Mast and Sails Up, Water Next

On Saturday, Cilantro's main mast was stepped and the standing rigging (shrouds and stays) was set and tuned by Jon Weislogel of Bittersweet Landing. Yesterday morning (Monday) the mainsail, staysail, and genoa went on, in short order. Today we expect to launch!

Jon and Mikey guide the mast while Curtis holds the staysail and genoa roller furlers.

Jon climbs the mast to release the crane.

Staysail on; no photos of the other (larger) sails going on, because we were too busy
being deckhands

All three sails (even the main) are roller furling, meaning that they are rolled up onto their foils (or into a long track on the back of the mast, in the case of the main) rather than being lowered and flaked at the end of each sail. The head of each sail is attached to its halyard (hoisting line) inside the roller furling foil and the luff line (the leading edge of the sail) is fed into the foil as it is hoisted. Furling lines and sheets for the staysail and genoa are run aft to be handled from the cockpit. 

There was negligible wind in the boatyard this morning, so we decided to run the spinnaker up the mast, too. Being a "cruising spinnaker," it is asymmetrical and somewhat smaller than the symmetrical spinnakers you see on racing boats and in many sailboat ads, but it is still a light air sail. We were pleasantly surprised to find our spinnaker has a “dousing sock” or "snuffer," a long, lightweight tube that is hoisted to the masthead along with the sail and, when pulled down, can collect and "douse" the giant sail very quickly.

But wait, you might be asking, isn't Cilantro a yawl, and doesn't she have a mizzen mast and sail? Yes but, along with other outstanding refit items – autopilot, solar panels, chartplotter – we have plans to put a wind generator (like a mini windfarm unit) at the top of the mizzen mast, away from sails and rigging – and our heads. The boat should sail fine without the mizzen, so we decided not to step the mizzen mast until we have our wind generator ready to install.

Launch this morning, with the rising tide...

Refit Update, in Pictures

Cilantro's refit continues! The punch list is shrinking, and we are very happy with the completed work and the projects that are ongoing. Because Internet connectivity is limited in the boatyard, Sue has walked her laptop up to the nearby (unofficial) "hotspot" at the Union Congregational Church parking lot to post these photos. Below is a partial catalog of the refit so far, in no particular order.

At some point, we hope to give more detailed accounts of selected repairs and new equipment, for those who are interested. Sue also wants to do a "photo tour" of Cilantro's features and layout, preferably when we don't have a gazillion wires, boxes, boards, bags, tools, instruction manuals, and food and clothing items strewn about. (It's a bit crowded to live AND be working on the boat at the same time.)

New boat name lettering applied to hull

Previewing VariProp propeller for fit in the
aperture (old cutlass bearing shown at right) 

Third AGM (glass mat) marine battery added to house bank

Twenty-six feet of sanitation hose replaced in
the head by Jon Weislogel of Bittersweet 

Jon (with Curtis) wiring at the binnacle for
Simrad depth, speed, and wind instruments
and autopilot controls

Anti-fouling bottom paint applied to hull
(photo shows it nearly completed)

Engine lifted to install new motor mounts

Jon and Curtis working in tandem to finish
washdown pump installation

Sue fitting Hypervent matting (to combat moisture build-up)
under mattress and cushions

Curtis teak oiling interior woodwork

Through-hull seacocks checked and lubricated

LED lighting and energy-saver fans installed

Main mast step rebedded by Jon (with Curtis) to fix
persistent leak

Fresh water tanks cleaned and chlorinated

Exterior brightwork sanded by us and varnished by Charlotte
Nyboe (Mikey's wife)

New wind instruments and LED tricolor/anchor/strobe

light being installed by Jon at the masthead

New wiring for tricolor, autopilot, radar, and navigation
instruments

New VariProp Feathering Propeller

Original 2-blade, fixed-blade propeller

Cilantro came to us with a 50hp Yanmar diesel engine and a fairly standard 2-blade, fixed-blade propeller. Curtis had done a lot of reading on propellers during his months (years?) of boat research, and he found that many cruisers chose to upgrade from fixed-blade to folding or feathering props. One downside of a 2-blade, fixed-blade prop is that, if it happens to come a stop with its blades sticking out to the sides like Mickey Mouse ears, rather than straight up and down in line with the keel, the blades create significant drag as the boat sails through the water, as much as 1 knot. And on a sailboat whose typical sailing speed is only 5-6 knots, a 1-knot drag cuts that speed by as much as 20 percent. A folding propeller has gearing that folds the blades away into a tapered shape like a tulip when not motoring. A feathering propeller has gearing that “feathers” or adjusts the blade as needed: blade face forward for motoring, blade edge forward for sailing.

