Lysander link

I recieved an email from James Robinson of the Lysander Owners Association who asked me to provide a link to their website. He writes:
I've been reading and enjoying some of your articles in the twin keeler website. My boat is a Lysander which was designed by Percy Blandford and built by Don Haslam back in 1975. I have only been out in the boat twice this year as I received it at the end of June and it took around three months to get it ready for the water and like many others I enjoy doing 'improvements' to my boat when not sailing.I was wondering if it was possible to include a link in your online newsletter to the Lysander website http://www.lysander.org.uk as I believe in a kind of solidarity between trailer/sailers and you never know we may get to read of more adventures of folk in boats than might otherwise be the case. I hope you like this picture of my boat 'Amity' where she is moored all year round at her mooring 'a running mooring that allows me to pull her in from the slipway'. I wish you all a lovelyChristmas & New Year and hope for all of us a good season of sailing next year.

The boat really does look nice. I have checked the website and couldn't really find out if it is a bilge keeler but I guess it is.

Mini website

David Chamberlain is the guy who sailed his modified Vivacity 20, "Mini" from the US to Hawaii in 1992. On this website he publishes useful tips for those who want to take their small craft over big stretches of water - or at least dream about it.

On the Hard

If you live north of about 35^o north (or south of 35^o south), your boat probably spends up to half the year out of its element – on the hard. The annual ritual of getting it there is part of the rhythm of boating, at least in the temperate climates.
When I had my Alacrity, the autumn haulout was a simple, if not easy, process that became almost second nature. After one last sail late in October, I took the sails off and lowered the mast to its cradle. Next I picked up my trailer from the storage lot and brought it home. Then I motored the boat to the next marina downriver where they had a launch ramp, while someone drove my trailer there.
Then came the hard part – getting the boat onto the trailer. In order to get the trailer low enough to allow the keels to slide on, I had to attach a length of chain to the hitch, and then back all the way down the ramp until the truck’s rear tires were just short of the water. If there was any wind, motoring the boat onto the trailer was a real challenge. It often seemed to have a mind of its own, and it sometimes felt like trying to put our cat into the carrier for a trip to the vet.
Anyway, I always managed to get it on, usually after some rather sailor-like language. The moment of truth occurred when I pulled the trailer out of the water, checking to see if the forward edges of the keels were snug against the stops on the trailer, meaning that the boat was properly balanced for towing. If not, it was back into the water for some adjustments. By that time, nearly everyone in the marina had become a spectator, most had offered advice, and some had even offered to help. Once the trailer was back on the hitch, the worst was over. After a quick stop at home to take off the motor and remove the last of the equipment, it was off to the storage yard to put on the tarp for the winter. Finally, a beer, to reward my helper of the day.
This all happened one last time when I sold the Alacrity this past summer, to make room for my new Ranger 26. This time my assistant was the new owner, literally getting his feet wet with his new boat. When I dropped the boat off in his backyard, I was done with this process.
But, along with my new boat came a new haulout routine. First, I had to find a new place to store it, since it won’t go on a trailer like the Alacrity. I had to find a real marina, with a TravelLift instead of a launch ramp. The marina where I keep it in the summer was out of the question because they barely have room for a parking lot, which fills up quickly in the autumn with the most favored boats. So I went shopping for winter storage.
I found a spot about five miles upriver, at the marina where I had been storing my trailer over the summer. In preparation, I stopped by and picked up a contract. On the second page was a list of questions that reminded me I had moved up to a grown-up boat, not the teen-ager the Alacrity seemed in retrospect. Did I want them to winterize the fresh water system? Did I want a pump-out? Did I want it shrink-wrapped? I could hear the cash register gaily ringing away in the background.
Finally I had arranged everything, and it was time to get Greyhound to her winter home. I took most of the “stuff” that had accumulated in the half season I’d had her home, and made arrangements to deliver her up to Ossining. Unable to arrange any crew for the delivery date, I decided to singlehand it. That decision began to look a little suspect as the weatherman predicted a “sou’easter” for the Saturday I had to sail. However, he said it would hit late in the day while I was sailing early, and I was going north, so I took a chance and set out.
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Although it was overcast, the breeze was manageable, ten to twelve knots, and Greyhound galloped up the river. There was hardly another boat to be seen, we outran the following swells, and I successfully avoided the little island in the river that I’d never seen before. I was exhilarated, and was a little sorry to reach the marina entrance in about two hours.
I was a bit worried about docking, since I’d never done it in this marina singlehanded, but the gas dock was just inside the breakwater so I managed to slide in. The management assigned me a temporary slip in the middle of the marina, and I was able to get in there with no bumps or bruises, in spite of the freshening breeze. As I rode home in the car with my wife, I was more than a little pleased with myself. Mission accomplished! Later in the day things really kicked up outside, so much so that a large tree came down just up the street, so I was doubly glad I had made the trip when I did.
This past weekend I found out that Greyhound had been hauled, so I went up to finish the winter prep. I found her in the middle of an aluminum forest, packed into a collection of sailboats, looking like a flock of swans ready to fly south. I had built a PVC pipe frame to support the tarp over the cockpit, so I muscled that and the tarp up the ladder in the drizzle. The hardest part of the job was wrestling the outboard off the transom and into my car. Funny, it didn’t feel this heavy when I was putting it on during the summer!
I ran the motor at home to flush out the salt water, inflated the sorry looking fenders, stowed the docklines, and headed upstairs to watch some football. Greyhound’s ready for winter, and so am I.

Twin or Bilge - what's really the difference?

During the years I have owned my Alacrity I have encountered some different viewpoints as of what the difference really is between a twin-keeler and a bilge-keeler. The first position I encountered on this was quite a simple one: the expression twin-keeler is simply American English for what in the UK is called a bilge keeler.
Now there have been some new interpretations of the issue which have gotten a hold even among the British crowd: a twin-keeler is a more modern design with assymetric thin fin keels, in contrast to a bilge keeler which is an old design with thick lead (or concrete) filled keels, or even just bolted on plates of steel.
This article in Small Craft Advisor seems to take the second position, although with a twist. The author seems to imply that bilge keelers really are tripple keelers, that is normal keelboats with extra keels bolted on. Boats like the Debutante (i e "Sea Dart").
I think I may have to differ. There has, of course, been some development among the multi-keeled craft during the decades they have been produced. However, if there is a clear distinction between species it has to be based on the number of keels and not the shape of them.
The modern twin-keeler with assymetric thin blade keels is merely a natural development of my Alacrity, exactly like the modern fin keeled cruising yacht is a development of the mighty old long keeler. In fact, development does parallell in the centerboard range of boats. Twin centerboard boats surely are a development of the single centerboard boat and not, as would be a consequence of the developing keel theory, a futuristic form of bilge-keeler.
I still think the different expressions are to be blamed on differences between American and British English and thus should not be confused for inherently different kinds of keel shapes. An assymetric bilge keeler is the same thing as an assymetric twin-keeler and neither of them has more in common with a tripple keeled Debutante than the ability of being able to take the ground at low tide.

P.S. This theory would be reinforced by the fact that there seems to be only one translation for both twin and bilge keelers into Swedish and German.

Mystery boat again

Another mystery boat. Got this email:
"Hi, found your website while browsing, looks great,could'nt find any yachts like mine,any ideas on the identity of this yacht type please. It has a bowsprit, two foresails and gunter rig, with a vire 6 inboard, we have been bringing it back to life during the summer and will be re-launched later this month, but we still cannot find out the type, any ideas would be greatful, the sail emblem resembles a flying bird like
symbol, similar to a Gull dinghy emblem,

kind regards John"

More pictures:






Goes without saying, any help to identify the make of boat is greatly appreciated.

