Landlubbers, and those without the disease of boat passion obsession often tell the story, "the two best days in a boater's life are the day they buy a boat, and the day they sell it."
This is far from truth among those of us truly infected.
For boat lovers, one of the best days is clearly LAUNCH. There is so much involved in launching a boat, and we have all experienced that grand "ugghh" when we first see our beloved boat on the hard after a season of rain and snow. For a moment it is near impossible to imagine it looking good again, as it once was. This year, Tres Joli was stored near the marsh and somehow bushels of willow leaves and tree detritus managed to finagle their way under the winter cover. There was even enough of the stuff on hand for a robin to build a nest in the bowsprit. (Lamentably, when Will and I moved the nest to a tree nearby, we returned the next day to find the eggs had fallen to an early ending.)
But I can tell I am boating obsessed when each scrubbing, cleaning and maintenance-repair exercise feels good. Things I can't be bothered to do on land at home (snake out plumbing, crawl into tight spots and figure out leaks and problems) give me a real sense of accomplishment on board like few other feats. This year, it felt so good to drink a beer with Will after our five day workout polishing the hull.
When my nephew Ty joined us this weekend for launch, we started the weekend optimistically thinking we would launch and soon be on our merry cruising way. Not so. The mechanics that winterized the boat missed a few things. Securing the main halyard after they untethered the lazy jack was one missed item-- so a nice long trip to the top of the mast to retrieve it gave Will and Ty a master exercise in manliness. I don't know who was more impressive: Will blithely shimmying up 50 feet into the air in the bosun's chair, or Ty raising him to those heights one winch grind at a time.
Belowdecks, the yard missed a few things as well. The oil was changed, but the engine cap was dropped into the bilge and left for lost. Thankfully, that left me with an opportunity to retrieve it myself by simply cleaning out the near quart of oil and diesel in the bilge first. Getting all that sludge and the diapers that soaked it up over to a used fuel repository at the marina without dripping it on the salon cushions was a terrific accomplishment, one I hope not to best in future years.
Tres Joli starts to spring back to life as it makes its way to the hoist. I still remember Phase One on the hoist prior to launch. Wood boats dry out during the winter, and my dad's Chris Craft had a mahogany hull. They kept it on the slings until the wood swelled up and the boat was waterproof again. Tres Joli stayed on the hoist just long enough for the yard hands to move it around to the maintenance dock. Seems they forgot to charge the batteries as well, so we plugged in and got the old girl re-charged. There is no better nautical sound in the world then when that grand lady sings-- in my case, she has a lot of vocal range. She's a devoted 55 HP Perkins, and that first song of the season is magnificent, smoke and all as she comes roaring back to life after her seasonal hibernation.
After getting to our well, the real fun began. Will and Ty decided to prove their seaworthiness by setting both the jib and main themselves without my assistance. I'm not pointing out that they put the jib on backwards the first time to make fun of them, but rather to suggest that at a young age, they've already learned how men figure things out. They jump in and just start doing, and read the directions afterward. What I loved about watching Will and Ty was their general sense of fun and enthusiasm for putting Tres Joli back together. As soon as they succeeded with the sail cover, main and jib, they called Dan, and that made me smile. It was as if the feat in itself wasn't complete without sharing it with their missing crew mate. Dan's school and work obligations prevented him from being here, and he was missed, right along with the Treanor crew, and the Ancient Polish Mariner himself.
Throughout the weekend, in the back of my mind, I kept feeling guilty that our plans for a weekend cruise seemed overambitious upon reflection. There were so many launch details that required our attention before we could safely go anywhere with Tres Joli. So our plans to cruise the Erie islands and Put-in-Bay remain for another weekend. Hope always springs eternal on launch day.
Last up, before we took our first spin out of the marina, we cleaned her topsides. Will and Ty really put their best effort into this, and the hull and topsides are now bristol thanks to them. Appreciative and mindful of their invaluable assistance, and feats of manly strength throughout the launch, I'm going to conclude that they legitimately had mechanical issues wrestling with the nozzle and hose, and that's really the reason why we ended the deck washing with me pretty soaked, and them only marginally so.
