Smoke without the mirrors

06.48 in at, Boat Plans, boats, how, hurt, mirrors, never, sea, small, smoke, survive, the, will, without, words, you

IF IT LOOKED like you had drowned in Massachusetts in the 18th century, someone was certain to come along and blow smoke up your ass. That was the published instruction, although more politely expressed. The official version was that victims of drowning were to be revived by blowing tobacco smoke up the victim’s rectum while bathing the victim’s chest with hot rum.

You may well wonder how the smoke inflation was accomplished. I can only tell you that it wasn’t done cheek-to-cheek. Special machines were built for this purpose. I have never seen a picture of one, so I can’t tell you what they looked like, or how they worked. All I know is that it wasn’t an original New England practice. The idea apparently came from The Netherlands.

Dutch people were always falling into the canals and drowning, apparently, so, in 1767, they founded the Amsterdam Society for the Rescue of Drowning Persons. These poor souls were to be taken into a house where their airways could be inspected. Their wet clothes would be removed and they would be warmed up by being rubbed with woolen clothes, after which “tobacco smoke fumigation” was administered per rectum.

More was to come. Moderate bleeding could be performed from the arm or neck, and if signs of swallowing were observed (not earlier) some hard liquor could be poured into the mouth. Spirits of ammonia could be held under the nose.

If all this brought no  results, the society advised that the victim should be laid in a warm bed accompanied by a naked person to provide natural heat. 

In 1787, The Institution of the Humane Society of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was founded, and the Dutch smoke-blowing trick was adopted in the New World.

Because boaters are more likely than ordinary landlubbers to come across drowning people, it might pay them to invest in a pack of cigarettes and a reliable lighter. (I’m not sure that nicotine vaping would do the trick.) But I leave it to you to figure out how to transfer the smoke from your mouth to the victim’s wotsit. It might need some thinking about.

Today’s Thought

The great secret of doctors, known only to their wives but still hidden from the public, is that most things get better by themselves; most things, in fact, are better in the morning.

— Dr. Lewis Thomas, President, Memorial Sloan-Kettering Institute for Cancer Research, NY Times, 4 Jul 76

Tailpiece

A game park in Texas has reported an extraordinary cross between a lion and a parrot. A park spokesman admitted yesterday that they’re not quite sure yet what they’ve got, but when it talks everybody sure sits up and listens.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

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Earning luck at sea

21.33 in a, at, Boat Plans, earning, for, heater, iced, loss, luck, sea, that, the, up, words

EVERY NOW AND THEN we hear of a bad storm at sea that affects a fleet of small yachts. Sometimes, they’re racing, sometimes they’re cruising, but all too often some are lost, while others survive. There are always a slew of reasons why this happens, of course, but I always fall back on my Black Box Theory for an explanation.
I’m not going to repeat the theory in toto here because I hate boring people, and many of you know it well enough already anyway, but for the benefit of the new sailors who keep coming along, here is a summary to excite your interest:
I always imagine that every boat has a secret black box that collects the Brownie points you earn for every seamanlike action you take. Every time you check the oil level on the engine, no matter how awkward it is to reach the dipstick, you get a point. Every time you buy a real paper chart of an area you want to explore, you get a point. Every time you get up in the middle of the night and go on deck in the rain to check your anchor bearing, you get a point. For that matter, you also get a point for even having an anchor bearing to begin with. You get points (quite a few actually) simply for imagining what would happen on deck and down below if your boat were turned turtle by a large wave, and doing something about it. And so forth, ad infinitum.
As I’ve said before, good sailors don’t live in the moment. They anticipate what’s ahead.
Now, it can happen to any boat, no matter how well found and well handled, that a time will come when human skill and effort can do no more to rescue it from a perilous position. But if you have points in the black box you can spend them to ensure that your boat will survive. Actually, you don’t have to withdraw the points. They expend themselves automatically as necessary.
Other boats battling the same circumstances as you, but lacking points in their black boxes, are less likely to survive. Those who don’t understand the mysteries of small boats sailing on big waters will say you were just lucky. And, depending on how you define luck, or good fortune, they may be right. What they don’t know is that you earned your luck.
When Virgil said fortune favors the bold, he wasn’t thinking about the sea. On the contrary, good fortune on small sailboats favors the cautious, the organized, and those with enough imagination to wonder what the hell can go wrong next. Because it will.
Today’s Thought
Shallow men believe in luck . . . Strong men believe in cause and effect.
— Emerson, Conduct of Life: Worship
Tailpiece
A playboy is a man who summers in Maine, winters in Florida, and springs at blondes.

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Tricky question from lame brain

03.44 in barnacle, Boat Plans, brain, from, hurt, lame, never, problem, question, suicidal, the, tricky, will, words, you

MY BRAIN HAD A QUESTION for me in the middle of the night: How does a rudder rud?

“We know how a writer writes and how a singer sings,” it said, “but how does a rudder rud?”