Cruising as a Way of Life - part II

This engineless approach to cruising also reintroduces another pleasure, largely forgotten by many sailing people nowadays. It is the enjoyment of that richly thrilling moment when, after a prolonged calm, the sails first lift and swell to a hint of a breeze. The joy of laying aside one's oar to ghost effortlessly forward under drawing canvas was one of the great delights of sailors from Homeric times to the late nineteenth century. We have forgotten it. If we are motoring through a calm, the very special music of that first subtle wind-induced trickle around the bow is invaribly drowned out by the engine's roar.
It appears that we live in a strange age. Not only do some people laugh at the unfamiliar sight of a cruising yacht being rowed, but a few even consider it cause for a rescue attempt. Last summer, while happily sweeping Galadriel out to sea in search of a breeze, I was overtaken by a wouldbe rescue boat that roared up alongside. When I said good morning and politely declined their offer of help, the couple in the poweboat asked med what, precisely, I was doing. I answered that I was rowing.
"Gosh", the young fellow said, "I've never seen that before!"
I love oil lamps and hate the glaring excess of electrics. Even the riding light that my little sloop carries while anchored overnight is a small oil lamp. It can be seen from a distance of half a mile, yet it doesn't so grossly flood the anchorage with glare that one cannot enjoy the delicate glitter of starlight overhead. I'm afraid that my love of fellow yachtsmen fails altogether when their 500-watt masthead lights turn a dark, lonely cove into something like a floodlit supermarket.
My fetish for primitive lamps, however, seems to amaze many sailing people who come aboard. They ask if oil lighting isn't dangerous to one's health. When a friend complained of the smell of kerosene, I replied that, to me, it is the smell of freedom.
The essence of small-boat cruising is freedom from fuss and bother, of which there is plenty in our everyday lives ashore. A tiny, featherweight cruiser is the most trouble-free craft afloat. Many of my sailing friends have a mortal dread of going aground. If their 5-ton fin keelers get hung up on the rocks, disaster is a virtual certainty. By contrast, when Galadriel goes aground (as she does frequently), she sits comfortably on her shallow twin keels in two feet of water. To get her off, I simply jump over the stern and lift her clear.
Everything aboard my boat is crude and simple. If a boom fitting breaks, I just make another. The originals, after all, were merely handwrought bits of steel, rather than fancy items purchased in a yacht chandlery. If I drop a heavy anchor onto a bunk cushion and split it open at the seams, it doesn't matter. It's easy to redo my own rough handstitching. When her bottom needs a coat of antifouling paint, it is a simple matter to paddle her over to the beach and go gently aground. The cost of upkeep is almost nothing - an essential prerequisite to carefree sailing.
The shallow draft has introduced me to a special cruising pleasure denied to larger, deeper craft. I have discovered that British Columbia's rocky coast abounds in tiny cracks and crannies into which I can paddle my little boat. Inside, in water that may only be a couple of feet deep (and totally dried out at low water), I luxuriate in a private anchorage, while more conventional yachts cluster together in droves in the more usual anchoring spots.
Occasionally, I have watched a larger yacht, at the end of a cruise or a daysail, tacking back and forth in the harbour for an hour while someone tries without success to start the engine. Without power, of course, the owner of a big heavy-displacement vessel dares not to attempt the entry into his berth among the ranks in a crowded marina. My little pocket cruiser, on the other hand, works her way handily under sail into the thightest corner. If she does happen to drift out of control in a cramped spot, a gentle shove with the foot is enough to redirect her miniscule inertia and avoid collision.
Yet a little boat ot good design can be a fine offshore sailor, too, as is evidenced by Shane Acton's circumnavigation of the world in a Caprice class sloop like my own. While he was in Australia, Acton was offered the chance of an unbelievable trade - a new 30-foot ocean cruising yacht in exchange for his intriguing little 18-footer. He turned down the offer.
Like Shane Acton, I own a simple little boat that I know intimately and love dearly. It would be sheer folly ever to exchange her for the illusory attractions of something grander.

Philip Teece

Reprint: Cruising as a way of Life

Another of Phil Teece's articles in reprint. This one was first published in Small Boat Journal #68, 1989.

It is a calm summer evening just at sunset. In the stillness characteristic of this hour, among the wooded islands of the British Columbia coast, my little sloop Galadriel lies motionless on an inverted mirror-image of herself.
Her intended anchorage for the night, a sand-fringed lagoon on the lee side of a small densely treed isle, lies less than half a mile distant. If she had an engine, I might perhaps be tempted to ruin the magical quietude of this place with its jarring din.
Instead I step forward along her narrow side deck and unship the 10-foot sweep from its upright stowage position on one of the lower shrouds. Without hurry, I drop its long leather collar into place in the oarlock beside the cockpit. Then, standing with the tiller between my knees for control, I begin a slow, quiet oarstroke that moves the boat forward, gradually gathering a sedate knot-and-a-quarter speed in the direction of the cove. At this pace, it will take me perhaps half an hour to reach the spot on which I shall drop anchor. But why should I want to get there any faster?
Later, as my little ship lies peacefully in the gathering darkness of the lagoon, I go below for supper. While a can of stew warms up on the single-burner gimballed primus stove, I light the lamp. The tiny cabin glows warmly (and, in fact, actually warms up) in the mellow light of my bulkhead lamp. This small kerosene lamp is all that is needed to flood the compact space with a glory of light. Although supper is a primitive meal eaten from the billycan in which it was heated, it provides one luxury: Cleanup afterwards takes only about 20 seconds.
After the evening meal, I recline on my bunk with a good book. The ceiling is a scant few inches above my head, but I feel as comfortable as pampered royalty. The flickering orange glow that illuminates my page reflects dimly from painted wooden surfaces and casts deep shadows in the angles behind hull-frames and deckbeams. As I lie on the handsewn cushion of my bunk, my feet project forward almost into the open chainlocker in the forepeak. In fact, my living space is small enough so that, without moving from where I lie so comfortably, I can reach across to the galley counter to grasp my cup of coffee.
The style of cruising described above is unfamiliar to many yachtsmen of the 1980s. In recent years, I have encountered increasing numbers of people to whom a "small" boat is something of 27 to 30 feet in overall length, with a powerful engine, electrical wiring for lights and other elecronic gadgetry, and a built-in dinette and bar. To a surprising majority of the cruising fraternity whom I meet in various West Coast anchorages, my spartan 18-foot sloop is an object of dismay and even disapoval.
Yet, nearly two decades after her launching, Galadriel still represents my dream of the perfect boat for adventure. Her smallness and simplicity have become my way of life afloat. A shoa-draft design ny British naval architect Robert Tucker, she is a twin-keeled Caprice class sloop, a little over 18 feet in length and 1,600 pounds displacement. She sails well (a fact I learned fully when I finally gave up using and outboard motor), and she can be moved surprisingly easily by oarpower.
I enjoy depending on sail and oar. In more than one emergency situation, I have found that an outboard engine has failed to start; my long spruce sweep has never given that problem. The technique of rowing a vessel with a single long oar is onethat takes considerable practice. When the oarsman develops skill in balancing the turning-moment of the oarstroke against exactly the right counterpressure of the helm, he enjoys a great sense of physical satisfaction. There is a sort of pleasurable Zen of rowing with a sweep.
To be continued.

The ultimate nautical bookworm list

Now the season is coming to an end and winter is approaching. You have, of course already read all the Hornblowers, Bolithos and Aubreys so what is keeping you alive during the winter? Boaty magazines are not enough for the nautical bookworm. But do not despair, here is the ultimate nautical bookworm-list on the web. Over 2000 titles of Nautical fiction are to be found here, many of them with a short description of what the book is about.
Of course, lots are out of print, so a visit to amazon.com's used book section or even a physical used bookstore is in order.

Here is the link.

Twin Keels Shoal Havens - part III

We all look toward the distant cruising destinations of our dreams. Paradise always seems to lie in the South Pacific, or somewhere beyond Cape Horn. My little shallow-drafter, however, has given me a different point o view. When I slip into the nether world of the creeks and hidden marshes, I find that peace and joy lie as close as a mile or two from my home mooring.
On a cruise in busy Trincomali Channel, among British Columbia's coastal islands, Galadriel passes the floating circus of popular Montague Harbor, to dry out in the serenity of a gravelly basin on tiny Hall Island. There she spends her night in a mini-cove only a boat length in radius. As I watch a quiet sunset and listen to ravens in the branches that overhang my deck, I am grateful to the cruising guidebooks that describe this island as a non-achorage.
In the busy lagoon at Sidney Island, boats cluster in dozens along the moorings int he deepwater channel. Yet the place offers a separate world, far removed from the outboard dinghies and the transistor radios. Many a summer evening has found my little sloop ghosting under sail or paddle over the mile-long expanse of marshy flats, to fetch up eventually on the mud behind a low island at the basin's southern end. At low water, when she sits on her keels upon the broad level plain on the drying salt marsh, Galadriel might as well be alone on the surface of the moon.
These are delightful havens, and yet ut has turned out that my special Bali Ha'i is a place that lies even closer to home. Only about three nautical miles from my berth in Oak Bay on Vancouver Island, the complex little archipelago of the Chatham and Discovery Islands stretch out in an intriguing blue chain along the horizon.
This group encloses a labyrinth of shallow passages and tiny gunkholes, some of which even minimal-draft twin-keelers can enter only at the top of high water. During the intervening hours, she sits in smug solitude behind a portcullis of drying sand across the mouth of the cove, happily trapped for the duration in a private world of her own.
A few years ago a friend of mine, on his return from a global circumnavigation, anchored for a night in one of the deeper inlets among those islands, and the experience overwhelmed him. "I can't believe this place", he said, "It's just what I've sailed around the world searching for!".
His home berth, like mine, lies just a couple of miles from this unpretentious, unchonicled paradise.