As for the joy of launch, Tres Joli never looks better or treats us finer than on that first day. The major cleaning and provisioning completed, the possibilities of the season begin to unfold. As she leaves the marina with Ty unfurling the jib for the first sail of the season, she leans into the water, and picks up her pace as we douse the diesel, and take flight under her wings.
If there is no better day on the water than launch day, then it follows that there is no better beer and pizza than that first night moored safely back in the slip. A growler of beer, some great pizza and coke, and a few more friends on hand for the first day of the season served to complete the launch.
Making his sailing debut this year was my friend David's 7.5 year old Jeremy. It didn't take long to determine that Jeremy is going to be a successful new conscript. As Ty took the helm, Jeremy and I had our first lesson in nautical terminology. When he explained to me that my keel was actually made of iron and the rest of the boat was fiberglass, I pretty much determined, he is on his way to a good healthy boat obsession of his own.
As the rain started to come down gently, almost perfectly harmonized with sunset, we enjoyed our meal in the well covered cockpit. As I looked around, I added the seam tears in the canvas to the punch list as we ate our pizza, and realized my complaints with the yard crew were diminishing. The yard manager stopped by when we went to pick up pizza and fixed the water tank leak, and the hot water is working again. We don't have to do dishes in the laundry room on shore again!
It's always the little things, isn't it?
Now the question is, how do we keep track of all the little things throughout the season, so Tres Joli remains bristol and in top working order? It was easier when the Ancient Polish Mariner was around. He'd look around almost as soon as he boarded Tres Joli, and started castigating me for lapses of order, as his questions flew. When was the last time you changed the oil on that diesel? Cleaned out the Racor? When are you ever gonna fix that clip on the galley cupboard-- do you know, it's still broken from the last time I was onboard?
Without his diligence, I fear we need more conscripts if we are going to keep up with all the inevitable maintenance and repairs. That's a conversation for another day. Today all is perfect. We are in, and launched!
We delight in those we meet along the way
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Getting Started... Wax on, Wax off
I have considered a nautical blog for some time, and with the start of the 2011 Tres Joli season of sailing, I imagine there is no better time than the present. Plus it gives me a chance to brag on my son Will. My stepmother Susan recently said it best when she claimed, "your dad was cheated out of knowing Will as an adult. It happened so fast, and before our very eyes..."
A visible sign of this came upon his return from his sophomore year at Grand Valley State. Accompanied by a letter a few days later announcing his inclusion on the Dean's List, he blew me away with another declaration.
I want to help you wax Tres Joli. He was volunteering for duty.
In a Karate-kid like fashion, we approached that most ancient of wax-on-wax-off rituals, and a mere three days later, we have the hull sides of Tres Joli looking bristol. No small feat with 38 feet of waterline. Tonight Will was telling me that his friend Max wanted to join us. This made me suspicious. He came clean.
"I think what Max and I both realized is that waxing a boat might be the closest thing to doing something manly we can hope to do with our dads. We're both nerds, our dads are non-athletic nerds. Waxing a boat gives a chance to hang out in the man-ring."
There you have it, the most basic of motivations. To be a man, alongside our dads. The original Polish Mariner would be proud. He might recall for Will's benefit that first summer when Phase One was launched on the Clinton River in 1966 after three years of his painstaking restoration work. He might be inclined to share a few stories about my role handing him tools as he wired the trim tabs, built a depth sounder from a Heathkit in our garage, and refinished a mahogany Chris Craft until it was picture perfect.
Father and son. Basic boat building, boat restoring work. It doesn't get much better. Seriously.
A visible sign of this came upon his return from his sophomore year at Grand Valley State. Accompanied by a letter a few days later announcing his inclusion on the Dean's List, he blew me away with another declaration.
I want to help you wax Tres Joli. He was volunteering for duty.
In a Karate-kid like fashion, we approached that most ancient of wax-on-wax-off rituals, and a mere three days later, we have the hull sides of Tres Joli looking bristol. No small feat with 38 feet of waterline. Tonight Will was telling me that his friend Max wanted to join us. This made me suspicious. He came clean.
"I think what Max and I both realized is that waxing a boat might be the closest thing to doing something manly we can hope to do with our dads. We're both nerds, our dads are non-athletic nerds. Waxing a boat gives a chance to hang out in the man-ring."