My brain thinks it’s quite funny on the quiet but in fact its sense of humor is quite warped. Nevertheless, as I had the rest of the disturbed night to think about it, I did start considering the question.

I seem to remember learning that it’s not the rudder alone that steers a sailboat. It’s all very vague now, but apparently the rudder just starts the boat turning, and the hull, now being at an oblique angle to the boat’s forward progress, is forced off to one side or the other. So I’m not exactly sure how the rudder ruds, except that it’s a hydrofoil that generates lift in either direction, according to how you turn it.

Nevertheless, it’s the action of the rudder that you feel when you’re slicing along to windward on a lovely day in a calm sea and all is wonderful around you. A couple of fingers on the tiller is all that’s need to keep your little beauty running straight and true — until a sudden gust of wind comes along, and you find yourself tugging the tiller up under your chin. It’s the dreaded weather helm, of course. Even on boats where the sail plan is nicely balanced with the keel plan, weather helm will show its ugly face, and it’s not hard to see why.

If you take a model yacht, place it in water (your bath will do), and use a finger behind the mast to push it forward, the boat will tend to go straight as long as the mast is upright. But if you heel the yacht over and push in the same place in the same direction with the same finger, you’ll find that your finger, the source of forward power, is now out to the side of the boat. You’re creating an off-balance push from one side of the boat. Naturally, the boat will try to turn toward the opposite side. You will have to counteract that tendency to round up into the wind by turning the rudder.

Now the rudder is a very effective brake. On sailboats it needs to be a large hydrofoil because it moves through the water comparatively slowly. Various designs of rudder make brakes of greater or lesser efficiency, but they all slow the boat down, some considerably, when they are turned. That is why it pays to reef the sails when the boat is heeling too much. The mast, being more upright now, creates less weather helm for the rudder to deal with.

This is all very simplistic, of course, suitable for a lower-class brain to absorb. It’s presuming that the driving force is transmitted at one point through the mast, which is convenient but not true. You can tell that because of how the mainsheet pulls when you’re on the run. There are forces on the shrouds and stays, too, all driving the boat forward.

It’s also presuming that the rudder is working upright in optimum conditions in calm water, which is not always the case. We all know that a rudder is less effective the more the boat heels, and hardly works at all in the foaming water left by a wave breaking under the stern. So it’s all really highly complicated and, I regret to say, too esoteric for a brain like mine.

Today’s Thought

He who will not be ruled by the rudder, must be ruled by the rock.

— Isaac D’Israeli, Curiosities of Literature

Tailpiece

Words of wisdom from Scotland:

“A weel-bred dog gaes oot when he sees them preparing tae kick him oot.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

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Words will never hurt you

18.00 in and, be, Boat Plans, clermont, done, duty, first, ho, hurt, never, of, the, to, voyage, will, words, yo, you

IT STRUCK ME RECENTLY that we sometimes go too far with this business of political correctness. I mean, this business of shouting at the crew. It has somehow become politically incorrect to shout at one’s crewmembers, no matter how imbecilic their actions, no matter how little attention they pay to their duties. No matter, in other words, how much they deserve it.

Surely it is not incorrect to flay their skins with words, rather than the cat-o’-nine-tails that would have been used in the old days? Surely there is too much whining from the lower decks about the cruelty of skippers and mates? Have they forgotten about sticks and stones? Have they forgotten that words can never hurt you?

The author Mark Twain, who worked on river boats, knew a thing or two about cursing the crew when they deserved it. Here’s what he had to say about it:

“If the landsman should wish the gang-plank moved a foot farther forward, he would probably say: ‘James, or William, one of you push that plank forward, please.’ But put the mate in his place and he would roar out:

“Here now, start that gang-plank for’ard! Lively, now! What’re you about? Snatch it! Snatch it! There! There! Aft again!  Don’t you hear me? Dash it to dash! Are you going to sleepover it? Vast heaving! Vast heaving, I tell you! Going to heave it clear astern? WHERE are you going with that barrel! For’ard with it ’fore I make you swallow it, you dash-dash-dash-dashed split between a tired mud-turtle and a crippled hearse-horse!”

Of course, Mr. Twain wasn’t able to print the real language the mate used instead of dashes. Mates and skippers usually have much on their minds. They bear grave responsibilities for the safety of the ship and the people on board. A little shouting in the right place at the right time helps them to relax and concentrate on their duties.

I think it’s important for crew to understand this, and not to take verbal reprimands too personally. This is especially important in the case of a male skipper who might on the odd occasion, the very odd occasion, direct a harsh word or two at his wife or girl friend in the heat of the moment. He is not being politically incorrect. He’s just mad at you for doing something specially dumb. I mean, even dumber than usual. But don’t worry. This, too, shall pass.

Today’s Thought

In certain trying circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer.