By Phil Teece.

Back to part I

Twin Keels Shoal Havens - part II

Part II of this reprint by Phil Teece.

Sometimes I suspect that I am a slow learner. During my earliest years of cruising aboard Galadriel I followed the big, deep keeled boats into what might be described the guidebook anchorages. There my diminutive sloop would lie to her fathoms of chain i a depth of water sufficient at all tides to float a Grand Banks schooner. My experience of cruising in those novice days was that good anchorages were always crowded.
Eventually, however, a revelation materialized. On my way to the big harbours I frequently looked through narrow, rocky portals that led into shallow basins where, as often as not there was a foot or two of water. And I looked at my boat. Galadriel is a British Caprice class sloop, designed for use in the tidal estuaries around the English coast, where it is a common place for a boat to spend part of every day aground. Why was I not using her as she was designed to be used?
When I looked at things in this light, I realized that there is literally no place too tiny or too shallow to be a secret haven for a little twin-keeler like Galadriel. Any hole in the wall that I could look into, I could probably sail, or paddle, into.
Thus unfolded my secret cruising world, the alternative universe where one never encounters anybody else. In our crowded era, such exclusive havens are a gift to sailors willing to cruise aboard very small craft.
Yet not every shallow-draft boat will serve as a magic carpet into these hidden realms. I see a lot of small craft nowadays, many of them twin-keeled or centerboard boats, that I would not want to risk in Galadriel's regular shelters. Not every boat whose draft is a mere few inches is really a practical shoalwater cruiser.
In fact thin-water capability is not really so much a matter of draft as of design and construction. When cruising among the drying creeks and rock crannies, a boat must not only lie aground, but also occasionally endure a bit of pounding at the return of the tide. Few modern production pocket cruisers are designed to knock about aground as a normal habit. Most small bilge-keeled sailboats today haul keels that are a part of the hull molding, with the ballast poured inside. Often I have watched such craft being towed into the boatyard in a sinking condition after contact with a rock. Where a keel is an extrusion of the hull itself, a hole in the keel can fill the entire boat.
So I have learned to appreciate the qualities of the Caprice's old fashioned construction. Around England's coasts, where boats traditionally lie on moorings in estuaries that dry out at every tide, small cruisers are routinely fashioned to disdain groundings. Galadriel's twin keels are not an integral part of her hull. Each is a heavily built wood laminate shod with a 300 pound ballast shoe of bare cast iron, the whole structure bolted together through strong floors within the hull. When she grounds on stones or hard sand, the massive iron castings that make the contact with absorb the shock without harm to the hull.
A boat of this sort, whose design and strength I can trust, has been the key to exploring the infrequented shallows.

Continue to part III.

Back to part I

Reprint: Twin Keels Shoal Havens

I received a letter from former Twin Keeler editor Craig Anderson with some paper copies of articles from the old days when T-K was a paper newsletter. As those issues now are out of print he proposed re-printing them online and I will gladly oblige. The first one is by Phil Teece from Canada who sailed his little twin keeler i British Columbia on the Pacific Coast.

All afternoon I had drifted slowly up Haro Strait in a gentle following breeze. I was not alone on this long, broad waterway, which separates the Canadian Vancouver Island from the American San Juans. The perfect weather of late summer had spawned a fleet of several dozen boats, all ghosting northward in the light airs. By sundown all of us would seek our night anchorage among the nearest of British Columbia's Gulf Islands.
As evening approached, the first of the islands began to cluster around us. I wondered if I might find, somewhere, a haven in which to drop my hook in solitude, for the convivality of a thronging cove has never appealed to me. When in a mere breath of stirring air, I inched past the entrance of Sidney Island's popular lagoon, I saw that most of the fleet of larger craft had already arrived. A crush of vessels all in close ranks along the lines of mooring buoys, lay surrounded by a swarm of outboard-powered dinghies that buzzed like flies about the anchorage. To say the place seemed uninviting would be a profound understatement.
Ahead lay Portland Island, marine park. Approaching it, I saw that its principal anchorage bristled with masts. I passed by, unwilling even in the gathering dusk to end so peaceful a day in a haven so sociable. Up along that island's rocky eastern shore, however, there is a sort of notch - a gap in the wall. Only a bit wider than my boat herself with about two feet of depth at high water over a rough gravel bottom, this was a place at which no yachtsman would even glance in passing. But Galadriel is an 18-foot microcruiser fitted with twin keels that draw only two feet. When the tide withdrew from that little cranny, my tiny twin-keeler would lie happily and safely aground on the firm, stony bottom.
I drifted into that place, anchoring when my little sloop's ironshod heels just touched ground. There, during a warm glowing night at the height of the summer cruising season, I was alone, enjoying a delicious deep silence. While all the larger craft lay pressed closely together in the popluar deepwater anchorages, I had found my way into an alternative world that could easily have been on a separate planet.

Continue to part II

Silhouette blog

Ed Hughes sent us an email promoting his blog about Misty, his Silhouette Mk3. He sails her in the Solent in the UK. The blog tells the story of how he acquired the boat, restored her and now sails her. It also contains a lot of pictures and video clips.
http://www.silhouette-misty.blogspot.com/

The Learning Curve

As a consultant I have become quite familiar with the learning curve. In fact, it’s what keeps me in business.

My clients hire me, not because I know everything about their business or their technology, but because I can pick it up faster than most people. When I start on a project, lots of decisions have already been made. Almost always, the software package has been selected. Often the implementation team has been assembled. Sometimes the project methodology has been selected. Once in a while the project has actually begun.

So I seldom get to run a project from scratch. In addition to learning about the business rationale and the budget, I generally have to learn what’s been done right, what’s been done wrong, what can be fixed, and what has to be thrown out. It’s exciting and challenging.

It helps that I’m both curious and analytic. Where is the data for this application coming from? Where is it going? What kinds of business was this application designed for? What has to be done to adapt it to this business? Who needs to be kept in the loop on the project? The answers to all these questions may be different from what I expect, or even what people on the project tell me, but the answers are essential. Lots to learn!

Well, it turns out that the same learning curve applies to buying a boat; more so a used boat, and even more so a boat bought on Ebay. But that’s just what I did, so I am now climbing up yet another curve.

This one began before I bought the boat, a Ranger 26. Actually, it began many years ago, as I was researching some interesting older brands, and noticed the rave reviews of boats designed by Gary Mull. That bit of data was stored in the back of my memory, ready to pop up when I saw this boat on Ebay in the middle of the summer.

Having looked at hundreds of boats on Ebay, and having bid on a few, I felt pretty confident of what I’d bought, especially at the price I paid. But there’s nothing like the first visit to what is now your boat to get your heart started.

This time, everything worked out. A cursory inspection revealed no obvious problems except a rather chalky gelcoat. There was even a ladder lying under the boat, so I climbed aboard. Here, too, the news was mostly good. The previous owner had obviously taken good care of her.

The Lexan hatchboards, massive compared to my Alacrity’s plywood one, revealed a real saloon, not the tiny cuddy in the Alacrity, although I still couldn’t stand erect in it. And a real head, instead of a Porta-Potty. I wanted to explore everything, but first I needed to launch her so the summer storage charges would stop accumulating.

That meant some exterior work, such as removing the old name (Moon Dance) and replacing it with Greyhound. One thing I learned right away is that lettering looks much bigger on the boat than it does in the catalog.

Another thing I learned was that a fin-keeler is much easier to bottom-paint than a twin keeler – no more crawling between the trailer and the hull, painting upside down over my head. With a quick coat of anti-fouling and some cursory polishing of the topsides, I was ready to get out of the boatyard and back to my marina.

Well, almost. First I had to rig her. The genoa had a luff tape designed for the Furlex furler, but I had never raised it before, so I spent a frustrating hour unjamming the tape when I wasn’t careful enough. But it was finally up and furled, and I brought Brian, an experienced sailor, to help me get her downriver to her new home.