There you have it, the most basic of motivations. To be a man, alongside our dads. The original Polish Mariner would be proud. He might recall for Will's benefit that first summer when Phase One was launched on the Clinton River in 1966 after three years of his painstaking restoration work. He might be inclined to share a few stories about my role handing him tools as he wired the trim tabs, built a depth sounder from a Heathkit in our garage, and refinished a mahogany Chris Craft until it was picture perfect.
Father and son. Basic boat building, boat restoring work. It doesn't get much better. Seriously.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Weather Helm
I asked a friend and supposedly experienced sailor once what weather helm was. I was expecting him to explain the physics of how a boat is designed to compensate for its course against the force of wind. Instead he said, "Isn't that where the crew takes precautions on account of the weather?"
The worst weather I ever encountered on the water was in the Walloon Lake Regatta a decade or so ago. The wind died, and then the skies opened and water poured down in buckets. I wasn't worried about myself so much, but I did have some concerns for my friend Carroll who had asked to participate in the race with us. He was 84 at the time, and I imagined myself calling his daughter afterwards and trying to explain how it was that I took a perfectly health octagenarian and gave him pneumonia. The time without wind continued for what seemed an eternity, when finally I brought the silence and looked at Carroll and said, "this might be the moment in time when we begin to cannibalize the crew."
Carroll looked at me without blinking and said, "well in that case, pass me the ketchup and mustard."
Words turn out to be as important as weather on a sailboat, and it's not just to differentiate captain and crew as elitists against the neophytes and unitiated. Using specific terms ensures that when something has to be done quickly, someone on deck isn't translating "take that whatchamacallit and tighten that rope over there."
Ty, Colin and crew are hoping for better weather as this week winds down. Launch date is scheduled for Friday. We expect the sailing gods will be smiling on us and giving us 10 knots of light breeze, and balmy sunny 60 degree weather. Too much to ask for?
How could it be? We are sailors after all. Hope springs eternal. But just in case, I'll make sure we have plenty of ketchup and mustard on board.
The worst weather I ever encountered on the water was in the Walloon Lake Regatta a decade or so ago. The wind died, and then the skies opened and water poured down in buckets. I wasn't worried about myself so much, but I did have some concerns for my friend Carroll who had asked to participate in the race with us. He was 84 at the time, and I imagined myself calling his daughter afterwards and trying to explain how it was that I took a perfectly health octagenarian and gave him pneumonia. The time without wind continued for what seemed an eternity, when finally I brought the silence and looked at Carroll and said, "this might be the moment in time when we begin to cannibalize the crew."
Carroll looked at me without blinking and said, "well in that case, pass me the ketchup and mustard."
Words turn out to be as important as weather on a sailboat, and it's not just to differentiate captain and crew as elitists against the neophytes and unitiated. Using specific terms ensures that when something has to be done quickly, someone on deck isn't translating "take that whatchamacallit and tighten that rope over there."
Ty, Colin and crew are hoping for better weather as this week winds down. Launch date is scheduled for Friday. We expect the sailing gods will be smiling on us and giving us 10 knots of light breeze, and balmy sunny 60 degree weather. Too much to ask for?
How could it be? We are sailors after all. Hope springs eternal. But just in case, I'll make sure we have plenty of ketchup and mustard on board.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Lessons of Power: gMoney and the Ancient Polish Mariner
The ancient Polish Mariner spent 3 years when I was a kid in the garage at our house on Detroit's east side restoring an old Chris Craft runabout he and my mom decided to name "Phase One." Much of that time was spent rebuilding a "Straight Eight" marine inboard to power the boat, and he was hellbent on moving fast. When the boat was launched in 1966 on the Clinton river, I remember that Saturday as if it were yesterday.
Sunny, light breeze, and my dad wearing his captain's hat getting my 3 siblings and mom and me all settled into the cockpit before we began an ambling cruise up the Clinton River. People waved to us as we moved gracefully up the river, and when we stopped to top off the gas tanks at Zinner's boat dock, a few of the marina hands marveled at the glistening mahogany decks. Shortly after, as we got to the mouth of Lake St. Clair, he punched the throttle, and we were off. The bow took a deep dive, we all high tailed it under the bow for cover, and started screaming as buckets of water poured in "turn back... we're sinking!" Undeterred, we kept on going until what seemed like an eternity later we came into the Black river and docked at Metropolitan Beach and went ashore for ice cream. My siblings and I never really believed we would ever see shore again.
