lazy jacks – Have Wind Will Travel

“Annie, Are You Okay??”

September 12, 2014September 13, 2014anniedike

April 28, 2014:

It was time to say goodbye to the Keys. While we certainly enjoyed our time on that quirky little island (and the breathtaking ferry over to the Dry Tortugas), it was time to give our livers – and pocketbooks – a break and start making our way back north toward Pensacola. After a week on dry land, though, we were ready to make another passage, ready to find ourselves back out in the middle of the Gulf with nothing on the horizon but blue sky meeting bluer water, water gently lapping the hull, the sun warming our skin as we read on the deck all afternoon, and, yes, even the night shifts, sailing that beautiful boat under a smattering of stars. It was time to make way!

We woke early and started readying the boat for passage. We tossed the lines first thing and headed out (literally, bow first from our stern-in slip at the A&B Marina – which was much easier exiting than entering, I can assure you). We made coffee on the boat for the first time since we had docked in Key West, and we promptly decided the Cuban Coffee Queen Hut had “nothing on us!” There’s just something about making your own coffee on the boat in the french press, and sipping that first warm mug while you’re starting out on a long passage.

We waved goodbye to Sunset Key as we made our way out of Key West Bight.

We had a bit of a scare when a pretty intimidating law enforcement vessel started motoring right toward us.

Phillip and I watched them with furrowed brows likely thinking the same thing – “Is that Y valve in the head turned the right way?” We had heard they keep a pretty close eye on regulation compliance in the Keys and the Coast Guard guys won’t hesitate to come aboard for an inspection. We were sure it was, but it’s one of those things if you ask yourself twice – “Are you really sure?” – that you start to second guess. Thankfully, though, The Law motored on behind us and continued on their way. Whew! Disaster avoided … or so we thought. But the adventures that day were just beginning.

You ever have one of those days that starts out perfectly normal, you begin your typical routine, you go about your business – completely unaware that this day is probably going to stick out in your mind for the rest of your meager existence. Everything seems to routine, so mundane and then BAM! It happens. Whatever it is – a car accident, a fire, an unexpected encounter, you win the lottery (let’s all hope!) – but, whatever it is, it’s something that makes that day stand out among the hundreds of bland, uniform days that preceded it. I guess being on this trip – a daily adventure – sort of changes that equation (in that every single ONE of our days on this trip held something new, something that will probably stick out in my mind for decades to come) but, still, I thought we were just going to get underway and make passage back to Ft. Myers. I thought maybe we would see a shark, perhaps run into some weather, some “adventure” I was mentally prepared for – but not this …

My day started something like this,

but that’s not how it ended.

We were motoring through the channel out of Key West Bight. It was a beautiful morning, around 9:00 a.m., not too hot yet, a light breeze coming in. We were ready to do some sailing! We decided to raise the main while we were making our way out of the channel so we could throw the Jenny out as soon as we made our way out and catch the wind.

I hopped up on the deck to attach the main halyard (the line that raises the main sail) to the sail. We always detach it from the sail and clip it away from the mast so that it does not bang when we’re in the marina or on the hook. (But, I’ll tell you – as a direct result of this very incident – we have since formed the habit of connecting the halyard BEFORE we leave the dock so that we are not doing it underway.) But, that is now. This was then. This is how lessons are learned.

I loosened the halyard and hopped up on the deck to connect it. Unfortunately, the wind was on our stern so it caught the slack in the halyard and blew it around one of the spreaders. For those of you who are sailing newbies – just imagine an important line is caught on some of that stuff up there on the mast, so we can’t pull it to raise our sail. And, the wind is on our stern, so it’s holding the halyard firmly in it’s ‘caught’ position. I let out more slack and embarked in an ancient rope-whipping dance (do recall my country roots),

that thankfully freed the halyard. You would think the hard part is over, but I’ve got to move quickly to get the slack pulled out so the line remains free and untangled so we can raise the main. So, I’m now holding the shackled end of the halyard in one hand, and holding the slack taught down the mast in the other. Basically pulling against myself to keep tension in the line so it stays flush on the mast and cannot snag on anything. A fine practice, if you’re standing on the deck, doing nothing other than holding the line, but I get the brilliant idea that I can go ahead and climb the step up the mast and hook the shackle whilst holding both ends of the halyard taught in 2-3 foot waves. Looking back on it now, that’s probably a three-handed job, and I’ve only got two, so …

As I’m stepping up the mast, a light wave rocks the boat and I have to grip or I’m going to fall. My body takes over instinctively (I guess) and lets go of the bleepin’ halyard so I can grap a cleat on the mast to avoid falling. To avoid falling … yes that was the plan, initially. But, now you know I’ve committed the ultimate sin.

I LET GO OF THAT DAD-BURN HALYARD!!