A good thing, too. I planned our sail to coincide with the ebb tide, figuring that we’d need help in the typical Hudson summer zephyrs. Instead we pounded through 20-knot breezes right on the nose, with the bow wave washing over the foot of the jib until I had the good sense to reef it after an hour or so. Sometimes the learning curve is pretty steep. On the other hand, I discovered quite by accident that the Barient primaries were actually two-speeds. Sometimes there is no learning curve at all.

With Greyhound safely in her berth, I really began ascending the learning curve. I discovered a wasps’ nest in the lazarette vent when I was routing the fuel lines for the outboard. Oops! I couldn’t flush the toilet until I opened the valve that lets in the seawater. Hmm! I finally discovered the water tank under one of the settees by tracing the tubing from the sink, and filled it with the hose. Awright!

Gradually, Greyhound is becoming less of a stranger and more of a friend. She sails like a dream – I can stand in the companionway while she steers herself, with only a nudge or two on the tiller with my knee to keep her on course.

There is still a lot to learn, of course. Brian got the depth sounder working, but not the knot meter, while we were sailing down the river, but I haven’t been able to get any of the electricals to work. I still have to trace all the wiring and piping under the berths and settees – who knows what I’ll find there. And I bought a plow anchor, a rode and a roller, but I haven’t figured out how or where to mount them yet.

Right now, though, I really want to learn by sailing. I want to nurse Greyhound through light breezes and push her through stiff winds. I want to singlehand as well as take out a bunch of friends. I want to see how close she will go to the wind and I want to try out my whisker pole on a run. Needless to say, I think I’ll be on this particular learning curve for a long time.

Twin-Keeler heaven

Peter Anderson sent me these pictures from Beadnel in Northumberland, England. They show no less than 4 Alacrities and 3 Vivacities in the same anchorage. This is his comment:

Here are some pics of a few Alacrity and Vivacity yachts at Beadnel in Northumberland, England. I had heard that they were there but was still surprised to see so many in the one place. Perhaps an owner visits your Alacrity or TK sites and will be able to provide some info.




2 Alacrities in the front and two Vivs further out.


2 more Alacrities.

How to keep your gadgets under control

Chris Schoonmaker built this hinged panel för the electronic gadgets on his boat. Look for more pictures here.

2008 summer cruise

I am just back from a three and a half week's cruise in the archipelago. A cruise report with pictures is posted on the Alacrity site so I will only post the link here.
Cruise report

A trip to the Ionian - part 4 (of 4)

Next day with light winds we headed north back to base at Platerias. The last day is always a bit sad but we had the last supper to look forward to. This would probably be combined with the aforementioned presentation. Mark hadn’t seen this as our last flotilla had been the first week of a two week cruise so there was no last supper for us. We spent most of the day bobbing about in peace and quiet until we saw a large tanker dead ahead of us some miles away. It was difficult to see if he was moving or not and I spent a long time watching him before deciding that if he was moving at all it was very slowly. After another half an hour I could see that he was moving from the bow wave that certainly hadn’t been there before. He was heading straight at us and although a long way off I decided to start the motor and head towards the land leaving him the channel. Our course was ninety degrees to his at that point but he must have altered course because he kept pointing at us. It was a good half an hour before I was sure he would pass by and he eventually cleared us by about half a mile. Not scary but just shows how careful you have to be.
Eventually we rounded the headland and the wind picked up. We were just off a close beat heading east into the Platerias channel which is a good couple of miles wide. Mark found his confidence and helmed as the speed picked up, allowing himself to play with sail settings and headings to get a feel for sailing. He got the hang of it and we hit 8 knots on the GPS at one point. Finally it was time for the drill: SAFER: Sails down, Anchor ready, Fenders out, Engine on, Ropes ready. We called in on the vhf for the last time and followed directions into the harbour where we moored and cleaned the boat.
That evening we walked for miles to the last taverna along the beach, at least it felt like miles. Measuring it on Google Earth made it only three quarters of a mile so it shows you what sort of condition we must be in! Anyway, it was worth the walk. The food was very good and low cost too. The local cats helped us finish it off and then the presentations began. We were called first and we braced ourselves for the onslaught, but no, we got the perfect crew award, no incidents or misbehaviour at all! They obviously missed me catching the anchor line at Parga!
So a great time was had, at a very reasonable price, and I hope to go as soon as possible again. Sailing Holidays come highly recommended and I’d be happy to be contacted if anyone has questions.
Tony Bennett

A trip to the Ionian - part 3 (of 4)

