the line through a d-ring on the bow because it's all I had to keep it on the pointy end. I could hear my old man yelling at me for not having this ready before leaving the dock. "You're singlehanding! When were you planning to get this ready, in the middle of a squall? I aint raisin' you to be fish food! You wanna be a shitbird, get your own boat!" Well, here I was being a shitbird on my own boat. Live and learn. He probably learned it that way, too. I sat down with my legs straddling the bow and leaned on the forestay for support. Sure hope the mast doesn't get struck by lighting because I'm on the shortest path to ground. I dropped the anchor and watched the chain clang overboard. By now the boat is going up a good 8 feet on the swells and smashing down at full speed until the water was up to my crotch, all the while rolling a good 60 degrees from side to side. The wind and rain were freezing cold, but the lake was as warm as dishwater. I really wanted to get back to the cockpit and get this thing pointed into the swells. As the chain disappeared below the water I could feel it hit bottom after only about 10 feet of rope. It'll do.

    I crawled back to the cockpit, standing up was no longer an option with little to grab hold of, and I fired up the outboard. I wasn't sure what this anchor could do, but then again I wasn't sure what it was doing because all I could see was a 100 yard circle of white around the boat. The rain was horizontal at this point and man was it cold. I've never been so cold in the tropics in my life. My clothes were completely soaked by the rain and now I was radiating heat like crazy with the wind. 15, 30 minutes tops, and then I can get back to relaxing. I stood up to look forward and could see the anchor line was nice and tight. I guess it grabbed the bottom. I couldn't tell if I was moving. This was sailing by braille at this point. I used the outboard to point her around whenever she swung sideways to try and keep the swells, but it was becoming an exercise in frustration. The stern kept coming up out of the water and with it, the propeller. Up and down, listening to the outboard scream up in RPMs and then gurgling as it went back underwater. Up and down, up and down. It would spin up so fast I was sure the whole thing would just blow up, seize up, or just give up. 15 minutes had passed. This will be over soon.

    Now I'm no stranger to mal de mer. My first days out on any ocean cruise in a small boat have always been unpleasant. Little queasy, not very hungry, but nothing I couldn't handle. The flat bottomed work boats we used on the oil rigs back in my diving days were a particularly unpleasant ride. Luckily, it usually took a day or two to get to the job site so I'd just ride it out on deck and it would pass. I've never had a problem on the lake. After 30 minutes of smelling the two-stroke (surely this will be over any minute) and bobbing up and down like a cork (the kind that floats, not the Nicaraguan kind) and I could feel that old familiar feeling. I have to say that beyond a doubt, the Tuscan Scramble they serve for breakfast at Zoom bar is really good going down. Not so good on the way back up. I grabbed the rail and chucked breakfast over the side. One hurl, two hurls, three hurls and rest. Nothing left to hurl anyway, so I sat there dry-heaving while heaving to. I was starting to hate this outboard. Friggin two-strokes smell like the gates of hell when you're seasick, but that's all I had to keep her pointing because the girl kept swinging sideways into the swells. Up and down, up and down, dry heave. It was bitter cold at this point. I reached into the water while tossing over some bile that had worked it's way up from my duodenum. It was so warm I wanted to jump in. 45 minutes had passed and no sign of it letting up. I could still only see 100 yards in any direction.

    I grabbed a Coke out of the ice chest and forced it down. I knew it would come right back up, but heaving a Coke is better than heaving nothing at all. Plus, I was starting to cramp up from the cold and potassium loss from the vomiting. The Coke stayed down. I felt much better. Something's wrong with this watch because this is taking too long.