As a diehard adult sailor now, it would be easy to suggest that my first experience with power boating scarred me for life. But that would be far from the truth. Quite the contrary, it cemented for me a love of boats and the water.
It wasn't until years later when I was completely broke, two weeks after college graduation, that my dad called me from Montgomery Ward's where he worked. It seemed Wards was getting out of the boat business and they had a small sailing Sea Snark in the warehouse they wanted to get rid of. "How much would they take for it?" I had exactly $200 to my name.
My dad returned from a discussion with his inventory manager, "he says you bring in $50 and it's yours."
My first boat had one sail, and no jib for any upwind moves, and a newly fashioned rudder and tiller with some help from a tool and die guy. I loved taking that boat out on Kent Lake in the evenings, and tacking on the water just as the sun fell so that I had enough wind to make it to the dock. I have been sailing obsessed ever since.
Until of course I get in the cockpit of a power boat. Last summer, we barged out one last time with the Treanors on Lake Charlevoix before we packed up our dock gear and left for Lake Erie. As I sat in the cockpit of "In Transit II" and ate the remainder of Don's" peanut M&M's I sat back and said to myself, "I could see myself doing this." I had told Don many times before, if I had his money for gas, I'd burn mine. That's when I started calling him gMoney, and he starting calling me Sloop Dogg.
Earlier in the day, gMoney had taken us on a kidney busting mad dash across the lake which gave no consideration whatsoever to crew comfort. It was all about going super fast and cutting the water at hair raising speeds, the wind in gMoney's face like a terrier in a car on the highway, the rest of us pressed to the sides of the boat hanging on.
Giving up sails and Tres Joli for a boat that would simply ensure mad dashes around the lake? For sure. Every year we sit around in the Yacht club and jest with gMoney and the other power boaters. They go on and on about how long it takes us to get anywhere, and how we get stuck in bad weather with nowhere to go but below for hours on end. We go on and on about how much gas they burn, and count off the seconds as if they were gallons and at $4 plus realize the cost of their crimes of speed.
But the truth is, barged together, Tres Joli and In Transit II made for a perfect marriage. We had the best of both boating worlds. gMoney always had his cockpit flush with drinks and refreshments. We always had something to cook on the grill. No one ever left hungry.
We start this first season at Toledo Beach without the bellicose sounds of gMoney and Max (also known as "G2") early morning on the Dock at Northwest. We miss the sweet siren voice of Michelle asking us if she can pick up anything at Glenn's. Every morning on Lake Charlevoix the boys awoke to the sounds of the Ancient Polish Mariner on speaker phone. I would get him on my blackberry as the sun was rising and roust the boys to a chorus of the Ancient Polish Mariner singing "Oh Say can you See ... Any bed bugs on Tres Joli."
Sailing won't be the same for us, without gMoney skirting ahead of us. We will miss the arguments about which boat to take out in the afternoon, Tres Joli or In Transit II. And of course, leaving the dock without a chorus of "The Star Spangled Banner" live with the Ancient Mariner is just not the same.
But imagine the alternative. A life without such glorious choices. So we will have to plan more to see the Treanors on the lake, and they will have to give up a weekend or two in Michigan's northern heaven to slum it with us downriver. But that won't be so bad.
As I look back, it's all because of the Ancient Mariner's first lesson in boat love back in that garage on the East side. I guess I understand why he named that first Chris Craft "Phase One."
Sunny, light breeze, and my dad wearing his captain's hat getting my 3 siblings and mom and me all settled into the cockpit before we began an ambling cruise up the Clinton River. People waved to us as we moved gracefully up the river, and when we stopped to top off the gas tanks at Zinner's boat dock, a few of the marina hands marveled at the glistening mahogany decks. Shortly after, as we got to the mouth of Lake St. Clair, he punched the throttle, and we were off. The bow took a deep dive, we all high tailed it under the bow for cover, and started screaming as buckets of water poured in "turn back... we're sinking!" Undeterred, we kept on going until what seemed like an eternity later we came into the Black river and docked at Metropolitan Beach and went ashore for ice cream. My siblings and I never really believed we would ever see shore again.