Ligia turned out to be the sort of place you could end your days in. The taverna was almost within shouting distance of the moorings and the winding road past it took one up to the village itself about a mile away. There were a few shops, villas and a lovely church which we explored the next day. The evening before though, was spent at the taverna who soundly ticked off Jono for not warning of our arrival. They were very friendly and apologetic that the menu was limited but there was enough for us. They insisted on giving us small glasses of free Ouzo with every lager which I have since been told by a cynical friend, is in order to make you a little thirstier so you buy more drinks. I’m not so sure; I like to think they are just generous. On arrival though, the GPS proved its worth again. There was only one water tap working, quite a way from the moorings and the lead crew wanted to know if the brand new 50 metre hose they had just bought would reach the boats. So I set my filling cap position on the boat as a MOB waypoint and walked up to the tap with the handheld GPS. It read 66 metres to the waypoint so we were pretty sure it wasn’t worth unrolling the new hose!
Next day we set off after breakfast for the much larger port of Parga, about a two hour sail up the coast. Parga is in two parts for the flotilla sailor, the main town and the mooring area which is a mile or so to the west of the town on a sandy beach. The beach shelves very deeply so the trick is to drop the kedge anchor a few boat lengths out, then motor slowly in until the keel hits the almost vertical shelf wall. At this point there is about 6 feet of shallow water between the bows and the shoreline. The skipper takes your bow anchor and carries it onto the sand, digs a hole and buries it for you. A quick touch in reverse on the anchor winch followed by a good pull on the kedge ensures the boat is pulled up tight for the night.
It was not a good trip. We were OK but the swell, which was about eight feet in places, caused our boat to roll badly, slam off the top off the waves and take some big blue waves over the front. Again we had to put up with this for a couple of hours, still bruised from the first day, it made for an uncomfortable journey. Sophie, our hostess, had been sick again so she laid down lengthwise on the cockpit seat in the lead boat. One particularly nasty swell rolled the boat and she fell off the seat, hitting her head on the compass binnacle. She was clinically uninjured but had a bump and a bruise. This, however, only matched brother’s bruise, his he had collected when the top-loading fridge door had fallen down on him while he was searching for a beer. Most boats have a catch to hold the door but Kerkeria didn’t, as Mark found out.
As we arrived at Parga the heavens opened, we moored in something of a thunderstorm but fortunately the rain was warm. I goofed the mooring, the approach is between the sandy beach and a row of fishing boats moored opposite. I’m normally quite good with moorings but the storm blew me in a bit faster than expected, so I went past my turning point to the shore. As I reversed the prop walk kicked the stern neatly sideways and the rudder fouled a mooring line from one of the fishing boats. I spotted it about to happen and slammed the throttle into neutral to avoid getting a prop-wrap. We needed help so I called Jono in the dinghy who came over to help. Fortunately by this time the rudder pushed back onto the mooring line which tightened up, and as the boat slowed, pushed us forwards again, dropping neatly off the rudder as the tension came off. I breathed a sigh of relief and could have motored in from that point, but Jono simply pushed the bow round using his rubber dinghy as a dodgem car. We slid neatly into our mooring spot by which time the ever ready Jono was out of the dinghy, pulling our anchor with one arm while talking to another yacht with the other on the VHF. It is traditional for the crew to make a note of any goofs and “mention” them on the last night together with a little presentation. From that moment on, I was not looking forward to the last meal.
The mooring is a little isolated at Parga and there have been many reports of thefts from Yachts there over the years, the only place in the whole area that I have heard of any trouble. Mark and I took a cheap stick-on burglar alarm for the washboards so we could sleep in peace, safe in the knowledge that we would be woken if those boards were lifted out. At Parga there are only two ways to get from the moorings to the town. One is to walk along a track which is a good couple of miles and mostly unlit, or to take the water taxi. The taxi is a big old boat called Betty, and the service is run by a slightly grumpy Greek called Yannis who seems to get more grumpy every time I see him. I understand he got married a couple of years ago, despite his obvious advancing years, and it didn’t go too well. No wonder he is grumpy. For all that though, he’s a skilled helmsman, holding the big Betty ( he inherited her from his father who previously ran the service ) close to the stern of the moored yachts for his guests to climb over the prow and into the taxi. It takes about 15 minutes to cross the bay, past the large rocky outcrops and round to the town moorings. For this Yannis will charge you the princely sum of 2 Euros each way and I find it worth every penny. This time the big boat rolled a little alarmingly due to the steep seas which had not yet abated, the motion being different to that of the keelboats which we had become used to. Arriving safely though, we climbed ashore to the jetty and walked in convoy to Castellos, allegedly the best and most expensive restaurant in Parga. Castellos has a glass floor over the wine cellar some 12 feet below and, try as I might, I just couldn’t walk over it. Funnily enough though, thinking back, I must have walked over it on the way out after a few beers without even noticing. It was an excellent meal, not too expensive, and lovely surroundings. Mark and Sophie had recovered enough from their bruises to play their full part in reducing the contents of the wine cellar, so a good time was had by all. The trip back on Betty was magical, if a little damp. I managed to sit in the prow on some carpet which had collected a fair bit of the Med earlier in the evening. No matter, spare jeans were on the boat, I had, as usual, taken far too many clothes. The Pargians have seen fit to light up the whole of their city which includes a castle on the hill and the white churches which sit on the little rocky green islands just off shore. The view alone makes at least one trip to Parga a must do, although I normally try to avoid large towns like this. Yannis managed his trick of holding Betty just off the moored yachts, assisted by my small but powerful laser torch, and with his cries of “Quickly quickly, mind fingers, quickly, push push!” we moved rapidly from one yacht to the next. He had one more trip to do to pick up the 11.30 crowd before he could retire to his own bed so he was anxious to be moving on.
I was woken about 0100 hours by the sound of squeaky trainers walking around our deck and I fancied I could hear someone trying the deck hatches which of course were secured. In some places when rafted others do walk across your decks but here there is no reason to do so, unless it was the skipper checking the lines but again there seemed little need for this. I do think Parga has a resident thief but I saw no need to tackle him, he soon left when he got nowhere, and there were no reports of thefts next day, everyone had been warned both by me and the pilot book! Next morning brother pointed out how easy summer thievery could be – open hatch windows are right next to the tops of the shelves inside the cabins and it is on these shelves that one naturally puts wallets, cameras, mobile phones, passports and other valuables. It would have been the work of a moment to push an unsecured window open, put a hand inside and nip off with whatever you could grab. By the time the sleepy sailor had crawled from the berth, opened the washboards and started a chase, the thief would be long gone. Last year one of the flotilla got up early to find his wallet in the cockpit. He picked it up thinking he must have dropped it after too many beers the night before, but discovered cash and cards all missing. They had clearly thrown the wallet after removing the cash, either considerately or by luck, it fell in the cockpit. Several others had lost stuff that night too.
After the perils of Parga we had a pleasant day sailing up to Sivota. Well, it’s actually called the Sivota Islands, the port being officially called Mourtos after a huge battle left many dead there some years or centuries ago. The Greeks are not too keen on having a harbour called “Death” so it’s pretty much universally known as Sivota, which means “Safe Harbour”. There are a few Sivotas in Greece so it pays to ensure you head for the right one. This one left me fairly cold the first time I visited it two years ago, the harbour wall was scruffy, with a long walk round to the town which itself was largely closed and with a huge amount of building going on. One saving grace was that the supermarket was not only cheap but had a wonderful parrot called Coco, so I hoped I may see him again. The quayside was OK last time though, there were several tavernas along the front, all friendly with good food and reasonably priced so I hoped to make the most of a bad job. However, I was in for a very pleasant shock. The building works had been completed, the town had opened for business and we got a mooring right in front of my favourite taverna. The back street shops and restaurants, previously closed, were now thriving and open, on the south side flats and a marina had been completed with a pretty green and walkways by the quayside. A chandlers completed the picture, although I didn’t visit after hearing that you could buy shotguns and ammunition straight off the shelf there too. Scary.
Mark and I found a great little jewellers where we spent some time picking up presents for our wives, his daughters and my mother in law. Honest. I decided to let brother choose the restaurant for the night and he chose a “Meditteraneo” in the back streets on the grounds that it must be good because it was busy. He wasn’t deterred when I pointed out that MacDonald’s is usually busy too, but I wouldn’t want to eat there. It turned out that he was right though. The food was excellent and plentiful, in an Italian style. He had a huge Pizza while I had some spaghetti with prawns – my usual dish. We wandered back to the quayside and found some of our flotilla sitting by the quay, knocking back the lagers so of course we had to join them.
Tony Bennett

A trip to the Ionian - part 2 (of 4)

Next morning the weather was back to proper Med stuff. Heat, sun and a gentle breeze greeted us as we opened the hatchway to walk to Aggies for breakfast. Aggies taverna is at the far end of the harbour to the west side and is difficult to find, more or less having to pass through another taverna in order to get to it. It was clean, modern and well laid out with tidy tables and cloth napkins on the waterside decking. They did us a lovely breakfast, I had fresh bread with various jams and marmalades, some of the others had a full cooked breakfast. A short skipper’s briefing followed, that day we were to go to the lovely harbour of Mongonisi at the southern end of Paxos island, only about 10 miles away. With a good weather forecast we could mess about offshore for as long as we wished. Two years ago my wife and I saw dolphins off this coastline so hopes were high. We motored out of Lakka and set sail for the south, on a starboard tack as the wind was still southerly. This took us offshore by a few miles and we had to watch out for a large reef which is midway between Paxos and the port of Parga on the mainland. I like to give these obstructions a very wide berth as although the GPS is accurate to within a few feet, the charts may be up to a mile out in some places. We sailed under full main and Genoa, both are roller reefing with the main furling inside the mast, in a force three for a couple of hours until we had the tiny harbour of Longos on our starboard side at 90º. We could clearly see the tall chimney of the disused soap factory in Longos so tacked through to head slightly to the north of the chimney aiming for the north side of the harbour entrance. This we did because there is a visible reef right in the middle of the fairway centre approach to Longos, and I wanted to go in there for lunch. After another hour or so of very pleasant sailing we entered the north side of the harbour without seeing the reef. We anchored in 6 metres of water some 100 yards offshore near the soap factory. I used to think this disused building was an eyesore, but it has the most beautiful statue of a goddess over the arched entrance to the factory and over the years I have kind of got used to the place. Longos would not be the same to me now without its old factory. We let out about 20 metres of chain and I reversed to make sure the anchor was well in. I set the alarm on the GPS and took a careful transit on the harbour entrance light pole and the last window of the white building opposite. We were toying with the idea of going ashore in the dinghy for lunch so we wanted to make sure Kerkeira was secure. After 20 minutes she hadn’t moved and I was happy to go, which meant blowing up the dinghy. We were still suffering a bit from the day before and we finally decided to have olives, bread, cheese and beer aboard instead, enjoy the view then set off for an early mooring up at Mongonisi. About 20 minutes into the meal, I noticed the soap factory appeared a little smaller than it had been previously, and checking around it was obvious we were dragging our anchor! In fact the echo registered 20 metres at this point so I don’t suppose the anchor was even on the bottom. We quickly got it in ( the 331 and 361’s have electric winches ) and motored forwards to our original spot and re-dropped anchor. This time we let out a bit more chain and it held throughout the 90 minutes we stayed after that. We were so glad we hadn’t gone ashore in the dinghy because the boat would probably have piled up on the reef just off the harbour mouth. If we had noticed it drifting we wouldn’t have caught it in the dinghy, our only hope would have been a rapid hire of one of the many small day boats by the soap factory. Although not religious we sent a silent prayer of thanks and wondered how we could have made such a mistake. We were so shaken we had to open another beer!
Coming out of Longos we passed to the other side of the reef, going between it and some large rocks just off shore. This was where one of our flotilla two years ago had misunderstood the instruction to pass between the reef and the rocks, and had tried to pass between the rocks and the shore instead. He piled up aground and the flotilla rib had to rush out. They towed him off and snorkelled underneath, coming back up to report no damage. A lucky escape.
We had a pleasant and easy sail down the coast of Paxos to Mongonisi. This cute little place consists of a concrete jetty and a taverna at the end of the harbour. A sandy beach in front of the harbour completes the picture. Here, on a warm evening and if there are enough customers, the staff of the family run taverna will put on a display of Greek dancing. Tonight though, we had our beach party on the sand. Attendance is not obligatory, but if you want to go everyone chips in a fiver and Sophie the Hostie makes up a wicked punch and provides various nibbles for all to tuck in. Some flotilla beach parties have a theme, like Hawaiian, or Tarts and Vicars. Not easy when there are shops to access for props but the improvisation can be amazing. This time there was no theme and we all relaxed a bit more, watching people swim in the bay, especially the young ladies who decided to go topless. I declined a swim as it was here that I got stung by a jellyfish the year before, a truly shocking experience. One minute I was happily swimming towards the beach, the next it felt like someone had a laid an electrified red hot poker across my shoulder. The power of the tentacles was such that I was flipped over almost onto my back. I knew what it was straight away and carefully checked that all limbs were working before striking out for the beach again, expecting at any minute to receive another sting. I made it back without incident and we put some anti-histamine cream on the area. Although I don’t react badly to this sort of thing, I still had a red weal across my upper arm that took a few weeks to disappear completely. I warned the other yachts but they didn’t feel inclined to take much notice and several others were stung too. Jellyfish are unusual in this part of the Med though, and none were to be seen this year.
Later, much later, we had a meal at the taverna, but sadly there weren’t enough of us for the family to put on a show of Greek dancing this time. Skipper Jono gave the briefing that evening in order to allow an early departure for those of us who wanted to visit Emerald Bay on Anti-Paxos Island. Anti-Paxos is just south of Paxos and has no harbours with moorings. Overnight anchoring is not permitted in the bays for reasons of conservation and, I guess, a lack of shelter.

