By Lee Högman My friend Gabe has a 36-foot MacGregor catamaran that he keeps at Boulder Yacht Club, on Carlyle Lake, IL. Gabe sometimes shows up by himself, looking for crew for the day, which is just fine by several of the BYC folks who love to "ride a hull" on Tango—me included. By design, catamarans are rather fast and Tango follows suit very nicely. I have been on Tango when three people had to ride the windward hull to keep it near the water. Compared to sailing my little 21 footer, that's excitement. Being able to keep up with Tango is the generally accepted benchmark for speed on Carlyle Lake.
Tango is a 1980s vintage cat and keeps Gabe pretty busy with repairs and modifications. Since Gabe is both an aeronautical engineer and a sailor, he and Tango were meant for each other. This season's latest addition to Tango was a small platform made from a section of fiberglass stepladder and a sheet of diamond-patterned metal sheeting. Mounted to the forward cross-member of the boat, the platform extends forward and is supported with chain from rigging where the forestay splits to attach to each hull. As with some of the other modifications to Tango, the design is ingenious and works perfectly, but is more functional than aesthetic.
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| " It makes a perfect spot to stand while holding onto the forestay, way out front, and pretending that you're that guy in Titanic shouting, 'I'm on top of the world.'" |
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The platform was designed to provide a spot for storage and deployment of the
anchor on the centerline of the boat. Gabe had been complaining that the boat would drift around in circles on the hook, so he added the platform to
rig the
anchor from it. It also makes a perfect spot to stand while holding onto the forestay, way out front, and pretending that you're that guy (or was it the girl) in the movie
Titanic shouting, "I'm on top of the world." It's probably not quite the same when done on Carlyle Lake, but you get the idea.
The weather on that particular late-August, Sunday afternoon was just beautiful—sunny and almost hot, but with fairly steady winds in the 10-knot range. You could almost hear the wind calling Tango to come out to play. Weather like that also always beckons the crowds to the unofficially named, "Party Island" on the lake. One of two islands in the upper portion of the lake that didn't get covered over with water when the lake filled, this island includes a small beach and a sandbar that extends well into the lake for probably 200 yards. This side of the island is the usual gathering spot for many motorboats of every type, pontoon boats, PWCs, and the occasional sailboat that can get into very skinny water. The "Party Island" inhabitants grill out, wade, swim, and well, party. Many boaters on the lake "buzz" the island to take in the scenery, which is often very nice on hot days.
We hadn't been flying across the lake for very long when Gabe asked if we wanted to buzz the island. Since Tango was sailing with only a two-man crew, I agreed that taking an observation of the local wildlife on the island would be in order. So Gabe turned Tango toward the island. I, being the self-preservationist of our pair, asked intently about the amount of water Tango draws with her dagger boards and rudders. Gabe assured me that where we had the boards set, Tango might draw three feet on the leeward side and that the rudders drew less than that. "Besides," said Gabe, “I sailed past the island yesterday without any problems." My little voice inside started to say something, but I didn't quite get the message. "OK," said I, not wanting to interrupt a vital mission to gather information of the current Carlyle Lake wildlife.
Gabe set
Tango on a close reach and we were within range of the island in no time. We cruised up and around the island on the unpopulated side and set up for a nice broad reach past the big party going on. I scampered up to the bow platform for a better view and to be able to better distinguish the various species on the island. As we got closer, I again voiced my concerns to Gabe about the proximity of
Tango compared to where I thought the sandbar was, but he eased my concerns with a reminder that he had sailed along this very course just the day before.
Tango was cutting a crisp line with Gabe at the tiller and my waving a hand to all the carefree inhabitants of the island and with my other hand tightly grasping the forestay beside me. You see, I was always taught, "One hand is for the boat and the other's for you."
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| "I precisely followed that law of physics that states something about a body in motion remaining in motion." |
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Just as
Tango came to an abrupt halt not 50 yards off the island, I understood exactly why I learned that rule.
Tango's starboard dagger board had grounded in the sand which brought the 36-foot catamaran from maybe 12 to 0 knots in probably less than a foot—the momentum spinning the big boat partially around the spot of contention. I precisely followed that law of physics that states something about a body in motion remaining in motion until my arm straightened out. I managed to keep my firm grip on the forestay (and thankfully was wearing the Gill sailing gloves I got from SailNet a few months earlier—a shameless plug).
In an instant, the sudden stop of my body at arm's length and the swinging motion of the boat propelled my body around the forestay like a gymnast on the high-bar. I met the still-full Genoa on the other side, face first, my hands and feet all at farthest extension—I was plastered to the sail. In the next instant, the mast swung back to level and the wind refilled the sail, which catapulted me backward from whence I came. I let go of my grip as I swung around the forestay, just in time to go sprawling back onto the forward trampoline where I tucked and rolled into a standing position. The flying Zamboni Brothers would have been very proud!
In the 1.3 seconds all that took to happen, Gabe had been busy trying to find the exact profane word that best fit the situation. Not being able to chose just the right one, he immediately took charge by first directing me to lift the offending dagger board and then pull the genny over so we could sail off the blankity-blank sandbar (he wanted to try just a couple more in case he'd miss one). Gabe's directions worked perfectly and in less time than it took to get grounded in the first place.
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Just as soon as they realized exactly what had happened, the inhabitants of the island erupted into cheers, whistles, and applause. Not having anything really intelligent to do or say come to mind, both Gabe and I stood on the aft deck and took deep bows complete with all the exaggerated waves we could muster. We were heroes of sorts, I guess, although I'm not sure that the confidence of several of the onlookers had been restored. They were adamant about the shallow depth of the water when Gabe had to tack back because of the wind's direction. "Not to worry" shouted Gabe as he steered a goodly bit farther from the island. I think we both signed from relief as we heard the rudder skim over the sand as we finally made a successful passage over the sandbar.
We continued our course away from the island, content with the knowledge that we had contributed to the folklore of the lake for the island inhabitants that day. Noting that there had been absolutely no damage to Tango, we laughed as we recalled the exact sequence of events. Gabe asked me if I wanted to try buzzing the island again, but we agreed that our latest performance couldn't be topped. Gabe thankfully steered a course toward Boulder and "home." The recollection of the event for the rest of our friends that night put both Gabe and I into the annals of BYC legends. The lesson noted for all of course is, "One hand for the boat at all times!"
