Motor motors, sails sail

With the jib and the new alternator finally in place, Defiant was ready to leave dock near the end of last week. The coming weather had turned for the worst, predicting a downpour that would pick up Friday night and persist for nearly a week. At that moment, though, it was bright and sunny, if not a little calm-winded. It seemed foolish not to take Defiant out. As I closed the hatches and collected the dock lines, the faint breeze escalated to a steady blow, and we struggled to keep the bow in line as I backed her out of the slip. I turned the helm to the channel but the wind was not having it, and so I went ass-first out of the fairway and into the open water around the fuel dock before I could finally make the turn and head towards the channel.

The dredging at Windmill is almost finished, just one last hump at the mouth of the channel. The day’s late afternoon high tide was almost up - still lower than I would like, but enough water if I was careful. I went up to grab a stray line and immediately smashed my foot on a cleat while threading the jumble of lines that do not yet have a rhythm between them. I was nearly as worried about getting blood on the unvarnished teak as I was running aground in the narrow channel, and I limped Defiant out at less than a knot of speed until the final set of markers was cleared.

By now that steady blow was reading 20kts on her bow, and the chop had picked up to well defined white caps dropping her every few seconds. I flipped on the autopilot and hobbled below to dig out the med kit. I bandaged up my foot in the cockpit, looking out around the dodger from in front of the wheel. Then I picked my spot, dropped three degrees on the autopilot to a proper dead-in-irons, and grabbed my harness as I climbed up.

The water was really churning now, the bow dropping every few seconds and throwing spray up on the deck as I worked. Given the last time I had been out - 18kts with a full main and a full staysail, giving me not much more than 3kts of speed from the hull - I opted to bring up the full main. The staysail cranked right up with very little effort. I ran back to the cockpit, uncleated the jib furling line, and hauled out the full sheet. All the canvas was out, with 25kts gusting dead on her bow. She rolled down, first ten degrees down, then twenty, moving down rapidly but not moving forward.

Then, about thirty degrees down, Defiant found her stride. And holy shit, did she stride. She lunged into a heel that was deep enough to put me nearly standing on the gunwale - I’d know the angle if I had remembered to turn on the monitor 🤦.

My lumbering sled suddenly became a rocket with those three sheets filled to the brim. I’d be lying if I said I was anything other than terrified at that moment. I would quote a hull speed to codify the sensation, but it appears that the bottom cleaning done earlier in the week had disabled the speed wheel on my brand new sender unit 😠. For now we’ll have to leave the speed estimate somewhere between ludicrous and plaid.

I took a few long tacks, and fear gave way to excitement; she actually moves! I also determined that cockpit organization was going to need to improve rapidly if I am to fly all my canvas at once (that is a lot of line in one place).

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. The tide was headed out and I did not want to be stuck in the river for the evening. I hauled in the jib, flattened the staysail to the deck, and zipped the main into place with ease thanks to the new lazy jacks. The motor lit back up and we coasted into the marina like it was always this easy.

Back on the dock, some friends and neighbors met me with a cold beer and some cheese-filled hot dogs - the celebration food of champions. And it was a celebration, even though it hadn’t really hit me until that very moment.

The motor motors. The sails sail. The adventure is ready to begin. ⛵