    Now there's nobody to talk to when you're alone on a boat, which is why I go out alone on a boat. Nobody to talk to and nobody to talk to you. I need that to get my mind right. If I ever went to prison, I'm sure I'd punch a guard just to get thrown into solitary confinement. All I had to listen to was the high-pitched whistle of the wind through the rigging and then ... a starter motor? I don't know how to describe it, but it sounded like and engine trying to start. I quickly ran through an inventory of all the things on the boat that could be making that sound. Nothing came to mind but then it hit me.
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

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    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    The anchor! I hop forward and quickly straddle the bow. I was freezing cold and exhausted at this point, and every muscle I contracted for use wanted to stay contracted. I grab hold of the anchor line and sure enough, I can feel her dragging over what I could only guess was a gravel bottom. I weight the thing as fast as I can, the rain starting to lighten up as I go. My biceps started cramping with every pull. 100 feet of anchor line is a long way when you're pitching up and down, side to side, freezing cold and just lost your breakfast. I finally get chain and then the anchor. The poor little thing had come unlocked and the flukes had folded back up. just one of them was sticking out, the other three were closed up like an umbrella. I tried to open them, but I couldn't get my hand off the chain. My fingers were stuck in a tight grip and wouldn't let go. I used my left hand to pry my right hand off, rest the lock on the flukes and tossed her back over. 10 feet and she hit bottom. I gave the line a good tug after about 75 feet and it felt like she was grabbing.

    I grabbed the forestay and stood up to go back to the cockpit. When I turned around I quickly became aware of how many cardinal rules I had broken that day. The Granada pier, which had been about 2 kilometers east and well to my north when the rain had started was now about a kilometer to my south and I was only about 500 meters from the beach! I dragged anchor for a good mile and a half in a a little over hour and was now an easy rifle shot from the rocks. The sun was getting low but the swells weren't. Staying on the hook wasn't going to get the job done. I headed back up to the bow and started weighing anchor. Hand over hand, just keep going until it's done. That's what the old man used to yell at me while he motored the boat forward. It wasn't quite the same with no help, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Rope, rope, rope, chain, almost there, anchor. I cranked the outboard and pointed her east. Up and down, the prop goes up, screams like mad, and then gurgles back down in the water. I was waterboarding a Johnson! Up and down, up and down! She screamed like Kalid Sheik Mohammad as I tried to put some distance between me and terra firma.

    The wind was still so strong that I was pointing 45 degrees off my direction of travel. Up and down over the swell as I limped back towards the isletas. This was not a relaxing day, but the rain was back to a gentle drizzle and the swells were at least starting to run parallel to each other. As I approached the isletas, I went over a checklist of everything I had done wrong that day. Trying to hard to get out when the timetable was blown to hell. Didn't bring any foul weather gear and I was still shivering, teeth chattering like I was on Peary's expedition. I had dry clothes below, but I didn't have the energy to change into them. The anchor was too dammed small and I really needed a Bruce for bad weather. Have to take down the mast again and smooth out the track so that the main doesn't get stuck again. The boat aint gonna point on the anchor so I need a bigger engine with a longer shaft. Oh yeah, I really should leave with more than a gallon and a half in the tank.

    The engine sputtered a halt about a kilometer from the channel markers. It didn't even surprise me. Of course it did. I knew I was low on gas when I left, I just didn't think I'd need it. Well, this is a sailboat so I'll just sail it in. I used to come home to the marina when I lived aboard under nothing but sail. All the other live-aboards would watch to see if I'd hit anything. Tack here, jibe there, build up some momentum then drop the sails. Worst I ever did was bump the pier. It was a good way to impress the old salts. I hoist the main, no forward momentum to point her into the wind this time so just up she goes. Again, my hands wouldn't let go of the line and it became a real chore to secure the halyard down once it was up. Tied her down and now for the jib. She was a twisted mess of anchor line and filthy chain. There was no way I was going forward again with the main up and there was no way in hell I was going to take it down again.

    For those of you who've never sailed, the job is the little sail in the front of a sailboat. Without it, you can't sail upwind worth a damn. A good boat will point 45 degrees into the wind, so if your destination is directly upwind, you zigzag back and forth in a maneuver called tacking. You go 45 degrees into the wind in one direction, then 45 degrees into the wind in the other direction until you get to where you're going. Without the jib, the best I could hope for was to point 60-70 degrees into the wind. Trouble is, the boat won't tack (turn through the wind) without the jib. She starts the turn, but the wind invariable pushes her back. The only option to me was to turn downwind through a 300 degree turn and sooner or later I'd get back to the entrance. It was directly upwind (of course).