Next day we set off in perfect weather conditions at about 0800. We motored the short distance to Emerald Bay and anchored without incident in about 8 metres of crystal clear blue water. It’s not called Emerald Bay for nothing; the colour of the water is stunning. We had breakfast and brother was brave enough for a swim, the water was reported as cold so I declined. A taverna has now been built just beyond the beach, on both of the two bays, which to my mind completely spoils the wild nature of them. After a little while at anchor some of the rest of our flotilla joined us. We relaxed for a couple of hours and then set off for Ligia, a small harbour again with only one taverna, on the mainland. It was a trip of some 15 miles, all done on one tack and with no reefs to watch out for. However, Ligia has a curious entrance and a small harbour, so few yachts and even fewer flotillas visit. In fact, the flotilla skipper is supposed to ring ahead to let the taverna know they are coming in order that supplies may be bought in especially. The entrance is through some rocks to the south. The obvious passage is between the two larger rocks but this results in a grounding, the safe path is to the left of the left hand rock when a sharp left turn takes you into the harbour mouth. Going out was equally odd, turning right close to the harbour wall through the narrow passage between the wall and the left hand rock, which of course is now on your right. Just as we arrived a few hundred yards outside the harbour the GPS lost all satellite reception. I had never seen this happen at sea before. It lasted only a minute or so and then came back on before dropping out again twice more. There was no obvious cause, I looked beyond the harbour for radio masts and the like but there appeared to be nothing. It has to remain a mystery, it didn’t happen again for the rest of the trip.
Tony Bennett

New York Alacrity 19 Sold

Hi. My Alacrity 19, which I posted here for sale, has been sold to Dr. Neil Lipke, of Milan, New York. Neil has plenty of sailing experience in Sheepshead Bay, in Brooklyn. His email is NeilLipke@hotmail.com. Please welcome Neil to the Twin-Keeler family.

George Bollenbacher

A trip to the Ionian - part 1 (of 4)

Twin-Keeler sailor Tony Bennett sent us this article for the old PDF-issue. As he already did make the effort I thought it would be a pity to be wasted so I publish it here, although the sail itself did not take place onboard a twin-keeler.

The engines of the Monarch 757 roared as the reverse thrust slowed the plane landing at the short airstrip of Preveza on a sunny May morning earlier this year. My brother and I had arrived in Greece for our second sailing trip in the Ionian Sea with Sailing Holidays Ltd. This company is run by a bunch of crazy Kiwis led by one Barrie Nielson who is no relation to the company of the same name. Their mission in life is to ensure that one has the best time possible while on holiday with their company and some great sailing to boot. This they achieve with a combination of well maintained boats, friendly staff and value for money prices. We had booked a Beneteau 331 for two of us for a week for less than 1000 pounds all in, but fate intervened in our favour. A few days before we were due to leave the UK the company telephoned us and asked if we would mind taking a slightly larger yacht as they wanted ours for a less experienced couple who needed a smaller boat. Needless to say we didn’t mind! Our new boat was to be the Beneteau 361, some three feet longer than a 331 and a yacht I had always wanted to try as it had a much larger heads than the 331, and was said to sail better.
They do have some smaller boats, Jaguar 27’s, which were made in twin keeler format but all of Barrie’s are fin keels. The Jags are over 30 years old but allow the cheapest way of experiencing a sailing holiday in the Med. In spring and autumn a week can be had for two for £790 which includes flights, diesel, transfers and the services of the lead crew. There’s a damage waiver of about 50 quid and a fuel supplement of £35 each and that’s it.
We had an hour’s ride in a luxury coach to Platerias on the west coast of the Greek mainland where Sailing Holidays have their northern base. Platerias is a typical small Greek seaside village, not particularly pretty nor particularly busy, but benefits from a well sheltered and large harbour where our flotilla awaited its guests. The staff were on hand at the airport and again at the sailing base to help with luggage and to guide us to our boat. It is quite a long walk from the coach drop off point to the yachts and so the luggage was ferried round by a minivan. After a briefing on the yacht and its equipment, we walked back to the village for essential supplies such as Greek olives, cheese & beer. It is best only to drink bottled water which may be purchased frozen and helps keep the fridge cool when under sail. Once the boat was ready to go we were able to meet the flotilla crew and relax in a waterside taverna. The crew comprises a skipper, Jono, an engineer, Shannon, and a hostess, Sophie. It’s the skipper’s job to get you safely from place to place, the engineer’s job to look after the boats and the hostess’s job to point you in the direction of the best showers, cash machines and tavernas. Not that we needed a shower as the one on the boat was of such a reasonable size to save frequent visits to the shore facilities.
One of my favourite foods is Mediterranean prawns and so I tucked into a dish of these on the first night while Mark, my brother, had stuffed tomatoes; both dishes were washed down with substantial quantities of lager. Beers generally available are Heineken which is palatable, Amstel, which is bearable, and Mythos which tends to give me a headache. Needless to say after the travelling and the beer we both slept well that night. The next morning dawned bright and cheerful allowing us to get to know the other crews over breakfast. It turned out to be a small flotilla of only five boats; the more normal size is 10-12 yachts, so we quickly got to know each other. Skipper Jono’s plan was to take the yachts north up the west coast of Greece to a small port known for its fish dishes called Sayidiah, some 10 miles away. However a strong wind was forecast for that evening from the south of force six or more and it seemed safer to take the longer trip to Paxos Island 15 miles to the south west. Paxos is a small island with only four ports all of which are quite delightful, I was not disappointed to be going there. Brother Mark had not been to this part of the Ionian before and I was looking forward to showing him the best spots. The skipper asked us to motor across the open sea and to arrive no later than 4.00 in order to avoid the strong winds. We set off about 1030 under motor as instructed although we noticed one or two other yachts with sails, making the best of the stiff breeze that had already blown up. By midday the wind was already a good force six and the odd wave was breaking over the bows from the four foot swell that had already started to make the boat roll uncomfortably. It certainly didn’t look as if things were going to get any easier so we increased our speed to some 2 ½ thousand RPM allowing us to make around five knots. The Garmin GPS gave an estimated arrival time of about 4 to 5 o’clock so we expected a few hours of discomfort. An hour later the winds were stronger still and the seas had risen to some 6 to 8 feet at which point brother decided a lifejacket would be a good idea. I had the wheel to hang on to and felt that it would be more dangerous to try to struggle into a lifejacket at this point, although I was getting pretty wet. Although we could cope with things as they were, we were concerned that the wind and sea may build further before we could make the sheltered port of Lakka on the north Coast of Paxos. It had certainly got up before it had been forecast, but forecasts are notoriously unreliable in the Ionian! We had just about come to terms with this when the engine overheated. At this point we were approximately 4 miles from the south coast of Corfu which gave us plenty of sea room to work out a solution. We shut the engine down and brother got a beer out while I made a radio call to the lead boat to speak to Shannon the engineer. His advice was to run the engine at a maximum of 2000 RPM and then it shouldn’t overheat. Sure enough he was right. At this point to my surprise brother Mark suggested putting some sail, he is not normally too keen on sailing in heavy weather but I agreed it would steady the boat and so we put about half the Genoa out. With the motor and the Genoa together we made good speed to Lakka, arriving wet and bruised at about 5 pm. I must say, this was about the worst weather I have experienced in four trips to the North and South Ionian, despite a storm on my first visit, and it was quite unusual. The sea between Corfu and the mainland often has a fair bit of swell, but this was way beyond the norm. The southern Ionian experiences little swell and has shorter times between ports, but it’s less fun in my opinion! The boat coped very well though, despite the engine she never gave us cause for real concern, always giving the impression that she could cope better than we could. The boat was called Kerkiera which is the Greek name for the island of Corfu. Most of Barrie’s boats are named after something Greek; he has over 150 yachts now though, so he ran out of gods and goddesses fairly early on.
Lakka is a delightful and pretty small town with a harbour well sheltered especially from the southern winds as it opens to the north. It is full of tavernas, jewellery and souvenir shops, populated by friendly people who pretty much all speak reasonable English. A walk from the harbour takes one up the hill to a taverna with a view over the bay and provides a great photo opportunity. We were the first to arrive, the benefits of Genoa and motor together with the gps meant that we found the entrance more easily than some of the others who had been blown a bit off course. Our lead boat had yet to arrive having been delayed sorting out another engine failure. We were assisted into our berth by another Sailing Holidays flotilla skipper who had sensibly moored up earlier. It had not been a great day. Our hostess had been sick, and so had the wife of the skipper who got the smaller boat that we should have had originally. In addition she had been thrown off her feet by a violent wave, striking her nose on a guard rail causing it to bleed. Eventually everyone arrived safely, mooring in the traditional Med style of dropping a bow anchor some three boat lengths away from the quay, reversing in and putting two shorelines out from the stern. A plank completes the arrangement, allowing a gap between the boat and shore in case of ferry wash, and access to and from the boat.
I managed to find a bottle of Robola, a Cephallonian wine, which I had been itching to try for ages. I’m not a big wine drinker and don’t much care for white wine but this one is supposed to be exceptional. It didn’t disappoint. I broke a bit more ice by sharing it with the crews either side of us on the mooring and suitably refreshed, we all met up for dinner, consoled each other over vast quantities of beer and retired relatively early for some well needed rest.