Propeller shaft, sans propeller

When you think of sailing, a propeller is probably not the first thing that comes to mind. More likely, it's the mast, or sails, or keel, or wheel or tiller, plus relatively slow movement through the water. But ocean-going cruising sailboats usually have an inboard diesel engine (referred to as “auxiliary power,” or sometimes as the “iron topsail”) – plus transmission, propeller shaft, and propeller – for those times when there's not enough wind, or too much wind, or wind straight out of the direction you are trying to go, either for convenience's sake or to outrun a storm. And even though maximum motoring speed is not much more than maximum speed under sail, auxiliary power turns out to be an essential part of cruising. So...Curtis went looking for a propeller solution that would (a) have sufficient power to move all eight tons of Cilantro in all kinds of weather and current and (b) minimize drag when sailing. He did not go looking for a solution that would be easy on the wallet.

Curtis was also concerned about “prop walk.” Prop walk, a common feature of powerboats, is a complex force that exerts a rotational force on a boat in addition to the forward or backward forces. It is created by the action of the propeller in combination with different vertical and turbulent movements of water over the rudder and stern. Prop walk is present when motoring in forward gear but much more noticeable in reverse, and it has a handedness: right-handed propellers (that spin in a clockwise direction as seen from astern) push the stern to port, or left, in reverse; less common left-handed propellers (spinning counterclockwise) push the stern to starboard, or right, in reverse. Once you know about and are used to prop walk, it can actually be helpful for certain docking maneuvers, but in general, it makes it hard to back up in a straight line. Different propellers seem to create more or less prop walk, but because hull shape and other boat-specific factors contribute to prop walk, too, it is impossible to predict how a specific propeller will perform.

VariProp feathering propeller, in the box

There are many kinds of feathering and folding propellers, including Max-Prop, AutoProp, Martec, and Gori. We bought a 4-blade Variprop, manufactured in Germany but with a dealer in Maine. It's a big, heavy item (23 pounds) that should provide Cilantro with plenty of power. The blades are individually geared to articulate edge-on to the flow of water when we're not motoring, so drag should, in theory, be minimized. And unlike the scooped, asymmetrical profile of a traditional fixed-blade prop, the blade shape on a Variprop is flatter and more symmetrical, features that are supposed to provide good power in reverse as well. 

Mikey installs the VariProp, in the
aperture forward of the rudder post.
It will never look this shiny again.

We had Bittersweet Landing install the new VariProp for us, along with a new cutlass bearing (to stabilize the propeller shaft and lubricate it with seawater), Spurs line cutter (to keep lobster pot lines, or warps, from entangling and damaging the propeller), and dripless shaft seal (to lubricate the propeller shaft and keep seawater out of the engine compartment).

John of Bittersweet drills a hole in
the hull (Not another hole in the hull!)
to install a plate for the new zinc.

We also decided to add an extra-large "zinc" on the hull near the propeller. A zinc is a chunk of zinc metal installed on an underwater structure to serve as a galvanic or sacrificial anode. Metals corrode constantly underwater, due to electrochemical processes, so zincs, because they corrode more readily than other nearby metals, are used as a kind of scapegoat. Our new large zinc will be physically linked to the propeller shaft, and it should, in theory, protect the prop from galvanic corrosion. Zincs are have to be replaced either annually or when they have been seriously eaten away, but they are much cheaper than propellers!

We'll report back on the performance of the Variprop after we've used it for a while. Not having experienced the action of the old prop, however, we won't be able to compare  it in terms of power, drag while sailing, or prop walk. There is already a difference, however, in the wallet.

In Memoriam

Sue's father, on Chesapeake Bay in the late 1970s

Michael Edmund Carnahan (1929 - 2012)

Moving Day

"Climb down outta there! We're kicking you out!" Charlotte's voice rang in through a porthole from the top of the ladder, where she was grinning from ear to ear. "It's moving day!"