I couldn’t believe it had actually happened until I saw it swinging playfully in front of me, taunting me, just out of reach. As you recall, we have only let go of the halyard a couple of times on the boat, but each time required a monstrous chore to retrieve it – climbing the 50′ mast. The first time, we were at the marina back in Carrabelle and we raised the halyard on the Jenny back up the mast not knowing it wouldn’t come back down with just a wiggle and a shake. A rookie mistake – but it meant a mast-climb (thankfully secure at the marina, though) for me. The second time was when we were making the passage from Dog Island to Clearwater on our way down to the Keys (you remember the attempt at the butterfly-net retrieval?). Since we were underway, that time meant another mast-climb for yours truly, only this time mid-sea. That climb was one of the scariest moments, so far, on the trip for me, and I was damn sure I wasn’t going to let that happen again. I was going to get that halyard! Nothing was going to stop me!

It was swinging around just out of reach, I didn’t even think the Captain knew what had happened yet, and I thought if I could retrieve it and snap it on the sail before he even knew — even better. I jumped up on top of the boom.

Yes, the boom. I told you — I was going to GET THAT HALYARD!

And, up there, I was eye-level with it. I had a fighting chance! I just needed it to swing my direction (in those random, bouncy 2-3 foot waves – it could happen!). It came so close several times, and I almost had it. Phillip had seen me up there by now, but all he could belt out was a forceful, “Annniiee” followed by a stern “be careful!”

I will try my best to depict this with my rudimentary sketch skills, so bear with me, but it at least helps you visualize. Here I am, up on the boom, going for that bleepin’ halyard!

I was standing on the main sail, holding daintily onto one of the port-side lazy-jack lines that holds the stack-pack up, just for balance. After we had snapped the one on the starboard side clean off the spreader during our first rough night into Port St. Joe, I knew it didn’t take much to rip one off, so I was just using it for balance. I was, I swear. Until …

Until the halyard came swinging toward me. Finally! There it was! I could reach it! I stretched a hand out toward it …

and then SNAP!

With the halyard in sight, my fingers finally feeling the threads on it, I am sure my dainty little hold and light pull on the lazy jack line became a full-on death grip and full-weight dependent tug. Just as I clinched my hand around the main halyard shackle, I heard a loud SNAP!, I can’t remember what I saw or how my body reacted, but I felt a sickening thud, and the next thing I remember, I’m raising myself from a crumpled position on the starboard deck (between the cabin and the lifelines) with the main halyard in my right hand. Phillip stepped out from the behind the bimini with a horrific look on his face, his voice commanding, “Annie, are you okay?”

“I, I … ” I couldn’t really form a complete sentence. I didn’t know how, or what to say if I even could.

“ANNIE, ARE YOU OKAY?” Phillip persisted, his voice now a stern shout.

“I don’t know,” I told him. Because I didn’t.

April 3, 2014 – Keys Log Day 1: Lazy Jack Snap!

April 17, 2014April 16, 2014anniedike

Clearwater by Sunday morning was going to be a two-day, three-night haul. The longest Phillip and I had ever undertaken together, but we were excited about it. Invigorated by the challenge and adventure of it. But, it was early in the trip – we were still feeding happily on excitement, adrenaline and the thrill of taking sailing selfies!

Look at me! I’m headed out to SEA!

We had a great sail out into the Gulf. The tide was coming out at the Pass and, even with a strong southeast wind pushing against us, it pretty much gushed us out of the pinchpoint at 4 knots. We motored through to be sure to stay in the channel, but once we were safely out, we cut the engine and clocked over southeast.

It was around dusk at that time, and I learned another of many important lessons in sailing. Don’t try to eat light when you’re sailing. “Oh, I’ll have the salad greens with the low-fat dressing, please.” No. That’s not going to cut it darlin’. We had been working on the boat all morning, packing up the last of the provisions, re-tying the Jerry cans and the anchor, running the solar lights, packing more provisions, filling the water tanks, etc. A lot of up and down the companionway stairs, hauling heavy items here and there, in general, some hard work. And, allst I had was a bowl of cereal and a little salad under my belt. Probably around 600 calories … total, and I’d probably burned about 2,469.82 calories, approximately, by that time. I was starting to feel a little pekish and convincing myself it was not seasickness. I’ve crossed the Gulf before, in 4 to 6 foot seas. I don’t GET seasick. But, I just felt weak, a little queasy, a little weird. Then Phillip mentioned the idea of dinner and it sounded like some grand revelation. Food?? Why yes, yes I would like dinner! And, let me tell you, I ate my friends. I started inhaling and choking down my fair share and thensome of the tuna salad we had brought for dinner while Phillip eyed me suspiciously as I shoved heaping forkful after heaping forkful clumsily into my mouth. And, he told me I needed to eat more. “You need to eat before you’re hungry,” he said. And, he was right. I should have stock-piled some energy hours ago. But, I wasn’t going to let this happen again. I started eating! A handful of almonds, three handfuls of pretzel crisps, followed by chocolate-covered pretzels, peanut butter Chex, trail mix, some snap pea crisps, some more almonds, before I finally just gave it up and inhaled a calorie-dense protein bar – much like the kind boxers scarf when they’re trying to get to the next weight class. I was ravenous, carnivorous, OM-nivorous. Eating anything in sight with unabashed abandon.

