General reefing point number 1 through infinity: Don’t scare the beegeebees out of those on board by heeling the boat over too much. While you may be singing and enjoying yourself, others may be frozen solid.

One time sailing off Corsica (lovely sailing destination btw) we encountered a 40 knot Mistral breeze. We were sailing a Beneteau 50 and what a delight it was. The waves were about 8 feet and consistently washing over the deck. It was a beautiful day and we all had a blast – EXCEPT one person on board who had not been sailing much before. When we reached the marina in Bonifacio he jumped off the sailboat and lay flat on the dock kissing the dock boards. I learned that he had been so terrified that he could not speak and was looking between each wave where to jump clear of the boat it in case we went over. Lesson learned for me! That’s not a good thing to do to your guests and not a good way to keep the sport of sailing growing.

Funny as it is (sort of), now I make sure that everyone new on the boat knows to look first into my face when they start to get scared. I tell them that if I’m smiling then it’s all ok and that they are only allowed to get scarred if they see worry and fear on my face. Now the thing to do is to not show fear through facial expressions or through my voice. This keeps the crew thinking straight and following instructions instead of worrying about jumping clear of the boat.

Ok back on topic to heel angle and reefing. We’ll cover non-spinnaker/genaker operations here because broaching (getting knocked down) with those sails is a different topic.

Certainly in light winds, some heel angle will ensure your sails have some airfoil shape to them so position your crew to leeward to create at least about 5 degrees of heel angle. As the winds pick up you can begin to move your self moving ballast (crew) to the windward side to balance the wind force aloft in the sails.

In general, for most cruising sailboats, once you reach about 25 degrees or so the sailboat hull design and sail rig design will begin to reduce the ability of the boat to increase in speed in an efficient manner. OK wow that’s a very general statement but it’s a statement that will allow you to watch, learn and experiment with your own particular boat.

A weighed keelboat typically is not in danger of capsizing for three main reasons:

1.     As the boat heels over the distance aloft to the center of pressure of the wind is lowered and thus the heeling moment is reduced. As an example, lets say the boat leaned all the way over. This heeling moment then is reduced to zero. So theoretically the wind can’t heel you all the way over anyway.
2.     As the boat heels over the vertical area of the sails presented to the wind is reduced which reduces the actual heeling force.
3.     As the boat heels over the weighted keel is lifted to windward thus creating a righting moment. The more the keel is lifted to windward the more the righting moment.

What is “moment”? Moment is the ability to use a screw driver to open a paint can. Imagine a very stubborn paint can and a very short screw driver. Now use a longer screw driver you can imagine the force needed becomes much less. That’s moment. It’s not the force that opens the can but the moment. Moment is mathematically force x distance. In the same manner it’s not the force that heels the sailboat over it’s the height of the wind times the force of the wind.

Here’s a few more equations. Lets assume a right angle triangle.

1.     Force = pressure x sail area presented vertically to the wind = pressure x foot length x sail height x (cosine (heel angle))/2
2.     Pressure = ½ (density of air) x (wind velocity)Squared
3.     Height of force above the sail foot = 1/3 rig height * cosine (heel angle)
4.     Moment = force x height

Or to wrap it up into easy terms:

Moment is proportional to the following:

1.     wind velocity squared
2.     the cosine of the heel angle squared
3.     the rig height
4.     the foot length.

In practical terms if the heel angle is 30 degrees the heeling moment is reduced to 75% or if the heel angle is 90 degrees (laying down flat) the heeling moment is zero zip nada.

Also note that in the above, if you go from 5 knots to 20 knots the heeling moment goes up 16 times. In most sailboats you should be looking at reefing anywhere from 12-15 knots. The other thought process to use is when you are starting to think about reefing, you probably should have reefed ½ an hour ago.

What effectively is reefing the sails doing? Well, it’s just reducing the sail area and the height of the position that the wind force acts upon the sails. As an example if the sail was reefed down 15% of its height the area is reduced by 0.85 squared = to 72% of it’s original but the heeling moment is reduced even further because the center of pressure on the sail is lowered . IE reefing has a cubic effect on reducing the heeling moment. Wow that’s pretty enlightening.

Another consideration regarding reefing and heeling is that the more you heel over the less effective is the rudder because you’ve reduced the vertical presentation of the rudder to the horizontally flowing water. IE at a 45 degree heel, you’ve lost 30% of your rudder area which gives you less ability to handle the weather helm from a gust. This can put you into a dangerous rounding up position. And believe me rounding up can be VERY dangerous. One time when sailing along I saw two things about to happen – a gust was on its way across the water towards us and a boat was heading towards us to pass to windward. A rounding up in this gust would drive us right into the oncoming boat. I reached over and let out the mainsheet. This twisted out the top of the sail and effectively lowered the heeling moment but keeping the bottom of the sail powered. The gust passed with out a round up. Just think what if I’d been below and a rookie was helming the boat? No, don’t think!