    I did this embarrassing maneuver with the job all jumbled up on the foredeck, halyards swinging in the wind. It was clear to any observer that I had gotten my butt kicked out there. As I approached the channel markers, the wind hitting the isletas was a jumbled mess. Lots of dead spots and shifting directions. I wasn't going to get her in there. I just kept cruising back and forth, hoping to buy a couple gallons of gas off one of the motor pangas, but none were to be found. The little kids in the primitive canoes were coming back out to go fishing. They'd missed a good part of the day due to the weather and now they had to make it up. A little kid who looked like he was 8 but was probably closer to 12 rowed up with that funky rowing method they all use. "We thought something had happened to you out there." I tried to act like it was all routine. "I just rand out of gas, can't get her back in until the wind shifts." He offered to tow me in for a gaseosa.

    Now the mighty ocean crosser is being towed in by a malnourished kid in a 10 foot panga. It was slow, but once we were in the islands the water was glass. Past the mango trees, the howler monkeys could be heard from all angles. The kid just kept that crankshaft motion going. Left oar, right oar, smiling the whole time. "Fue malo?" he asked. "Horrible," I answered. I was still shivering, exhausted, cursing myself for being so stupid to go out in that. At least it was dark so nobody could see my shame of being towed in by a child. He got me to my mango tree, tied off the bow for me while I tied off the stern and tossed the anchor. I gave him all the Cokes I had left in the ice chest and the last 100 cords I had on me. At least he wouldn't have to make up for his lost catch that day.

    The mooring spot is really beautiful. It's so quiet, peaceful, the only thing that ruins it is the friggin army of mosquitoes! They tore into me as soon as I got my wet pants off and changed into the shorts and dry shirt in my bag. I'm yelling for my cuidador to bring over the panga and get me the hell out of there. Nothing. Jimmy! (pronounced Yee-mee). Nothing. Finally, one of the 10 little kids that live with them on the island scampers over. "Jimmy no esta." WTF? "What do you mean he's not here." He thought you weren't coming back tonight so he went to see the bulls. Too tired to scream, but I wanted to. I grabbed my bag and waded to the island. I walked up to the porch and there was mom, dad, grandpa, and 10 kids ranging from 6 years old to 20. They were all transfixed on a television show that I didn't have the energy to stare at. The single incandescent light was drawing in mosquitoes from as far away as San Carlos, but they didn't seem to notice. "Cuando regresa Jimmy?" "Como a las 9." was the reply. The only thing that means is that he's coming back tonight. Nobody on this island even had a watch.

    I pulled a bottle of FDC and a few cigars out of my bag. I had envisioned myself enjoying this anchored behind an island at Asese, but that never came to pass. I gave a cigar to dad and one to grandpa and we passed the bottle around. "Fue malo," they asked. "Horrible," I replied. The smoke rand the mosquitoes off and the rum stopped the itching. Jimmy rowed up around 10 and took me back towards Cabaña Amarrilla. It was completely dark and everyone had gone home except a few kids in pangas trying to catch some dinner. I wanted to chew Jimmy out, but he could already tell I was pissed, so it wouldn´t have mattered at this point. Luckily for him, the FDC had mellowed me out so I calmly went over all the things that went wrong that day. He just nodded and promised it wouldn't happen again.

    He dropped me off at the panga docks, I grabbed my bag and headed up the road. There were no taxis to be seen anywhere, but that wouldn't have mattered because I gave all my money to the kid that towed me in. It took 60 minutes to walk back home, but that gave me plenty of time to go over the errors of the day. Mom would have called it instant karmic return. I don't know why she said that all the time since she was Baptist, but it basically boiled down to not having my mind in the right place when I started and having to pay the price for it in the end. It really was a small price. The boat was in one piece. I was in one piece. I found out how the boat would behave in bad weather without it costing me anything except a day off.