But, within minutes, I felt better. Much better. Food. Who knew? Ladies – it doesn’t matter if you’ll be slipping into a bikini later, if you’re sailing, you’re burning it off. Eat early and eat often.

Unfortunately, the wind was right on our nose all evening and into the night. We were taking long tacks back and forth, trying to make our way upwind but not making much ground. While underway, we entered our coordinates, as well as our heading, speed, the sea state, weather and other note-worthy items, in the log book.

The afternoon sail was nice, albeit not very productive, i.e. we didn’t make much ground toward Clearwater, but it was a comfortable sail. After the sun dropped down, we donned our safety gear and settled in for the evening.

Later in the evening, the wind picked up to 15 knots, and we put the first reef in the main, followed by the second, followed by a reef in the Jenny. The sea state was probably 4 to 5 foot waves, thoughout the night, which made for some rough wave jumps and crashes on the boat, all of which sound entirely manageable in the cockpit but horrific down below. When we started taking our two-hour shifts, it was hard to close your eyes and try to get some sleep when each wave sounds like the hull is cracking in half. It’s not, and some part of you deep down knows that, but another small part also asks “Are you sure? Was that a crack? Maybe I should get up and check … ”

That first night was pretty rough. We rode waves up and down, crashing water over the bow, and occasionally spraying us in the cockpit, and took turns getting fitful, disjointed pockets of sleep. But, the true champion that night was Otto — our auto pilot. That guy. I mean. Damn! He held through howling 15 knot winds and rolling 5 foot seas. He held much more than I ever thought he was capable of. He would, of course, on occasion, lose his ability to grip the wheel. It would spin freely under his belt, his motor screeching out trying to stop it, and then he would follow up with a cackling cascade of beeps to let you know he was losing it. As much as you wanted to curse him. (Okay, I did often – “Damn you Otto!”), you really couldn’t. He held the wheel probably 80% of the night. I mean, a little slippage was allowed. But, the problem was, if you weren’t at the wheel the moment he slipped, by the time you jumped back there, clipped in, got your bearings and turned Otto off it was sometimes too late. He’d fallen too far off course and you were in a jam, having to turn the boat around in a large circle and catch the wind with a forceful pop around the backside. Needless to say, it was a long night, and was certainly hard on the boat.

We woke the next morning to find out just how much. Phillip was holding the sunrise shift and when I started to blink to, thankful to see light pouring in through the windows, Phillip heard me stir, and shouted down to me, “I’ve got bad news.” Oh-no, I thought. That’s just what we need. I scrambled up the companionway to see what he was referring to. And, there it was, the remains of our lazy jack lines (on our new stack pack) strewn haplessly across the deck. The eyelet on the spreader that held them up had snapped clean off.

Well, they must be called lazy jacks for a reason. Perhaps we could handle the not-so-lazy route for the rest of the trip. In all, considering the night we had, it seemed a minor loss, really. One day down and only one piece of (lazy-slash-luxury) equipment down. We shrugged our shoulders and continued south. What do you have in store for us Day Two?

February 24, 2014 – That Girl is Stacked!

March 12, 2014anniedike

She certainly is … Stack-packed to be exact!

We finally got the stack pack installed for the new main sail. As with everything on the boat, the decision of whether to ditch the old, removable sail cover and go with a stack pack was a tough one. Finding the right equipment for the boat is somewhat like finding the right woman. There’s always going to be a compromise. Some are flashy and beautiful – sure – but they’re also high maintenance (teak decks, for example). Some are smart, but they “talk” too much (instruments that beep, buzz — or worse — are overly-sensitive: press one too many buttons, and she just shuts down). There will always be pros and cons. Take the old sail cover. I like to akin her to … an old 1950’s housewife.

I mean, you sit her down and she’s got good coverage,

but it takes some work to get her up and out of the house. Also, when we used to drop the sail, we had to tie three tie-downs on her after flaking before putting the cover on.

We did, however, only have two lazy jack points that the battens in the old sail would occasionally catch on when raising. We always had to have one deck-hand at the boom when raising to wrestle and shake the battens loose in order to get the sail up. The stack pack, on the other hand, has six.

And, a much narrower ‘shoot’ for the sail to raise through. I was worried, at first, that this would cause real issues when raising the sail. But I will say, the battens in the new main sail are far less obtrusive than the old and we’ve raised her now several times in and out of the stack pack with even less issue than before.

Unfortunately, though, the new stack pack is a little skimpier than the old sail cover. More Sarah Jessica Parker than prude housewife.

Her ‘dress’ doesn’t come around the mast like the old sail cover used to, so she doesn’t cover the spinnaker halyard, the inner forestay and other lines we keep tied on the mast like the old cover did for UV protection.

The stack pack also stays on the boom at all times so we cannot see the foot of the sail when sailing.

So far, however, we have enjoyed the ease of dropping the sail into the stack pack (although we still try to flake it down into the pack) and zipping her up and calling it a day. Much less work than dragging the sail cover up from the galley and fastening her in place. And, I mean – c’mon … it’s SJP. Who did you think we were going to choose?

So – new stack pack. Installed and operating. Done and done. On to the next!