A sailboat Captain friend of mine who would sail regularly from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean on a 150 fter would always say, if you’re thinking about reefing, you should have yesterday. If you’re thinking about shaking out the reef, wait until tomorrow.

1. So as you’re not scaring the crew
2. At about 25 degrees of heel angle
3. At about 12-15 knots of breeze

This article was written by Grant Headifen, Director of Education for NauticEd Online Sailing School. NauticEd provides basic to advanced multimedia online sailing courses and a globally accepted sailing certification by most all yacht charter companies.

Not too many months ago, sailboat racing fans the world over gathered around television sets to watch as the 2007 America’s Cup competition played out in Valencia, Spain. Shortly thereafter, sailing magazines were awash with full-page photos of the 75-foot International America’s Cup Class machines going about in the Mediterranean. In the photos that depicted entire rigs, you could easily see that every sail designer in this vaunted realm strongly favors square-top mainsails.

Not long after those images appeared, 89 21-foot, single-handed racing machines departed the Atlantic Coast of France, bound for the Funchal in the Madera archipelago and then finally to Brazil as entries in the 30th anniversary of the TransAt 6.50. Though these boats are over 50 feet shorter than the IACC steeds, their mainsails are eerily similar because of the exceedingly broad dimensions of the sails at the headboard.

Square top mainsails—that’s the common terminology for this profile, though some sailors prefer the term fathead—aren’t new, by any means. Some of the first iterations of this mainsail configuration appeared on multihulls almost 15 years ago, and similar designs were evident on sailboard sails years earlier. In fact, some sailors would argue that this design is simply a contemporary adaptation of the gaff-rigged mainsail typically found on traditional vessels. Whatever the case, it’s not difficult to understand why this shape is so favored in the competitive arena. Essentially, increasing the size of the sail in the area where the wind is apt to be the strongest and the most consistent is simply logical if enhanced performance is your objective.

Certainly more technical explanations could be offered for the advantages presented by increased area at the head of a mainsail. Those more familiar with the science underlying these designs would tell you that a broader head tends to stabilize the air flow across that section of the sail by diminishing the tip vortices. Ultimately, the effect is that the foil becomes more efficient.

That’s interesting, you say, but ‘why would I want to spend money in order to increase the area on my mainsail when racing isn’t that important to me?’ Actually, the point I’d like to make isn’t about adding additional sail area, it’s about using the sail area you have more effectively.

Almost every modern Marconi-rigged mainsail has a series of battens built into it. Battens essentially help to support the leech of a mainsail. In recent years, many sailmakers have favored the use of full-length battens, depending upon the particular needs of the boat owner and the boat’s rig design. (Full length battens tend to make a sail easier to handle and last longer, but the shape of the sail won’t be as easy to adjust.) Regardless of whether your mainsail has full length or partial length battens, you can still use the battens, particularly the uppermost ones, to gauge and affect your sail trim and thus achieve better efficiency under sail.

When sailing upwind in light to moderate conditions, you can sight up your sail from beneath the boom to check the position of your uppermost battens. Some sailmakers counsel using the top batten as a reference on those sails with three battens, and using the second batten from the top if the sail has four or more battens. Either way, in these conditions, you want to ensure that the batten you’re using as a reference is parallel to the boom. Most sailors already know to gauge their mainsail trim by way of the telltales on the sail (both those attached to the body and those on the leech), but far too few take the trouble to look up the sail and check the position of the upper battens. It’s these more lazy sailors who characteristically sail their boats less efficiently.

Understanding how the angle of these battens relative to the boom can help you trim your sail more efficiently is a pretty simple concept. Slightly more complex is the idea that sail shape is affected by the tension on the battens. The battens in most mainsails can be individually tensioned, but of course, it’s something that you have to do when the sail isn’t raised. Generally, sailors increase tension to deepen the shape of the sail around the batten, and lessen the tension to make the sail flatter in that area. Most battens used these days are tapered, so to some degree they adjust on their own (effectively moving the draft in that section of the sail) when the pressure applied to them increases. Taking this practice to the extreme, many racing crews keep a selection of battens on board—some more firm and some softer—to use depending on the anticipated wind and wave conditions. Of course, it’s not necessary for recreational or cruising sailors to bother with such extensive equipment options, but knowing how to properly adjust the mainsheet, traveler, vang and backstay to produce the desired affect in the upper sections of your mainsail can truly increase efficiency under sail.

To get more proficient in making adjustments like these, there’s no substitute for empirical experience. Just get out sailing and allow yourself the luxury of really looking at your sail when you make these adjustments. Spend time doing that, and you’ll being to recognize the subtle but effective differences in shape that you can produce in the upper sections of your mainsail. You may not own a square-top main, but you might as well use what area you do have up there to its best advantage.

About the Author: Dan Dickison is known throughout the sailing community for his in-depth articles on a variety of sailing topics. His resume includes stints as a staff editor at Sailing World, Editorial Director of SailNet, and Editor of Practical Sailor. In those capacities he has written principally about racing, sail handling, and maintenance. He has also written over 50 freelance articles that have appeared in major sailing publications around the world.