As a diehard adult sailor now, it would be easy to suggest that my first experience with power boating scarred me for life. But that would be far from the truth. Quite the contrary, it cemented for me a love of boats and the water.
It wasn't until years later when I was completely broke, two weeks after college graduation, that my dad called me from Montgomery Ward's where he worked. It seemed Wards was getting out of the boat business and they had a small sailing Sea Snark in the warehouse they wanted to get rid of. "How much would they take for it?" I had exactly $200 to my name.
My dad returned from a discussion with his inventory manager, "he says you bring in $50 and it's yours."
My first boat had one sail, and no jib for any upwind moves, and a newly fashioned rudder and tiller with some help from a tool and die guy. I loved taking that boat out on Kent Lake in the evenings, and tacking on the water just as the sun fell so that I had enough wind to make it to the dock. I have been sailing obsessed ever since.
Until of course I get in the cockpit of a power boat. Last summer, we barged out one last time with the Treanors on Lake Charlevoix before we packed up our dock gear and left for Lake Erie. As I sat in the cockpit of "In Transit II" and ate the remainder of Don's" peanut M&M's I sat back and said to myself, "I could see myself doing this." I had told Don many times before, if I had his money for gas, I'd burn mine. That's when I started calling him gMoney, and he starting calling me Sloop Dogg.
Earlier in the day, gMoney had taken us on a kidney busting mad dash across the lake which gave no consideration whatsoever to crew comfort. It was all about going super fast and cutting the water at hair raising speeds, the wind in gMoney's face like a terrier in a car on the highway, the rest of us pressed to the sides of the boat hanging on.
Giving up sails and Tres Joli for a boat that would simply ensure mad dashes around the lake? For sure. Every year we sit around in the Yacht club and jest with gMoney and the other power boaters. They go on and on about how long it takes us to get anywhere, and how we get stuck in bad weather with nowhere to go but below for hours on end. We go on and on about how much gas they burn, and count off the seconds as if they were gallons and at $4 plus realize the cost of their crimes of speed.
But the truth is, barged together, Tres Joli and In Transit II made for a perfect marriage. We had the best of both boating worlds. gMoney always had his cockpit flush with drinks and refreshments. We always had something to cook on the grill. No one ever left hungry.
We start this first season at Toledo Beach without the bellicose sounds of gMoney and Max (also known as "G2") early morning on the Dock at Northwest. We miss the sweet siren voice of Michelle asking us if she can pick up anything at Glenn's. Every morning on Lake Charlevoix the boys awoke to the sounds of the Ancient Polish Mariner on speaker phone. I would get him on my blackberry as the sun was rising and roust the boys to a chorus of the Ancient Polish Mariner singing "Oh Say can you See ... Any bed bugs on Tres Joli."
Sailing won't be the same for us, without gMoney skirting ahead of us. We will miss the arguments about which boat to take out in the afternoon, Tres Joli or In Transit II. And of course, leaving the dock without a chorus of "The Star Spangled Banner" live with the Ancient Mariner is just not the same.
But imagine the alternative. A life without such glorious choices. So we will have to plan more to see the Treanors on the lake, and they will have to give up a weekend or two in Michigan's northern heaven to slum it with us downriver. But that won't be so bad.
As I look back, it's all because of the Ancient Mariner's first lesson in boat love back in that garage on the East side. I guess I understand why he named that first Chris Craft "Phase One."
Friday, May 13, 2011
A Guy Thing?
Sailing as an exclusively guy thing? Not hardly. But there are definitely lots of guy rituals when it comes to sailing. The whole I don't have to use the head below for the most part thing, the whole I don't have to shave if women are not around thing, the whole We can stay up late and watch Seinfeld re-runs and smoke cigars thing just to name a few.