My Adventure Begins

By Mark A. Tucci

First, I’ve had a few trips with a friend on his sailboat. Then I though I would like one for myself. I watched E-Bay for some time, until I found one that was of a price I could afford. After successfully wining the bid on an Alacrity 18’6” in November 2006, I had to take a trip to Maine, over 200 Miles one way. It was an easy run up there; the weather was quite warm for that time of year. The boat was at that time named “Under Foot”, it look to be in fair shape. But it needed lots of work to get back up to speed. The trailer was what looked like a serviceable item also, except the tires were weather cracked, but I hoped I could make it home with no problems (not to be).
We used some duct tape and wrote In Tow on the back of the boat, with no plates for the trailer we could think of nothing else to do.
The Trip back started out good. The tires were a little low on air. So we ventured around the area for a while, looking for a gas station to put air in the tires and get some gas. Not having much luck, we used a hand pump on the trailer tires to keep them up for now. In the process, my friend and copilot found a seafood market where he bought a couple of lobsters and several pounds of shrimp to take back home. Now we were set for a while.
Finally we found a service station to get gas and air for the tires. They were down even more than they were to start with. After filling up with gas and air, we decided to add a can of fix-a-flat to help stop the air leak.
Finally feeling set to get going safely, we headed home. On the Interstate we went flying along blissfully for several hours. All the sudden a tire blows on the trailer. Having pulled over to the side, we check to see how bad things are. Not very good: the tire was shredded, it was getting dark and no spare to put on. (OH GREAT!)
Now the fun begins, having traveled using a GPS system, I checked to see if there was a service station close by that would be able to repair the flat. No luck again, so I call 911 for help. They dispatched a state trooper to help, after 30 minutes of waiting the trooper finally shows up. He checked us out and said we needed a tow truck to remove us from the thruway, Great! an expense that I did not count on or need. Again we waited approximately another hour before the tow truck shows up, he loaded the boat and trailer on the flatbed truck. Away we went to the service station to fix us up.
After another 20 minutes run we get to the station, only to find it closed for the night. The tow truck driver was of great help by calling around to see if there was any place to fix the tire. No luck again, every place was closed for the night or weekend. He gave us a couple of places we could try in the morning. With location in hand we head to the place to check it out, they will open in the morning, good!
Next to find something to eat and drink, as it has been a very long day plus I need to call home and tell my wife that. First the towing service ($175) and now a tire, too. So just down the road we find an all night dinner and finally get something to eat. Then back to the truck to get some sleep for me, while my friend stays up and goes back and forth to the diner getting some ice for the lobster and shrimps that are starting to smell. After a somewhat rough night of all most sleep we go back to the tire store to buy a tire, decided to get two new tires just in case ($65 each).
With new tires we head back to the service station to change them out. That part didn’t take too long and we were on the road again. After a few more hours driveing, there was a noise in the truck wheel some where. We pulled over to try and find what the problem was now. The best we could find was a wheel bearing was going in the back wheel ( Again Fun!).
Now I had to take it easy or be in it deep. After a long nerves stressed and a little luck we made home (36 hours instead of 14 hours). I drop the boat at a friend’s home for the winter for I had no place to put it for the time. That ended the trip and the start of reworking the boat.

Alacrity 19 for sale in New York

If you read "Graduation," you know that I graduated to a Ranger 26, so my Alacrity 19 is now available in the New York metro area. You can read about the many enhancements I have made in my columns, most of which are in the pdf versions of the newsletter. Among the enhancements:

• New main and 150 Genoa in the last four years
• New Harken mainsheet traveler
• Schaefer jib furler
• Boomkicker to replace the topping lift
• Marelon winches with Winchers (to make them self-tailing)
  
• All controls routed to the cockpit

The boat comes with a Shoreline trailer, an Evinrude 6 hp motor, and a frame for supporting a tarp over the cockpit during winter storage.

Price: $1500

I will deliver within 100 miles of Tarrytown, NY

George Bollenbacher
gmbandco@hotmail.com
914-393-7327

Islander 23 request

I am busy trawling the internet in search of any information I can find relating to an "Islander 23" this being a 1970 Bilge Keel sloop rigged yacht. The reason being that myself and a colleague are in the process of purchasing one. It needs a lot of TLC but appears to be essentially sound. I have an idea to record the process of turning a forlorn looking scruffy boat into a fine sailing yacht and would be more than happy to submit this to "Twin Keeler" for publication. In the meantime I still only have a few images of one or two similar craft for sale and little else. She was built by Russell Marine and sadly I can find little about them either. Do you think you or one of your readers could help with my research.

Many thanks
David Maddison

Mystery boat question solved

You published a letter in the Autumn 2007 (Vol. 11, Issue 3) edition from Corey Haun about a mystery twin keel boat. This actually used to be my boat. She is indeed a slightly modified Caprice. The trunk cabin was made slightly taller and I made a number of improvements to the interior. I had been trying to relocate this boat for some time. I was very sad to see how she has deteriorated since I sold her. Would it be possible for you to give me Corey's email address as I have a number of photos of when she was in excellent condition and can throw much light on her early history?

Many thanks,
Mark Waters

Around Britain in a Mirror Offshore

British journalist Dylan Winter is currently sailing around Britain in a 19 foot Mirror offshore tripple-keeler. He documents it on video which he uploads on YouTube for all to see.
This is an ongoing project as he is working at the same time, sailing in his spare time and leaving the boat in different ports when back at work. There are currently 32 short episodes of the documentary, all very professionally done and definitely worth watching!

Alacrity and Vivacity differences

Are the Alacrity and Vivacity in fact the same boat? Steve Henkel sent us his reflections on boat size and diffent ways to measure these. His article has already been published on the Alacrity site, so please go there to read it.