When most sailors consider purchasing new equipment for their boats, sails are often the last things that come to mind. The presumed logic behind this outlook is that sails are so integral to a sailboat that they’re all too easy to overlook. It’s true, you’ll rarely find sails listed in marine catalogs. And when we sailors sit around and talk with fellow boat owners about gear we’d like to buy, it’s usually deck hardware, electronics, or even rigging that we discuss well before the talk turns to sails. But purchasing the right sail can have a pronounced impact on your boat’s performance—and your budget—as much or more than almost any other single item, save a new engine.

So, it’s prudent to consider some important questions about your boat, your sailing preferences, and your expectations before jumping into the fray and talking with sailmakers about a new sail. Taking a few moments to ensure that your priorities are in order can help a lot when it comes to actually placing an order.

Start by asking yourself, do I really need a new sail? Numerous elements will factor into the answer here, including the condition of your current set of sails, the way in which you use your boat most, and your expectations for future sailing. Let’s say you’ve got a mainsail with five or six years use on it, and you’ve been thinking lately that you’d like to replace it. Chances are, if the shape of that sail isn’t too far gone and the cloth still has some rigidity to it, you might manage to get another season, perhaps two, out of that sail.

Further, if you’re the kind of sailor whose activity is primarily limited to occasional weekend cruises and recreational day sails, and you don’t actively race your boat or plan to do any serious offshore sailing in the coming year, the chances are even better that you can make do with the existing mainsail. Sailors of this ilk don’t ordinarily regard performance as an overly important factor, so for them, an older, not-so-efficient sail is less likely to impinge on their enjoyment of sailing.

Lastly, you should consider what you’ll be doing with this boat two years from now. Will you still be using it in much the same way, or is there a chance that you might sell the boat? If that latter is true, you’ll find it even easier to talk yourself out of ponying up for a new sail.

OK. Once you’ve addressed those essential questions, you’ll either be a buyer, or you won’t. If you’ve determined that you do want to buy a new sail, your next step is to consider another brief list of important questions. These are nuts and bolts items that any good sailmaker should ask the boat owner before rendering a quote.

First, what kind of boat do you have? Knowing the make, model, and year the boat was built not only ensures that you end up with the right sail, but it will expedite getting the initial quote from a sailmaker. Then, does your boat have a standard rig, or an optional or modified rig? Often times, even the most standard production boats have variations in their rig dimensions, and getting accurate rig dimensions is a critical underpinning to building the right sails.

Next, where do you sail, and how do you use your boat most often (cruising, day sailing, etc.). Sailmakers have many options available when specifying the kinds of fabric and the style of construction that will be used in a given sail, and offering them information about your sailing style and venue will help them make the appropriate decisions regarding those important aspects.

Lastly, be prepared to tell the sailmaker why it is that you’re buying a new sail. Any good sailmaker should be interested in finding out about the condition of your current suit of sails. They may be able to glean important information that will bear upon the new suit by way of that discussion.

Such discussions help you eliminate the omission of information. One area that can easily be overlooked is the boat’s overall inventory. If the sailmaker you’re talking with doesn’t ask about the other sails you have on board, then you need to offer that information. Ideally, a new mainsail won’t be designed in a vacuum, but with a full understanding of what kind of headsails there are on the boat. The converse of that is true as well.

And that’s really the most important point here. When you work with a sailmaker, that person needs to ask questions, but they also need to be able to listen to your responses as well as your questions. When you buy a new sail, it shouldn’t just be a matter of money changing hands, but information as well. The sail-buying process is ideally a two-way interaction. And the best sailmakers aren’t didactic salesmen, they’re people who listen, assess, and advise. Keep that in mind, and you’ll end up not only with a better deal, but a sail that’s more appropriate for your boat and your needs.

About the Author: Dan Dickison is known throughout the sailing community for his in-depth articles on a variety of sailing topics. His resume includes stints as a staff editor at Sailing World, Editorial Director of SailNet, and Editor of Practical Sailor. In those capacities he has written principally about racing, sail handling, and maintenance. He has also written over 50 freelance articles that have appeared in major sailing publications around the world.

Almost every sailboat owner understands the vital need to care for and maintain his or her boat and its attendant gear. And most know that maintenance can be broken down into three general areas. Those tasks that must be regularly attended to throughout the year, those tasks that need to be addressed on a seasonal basis, and those that arise out of unexpected, often emergency situations. The care of sails can fall into either of these areas, but if a boat owner doesn’t heed areas No. 1 and No. 2, he or she will likely suffer the fate of No. 3, which will almost certainly be more costly, and can often be dangerous.

With most sails, putting them away properly after they’ve been used is all that’s required in terms of regular maintenance. That means hosing them down with fresh water and allowing them to dry thoroughly if they’ve been saturated with salt spray. (Salt crystals are abrasive and corrosive to the sail cloth, and if left in the sail, they tend to absorb water, which can foster the growth of mildew.) Any veteran sailmaker will tell you, keeping your sails clean is a lot easier than getting them clean once they’re soiled.