    I started to grin as I got near the malecon. The FDC was probably helping with that. I looked out on the lake. It was so peaceful now. I could see stars between the holes in the clouds. The breeze was almost gone. La Pantera was closed, so at least I wouldn't have to listen to karaoke tonight. I was warm, dry, a little tipsy and back at the house. I learned a lot about seamanship today, I learned a new respect for Cocibolca. Wind, rain and lake against little old me, and I lived to tell the tale. My mind went back to straddling the bow as I crashed up and down in the warm lake water. That was kind of fun! I really enjoyed drinking with dad and grandpa, too. As I opened the gate, El Comandante, the little mongrel I adopted off the street, and Carabina, the baby Catahoula who's growing like a weed, were both there to meet me. Dogs really are the best. I opened the door and La Baby Doc was looking to gauge my mood. She had seen the storm from the porch and thought for sure I was dead.

    "Fue malo?" she asked. "Pesado, pero no tan malo. Al final fue muy divertido," I replied.
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

  3. #3

    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    haha! man, great story, good too hear you are alive, but I have to say, if you lost a leg, an arm or maybe even your pinky finger, the story would have been much better keep trying!

  4. #4

    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Good Stuff thanks...!!

  5. #5
    House SOB Little Corn Tom's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Nothing worse than being towed home ... except maybe swimming home .
    Life's different here ... It's a whole 'nother pace.

  6. #6
    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Little Corn Tom View Post
    Nothing worse than being towed home ... except maybe swimming home .
    Or floating face down.
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

  7. #7

    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Great story Doc! I share your pain. I've been sailing on Lake Michigan for the past 25 years and been caught with my drawers down on more than one occasion.

  8. #8
    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Chicago John View Post
    Great story Doc! I share your pain. I've been sailing on Lake Michigan for the past 25 years and been caught with my drawers down on more than one occasion.
    A humbling experience for a bluewater sailor like myself, that's for sure. I've learned a whole new respect for lakes down here.

    Incidentally, going back out tomorrow morning. I hope the weather is as perfect as it was today. Absolutely gorgeous.
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

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    Pinolero De Cepa!! FisherCigarman's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Lechuga acuatica= Water Hyacinth
    They are abundant in Apanas and are great Fish Habitat.
    Attached Images Attached Images

  10. #10
    Viejo del Foro Just Plain John Wayne's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Little Corn Tom View Post
    Nothing worse than being towed home ... except maybe swimming home .
    Dam good story, but you don't get towed home, you push the other boat home with the anchor line.....

    El D, I been on that lake, spent over 20 years on the open Ocean commercial fishing, rode thru hurricanes, and spit asshole hair out my mouth, but fresh water scares the livin' hell out of me...
    To be called a "Has Been" I must surmise, is much Greater than to be called a "Nevah Been"... JW...



  11. #11
    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Just Plain John Wayne View Post
    Dam good story, but you don't get towed home, you push the other boat home with the anchor line.....


    Ummm, that's what I meant to say.

    El D, I been on that lake, spent over 20 years on the open Ocean commercial fishing, rode thru hurricanes, and spit asshole hair out my mouth,


    but fresh water scares the livin' hell out of me...
    Not much freshwater where I come from other than what runs down the storm drains on its way to the sea. I'm starting to learn this isn't the pissant bathtub I thought it would be. Very shallow in some places, lots of rocks and of course land on all sides. At least on the ocean the only thing I had to worry about was capsizing. There aren't too many things that can poke a hole in your hull on the open ocean other than the odd wayward shipping container or another boat. It certainly adds a new dimension to things.

    I'm thinking something unballasted with a shoal draft and a low rigging would be ideal for this lake. Currently looking at plans for a Cape Cod catboat. Here's a design that has captured my imagination.



    http://www.tedbrewer.com/sail_wood/chappiquidick.htm

    I think I could build that in 6 months with a couple helpers using mostly local materials.
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

  12. #12

    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by EL Doc
    Incidentally, going back out tomorrow morning. I hope the weather is as perfect as it was today. Absolutely gorgeous.
    Good for you. We just hauled out last week, tomorrow I'll be pumping anti freeze thur the block of my trusty old Atomic 4.

