SEAMANSHIP
Alone
Out There By Linda Amstutz 'm not scared. Really. I am not scared. It's just this sort of helpless feeling, 25 miles offshore, alone in a boat, watching the sun sink slowly in the west. A tiny frisson of panic that I keep pushed down below the surface of my consciousness. It is beautiful-e-don't get me wrong. Sunsets are some of nature's most visually exquisite creations, but while it isn't dark yet, I know it's going to be. And it
I
26
Prelparations for
a slnqlehander's overnight passage BLUE WATER SAILING路
Januarv
zun
Experience will fill in the gaps, because the scary things we didn't anticipate really stand out in our memory
is going to stay dark for l2 hours at this time of year. I have checked and rechecked the weather and I should have no problem there. I have the route logged into my handy-dandy chartplotter and I can see where I am going on the paper chart, but the sun is going down. Singlehanding is my way of sailing. I sail alone in part because my sweet spouse doesn't like living on a boat, and in part because I enjoy being alone. I am living my dream and if I needed to depend on someone else to go along ...well, I wouldn't sail much. Singlehanding requires being out in front of yourself." Anticipating which problems might loom off in the distance and preparing for as many possible exigencies as can be imagined. I'd like to suggest some things wannabe singlehanders might want to include in their arsenal of mental tools. Experience will fill in the gaps, because the scary things we didn't anticipate really stand out in our memory. Things like the time I came into a marina feeling very well-prepared after talking at length with the friendly dockmaster on the VHF. With a starboard bow line, two starboard spring lines amidships and a starboard stern line all dutifully attached, I arrived only to find that the helpful dockmaster was sort of dyslexic-he had really meant 1 should have my lines on the port U
www.bwsailing.com
side. Now, I have at least six lines: port and starboard, bow, amidships and stern. I still ask, but no matter what they tell me, I'm ready! Surprises are harder for a singlehander to find entertaining. FROM DAY TO NIGHT The sun is going down. The sea has turned from dark blue to iridescent silver grey, reflecting some of the neon oranges and magentas of this extraordinary sunset. Of course I am already wearing my PFD. I have planned the journey according to my limitation-I don't do more than 30 hours in one passage, as after that I begin to make funky decisions. Each sailor has to decide for him/herself what hisfher limit is by trial and error, and I know that mine is 30 hours. That translates to 160 to 180 miles in my boat, depending on the wind and sea conditions. I have tied my paper chart to the table in the main saloon with bun gee cords, under which I secure a pencil and the parallel rules to mark my position. I have dug out of their respective hiding places such essentials as a r.ooo.coo-candlepower
searchlight; the handheld (backup) GPS, with fresh batteries installed; my elastic-banded headlight, which has both a red and white LED setting; and my tiny electronic kitchen timer. My reading glasses have been swapped for the sunglasses I've worn all day. The navigation lights are on (and the steaming light if the engine is running), and I've checked to see that they are working. The jacklines, of course, were already lining the port and starboard sides of the deck, shining bright yellow in the gloaming. Now I attach tethers on each side of the deck (clip ends hanging into the cockpit, ready to attach to me) and there is one for the helm to use most of the time tonight. I have multiple tethers, and I use them all, but one is enough as long as you scrupulously wear it all the time after dark. You might love your boat with all your heart, but she will not turn around if you fall off so stay fastened on. Unsnap only after you are inside the cabin. Supper was over while it was still 27
SEAMANSHIP
There is an . amazing number of variously purposed unlit buoys that are clearly represented on the paper chart and chartplotter's electronic screen. I am not fond of the idea of encountering one of these characters in the daytime, much less ramming one in the dark 1-