When stowing sails, it’s always better to roll a sail rather than to fold it with heavy creases because those creases can damage the fibers that make up the cloth. Putting sails away properly also means getting them out of damaging UV sunlight by way of a sail bag or a cover, or taking them off the boat and storing them indoors. If you do this, the use of some kind of sail bag is always preferable because that way you can ensure that animals or insects will not nest inside the sail while it’s stowed. (One caution here, if you live in a hot climate, don’t store your sails where they’re apt to get hot during the day as the heat itself can damage the sail cloth over time. Temperatures of 160 or more will cause Dacron to deform. While it’s unlikely that most storage areas will get that hot, the underside of a metal roof on a hot day in the deep south can get pretty close.)

Of course, you’ll want to examine your sails from time to time to make sure that things like the hanks, battens, stitching, reinforcement patches, and attachment hardware aren’t worn or suffering from corrosion. That task should be conducted on a schedule derived from how often you use the boat. If you sail every weekend, you’ll want to examine the sails—particularly those you’ve had for a longer time—about three or four times a year. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t give your sails a quick look every time you hoist or unfurl them. By all means do this.

The seasonal care of sails can be as involved as taking your sails to a facility expressly designed to wash and dry them, or as simple as airing them out and inspecting them for wear and tear yourself. Some of the steps you take in maintaining your sails on a seasonal basis will depend on what the sails are made of. Say you’ve got a Dacron mainsail with full battens. You’d want to start this process by removing the battens and examining them, as well as the batten pockets and boxes along with the retaining and tensioning hardware (if the sail has any). Are the batten ends worn? Are there cracks or splits in the battens? If the answer is yes, you’ll want to replace the battens. Now is the time to get this done, not when you’re out for a daysail with friends, or worse yet, heading up the coast on your first offshore jaunt of the season.

Also, look at the batten pockets. Are they worn? On most sails, these tend to chafe where they contact the shrouds. If that’s the case, you’ll most likely want to have them replaced. If your boat has partial length battens, these are usually built with elastic in the forward part of the pocket. You’ll want to check the condition of the elastic by inserting something longer than the batten that lives in that pocket. If the elastic doesn’t resist very well, you know it also needs replacing, and that’s something you’ll have to get a sailmaker to do.

As you continue your examination, look carefully at the stitching in the seams, leech, and luff, and reinforcement patches; and examine the bolt ropes (or slides); and the hardware at the three corners. If your sails have bolt ropes or luff tapes that are hoisted through luff grooves, it’s likely that the top of the bolt rope or luff tape will experience damage. Look closely at this area during your periodic inspections. Some of the problems you find you’ll be able to repair yourself, but for any that need the attention of a sailmaker, mark them with masking tape so that you’ll be able to find them more easily when you take the sail in for repairs.

Lastly, most sails can benefit from periodic washing. You can do this yourself, but it’s important to treat the sailcloth gently so that you don’t damage it. Avoid using caustic cleaning agents, particularly chlorine bleach if you’re cleaning sails made of nylon, or sails that have been built using laminated construction, because these agents can damage the cloth quickly. Simply lay the sail out on a clean, dry, preferably smooth surface, and use water and mild soap, like Woolite, along with a scrub brush with soft, pliable bristles to remove the stains and dirt from the sail. For those sails with windows, use a soft cloth instead of the brush so that you don’t scratch the vinyl or polycarbonate surface. When you’re finished, it’s best to hang the sail until it’s dried, but not if it’s windy.

If it’s mildew you’re trying to clean, you can try several approaches. On Dacron sails, some sailmakers advise using a solution of household bleach diluted heavily with water (say 3 to 5% bleach). You can also try diluting water with hydrogen peroxide. Just be sure to get the sail thoroughly dry after the treatment or you’ll be inviting more mildew down the road.

The other alternative is to take or ship your sail(s) to a facility that specializes in this kind of cleaning and reconditioning. There are several around the country that have good reputations, including Hathway Reiser and Raymond in Stamford, CT, and Pope Sails in Rockland, ME, Port Townsend Sails in Port Townsend, WA, and The Sail Cleaners in Ft. Lauderdale, FL among them.

Proper sail care requires a little effort on an ongoing basis, but it’s time and energy well spent. The better you care for your sails, the longer they should last, and that’s good news for your wallet.

Many sea terms are hundreds of years old, with some tracing their origin to dates well before the twelfth century, heralding a time when wind was king in the golden age of sail.While there are thousands of terms in the nautical lexicon—breathe easy, we won’t delve into all of them here—it behooves the sailor and the sailor-to-be alike to acknowledge some of the seafaring origins. For a more complete list of terms and their definitions see our Nautical Dictionary.