Hurricane Preparations and the Small Boat Sailor

By Neil Persadsingh

”Yes” he said to the Prince, ”the storm will come there is nothing you or I can do about that. But we have control over what we can do before the storm comes”
Any one who has a small sailboat and lives in the hurricane belt must start to think seriously about the increasing frequency of these storms and their increasing strength.
It seems that every hurricane season we get more and stronger storms. I consider the hurricane belt to include all of the West Indies, Florida, the Gulf States, Texas, Alabama, Louisana, the Carolinas and recently we had tropical storm Gabrielle menacing Nautachez. Also we must include the ABC islands off the coast of Venezuela, Nicargua, Hondouras, Guatemala, Belize and Mexico.
If you live in any of these places you must start to plan carefully for the storms. Monitor the weather carefully. Usually, we can spot these storms coming of the West coast of Africa very early in their genesis. Keeping track of the storms it is really a wonderfull hobby. If you would like to get a map and some pins you can keep track of the storm daily. Monitor all weather forecasts and keep track of the storm by radio broadcast etc. Incidentally the sites weatherchannel.com and caribbwx.com will give you an instant weather forecast twenty four hours a day.
If you have the capability to listen on the shortwave bands or the ham bands you can usually hear what is happening to boats in the region of the storm and there is a Carribean weather net at 14.325 Mhz daily. Those of us who saw the devastation caused in New Orleans must remember the pictures carried on CNN of a big sail boat with its genoa being trashed in the storm Kathrina. So the first order of business is to get the genoa off the boat.
In Viva, my 20 ft Vivacity, we use a roller furler. The tack of the sail is removed from the drum and the jib halyard is freed. The sail is then pulled down out of the grove of the roller furler. The jib sheets are then removed and the sail is carefully folded and put into a sail bag and stored below in the small cabin. The jib sheets are taken home and put into a pail with fresh water and allowed to soak out the salt and grime which accumulates on them when in use.
The main sail’s cover is then removed and carefully folded and stored below. In Viva we have a fully battened main sail; this is removed from the boom and rolled up into a sausage which is carefully stowed in the cabin. The sails are the engine of a sailboat, so treat them well and they will give you years of enjoyment. In Viva we then take off the boom, and the main sheet. The lazy jacks are then detached and tied off at the foot of the mast. The boom with the attached main sheet and the cleat is then stored inside the boat.
The tiller is removed and the rudder as well, and these are inside the boat resting on the floor. The boat is then made water tight. All the openings and ;vents are sealed off with duct tape and any holes we see are sealed off as well. Use the duct tape liberally. In Viva we had two mushroom vents which were removed and two cowl vents were installed. The cowl vents are screwed off and the plate that attaches to the base where the ventiliator is screwed on is reattached and carefully taped over with duct tape. A rool of duct tape is cheap compared to the cost of the price of the boat. In Viva we have installed in the cockpit a compass and a depth gauge. These are covered with their own coverings made of sunbella. These coverings are carefully removed.
The boat is now moved into a lagoon which borders the yacht club This lagoon is almost surrounded with mangroves and here the boat is carefully tied down. We usually put down an anchor with twenty feet of chain and fifty feet of rope any way. The boat is tied off to the trunks of the mangrove shrubs by four lengths of nylon line. Two forward and two astern and as an insurance policy a specially long line is attached to the samson post. These ines must all be of Nylon, because they will have to stretch. Because the boat is in a lagoon which is almost surrounded by mangroves, I believe that there is very little storm surge during the storm. Also the A rawak indians who lived here before the coming of Columbus would shield their seagoing canoes in these mangroves when the storm came and there are designated hurricane refuge spots eg Rosey Hole, which can be used by bigger boats during the hurricane.
I believe that these refuges in the mangroves must have been used from the time of the Spanish conquest of Jamaica. Following the passing of the hurricane we have to get the boat back in shape. Be warned however that the leaves will stain the fiberglass and a lot of leaves will be on the boat in the cockpit and on the deck.
The product Rolloff will remoove the stains from the leaves use it with lots of water Rolloff is sold by West Marine. The boat is then taken back to its berth and the genoa is reattached The boom is then reattached to the mast and the main sheet is then reattached to the horse with a shackle through the jam cleat.
At this junction the mast is carefully examined. Use binoculars and carefully examine the hounds where the stays and the shrouds are attached to the mast. Carefully rig the lazy jacks back in their place. Examine all the running rigging carefully. Put back on the rudder and reattach the tiller. Put back on the covers for the compass and for the depth gauge. Take off all the duct tape which you had previously put on and reinstall the cowl ventiliators.
Clean up the boat and give her a good hosing down and you are all ready to go to sea.
A sailboat is much safer in the water during a hurricane than on a trailer on land. It is easy for a boat to be blown off its trailer, during the last storm we had a J 22 was blown off the trailer damaging its keel and its hull. We also have been having some thoughts about the posssibility of the boat being holed and sinking. I think that in the next hurricane threat I will fill up some garbage bags with empth plastic bottles and just put them in the cabin they will be trapped in there and will give sufficent boyancy tio the boat, that if she is holed she will not sink.
PS: Neil, with callsign 6Y5NP can be reached on 14.283 every morning or at 14.287 in the evenings. He writes: ”Incidentally if we have any hams on board we are planning a marine ham event with two sailboats at some time in the future and we hope that you will try and work our station wherever in the world you are.”

Graduation

If you read “Sizewise” in the last issue, you may be able to figure out where this column is headed. But stick around – it’s worth the ride!

My grammar school, in semi-rural Illinois, was a very small affair. All eight grades shared four classrooms, and my eighth grade class had all of thirteen members. For what it’s worth, I was the class valedictorian, but it wasn’t worth much.

My high school was a typically suburban institution, but big, with an enrollment of 4,000 and a lot of smart, motivated kids. In one summer I went from the big fish in a very small pond to one of the nameless, faceless fish in the big school. Graduation became accommodation overnight.

Needless to say, I did accommodate, and duly graduated, but no longer at the head of my class. I learned a lot, and matured some, but not as much as some other kids. I did manage to meet my future wife, Betsy, in high school, but she wouldn’t go out with me – she dated the cool guys and I was something of a dweeb.

My parents thought I wasn’t quite ready for college, so they convinced me (“ordered me” sounds too demeaning) to go into the army first, then to college. Once again I was thrown into the water without a life jacket. I thought I was tough, but my drill sergeants were tougher, so I learned and accommodated some more. KP, night marches, and Saturday inspections were just the ticket for a suburban kid who read Sartre and wrote poetry.

In fact the army prepared me very well for my chosen college, a Big Ten university where the undergraduate enrollment was 25,000, and the graduate enrollment was 10,000. You could get a great education there, if you were determined and persistent, but nobody handed you anything. By this time I had toughened up, and was certain enough of what I wanted to do to take advantage of the opportunities, and during my senior year I applied to several grad schools.

I was accepted to a couple, much to my surprise, and chose the London School of Economics, in consul-tation with Betsy, who was by then my fiancée. Off we went to London, without much money but with lots of enthusiasm. It as a very urban school in a very big, sophisticated city, and we loved it.

So, graduations have been for me passages from a familiar place to a bigger, more challenging world. In every case there has been lots of anticipation, a little fear, and more learning than I ever expected.

Well, it’s happened in sailing. You may remember from “Sizewise” that I had been bidding, albeit timidly, on some bigger boats on Ebay. In June I saw a Ranger 26, a boat whose history I know a little about, up for auction in a boatyard in Verplanck, just up the Hudson from Tarrytown, which made it perfect.

I put in a ridiculously low bid, and promptly forgot about it. Later, when I was in Chicago on business, in the car to O’Hare Airport, my Blackberry went off, with the message, “Congratulations…” The old joke is that mixed emotions are watching your mother-in-law drive off the cliff in your new car. Actually, mixed emotions are buying a sailboat on Ebay. I could hear myself saying, “Oh, cool!” and “Oh, darn!” several times over the next few minutes.

The pictures of the boat looked very promising, but my state of mind all depended on a first-hand examination. When I was able to get to the yard, she was all I had hoped for, and more. The hull was in very good shape for a boat more than 30 years old, the standing rigging must have been replaced within the last ten years, and the jib furler looked brand new. The new Greyhound was a keeper. “Oh, cool!”

So I pulled the sails out of the cabin and sent the genoa off for some minor repairs. I painted the bottom and waxed the topsides. I put her new name on her. I poked around below decks and above, and finally she was ready to launch. The boatyard picked the new Greyhound up in a giant forklift and deposited her in the water, with me in the cockpit. I motored to a transient berth and set about rigging her.

The next day, a Sunday, I planned to sail her down from Verplanck to Tarrytown. I was worried that we might have a typical windless sultry summer day, but I should have known better. The winds were 20 knots, right in our face. Fortunately, I had an experienced sailor as a crew, but we had a bit of a wild ride down the Hudson. The Ranger is a LOT more boat than the Alacrity. I’ll definitely think twice before singlehanding this baby.

Now I’m embarked on all the fix-ups and upgrades of a new boat. The Alacrity is up for sale, with some people poking around. So I’m no longer a twin-keeler, but I still plan to write this column. We can’t let an extra keel come between us, can we? I’ve only graduated - I haven’t left the family.

George Bollenbacher

Posted July 18, 2008