Sialia Captain’s blog
Events of November 18, early morning hours.
The Captain and crew member Jim were on watch with light winds blowing. It was clear and we could see squalls all around on the radar and by naked eye. Altogether comfortable, but the wind direction was not ideal (lousy) and then we got a 25 degree header. It was midnight or so, the witching hour had passed and I thought the 2 of us could tack even though the staysail stay was rigged and in the past we put a crew member on the foredeck to get the jib around the stay.
But we had tacked in light air the prior day and got the jib to carry forward of the staysail stay, then sheeted home no problem.
So the captain said to himself, what’s the worse that could happen? We get hung up and I have to go forward and pull it around, or we spin the boat and unwrap and try again with more crew.
So. It was dark, remember? Couldn’t actually see the headstay or staysail stay from the cockpit, and Jim needed 2 hands to steer, I needed 2 hands to cast off one sheet and trim the other. No hand available to shine a lantern aloft to see about Old North Church. But the wind was light. No sense in not trying. So the captain gave the order, the helm was put over and of course we couldn’t see anything. But we did hear increasing amounts of noise up front there at the pointy end.
At this juncture a light was procured and sure enough just as predicted the jib had cleared the staysail stay . . . and wrapped itself around the headstay. Now the wind increased by a few knots and Jim let me know that one of the squalls that had been circling was dead ahead at less than a mile. O fine. Then it began to gently rain. The captain was wearing bibs with his jacket off and under the dodger because of the warmth of the evening, and of course there was no time to get it, much less unrig the harness and other accoutrement to put it on. So it became shower time.
So now the gentle rain gains a little strength and the Captain strides onto the foredeck, issuing authoritative commands to the genoa. Not hearing clearly, and enjoying the fresh water rinse, the Mr. Genny does not respond, except to make rather more convincing thrashing sounds. Think of the fouled jib Olympics anthem. The Captain issues a considerable number of additional commands to the genoa while he wrestles with the sail, several of which are printable here but of no particular interest at this point.
Now the wind begins to increase and rain begins to, well, rain.
The Captain retreats to the cockpit and shines his lantern, at this stage his only effective weapon, into the eyes of the first crew member in sight below. “We need some help up here.”
Not one, not two, but all three crew appear, seemingly within a single minute, having awakened, grasped the significance of the symphony of sail noises, donned shoes, harnesses and gloves and advanced unhesitatingly to the fray.
Intrepid crewmember Paula comes onto the foredeck with the Captain and realizes that the solution is to run the lazy sheet around to windward and use both sheets to work the sail out of its pouting posture. She is of course correct and the sail unwraps, but not before one of her usual trenchant comments: “You are destroying this sail!” Well, thanks for that, the Captain says to himself. Didn’t I write in the crew regulations something about silence is golden?
Now it is really raining but the event is over and all that is left is the clean-up. The Captain, as is fitting and deserved, furls the lines with his head under the leeward edge of the bimini, which directs quantities of rainwater, at irregular intervals preventing any evasive maneuvers, down the Captain’s back and into his bibs, which of course complete the task of distributing the water evenly over all clothing not yet soaked through.
All Captains should be really sure to carry a smart crew. I did.