— Mark Twain, Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar

Tailpiece

“Do you plead guilty to shooting your wife with a bow and arrow?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t want to wake the kids, Your Honor.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

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A rumor to disregard

10.29 in a, afloat, at, bliss, Boat Plans, disregard, for, loss, path, rumor, the, to, words

I DON’T KNOW who starts these things, but the rumor about sailing under jib only has been pretty persistent over the years. The rumor, of course, is that sailing under jib only will cause dismasting.

I have no idea why sailing under a jib only should cause dismasting. Like many others, I have sailed hundreds of deepsea miles under jib only.

One of the lovely things about the lone jib is that the center of effort is so far forward that a windvane, which normally struggles on a dead downwind course, is much better able to function properly. You can huddle down below in a gale, for example, nice and warm and dry, with your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee and rum, while your boat flies downwind like she’s on rails.

The only problem with this rig is that if your course is deeper than a reach, your boat will roll from gunwale to gunwale. But all dead downwind work is pretty rolly, anyway, unless you know how to fly twin jibs in a deep V forward, so they act like a cone and resist sideways movement.

Some sloops and cutters will reach wonderfully and even beat under jib only, making good progress to windward. But on the run you need to pole the jib out, of course, and there’s a clever way to do that. I learned it from the Pardeys. The trick is to have a track running up the front of the mast as high as your pole is long. The car that runs on this track accepts the inboard end of the pole. You then hoist the pole up alongside the mast and stow it there.

When you need to deploy the pole, you attach the jib clew, or the sheet nearby, to the bottom, outboard, end of the pole. Then you simply let the pole slide down the mast. As it comes down, the sheet, and the clew of the jib, automatically gets pushed out into position. You never have to handle the weight or awkwardness of the pole.

So don’t be put off. Fly that darn jib on its own if you like, and to heck with the rumor mongers.

Today’s Thought

Rumor travels faster but it don’t stay put as long as truth.

— Will Rogers, The Illiterate Digest

Tailpiece

Our local school officials recently gave eighth-graders a test to see what they were best suited for.

It was found that they were best suited for the seventh grade.

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At a loss for words

05.14 in 25, a, and, at, Boat Plans, for, freak, in, loss, love, rips, tide, vertue, waves, with, words

WHEN I WAS VERY YOUNG and still learning the language of sailors, I was shanghaied to crew on 38-foot wooden racing sloop, a 30-Square Meter, with a bucking jib. To this day, I don’t know how a bucking jib differs from an ordinary jib. The skipper was a crusty old salt who could get over-excited on occasion, so I never found the courage to ask him. Not that I would have known what to ask, in any case.

But I did know that it wasn’t just an ordinary jib, because every time we came charging up to the stone jetty at the yacht club after a day on the water, out of control as usual, he would jump up and down in the cockpit and shout fiercely: “Don’t just stand there, boy! Get that bucking jib down.” Which I did, every time, with great promptitude, fearful of his wrath.

Thinking about this recently made we wonder about the language other sailors use to get their sails down. I mean, you can lower the jib or you can strike it. You can douse it, drop it, take (or haul) it down (or in), and furl it.

A phrase such as “Strike the mainsail!” has a fine ring about it, but I fear not many present-day sailors use it. According to my trusty dictionary, to strike sail meant “to lower one or more sails suddenly, as in a sharp maneuver, approach of a squall, or in token of surrender; also as a salute to a superior ship, a sovereign, etc.”

On any boat I’ve owned we just dropped the sail, but I have heard other skippers use the word “douse.” The dictionary describes douse as: “To suddenly let go, strike, haul down, lower, or take in, as a sail ...”

You’ll notice that once again there is a hurriedness about it, a sense of urgency. There simply doesn’t seem to be a sailor’s word for those occasions when you don’t care how long it takes your wife to get the main down, those nice gentle days when you’re just slipping along quietly with everything under control, and no squalls, sovereigns, or superior ships causing you anxiety.

What  is needed is a sailorly word or short phrase that indicates to your crew that she can just ease the sail down slowly, gently flake it on top of the boom, tie the gaskets nicely (taking all the time in the world to get the reef knots with their sweet little ends sticking out right) and put the mainsail cover on over everything, laced up and smoothed down, before she rushes down below to pour your gin-and-tonic, start the stove, and get supper ready.

You’d think we’d have a phrase for it by now, wouldn’t you? But no, I can’t think of one. “Ease the main” is already taken and means something else in any case. There’s something unsuitably suggestive about “Gentle the main,” while “Take down the mainsail at your leisure, darling, and fold it gently” is too long and sissy-like.

I simply can’t imagine why no-one has come up with a suitable verb or phrase in all the years that have passed since women were allowed to crew on boats. It’s high time somebody did.

Today’s Thought 

I am under the spell of language, which has ruled me since I was 10.

— V. S. Pritchett

Tailpiece

“And how would you like your hair cut, sir?”

“Off.”

“Yes, sir, but what style?”

“What are your prices?”

“Haircut $15, shave $10.”
"So okay, shave it to a short back and sides."

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