This was Sunday, July 8th. Sue hadn't had the best of days. It was hot in the shed, it was hot in the boat, and she had spent the morning rubbing teak oil on the cabin walls, shelves, compartments, drawers, doors, grab handles, and trim pieces. Curtis finished another project and joined her in teak oiling, but because it was hot and Sue was grumpy, Curtis's technique (which was, in retrospect, perfectly fine) rubbed her the wrong way. Things were threatening to get even more heated in the small boat space, so Sue put down her bottle and rag and went for a long walk, looking for wildflowers to photograph.

In the meantime, Curtis went on a short walk to talk with Mikey and Charlotte about the refit schedule, which was, to be honest, dragging on a bit. A few jobs had been started, but the bulk of the list was languishing. It was a productive talk, and the schedule is now looking much better. (Bittersweet Landing Boatyard stores and services 239 boats of all sizes and stripes, and because of Maine's short summer season, this time of year is a virtual marathon of boat prep, refit, launching, and other projects. It's no wonder that schedules are hard to keep, but we were growing a bit tired of life in the shed.)

So, around 5 pm, Mikey and Charlotte arrived with the heavy-duty boat-moving forklift and trailer to move Cilantro out of the shed and up to Boat Bay 4. Bay 4 is rather like an airplane hangar, with a high ceiling (built out of clean wooden trusses instead of plastic sheeting over aluminum tubing), skylights, and a door on both ends, allowing breezes to wander through. We have filtered sunlight in the morning, and a serenade of bullfrogs in the evening. It is a much more comfortable space to sleep, eat, and work. We are finishing the interior teak oiling and starting to prep for varnishing the brightwork. The engine is lifted and awaiting driveshaft length adjustments for the new propeller. It feels good to be making progress.

Cilantro is prepped for the move

Nosing out of the shed

The whole boat!

Mikey drives her into her new "digs"

View west from the cockpit in Bay 4

View east from the cockpit in Bay 4

Sailing a Pacific Seacraft

On Sunday, June 24, we finally got out on the water for a few hours. Not on Cilantro, but on Alaria, a Pacific Seacraft 34 owned by Bob and Joanne Steneck. Alaria spends the winter next to Cilantro in the shed at Bittersweet Landing, so we are neighbors of sorts. Mikey introduced us to the Stenecks, and they generously invited us out for a sail.

The first thing Bob and Jo did was climb up the ladder onto Cilantro to compare the layout and features with their boat, which is three feet shorter. Then we drove the mile or so to the marina at Christmas Cove where they keep Alaria on a mooring. Christmas Cove is a lovely protected harbor dotted with mooring balls and lobster buoys (a very important part of the local economy; also an abundant hazard to navigation). The four of us climbed into their eight-foot inflatable dinghy, and Bob (crossing his fingers) fired up the 2-hp outboard. It's so compact that the gas tank is built into the top of the motor. Our 5.5-hp outboard will be heavier to handle, and there's a separate fuel tank to lug around as well.

Shoreline near Christmas Cove

The shoreline in this part of Maine features great slabs of gneiss and schist metamorphosed from sandstone, slate, and volcanic rock, along with conifer and deciduous forest. It reminds Sue of the lakes region in southern Ontario where she has spent many summers and where her sister Ellen now lives.

Bob brought us alongside Alaria and hung his homemade step-up (a section of 6x6 suspended on small ropes or lines from the lifeline stanchions) to make it easier to transfer from the low dinghy to Alaria's deck. What Bob's contraption lacked in refinement it made up in functionality. He added that he sometimes stands on the 6x6 at the helm to see better over the bow. Sue, who is about Bob's height, is already making a mental note to build her own step-up for Cilantro. Curtis, wary of Sue's design aesthetics, will likely offer suggestions, or better yet, build the thing himself. Sue says, "OK!"

Jo and Sue stowed the lunches, jackets, and miscellany belowdecks while Bob and Curtis hoisted the dinghy outboard and bolted it to the stern rail. The lightweight dinghy was tethered with a bridle to the stern for towing. ("Why didn't we leave the dinghy tied to the mooring?" Sue asked Curtis later. He explained that if something were to go wrong with the sailboat, the dinghy is part of the back-up plan.) Bob checked the automatic bilge pump meter, the battery levels, and critical parts such as the raw water intake and strainer for engine cooling, and entered numbers and notes in the ship's log.