We’ll start with the most basic of sea terms, boat, a small vessel for travel on water, a word derived from the Middle English boot, the Old English bA, and of course the Old Norse beit. What the frosty vikings and other seafarers using this term probably didn’t anticipate was that we’d be using it 800 years later in our language to mean not only the same things, but in other contexts such as “a boatful,” and “in the same boat,” meaning in the same situation or predicament. And despite the advances in sail handling and navigation technology, sailors remain in their boats much in the same way their viking ancestors did—frail, vulnerable, and largely in awe of the natural elements.

Bow, or the front of the boat, comes from the Old English bOg, or bough, which conjures up the time when shipwrights sized up the limbs of old-growth trees and the way they grew to fit the parts of the ship under construction. An overlap of meanings is also apparent with the second definition of reverence, or bending the head, body, and knee to larger powers in a tempest-tossed sea.

Stern, or the rear of the ship, has fourteenth-century Scandindavian origins and the Old Norse stjOrn, or a steering oar in the back of the ship that controlled steering. Then too, there is the strict, grim, and authoritative context of the word, which conjures up unhappy captains barking orders at the crew from the back of the boat—something which can still be found on the buoy racecourses of today.

Port, the place where ships are secure from storms and also the left-hand side of the boat, is a combination of porte from twelfth-century Middle French, meaning gate or door, and the Latin porta, meaning passage. Aside from these two definitions, we would be in error to overlook another meaning of the word, that is the sweet, fortified red wine from Portugal whose seafaring power once ruled the oceans. Drunken sailors, cargo, hiding from storms, the left-hand side of the ship—um, we may not get to the bottom of this one.

On to starboard, again predating the twelfth century and its Middle English roots. A combination of steering oar and board, the ship’s side, became starboard, or the right-hand side of the boat looking forward.

Aside from the parts of sailing ships that we still use in the modern-day versions of these craft, there are a number of nautically derived phrases that are still in use. Consider loose cannon. Describing people as loose cannons means they are out of control, unpredictable, and capable of doing damage to themselves and others. On sailing ships with cannons, securing these heavy guns was no small task. A loose cannon in heavy seas could be thrown around, damaging ship and crew.

Many sea terms come from the days of yore when naming the thing was the least of the crew’s worries.

If you’re taking the wrong tack, you’re obviously going in the wrong direction, just as ships have for centuries. But if you stay the course, you’ll certainly get to your destination.

Were you ever in a space that didn’t have room to swing a cat? The cat is an abbreviation for cat-o-nine-tails, or a studded whip that was used to mete out onboard punishment.

Clean bill of health also comes from days of yore when documents were issued to a ship attesting that there were no epidemics or infectious illnesses on board at its time of departure.

Down the hatch, a drinking expression, has its origins in loading cargo onto ships as you might expect. As the cargo is put into the hold, it travels down the hatch, and appears to be consumed by the ship.

Searching from stem to stern, means searching in a thorough manner throughout the entire ship. The stem is the structural member at the very front of a ship to which planks are fixed, while the stern refers to the back of the ship.

Feeling down in the doldrums has its origins from the area near the equator where light winds made for tough going for sun-baked crews looking for the relief of wind.

Feeling under the weather, or ill, refers to passengers that typically became seasick during rough weather and heavy seas. Ill passengers tended to stay below on the ship in such conditions not only to escape the inclement elements, but also to find less swaying motion below-deck. The most stable point of a vessel is its keel, and ill passengers tended to get as close to it as possible.

If you “stay your course,” you’ll eventually get to your intended destination.

Round robin, or taking turns in the same order, has a much different connotation than the one associated with sporting events today. Originating in the British nautical tradition, sailors contemplating mutiny against the captain would sign their names in a circle so that the leader could not be identified. The robin part of the phrase has more mysterious origins and may have risen from the auditory orientation of seamen of the time. Accustomed to chanties and rhymes, they probably added the word to the phrase because it sounded better.

Showing your true colors, or revealing your true intentions, comes from the time when warships often carried flags from many nations on board to deceive enemy ships. The ship would fly one flag, and once the enemy was close enough, raise its true colors. Civilized warfare called for all ships to hoist their true ensigns before firing.

Square meal originated on British warships in the 1700s. Food on board was usually meager and living conditions were harsh. Breakfast and lunch typically were little more than bread and beverage, though the third meal of the day included meat, served on a square tray.

Son of a gun refers to the cramped quarters found onboard and the children that sometimes resulted. Sailors slept between the cannons because it was the only space available. Some ships carried female company on board, sometimes the sailor’s wife, and sometimes prostitutes. Many children were conceived between the cannons, or guns, which was also where many children were born. Thus came into language the son of the gun.

Three sheets to the wind was originally three sheets in the wind and referred to the erratic behavior of a ship that had lost control of its sails. When the sheet, or controlling line to the sail is let go, the sail ceases to function and instead flops about. Large ships of the eighteenth century would have been a handful to regain control of once they had lost steerage, thus ships and their movements were thought of in terms many sailors would be familiar with, namely that of the stumbling drunk.