Let's face it, some of this is inevitable. Guys are usually the ones on hand to do most of the heavy lifting when it comes to launch and lift at end of season. Quick test, raise your hand if you think it would be fun to hang out at the marina and work on boats, help the marina guys bleed the diesels and scour the bilges, set the dock lines, and hang out and watch them take Tres Joli off the sling, and manage her into her slip? Okay, show of hands, how many of you think that's beyond boring? Keep your hands raised if you are female? See my point?
Not that there's anything wrong with this. It's an occasional outlet for us to engage in important (okay sometimes neanderthal not best seen in public) male bonding behaviors. But what is really a blast for me is watching our boys get into the act. I still remember my first season on Phase One in the Clinton River, hanging out with my dad talking to the marina guys while we docked up for gas at Zinner's, and later tied off at Metropolitan Beach. Same as when Will and Dan first sailed solo on Butterflies across Lake Walloon during the Regatta, or one of the first times I took my nephew Ty aboard Tres Joli a few years back. Ty sat with me for hours asking questions about navigation, and how to steer and tack. I let him bring Tres Joli into the marina, and didn't take helm until we were almost in the slip, much to the nervous consternation of Kay and Wendy. Ty did fine (of course), and even more important, he now seems to be taking to the sport, and I have a theory about this. Sailing gave us something to talk about as guys during the teen years, same as Phase One did for me and the Ancient (Original) Polish Mariner over 40 years ago.
Last season, Ty went off on a Great Lakes Tour aboard a Tall Ship headed to Lake Superior. Had the time of his life, learned a ton, and become a convert to the sailing cause. I haven't scared him off, even after buying him new sailing gloves and learning a week later that they had been recalled because of a resin coating that made people's fingers blister and bleed.
I am pleased to announce that Ty is leading our launch crew-- Will, Dan, and hopefully Max Berry, Nick, Jeremy and David this week at Toledo Beach and will be instrumental in making sure we get Tres Joli properly provisioned and underway for the season. Then Ty is charting a course for our first weekend cruise of the season. It just doesn't get any better, especially if you add Dan and Will into the mix, and the possibility of including the motor boat loving Treanor crew!
My obsession with boats at a young age never crested, and I can still spend hours looking at new boats to buy, others to restore, and still others to cruise as if they were all real and distinct possibilities.
As a sport, we are not attracting enough new converts to sailing. Whether it's cruising, daysailing or racing in club matches or regattas, sailing is still seen by too many as an elitist pursuit. The America's Cup and some of the more expensive JBoat undertakings contribute to the view that it's a sport best left to people who have time and too much money on their hands. Well, I don't have enough of either, but that couldn't be further from the truth. And every time I am on my knees cleaning the bilge I wonder how sailing ever got this elitist rap in the first place. Who considers mopping up environmentally unfriendly sludge the domain of the privileged class?
I still can't get enough of sailing, and strangely all the chores associated with it. My friend Greg Thompson told me when I stopped leasing and bought my own boat I would take it all more seriously, and enjoy it more thoroughly. He couldn't have been more right. So I have concluded we need to start the recruiting young, and we may need to watch some of the guy stuff onboard, especially if it contributes to fewer female converts. Lord knows, first crew mate Kay is even enjoying the boat now that we have put a bunch of things in place to ensure her improved enjoyment. Here are the top 10 things that have contributed to Kay's enjoyment on board Tres Joli:
1. Eliminated screaming at her from 30 feet away when attempting to navigate the dock under high wind conditions with limited visibility, or when we have too much sail out as the wind picks up. (A set of $25 walkie-talkies works wonders.)
2. Provisioned the boat to limit the amount of shlepping each time we head out.
3. Took on all onerous responsibilities without her involvement. This includes but is not limited to cleaning out the head, loading and unloading provisions, and heading up in the bosun's chair to adjust the spreader 30 feet above the hull.
4. Asking her to listen to her iPod below deck during docking and when getting underway.
5. Heading back to shore at the first sign of inclement weather.
6. Staying on shore at the first sign of inclement weather and not venturing out in the first place.
7. Limiting heel to 5 degrees when under way at all times, reducing sail before I really want to and engaging the mighty diesel whenever it feels like we should be closer to shore.
