Where I live, the wettest, coldest, longest spring in memory suddenly blossomed in late June into a delightful hot, dry summer. It was so chilly in April and May that bottom paint wouldn't stick, but all those boats whose launchings were delayed by the miserable weather are now out there and cheerfully forgetting their recent miseries. During the week before Independence Day, I had two days of superb sailing in perfect southwest breezes. Optimist that I am, I expect that record to extend well into October.
Such long-postponed joys make one mindful of some basic principles that can be expressed as personal resolutions. One of them is I shall never spoil a nice day by getting too serious about racing. If you're out in a decent breeze but can't bring yourself to shout “What a perfect day!” at least once—well, then it's time to rethink your priorities.
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"If you're out in a decent breeze but can't bring yourself to shout “What a perfect day!” at least once, then it's time to rethink your priorities." |
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The biggest problem in a sailboat, whether the racing or the cruising variety, is distraction by the minutiae of competition or equipment. This is why the fine old KISS doctrine (“Keep It Simple, Stupid”) is so apt in sailing or, for that matter, any equipment-heavy activity. Prioritizing has been in my thoughts recently while I've been working on a new book about classic yachting photographers of the early 20th century. Burdened by big, complicated cameras, they were sorely tempted to be distracted by technical details. Morris Rosenfeld laid down the law this way: “It is much more important to concentrate on the photograph itself rather than worry about the details of exposure, filter, and film. . . . The trick is to establish
as a reflex action the mechanics of the camera you are using and keep the mind free to size up the picture in front of you. The types of equipment and material used are not nearly so important as the mastery of them.”
I've added the emphasis to highlight the crucial point. The trick is to identify and exploit sailing's reflex actions. Over the years, I've developed five resolutions that help me focus on the crucial elements of sailing a boat more simply, more safely, and more effectively. Here they are:
1. I shall not run.
2. I shall watch the telltales.
3. I shall exploit my traveler.
4. I shall learn how to reef in two minutes.
5. I shall remember that I can fall overboard at any time.
I'm not suggesting that this is all there is to sailing. If that were the case it would be as dull as bowling. But these tips can go a long way toward simplifying what at first may appear to be a desperately complicated activity. Here we'll look at the first two of these resolutions.
1. I shall not run. No point of sail is more risky and less efficient than a run directly before the wind. First off, it's slow. When the wind pushes from astern, it doesn't flow across the sails, which means they don't generate lift (a concept discussed in more detail below). Because there's no side force, running's uncomfortable, too. Instead of heeling steadily, the boat rolls. Finally, a run is dangerous. Those rolls can cause the boom to swing across and smash your crew's heads. A single quick roll can cascade into a series of ever deeper dips, alternately to windward and leeward, ending with a wild broach either to windward or to leeward. This series of events is so catastrophic that it's called a death roll.
All this is not necessary. The first step to avoiding these messes is to not run square before the wind in the first place. Instead, sail on a broad reach with the wind 10-30 degrees to the side (a larger angle in light air, a smaller one in a good breeze). If your destination happens to be dead downwind, make your way there in a series of controlled jibes, called tacking downwind. Yes, you'll sail a longer distance, but because you'll sail faster, you'll get there earlier—and more comfortably, too. It's that simple.
2. I shall watch the telltales. Telltales literally tell where the wind is relative to the boat and sails. They are short lengths of ribbon or yarn either tied to the stays to indicate wind direction or stuck onto the sails to show how the wind is passing over them. It's the second type that's most important and that many people don't use well enough.
The air flow over the sails should be attached, an aerodynamic term meaning “smooth.” If the air flow is not attached, the sails won't generate lift. To keep the flow attached on the front of the sails, trim the jib so all the telltales on the luff usually stream aft, with the ones on the inside (windward side) lifting slightly. If the outside telltales droop or rise, the jib is trimmed too tight. If the inside ones flap about, the trim is loose. Adjust the jib leads so the telltales up and down the jib luff break (lift) simultaneously.
Telltales flying off the leech of the mainsail indicate the flow over the back part of the sails. The upper mainsail telltales should stream aft most of the time. If they droop or curl around the leech, the flow is unattached, usually because the mainsheet is trimmed too tight or the traveler is pulled up too far. Ease the sheet or traveler a couple of inches until the top telltale starts streaming.
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You don't have to know the physics of all this, but here's a quick summary. Think of the jib and mainsail as one big airfoil. When the boat is beating to windward or reaching, moving air passes from front to back over both sides of the foil, as over an airplane wing. The air first hits the luff of the jib, then crosses both sails, and finally exits the foil at the leech of the mainsail. Attached flow generates lift: the air flowing faster over the outside creates a pressure differential, which creates a force aiming slightly forward or, in the case of an airplane wing, up. There's also a side force that's countered by the lift from the keel or centerboard, but that's another story.
Theory aside, all you have to know is that if the jib luff telltales and the mainsail leech telltales are streaming aft most of the time, the sails are trimmed pretty well. Getting the last ounce of power out of the wind may require other adjustments, but the first reflex action of sail trim is to look up at the telltales. Once again, it's that simple.
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