daytime, as it is easier than trying to eat and clean up in the dark. I have gathered the "fuel" I will need in the wee hours. For me, that means iced tea (or hot, depending on the weather), dark chocolate, granola bars, baby carrots and a sandwich. Choose your own tasty tidbits; including some caffeine (chocolate, coffee, tea) is a good idea. A bit of a "sugar high" (hated in toddlers) helps too. Grab a couple more layers of clothing. Without the sun, even a warm night can get chillier than you might think. I change the chartplotter from day to night coloration. Once it gets really dark, the "daylight" setting can be blinding. Even the muted reddish "nighttime" setting needs to be covered most of the time to maintain best night vision. And, of course, I have warmed up the radar that will be my "eyes" for the next 12 black, inky, unlit hours. Did I mention it was getting dark? GHOSTLY FLOATERS When you cross the Gulf Stream, look for the "big ships" to be riding the center (apex) of the Stream if they are going north and to be using the countercurrents on either side if they are traveling south (fuel savings and speed being the issues here). Watch as you pass deepwater ports for east- or westbound ships entering 28
or leaving. Many fishing vessels use fewer lights than regulations would lead you to expect, so keep a sharp watch at least 360 degrees every 20 minutes. On a coastal passage, there is an amazing number of variously purposed unlit buoys (fish havens, weather buoys, even some channel markers), which are clearly represented on the paper chart and chartplotter's electronic screen. I am not fond of the idea of encountering one of these characters in the daytime, much less ramming one in the dark. So, I mark them with waypoints if they are along my route and then DON'T go to those waypoints. In nine years of sailing offshore, I have come within a mile or so of these ghostly floaters, but I have never been close enough to tiee one even with my spotlight. I like this record.
MAKING WORK Having too much to do never seems to be a problem on an overnight offshore passage, so I "make work." I set the kitchen timer for 20 minutes and when it rings, I look around. ALL around. 360 degrees. Next, I write my course and position in my log, noting the sea state, wind direction, velocity, boat speed, speed over the ground, significant changes in temperature, the set of the sails if I have adjusted them since the last entry, and any other observations since my last notation. Then I go below, unfastening the tether only after my feet are on the cabin sole, turn on the red headlamp, and mark my position in pencil on the paper chart on the saloon table. All this activity accomplishes several things. LIt keeps me awake and active. 2. It gives me an exact
BLUE WATER SAILING •
January 2011
idea of where I am every 20 minutes. 3. I can see trends in the seas and the weather that I might not have seen if I were simply watching. Did the wind velocity build half a knot each entry for the last four entries? Hmm ...l wonder what exactly that is predicting? [ust where was that ship on the horizon when I first saw it? How long ago was that? Am I in some adverse (or positive) current? And, of course, are the floorboards in the main saloon afloat? The time seems to go by faster with all the activity. If I am busy adjusting sails or dodging unlit buoys and I miss one entry, the worst thing that will happen is having a recorded position and relevant information from 39 minutes ago. Much better than telling the Coast Guard, "Well, I left Fort Pierce about noon and have been going southeast for about nine hours ..."
www.bwsailinq.corn
ON BOARD ENTERTAINMENT Much to my delight, I have found that I can read a book with my red LED headlamp, and I do enjoy a good novel on an overnight passage. Eventually, the zo-minute interruptions get on my nerves, though, and logging is more important than the book, so I'll put it down for a while. If music is your passion, gather your listening material before it gets dark. Rousing is better than relaxing, as staying awake is essential. A "big ship" doing 18 knots on a reciprocal of your course can close in on you in a remarkably short 20 minutes from the moment you see him on the horizon, so don't sleep. JUST WHERE YOU SHOULD BE For me, the best part of an overnight passage alone is the night sky. On a clear, moonless night, the stars appear to surround you as they fill
the sky and reflect in the inky water. You and your boat float like a balloon in an endless universe of black with silver specks. Bioluminescence billows out in your wake. The magic of the night replaces any thoughts you might have had of being scared. You are just where you should be. And the dawn becomes welcome like never before. ::::: Linda Amstutz has been sailing for 30 years, first on Chippewa Lake in a 17foot Thistle. She raced on Lake Erie with friends for 15 years, then bought the first MoDachaidh (Tartan 33), trading it for a new Island Packet 380 two years later. After a year on Lake Erie, her boat yearned for the ocean, so she took her through the Erie Canal to the Atlantic and now sails from the Chesapeake Bay to the Bahamas with intrepid boat-cat Paddy for crew. Me' likes the ocean.
29