My first sail on my newly purchased 1977 Pearson 323 was supposed to be a happy experience, filled with subtle lessons learned, silent speed, and successfully applied book-knowledge. I had purchased the boat only a week earlier, knowing little if anything about sailing larger boats. Our boat—Surprise—was moored on Lake Champlain in Vermont, with views across the Lake to the Adirondacks of New York.

As I dinghied out to the boat with my wife Ronnie for our inaugural first sail, three things were controlling my behavior. First was the terror/adrenaline charge similar to what I felt last summer as I climbed aboard a plane to skydive for the first time at age 47. My middle son Jamie, age 23, wanted to skydive for his birthday and he had no one to go with (who would pay for him). So I volunteered to go. The fear increases as the plane ascends and when the door opens and you look down 15,000 feet, you become overwhelmed by a certain uneasy feeling. I was getting that same feeling as I grabbed Surprise’s transom from the dinghy.

Second was the reassurance of safety, and to me this meant an engine. How bad could it get as long as the engine worked, I wondered? I could always leave the engine running the whole time we went on our first sail, just in case.

And last was some level of security, because even though Ronnie knew less than me about sailing—and I knew almost nothing—she thought that although I was nuts for buying the boat, I must know what I am doing because I’m a guy, right? Having her there as my cheering section amounted to some psychological insurance, however misplaced her confidence was.

So as I climbed aboard, safety and security, no matter how lamely rationalized, were winning the battle over terror and adrenaline.

From behind the wheel, the boat felt like an aircraft carrier. With a car, you can always muscle the wheel to get it to turn. Cars always responds—and quickly. Responsiveness in a boat is measured differently, much differently, as I was soon to find out. I started the engine and we headed out, threading our way out through the minefield of moored boats.

We were five minutes out, still motoring, when I began to mentally construct the list of things we had forgot to bring—the cell phone, cooler, reading material, and the Lake chart. So I made the decision that we should turn around and get them.

My confidence had been building during each one of the five minutes of motoring, so I spun the boat around and headed back to the mooring. We decided that Ronnie would steer the boat through the mooring fields, and I would go up with the boat hook to grab the mooring line. That all seemed like a good plan.

We hit the mooring field at four knots. About 20 yards away from our mooring, I realized that our speed was too fast to hook the line. I yelled back, recalling having read something about hand signals. Then a quick look up told me that there were three boats in a line waiting for us if I missed picking up the line.

As we whizzed by the mooring, I snagged the line perfectly. Then I quickly stood up, and calmly walked toward the cleat with the line in my hand. Halfway there, the boat hook and line (and what feels like part of my arm) got jerked away and flew into the water. I can’t remember now what I yelled at the time.

We were then approaching three nice boats at at least three knots. The first thing I thought about was the inevitable scene of leaving a message on a guy’s boat. ‘Hi, I’m Jack. I’m new here. I just bought my boat, and I hit yours. I have no clue what I am doing. Please call me at…’ With three boats in front of me, I immediately ran through three movies in my mind, with three different guys.

I didn’t think about insurance, which is probably what I should have been doing. But as time slowed and we continued moving toward the neighbor’s boats, Surprise took a slight spin and got yanked to a dead stop, engine and all, our bow just six feet from the bow of one of the neighboring boats—a 45-foot fiberglass palace.

The mooring rope had wrapped around the prop, causing the engine to stop. I figured this out right away, as I could see the taut line under the water yanking the back of the boat. I was convinced that within seconds the prop and the shaft would be ripped out and the boat would sink quickly. I also knew that even though the boat would sink, about 27 feet of the mast would still be sticking above the water.

But the boat wasn’t sinking. Everything was calm. I looked at Ronnie, who sensed that things had not gone according to plan, and said, self-pityingly “This is just like everything else in my life…it just doesn’t work out.” She was the optimist. She said, cheerily, “Look, what do we need to get that rope off? A mask? There’s a hardware store up the road, I‘ll go get a mask while you figure out your miserable life.”

So, Ronnie dinghied ashore as I sat there figuring out my miserable life. Then I realized that not only was the boat not sinking, but also I had a mask on board and I could use that to investigate the problem. I found the mask, put it on, and climbed overboard, down the stern ladder. The water, at 50 degrees Fahrenheit, was indeed cold. Too late. I dove under and after about three or four attempts, I was just about finished unwrapping the rope from around the propeller. Then I realized that with one more turn the boat would be loose, with no one on board. I congratulated myself on being so smart and so stupid at once, and then rewrapped the mooring line around the prop shaft.

Then I went back on deck to rig up a line from the bow cleat to the mooring shackle. I climbed back down into the water, swam over to the mooring, tied the new rope to the top of the mooring shackle, swam back to my boat, dove under, and began to untie the rope from the propeller. With a little help from the slack water, I undid the final wrap around the propeller.

The boat cut loose and I remembered that I had to get back on board. So I quickly swam to the stern ladder, hopped up, and watched everything work smoothly. The boat headed up into the wind and I pulled in the excess line from the foredeck. In a minute we were tied up and secure.

