Carolina Cruising, Page 2 |
Bold Adventure
I have my father to thank for my love of the water. From our childhood canoe-camping trips to our present excursions, he has taught me a love for small non-motorized craft and the natural environment to which they are the key. For the last several years, we have been using and adapting his 5.2 Harpoon (formerly built by Boston Whaler) as a daysailer and weekend camper. The adjustable draft was perfect for our trips in South Carolina's coastal salt marshes. We could tack well up narrow creeks, skim downwind over 8 inches of water, and beach her on one of the barrier islands for a comfortable night at camp. And even after some short, bold excursions onto the Atlantic Ocean, we were pleasantly surprised to find that with teamwork, caution, and a lot of nerve, the Harpoon could handle rougher water in safety, if not comfort. As we gained confidence in the boat's abilities and in each other as shipmates, our notions of adventure naturally grew bolder.
Last winter, as icy gales left us shorebound and restless, we began to plan in earnest a trip on the vast Pamlico Sound. It is the second largest essentially landlocked body of water on the East Coast, bordered to the west by the mainland, to the south by marshy Core Sound, and to the north by Roanoke Island and Croatan Sound. The Pamlico's more than 1,700 square miles are separated from the Atlantic Ocean by a long strand of barrier islands that make up North Carolina's Outer Banks. It is over 70 miles in length (northeast to southwest) and averages 20-30 miles across except at the northeast end where it narrows to about 15 miles in width. Claiborne S. Young, in his excel- lent book, Cruising Guide to Coastal North Carolina (Blair, 1983), gives the following assessment of these waters:
"A reputation for wicked wind and waves has long been the Pamlico' s lot. It is quite true that breezes over 10 knots, particularly from the northeast, can stir up an unwelcomed chop. A 15-knot wind can render a cruise downright uncomfortable, and gusts of 20 knots or more are dangerous. The shallow depths tend to form short but steep waves, quite different from rolling offshore swells. What has often been ignored, however, are the many days of light breezes when cruisingthe Pamlico can be a most pleasant experience. Manyboaters will find it gratifying to navigate such vast waters successfully."
Despite this warning and the knowledge that springtime would not hold many days of light wind, we felt that a small boat handled in a seamanlike manner could successfully navigate the
sound while giving us access to shallow-water areas unreachable by larger craft. We were confident in our seamanship, and believed in our boat.
By design, the Harpoon is a light, fast racing machine. An almost flat bottom and gently curved chines allow her to plane without much coaxing. The "unsinkable" foam core hull has a low transom, making it possible to sail out from a fully swamped position, spilling most of the water over the stern. The automatic bailers quickly finish the job and keep her clear of accumulated splash and spray.
The 25-foot spar, huge main, small jib, and deep centerboard (4 feet fully extended) give her great windward ability. The long boom overhangs the transom by a few inches and, with the addition of a topping lift, makes a convenient adjustable support for a cockpit tent. The mast is supported by a fractional rigged headstay and shrouds that run slightly aft. That long boom makes it impossible to carry a backstay and was ultimately responsible for the mast lailure.
While its complete lack of ballast allowed us to easily trailer her the 400 miles to Manteo behind a compact car, stability under sail depends largely on crew weight. Footstraps, wide beam, and a hiking stick on the tiller allowed us to keep the ever critical balance of the boat within its narrow limits. Coming about, making a log entry, changing helmsman after a watch, or simply making a sandwich requires a coordination achieved only with practice. Some tasks, such as performing certain bodily functions (which we prefer to do to leeward), demand steady nerves indeed.
Because the helmsman is seldom able to sit in the center, we mounted a compass on the after end of the centerboard trunk so that it is readable from 45 and 90 degrees off the centerline. Though concerned about having it in this vulnerable position, we could find no other suitable place. Ironically, it was Dave's air mattressthat fell pray to the compass. On our first night at anchor, just as we turned over for our final "good nights," the mattress let out a sickening "whoosh," impaled by the compass mount. The compass, however, survived a number of accidental kicks and bumpers without problem.
Weight distribution and keeping gear dry were somewhat conflicting concerns as we wrestled with packing 17 days of supplies and gear into 17 feet of boat. Everything could not go into the 5-foot cuddy forward. We had already learned that too much weight on the bow caused her to plow rather than plane as she was designed. Also, there were just too many items that had to be in reach while underway. We solved the problem by carefully sorting gear by weight and use. Light bulky items like sleeping bags and air mattresses that were not in use while underway were stowed forward. Next came an assortment of somewhat heavier items we didn't need while sailing. These packed the cuddy to within about 1 foot of its opening.
At the base of the mast, we lashed the two-burner Coleman stove packed in a stout canvas bag and the storm anchor, tightly bound to rubber diving fins to blunt the sharp edges. Next came items that needed protection from spray but also had to be accessible, like our "navigation bag." This resembled a woman's oversized handbag made of waterproof vinyl with one large zippered compartment and a small pouch on each side. It contained binoculars, handbearing compass, the day's chart, plotting tools, weather radio, and log book. Protruding out of the cuddy and lashed tight to each side of the centerboard trunk were 5-gallon plastic jerrycans of water. Outboard of these we lashed plastic coolers that we called "dry lockers" containing photographic equipment, books, and food.
The free-draining cockpit lockers were packed with paddles, ropes, and an array of odds and ends packed in "zip-lock" baggies and separated into categories with backpackers' stuff bags. Thus, we could quickly put our hands on first aid equipment by finding the red nylon stuff bag, or the brown bosun's bag. Finally, up against the transom we lashed our fuel can and a heavy metal cooler filled with ice (when available) and perishables. It helped counterbalance the weight in the bow so that fully loaded, she trimmed well and was actually more stable than usual.
