7 minute read
Tom Cunli e
Tom Cunliffe
Every cloud has a silver/Dacron lining... the ‘perfect storm’ that prompted the purchase of a new suit of sails
Many a good yarn at the yacht club bar starts out with the universal intro, ‘There I was…’. To guarantee continued attention, this is best followed by ‘… and the waves were 40ft high’, but if drama on this scale floats your boat, the account below will fail miserably. This month’s opening gambit is a less-thanthrilling, ‘There I was, enjoying a beam reach in full sail across flat water on a lovely summer’s afternoon.’ In fairness, the Force 4 had been gusting up a bit and a nasty-looking cloud bearing down from the wind’s eye seemed to have my name on it, but I’d just been handed up a mug of tea and I was comfortable at the helm, so I sat tight.
The sea to windward didn’t suddenly turn white as it does for a real stinger of a squall. It went black instead, indicating a reasonably serious puff heading my way. My yacht is 44ft on deck, she’s heavy displacement and has a long keel, all of which helps her deal with a cap-full of wind, so I drank my tea and got my come-uppance. To spell it out bluntly, when the wind hit us the boat fell over.
Not content with heeling until her capping rail went under, she carried on down until the coach roof windows were awash. If ‘Constance’ had been a modern, flat-floored
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ABOVE
‘Constance’ powering steadily upwind under control in a fair breeze
yacht, she might well have rounded up out of control; many would have tacked themselves in disgust, but not she. With a couple of extra spokes on the wheel, she kept right on going, straight as a gun-barrel, still under perfect command. This was fortunate because from where I was stationed abaft the binnacle, it was a 10ft scramble at 45 degrees to the mainsheet jammer. Sounds of consternation were coming up the companionway, followed by Roz my wife, who had not been enjoying the view of the fishes swimming past her galley scuttle. Immediate action was demanded, so I did what we used to do on race boats that were over-canvassed in the gusts. I steered high with the greatest of care. I certainly didn’t want the boat coming head to wind with all the chaos and loss of control that follows. Instead, I brought her gingerly onto a close reach, so that the main began spilling wind and the forward third of the genoa turned inside out while the leech still drew. This did the trick. Not for the first time I blessed her perfect manners and, with ‘Constance’ back on her feet, we rolled the genoa away, set the relatively tiny staysail and clapped a couple of reefs into the main. Back on course in tranquillity, I finished my tea before it blew out the mug.
Two questions arise from this minor incident. The first is, why did the yacht remain under control when abused so roundly? The answer is simple. Hull shape. There are exceptions of course, but in general, many of today’s cruisers with a good deal of beam aft will struggle to keep steering if laid down as hard as this. The reason is that as they heel and their beamy quarters are submerged, the buoyancy increases, lifting the stern. This tends to dig in the bow and can raise a central spade rudder clear of the water, leaving the yacht with no choice but to broach to windward. She can be kept on her feet by dumping the mainsheet or traveller so that the centre of effort of the rig moves forward and she comes upright into the bargain. This is ok as long as you don’t mind having to take the trouble, even for quite minor incidents. You also need to physically release the sheet. Unfortunately, on many yachts, mine included, the sheet and its attendant winch and jammers are out of reach from the helm, so if you’re alone on watch as the yacht takes control you are not well placed for a happy result.
A more traditional shape with balanced sections and waterlines doesn’t have these problems. Of course, it doesn’t feature a big aft cabin and a cockpit perfect for cocktail parties either so, as the Yorkshire Tyke famously observed, ‘Yer don’t get owt for nowt’.
There’s not a lot any of us can do about the hull shape of our yachts, but the second question is a lot more manageable. ‘Constance’ is not what you’d call beefy, but she’s a big, strong boat more than able to take care of herself, so how come she gave us such a fright? The wind that hit her was strong, but not what I’d call severe. I was too busy to waste valuable seconds peering into the wind dial, but it certainly was nowhere near full gale force. Like most relatively narrow yachts, she isn’t noted for stiffness, but this was beyond a joke. It could only be the sails.
The genoa came with the boat when I bought her in Florida 10 years ago. We hadn’t had her a season before it became clear that it was causing some issues. It was a little too long in the luff, so that although it set without creases, there was no built-in slack for me to crank up some luff tension. Any sail made from conventional cloth needs luff tension as the wind hardens. Without it, the camber (the curvature of the sail producing the aerofoil) drifts aft from its proper place around a third of the way back from luff to leech. It sags away to the middle of the sail or, heaven forbid, beyond. Two undesirables spin off. First, the yacht will not point as high as she can. Secondly, as the sail lifts less and the drag increases, the yacht heels more than she should. This generates weather helm and contributes heavily to any tendency she may have to lose control in gusts.
That’s what my genoa was like when I inherited it. Yet it was in otherwise good condition and seemed to have years of life left. I
ABOVE
Eyeing up a sorry genoa
TOM CUNLIFFE
Tom has been mate on a merchant ship, run yachts for gentlemen, operated charter boats, delivered, raced and taught. He writes the pilot for the English Channel, a complete set of cruising text books and runs his own internet club for sailors worldwide at tomcunliffe.com am not a rich man, so rather than replace it, I took it along to my sailmaker, Pete Sanders, and asked if he could do anything with the beast. Ever the sportsman, Pete didn’t try to sell me a new one. Instead, he re-cut it, shortening the luff and flattening the main body, or bunt, of the sail. When I hoisted it the following season, ‘Constance’ was transformed. She pointed five degrees better and stood up like a church. But that was eight years ago. Since then, that genoa has seen me through many a thousand miles. Against all odds it is still sound in cloth and stitching, so I just hadn’t noticed how it was slowly returning to its old wicked ways until we took that knock. Like back-ache, a sail that’s on its way out stealthily creeps up on you until one day the penny drops and you say to yourself, ‘I think I’ll take a pill.’
Nobody enjoys raiding the piggy bank for a new sail, especially when the one you have isn’t falling apart. For me though, the time had come, so I called Pete, told him what had happened, and asked him to book me in for a new one. He said that I’d be astonished at the improvement. Sailmakers always say that, don’t they, but Pete’s different and I knew he was right. The next day, Roz and I were cruising along in light airs. I looked up at the mainsail, which was the same age as the old genoa, and began to wonder. I didn’t dare voice what I was starting to think, but Roz has sailed with me for half a century. She knew what was coming and took the initiative.
“Why don’t you order a new main as well,” she said.
I couldn’t believe my luck, but I had to ask her how she felt about the money. Her answer was salutary.
“How many more years will we have the boat?” she wondered. “Nobody knows what the future holds and there’s little gain in saving our money for the undertaker. Why not enjoy ‘Constance’ to the full while we can instead of nibbling at the job bit by bit and maybe never giving her the chance to live as she should.”
I didn’t argue.