I immediately started thinking that, of course, the prop shaft must be horribly bent and the next time I started the engine and put it in forward, it would gyroscope out of control and auger a hole in the boat, probably pulling the engine through the hull and down to the bottom of the lake. I asked myself, should I start the engine now and find out, or just enjoy the silence, secure in the knowledge that I would not be needing to introduce myself to my neighbors via notes on the cabin door? Why push my luck? At the time, I was only down one boat hook.

Ronnie came paddling back shortly after that. Of course, the outboard motor on the dinghy had quit for her return trip from the hardware store so she was using a two-ended kayak paddle to move an eight-foot rubber dinghy and a dead motor a quarter of a mile.  While she was getting on board, I was trying to determine if we could salvage any remaining joy out of the adventure—remember, this was going to be our inaugural sail.

“How did it go at the hardware store?” I asked her. She pulled out the mask from a bag and said: “Well, I walked in there and asked if they sell diving masks. The man at the counter said ‘Why, did your husband wrap his prop around a mooring line? We sell one of these a day in the beginning of sailing season.’ ”

Then I explained that I had fixed the problem and that all should be well for at least a little while. Then I said to her: “So, when do you want to go sailing again?”

Last winter, our friends Susan and Scott came down to Florida to escape the Lake Erie winter and do a little sailing. I enjoy having other sailors aboard. It provides an opportunity to learn new techniques and to clean up those bad habits that accumulate after I have been doing things “my way” for too long.

After a welcome-aboard coffee we went through our pre-sail checkout: location of safety gear, arrangement of running rigging, and so forth. We ended up at the nav station, where I spread out a chart depicting our local sailing waters. We had planned a simple offshore sail south of Cape Canaveral. I traced our course with my finger and explained, “We motor east, pass under the 401 drawbridge, get sail up just past this jetty . . . ”

“Whoa!” said Scott, “I’ve never dealt with a drawbridge.” I was surprised. Drawbridge openings have been part of my sailing experience from the beginning. I realize now that many experienced sailors have never “opened” a bridge, and a few have confessed to being a bit intimidated at the prospect of doing so.

Planning for bridges

Bridge planning begins with a study of the nautical charts. Bridges identified as “bascule,” “swing,” or “lift,” are all types of opening bridges. The bascule is the type most often imagined when hearing the term “drawbridge.” This design consists of one or more spans hinged at one end while the other end rises in a vertical arc when opening. A swing bridge pivots at the center as the opening spans move in a horizontal arc, creating two parallel channels. Lift bridges are the most complex and least common of opening bridges. The spans rise vertically in the same plane supported at each end by tall columns. This type of bridge also has the disadvantage of being height restrictive even when fully open.

The charts will also denote horizontal and vertical clearances beneath the bridge. Horizontal clearance represents the width of the navigable channel at its most restrictive point. Vertical clearance is measured from mean high water to the bottom of the bridge at the center of the channel with the bridge in its closed position. This value, compared to your mast height, determines the need for an opening.

Schedules and curfews

Some bridge operators will open on demand any time, day or night, while others will open only in accordance with an established schedule. Bridge operators may also observe curfews that prohibit opening during periods of heaviest motor traffic. A typical schedule for a bridge on a busy roadway might specify openings on the hour, with no openings between the hours of 6 and 8 a.m. Conversely, some railway bridges remain in the open position until a train approaches. Restrictive schedules and curfews are becoming more common and may represent anything from an annoyance to a hazard if not planned for.

Standards for bridge operations, including schedules, are established in the Code of Federal Regulations, 33 CFR 117. This document may be obtained through the U.S. Government Printing Office or viewed online at: http://www.uscg.mil/hq/g-o/g-opt/Regulations.htm .

A much more practical source of bridge information is the Coast Pilot. These handy supplements to the nautical charts are published periodically by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and contain a wealth of information indispensable to the coastal sailor. Coast Pilots may be purchased from NOAA Chart Agents, ordered online, or downloaded free of charge on the NOAA website: http://nauticalcharts.noaa.gov/nsd/cpdownload.htm .
Swing bridge

Temporary changes to bridge schedules are sometimes necessary to accommodate repairs or scheduled maintenance. These are published in Local Notices to Mariners. Local notices are no longer distributed in paper form but may be viewed or downloaded from the Coast Guard’s nav center website: http://www.navcen.uscg.gov . Coast Guard stations also transmit “Securité” broadcasts periodically on VHF Channel 16, detailing hazards to navigation, including bridge irregularities, in their areas.

There are many locally focused, yet unofficial means of determining bridge schedules. Sailors navigating the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) might find the Hampton Yacht Club’s website helpful: http://www.hamptonyc.com . This site lists schedules for all ICW bridges between Norfolk and Miami. Local boating publications and cruising guides often publish bridge info, and marina operators frequently post the schedules of bridges in their immediate areas.

The last, but perhaps most certain, source of schedule and curfew information is the bridge itself. Signs listing schedules, the name of the bridge, and VHF radio channels monitored are commonly posted on bridges.
“I realize now that many experienced sailors have never “opened” a bridge, and a few have confessed to being a bit intimidated at the prospect of doing so.”