Curtis, with Bob Steneck at the helm

Bob started the engine and readied the mainsail for hoisting. The light (maybe 5 knot) NW wind was perfect for sailing directly from the mooring, but having the engine running was prudent in a harbor crowded with mooring balls, lobster buoys, and other boat traffic. Soon we were underway with sails up and engine off. Alaria is cutter-rigged, meaning she has a jib (forward-most sail) and staysail (between jib and main) in addition to the mainsail. Cilantro is also cutter-rigged but has a second, smaller mast and sail, called the mizzen, at the stern, making her a yawl. (A ketch also has a mizzen mast and sail, but its mizzen is forward of the rudder post, whereas the yawl's mizzen is aft of the rudder post.)

Once we were clear of the harbor, Curtis took the helm and had his first experience sailing a Pacific Seacraft. (What?! -- you ask -- you bought a Pacific Seacraft without ever having sailed one?!) He appreciated the light touch required to hold a course -- little or no weather helm, or "pull" on the wheel. The boat felt balanced and solid, even when a 15-20 knot gust heeled us sharply to port.

Bob suggested we head for Ram Island, a small rocky island with a house, lighthouse, and not much more. Between Ram Island and Fisherman's Island to the east runs a narrow but navigable north-south channel that Bob has sailed through many times. Commercial tourist boats run through it too. Curtis asked casually, "What do you do if the wind dies when you're in the channel?" "Start the engine" was Bob's reply. As we neared the channel, Bob took the helm and steered us in. Well, the wind did not die, but it did suddenly shift 180 degrees, from NW to SE, and we found ourselves abruptly "headed" (pointing directly upwind and unable to sail). Alaria wasted no time, pivoting to starboard and heading for the shoreline. A nearby group of kayakers watched our maneuvers with interest. "Start the engine!" Bob said to Jo, and she did. He shifted into reverse, turned the boat in a neat circle, and motored the rest of the way through the passage. Well done!

Entering the channel between Ram I. and Fisherman's I.

After a bit, Sue took the helm and steered for Damariscove Island, watching the GPS chart plotter (which displayed the NOAA chart for our location, including depth soundings and navigation hazards). Bob had lowered the dodger for better visibility forward, so Sue was able to keep an eye on the sail telltales (little wisps of yarn or thread whose movements indicate good or bad sail trim), watch for lobster buoys and boat traffic, and spot common eider and black guillemots floating on the water. She loved the feel of the boat and found it remarkably easy to sail.

Sue steered us down the west side of Damariscove Island, a long north-south island with a tightly pinched "waist" that nearly cuts it in two. Originally inhabited by the Abenaki, an Algonquian-speaking tribe, Damariscove was colonized as early as 1604 by Europeans and became the hub of a commercial cod-fishing operation. In the Spring of 1622, when the Pilgrims of Plymouth Colony were nearing starvation following a harsh winter, they traveled north to Maine, where the Damariscove fishermen filled their boats with dried cod.

View north toward the small harbor on Damariscove Island

We rounded Damariscove's south end, tacked to sail east toward Pumpkin Island, where we watched a large colony of harbor seals lolling about, then turned north on a run (wind at our stern), back toward Christmas Cove. To prevent an accidental jibe (having the boom or jib swing suddenly -- and dangerously -- across the boat), Bob and Curtis rigged up a whisker pole on the jib and a boom brake on the main. As we entered Christmas Cove, Bob announced his desire to sail (rather than motor) to the mooring, which involves sailing past the mooring ball and then coming about sharply to drift with little or no momentum up to the pendant. It took three attempts, but the third approach was perfect. After securing the boat to the mooring, stowing the sails, and closing up the cabin, we departed in the dinghy for shore. A rewarding day of sailing!

Curtis at the helm, with Joanne Steneck

Before Heading Out

OK, that was fun.

The head (meaning "toilet," or the onboard bathroom as a whole) has been a bit odoriferous since we moved aboard, even though it hasn't been used since Fall 2009, when the previous owner last closed up the boat for the winter. We certainly haven't used it, since it needs seawater inflow and outflow for flushing, and we'd be flushing directly into the shed. Not recommended. Instead, we take advantage of either the port-o-potty in the yard or the shop bathroom (flush toilet! hot and cold running water!). We tried a few easy fixes for the smell: Sue scrubbed the mildew out of the undersink cabinet and hung an air freshener from a towel bar, but mildew wasn't really the problem, and the sweet-scented cardboard made things worse. Curtis changed one of the toilet hoses, but it was the intake one, carrying seawater only, no yucky stuff. (After this initial experience, he suggested we pay the boatyard to change the other hoses.) In the meantime, with Cilantro's launch date creeping ever closer, it was time for us to confront the smelly beast directly.