8. Giving her a private space in the v-Berth for all her stuff. Including unlimited space for shoes.
9. Buying a boat with a windlass so she never had to do what my mom did, which was to jump into the water in order to force the anchor loose in the soft clay while my dad maintained position and avoided going aground.
AND
10. Making sure the boat was long on the hard before the season's first snow (something else the Ancient Polish Mariner neglected to do on more than one occasion). The Ancient Polish Mariner taught me a lot. I also figured out a few important things on my own without him!
SEE PICTURE OF PHASE ONE. TELL ME IF IT LOOKS LIKE ITS SNOWING ON BOARD.
Let's face it, some of this is inevitable. Guys are usually the ones on hand to do most of the heavy lifting when it comes to launch and lift at end of season. Quick test, raise your hand if you think it would be fun to hang out at the marina and work on boats, help the marina guys bleed the diesels and scour the bilges, set the dock lines, and hang out and watch them take Tres Joli off the sling, and manage her into her slip? Okay, show of hands, how many of you think that's beyond boring? Keep your hands raised if you are female? See my point?
Not that there's anything wrong with this. It's an occasional outlet for us to engage in important (okay sometimes neanderthal not best seen in public) male bonding behaviors. But what is really a blast for me is watching our boys get into the act. I still remember my first season on Phase One in the Clinton River, hanging out with my dad talking to the marina guys while we docked up for gas at Zinner's, and later tied off at Metropolitan Beach. Same as when Will and Dan first sailed solo on Butterflies across Lake Walloon during the Regatta, or one of the first times I took my nephew Ty aboard Tres Joli a few years back. Ty sat with me for hours asking questions about navigation, and how to steer and tack. I let him bring Tres Joli into the marina, and didn't take helm until we were almost in the slip, much to the nervous consternation of Kay and Wendy. Ty did fine (of course), and even more important, he now seems to be taking to the sport, and I have a theory about this. Sailing gave us something to talk about as guys during the teen years, same as Phase One did for me and the Ancient (Original) Polish Mariner over 40 years ago.
Last season, Ty went off on a Great Lakes Tour aboard a Tall Ship headed to Lake Superior. Had the time of his life, learned a ton, and become a convert to the sailing cause. I haven't scared him off, even after buying him new sailing gloves and learning a week later that they had been recalled because of a resin coating that made people's fingers blister and bleed.
I am pleased to announce that Ty is leading our launch crew-- Will, Dan, and hopefully Max Berry, Nick, Jeremy and David this week at Toledo Beach and will be instrumental in making sure we get Tres Joli properly provisioned and underway for the season. Then Ty is charting a course for our first weekend cruise of the season. It just doesn't get any better, especially if you add Dan and Will into the mix, and the possibility of including the motor boat loving Treanor crew!
My obsession with boats at a young age never crested, and I can still spend hours looking at new boats to buy, others to restore, and still others to cruise as if they were all real and distinct possibilities.
As a sport, we are not attracting enough new converts to sailing. Whether it's cruising, daysailing or racing in club matches or regattas, sailing is still seen by too many as an elitist pursuit. The America's Cup and some of the more expensive JBoat undertakings contribute to the view that it's a sport best left to people who have time and too much money on their hands. Well, I don't have enough of either, but that couldn't be further from the truth. And every time I am on my knees cleaning the bilge I wonder how sailing ever got this elitist rap in the first place. Who considers mopping up environmentally unfriendly sludge the domain of the privileged class?
I still can't get enough of sailing, and strangely all the chores associated with it. My friend Greg Thompson told me when I stopped leasing and bought my own boat I would take it all more seriously, and enjoy it more thoroughly. He couldn't have been more right. So I have concluded we need to start the recruiting young, and we may need to watch some of the guy stuff onboard, especially if it contributes to fewer female converts. Lord knows, first crew mate Kay is even enjoying the boat now that we have put a bunch of things in place to ensure her improved enjoyment. Here are the top 10 things that have contributed to Kay's enjoyment on board Tres Joli:
1. Eliminated screaming at her from 30 feet away when attempting to navigate the dock under high wind conditions with limited visibility, or when we have too much sail out as the wind picks up. (A set of $25 walkie-talkies works wonders.)