Thinking ahead

When approaching a bridge, the prudent skipper will assess the situation and prepare the vessel and crew for a safe passage. Here are five steps I use:

1. Note the time and determine if you will be in position and properly prepared to pass in compliance with the schedule. If not, prepare to stand off for the next opening.

2. Evaluate the course and width of the channel as it approaches, passes under, and departs the bridge. Conventional channel markers or buoys typically mark the approach and departure courses. The bridge channel may be defined by similar markers or by the presence of large protective fenders. At night, the lateral limits of the bridge channel are marked with red lights. The overhead spans are marked with one or more steady red lights when closed. These lights switch to steady green when the spans reach the fully open position.

3. Identify other vessels approaching from the same and opposite directions. Consider the navigation right of way rules. Determine if the bridge channel is wide enough to allow passing or if it might be smarter to stand off until other vessels are clear. If in doubt of another mariner’s intention, hail the vessel on VHF Channel 16 and ask.

4. Estimate the force and direction of wind and current. Remember that both may be altered and intensified by the bridge structure. Weigh the potential effects of these forces on other boats as well as your own. It is best if auxiliary sailboats navigate bridges under power. Motoring allows for more immediate response to the often-changing conditions under a bridge. If you choose to proceed under sail, your awareness of wind and current beneath the bridge becomes even more critical. Be certain of your abilities and those of your crew and boat.

5. Mentally formulate your plan and share it with your crew. Assign and complete any tasks necessary to prepare the boat for the bridge passage.

Hailing the bridge tender

Mariners approaching an opening bridge are required to signal their intentions, and the bridge operator is required to respond (33 CFR 117). The preferred method is by radiotelephone. Bridge tenders routinely monitor VHF Channels 16 and 13, except in Florida where they monitor channels 16 and 9. Other conventions apply in other regions. Learn what they are for the area you’re cruising.

Lift Bridge

Hail the bridge tender as you would another vessel. State the name of the bridge, your boat’s name, and the VHF channel you are using. If you hailed on Channel 16, expect to be directed to another channel in the initial response. After communication is established, state your request in simple terms. The bridge tender will respond that an opening is available or will specify any delay that you should expect. He or she will also include any other information or questions deemed important. Likewise, if you have questions or concerns about the operation, ask. In my experience, bridge tenders are a professional and courteous lot, always ready to assist the transiting mariner. Continue to monitor the appropriate channel until your passage is complete and you are clear of the bridge.

Sailors without radios need not despair; 33 CFR 117 provides for the use of audible and visual signals. To request an opening audibly, sound one long and one short blast as you approach the bridge. If an immediate opening is possible the operator will respond with the same signal. Five short blasts indicate a delay, to be followed by one long and one short when the opening is available.

A white flag, raised and lowered, is the proper visual signal to request a bridge opening. At night, raise and lower a single white, green, or amber light. A response of the same signal indicates an immediate opening. A red flag or horizontally swung red light signals a delay.

Passing under

The bridge tender will stop roadway traffic and sound one long blast to signal the beginning of the opening process. This is your cue to position your boat for passage. If you do not intend to stand off for other vessels, continue toward the bridge at a speed that provides good steerageway but does not produce a significant wake. Be sure that the spans are fully open before proceeding under the bridge.

The helmsman must be alert and ready to correct for the effects of wind, current, and the wakes of other vessels. Everyone on deck should be careful of swinging booms and flailing lines caused by turbulent wind conditions that are common beneath bridges.

When all vessels are clear, the bridge tender will sound five short blasts indicating the spans are about to close. If you are not clear of the bridge, immediately respond with five short blasts. When clear of the bridge and other vessel traffic, resume speed and configuration appropriate to conditions. Switch your radio back to Channel 16 after thanking the bridge tender for the opening.

Conclusion

It is true and a bit sad that opening bridges are going the way of the steam engine and sextant. Transportation departments are replacing them with elevated, fixed bridges that impose no delays on highway or water traffic and are far less expensive to maintain. There are, however, many bascule, swing, and lift bridges still spanning rivers, waterways, and harbor entrances. A prudent sailor should know how to navigate beneath them safely and confidently.

Resources
Publications

Bridge Lighting and Other Signals; USCG, Office of Bridge Administration.
Chapman’s Piloting, Seamanship and Small Boat Handling, 62nd Edition; by Elbert S. Maloney.
Navigation Rules, 33 CFR 88.05; U.S. Government Printing Office.
Coast Pilot 5; Edition published Sept. 2004; National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.
Websites

http://www.navcen.uscg.gov

http://www.uscg.mil

http://www.noaa.gov

http://www.boatus.com

http://www.hamptonyc.com

The author:
Vern Hobbs and his wife, Sally, sail a 1974 35-foot Bristol cutter along Florida’s Atlantic coast and the Intracoastal Waterway. Their day jobs pay the rent, but Vern’s work as a local artist specializing in maritime subjects finances the boat projects.