So, on Wednesday evening (June 28), we decided to clean, flush, and deodorize the holding tank, toilet, and lines, before driving to Rhode Island the next morning for a visit with Curtis's parents and sister and brother-in-law. “Stink up the place and leave?” Sue asked Curtis. “I guess so,” answered Curtis. In fairness, Mikey was the one who suggested we tackle this before the honey wagon (port-o-potty pumper) arrived on Friday.

The toilet and some of its parts: the blue-handled vertical lever (down next
to the seat) fills and flushes the bowl; the black-handled horizontal shaft
pumps out the holding tank. Valves under the sink open and close the
through-hulls. Another valve (hidden behind the toilet) switches the head
discharge between holding tank and overboard.

For those unfamiliar with a marine head, it is a rather complicated animal. It probably isn't more complicated than a household toilet, but it seems to require more operator care, knowledge, and maintenance, probably because of all the valves that have to be in the right combination of positions in order for your sewage to go where it's supposed to go. Briefly: seawater is manually pumped into the toilet bowl before use, then the toilet is used, and then the bowl is manually pumped out, either into a holding tank or out through the hull (if the boat is three or more miles from shore). The holding tank, which on our boat holds 16 gallons, can also be pumped overboard when offshore, or it can be emptied at a pump-out facility, where a big sucker hose attaches to a deck fitting and vacuums out as much as possible. According to Mikey, however, there's always a layer of solids left in the tank, no matter what you do. Lovely.

Many things can create head issues: incomplete pumping leaves waste in the lines, old hoses clog with paper and other "gifts," permeable hoses (used in older systems or because they are cheaper) let odors pass through, and holding tanks can stagnate. Our head is probably guilty on all counts. This became especially clear after we traced the six running feet of hose connecting toilet to through-hull. That's a lot of pumping to clear the system effectively. People who sail with small children (big paper users) or non-sailing guests (marine head neophytes) are often encouraged to install electric toilets, which can override human error. (Errors related to head operation, that is. Would that other errors were so easily fixed.)

So here's what we did: (1) Sue dragged a 55-gallon garbage can into the shed and positioned it vaguely below the through-hull where the toilet waste exits the boat; (2) Curtis found a 4-foot length of hose to jam into the through-hull and direct the flow into – or at least toward – the garbage can; (3) Curtis tied the hose to several wooden planks on top of the garbage can, to prevent it the free end from waving about like a wild sprinkler when the pumping started; (4) Sue carried a few buckets of water up the ladder and manually pumped them through the toilet into the holding tank, along with a bottle of blue toilet deodorizer provided by Mikey; (5) Sue changed places with Curtis and watched from a safe distance near the shed entrance while (6) Curtis opened the holding tank pump-out valve and manually pumped the holding tank down into the garbage can while (7) Mikey stood below, just close enough, and gave feedback (“Go ahead.” “Whoa, easy there, Curtis.” “It's all just gurry [liquid waste] now.”); (8) Sue dragged a garden hose across the yard and up the ladder to Curtis, who (9) refilled the holding tank with the garden hose, added more bottles of blue deodorizer, and pumped again; (10) repeat step 9; (11) ditto.

Curtis opens the valve to pump out the holding tank.

The first pump-out was rank. Stinko. Putrid. Mikey brought over a giant standing fan and set it in the shed doorway. His wife Charlotte came down from the over-the-shop apartment and asked, “What's that smell?” Charlotte's sister Paula walked by and asked politely, “Are you guys doing some cleaning?” The offending air wafted about like flatulence from an elephant.

The second pump-out was a teensy bit better, but still gag-worthy. People stopped asking questions. Charlotte left for town to run errands. Paula discreetly disappeared. Fortunately, it was past six o'clock, and most of the employees had clocked out and gone home. Fortunately, too, the odor began to dissipate.

The third and fourth pump-outs consisted of mostly water and blue toilet chemical. Mikey walked around spritzing the ground with Odor Go, which made things smell like baby powder. We liked that. By the time we went to bed, the air was clear (or maybe our olfactory senses had habituated?). The next morning, we glanced at the half-filled barrel, found a lid to cover our sins, and left for the weekend.