2. Provisioned the boat to limit the amount of shlepping each time we head out.
3. Took on all onerous responsibilities without her involvement. This includes but is not limited to cleaning out the head, loading and unloading provisions, and heading up in the bosun's chair to adjust the spreader 30 feet above the hull.
4. Asking her to listen to her iPod below deck during docking and when getting underway.
5. Heading back to shore at the first sign of inclement weather.
6. Staying on shore at the first sign of inclement weather and not venturing out in the first place.
7. Limiting heel to 5 degrees when under way at all times, reducing sail before I really want to and engaging the mighty diesel whenever it feels like we should be closer to shore.
8. Giving her a private space in the v-Berth for all her stuff. Including unlimited space for shoes.
9. Buying a boat with a windlass so she never had to do what my mom did, which was to jump into the water in order to force the anchor loose in the soft clay while my dad maintained position and avoided going aground.
AND
10. Making sure the boat was long on the hard before the season's first snow (something else the Ancient Polish Mariner neglected to do on more than one occasion). The Ancient Polish Mariner taught me a lot. I also figured out a few important things on my own without him!
SEE PICTURE OF PHASE ONE. TELL ME IF IT LOOKS LIKE ITS SNOWING ON BOARD.
Getting Started... Wax on, Wax off
I have considered a nautical blog for some time, and with the start of the 2011 Tres Joli sailing season, I imagine there is no better time than the present. Plus it gives me a chance to brag on my son Will. My stepmother Susan recently said it best when she claimed, "your dad was cheated out of knowing Will as an adult. It happened so fast, and before our very eyes..." Indeed.
A visible sign of this came upon his return from college, his sophomore year at Grand Valley. Accompanied by a letter a few days later announcing his inclusion on the Dean's List, he blew me away with still another declaration.
"Dad, I want to help you wax Tres Joli." He was actually volunteering for boat cleaning duty?
So we got to it, and in Karate-kid like fashion, we approached that most ancient of wax-on-wax-off rituals. A mere three days later, we have the hull sides of Tres Joli looking bristol. No small feat with 38 feet of waterline. Tonight Will was telling me that his friend Max wanted to join us. This made me suspicious. Then Will fessed up and came clean.
"I think what Max and I both realized is that waxing a boat might be the closest thing to doing something manly we can hope to do with our dads. We're both nerds, and both our dads are non-athletic nerds. Waxing a boat gives a chance to hang out in the man-ring."
There you have it, the most basic of motivations. To be a man, alongside our dads. The original Polish Mariner would be proud. He might recall for Will's benefit that first summer when he launched Phase One on the Clinton River in 1966 after three years of painstaking restoration work. He might share a few stories about my role handing him tools as he wired the trim tabs, built a depth sounder from a Heathkit in our garage, and refinished a mahogany Chris Craft until it was picture perfect.
Father and son. Basic boat building, cleaning, restoration. The work of father and son just doesn't get much better. Seriously.
A visible sign of this came upon his return from college, his sophomore year at Grand Valley. Accompanied by a letter a few days later announcing his inclusion on the Dean's List, he blew me away with still another declaration.
"Dad, I want to help you wax Tres Joli." He was actually volunteering for boat cleaning duty?
So we got to it, and in Karate-kid like fashion, we approached that most ancient of wax-on-wax-off rituals. A mere three days later, we have the hull sides of Tres Joli looking bristol. No small feat with 38 feet of waterline. Tonight Will was telling me that his friend Max wanted to join us. This made me suspicious. Then Will fessed up and came clean.
"I think what Max and I both realized is that waxing a boat might be the closest thing to doing something manly we can hope to do with our dads. We're both nerds, and both our dads are non-athletic nerds. Waxing a boat gives a chance to hang out in the man-ring."
There you have it, the most basic of motivations. To be a man, alongside our dads. The original Polish Mariner would be proud. He might recall for Will's benefit that first summer when he launched Phase One on the Clinton River in 1966 after three years of painstaking restoration work. He might share a few stories about my role handing him tools as he wired the trim tabs, built a depth sounder from a Heathkit in our garage, and refinished a mahogany Chris Craft until it was picture perfect.
Father and son. Basic boat building, cleaning, restoration. The work of father and son just doesn't get much better. Seriously.
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