  13. #13
    Viejo del Foro Just Plain John Wayne's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Chicago John View Post
    Good for you. We just hauled out last week, tomorrow I'll be pumping anti freeze thur the block of my trusty old Atomic 4.

    Good on you CJ take care of her and she will take care of you....

    El D that is a boat, and a real one not something to be one handing, I hope you have learned your lesson, use the buddy system even if it is La Baby Doc

    Don't go out alone again, if nothing else call our buddy Felix he is a marinerio de agua dulce......
    To be called a "Has Been" I must surmise, is much Greater than to be called a "Nevah Been"... JW...



  14. #14
    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Chicago John View Post
    Good for you. We just hauled out last week, tomorrow I'll be pumping anti freeze thur the block of my trusty old Atomic 4.
    Oof! I don't miss that at all.

    Can't even keep butter solid without a fridge around here.
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

  15. #15
    TRN Surgeon General El Doc's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by Just Plain John Wayne View Post

    Good on you CJ take care of her and she will take care of you....

    El D that is a boat, and a real one not something to be one handing, I hope you have learned your lesson, use the buddy system even if it is La Baby Doc

    Don't go out alone again, if nothing else call our buddy Felix he is a marinerio de agua dulce......
    That boat was traditionally a two-hander; one man and one boy. They were mostly father and son fishing boats. Granted, they were hauling nets, thus the need for an extra pair of hands. With a proper self-tailing winch and some blocks running the lines back to the wheel, she'd singlehand pretty easily. Of course, that's on the ocean where there isn't much to bump into. I no longer think anything should be singlehanded on this lake. Too many obstacles and the weather changes too fast.

    They were used all over New England as fishing boats until motors came along. They aren't too fast and don't point to the wind very well, but they're very stable in a blow and there's only one sail to handle. Also, that wide beam is great for taking groups on day trips. The shallow draft and retractable centerboard means I could run it right onto the beach at Zapatera and tie it off to a tree for mooring. It's like they were thinking of this lake when they designed it!

    I'm sourcing material right now to see if it's viable to build one here. I may go with the plywood hull because it's much faster to build, but it's not as pretty as the planked hulls and I'm not sure it's as strong (though the designer claims it is). Considering this is freshwater, I may do better to just have a fiberglass hull made to avoid the rot, but I don't know of any shop around here that could pull it off. It would be nice, though. Tupperware boats are so much easier to maintain.

    If anyone can turn me on to a good source of hardwood (teak or similar), or a fiberglass shop that knows what they're doing, the info would be greatly appreciated. My plan is to start construction on this or a similar design sometime around the end of February (si Dios quiere).
    "Un Estado que no se rigiera según la justicia se reduciría a una gran banda de ladrones." --San Agustín

  16. #16
    Junkyard Dog randude's Avatar
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    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    I lived on Lake Michigan and visited Lake Superior a lot. I have learned a lot respect for lakes. Not to mention my uncle drowned fishing on a lake when he got seperated from his boat (booze likely the root cause here). I have spent months at sea in the navy and never once got sick, but I felt it a bit one time on Lake Michigan.

    Great story Doc
    Survivor

  17. #17

    Default Re: A bad day turned good, part deux...

    Quote Originally Posted by El Doc View Post

    I'm sourcing material right now to see if it's viable to build one here. I may go with the plywood hull because it's much faster to build, but it's not as pretty as the planked hulls and I'm not sure it's as strong (though the
    If anyone can turn me on to a good source of hardwood (teak or similar), or a fiberglass shop that knows what they're doing, the info would be greatly appreciated. My plan is to start construction on this or a similar design sometime around the end of February (si Dios quiere).
    Doc, there is a man by the name of Dale Dagger out of SJDS who had some guys working with fiberglass that demonstrated to me quality workmanship. Just my opinion of their abilities, but seemed to be quiet good.
    I recall a kayak that they built that was beautiful.

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