Watertribe NC Challenge – Jet 14 “Old Blue” (737) – Sept 26

 Watertribe NC Challenge – Jet 14 “Old Blue” (737) – Sept 26‐27, 2014 Barry Saunders & Todd Ochoa (VagueRogue1 & TlaloqueScramblonic2 in Tribe listings) How many anthropologists does it take to figure out… that sliding crew weight farther back in the boat will cut down water coming over the bow? Todd and I were quite a ways up Core Sound on Saturday morning, slogging upwind in 15‐
18 knot breeze, before we really sorted that out. To be fair… we were trying to hike where the boat is widest, since water wanted to come in over the rail too, and we needed our quads to last all day… and there were oarlocks at Todd’s hip… and all the heavy gear was already aft. But we probably should have made that change sooner, bailed less. Todd’s arms might be less sore. Or maybe not. The Watertribe NC Challenge had started the morning before, on Cedar Island, from the beach next to the ferry landing. The 15 miles’ upwind slog we still faced to return there would close a 100ish‐mile loop. (We ultimately sailed 103 statute miles over two days.) 103 miles round trip We’d been a little slow leaving the Cedar Island beach Friday morning... still figuring out where to stow stuff in the boat, velcroing & lashing. Watertribe’s Chief had advised against launching, part of organizational liability‐fending (that we came to find comical), but also a nod to the NNE breeze coming directly off the big Pamlico that was producing breaking waves. Most everyone launched anyway… a few boats delayed or chose a more protected launch site with a time penalty. We needed rollers to get the loaded Jet down the beach. (Yes, the boat with gear—tent, bedding, 2 days of food and water, toolkit, spare parts, and a range of battery‐powered devices—would have been a beast to launch without them.) We stowed the rollers, then pushed the boat out through minor surf. were those rollers as necessary as we thought? Then we were off… on a fast reach NW across the face of Cedar Island, with some planing at times—unexpected with all the extra gear. We went through the slot between Piney Island and Raccoon Island even though they’d told us that Piney Island was “hot” that morning (a well‐used Marine bombing target). fast reach across Cedar Island Once around the corner into the Neuse River, we were off on a wild run to SW with the wind behind our starboard hip. There were 3‐4’ swells coming in off the Pamlico, some breaking waves too. We did lots of surfing... saw 12mph on the GPS at one point… probably more... pic doesn’t really show big following swells in the Neuse… kite up in lower Neuse It felt too pitchy to put the kite up until we got a bit farther into the Neuse. We flew the kite for the last half of the Neuse run. The whole Neuse River leg happened so fast that we turned south into Clubfoot Creek hours ahead of any float plan we’d imagined. We never expected to get through Clubfoot and into the Harlow Canal ahead of incoming tidal current. The canal is a funky narrow thing (20‐40’ wide) connecting Clubfoot Creek with Harlow Creek. It was originally a Native American ditch and then was dug out by slaves in the 1820s to carry commercial traffic between Beaufort and New Bern—part of the IntraCoastal Waterway in the 19th century. Three low bridges and overhanging trees along a 3+ mile stretch force all the sailboats to dismast and paddle or row (a Watertribe “filter,” to keep the boat entrants small and nimble). with mighty strokes in Harlow Canal With tide in our favor, we got through the rowing stint (5‐6 miles in all) surprisingly quickly—we’d figured on rowing/paddling as one of our major hurdles, and had made so many boat modifications with the rowing leg in mind. A pair of high‐end Croker sculling oars, on loan from sister‐in‐law Anne, were a joy to handle. We could put the mast back up once Harlow Creek opened into wider marsh, and sailed out the creek to a nice fast reach SE down the Newport River mouth to Beaufort. Though there had been no avoiding the mast drop for the canal bridges, we avoided another slow drop at the Beaufort bridge by tipping the boat on its side and dragging it under slanty—and then bailing at the other side. “Whatever works for you, Cap’n,” the bridge tender had said. maneuver at Beaufort Bridge that almost pulled Todd in Then an obligatory half‐hour stop at the checkpoint on the Beaufort waterfront. Tide & northerly breeze let us sail close‐
hauled out of Taylor's Creek through Beaufort (something we'd originally figured we might have to row). We somehow made it across the shoals outside Taylors Creek (without having to hop out of the boat) and headed toward Harkers Island. Because we had knocked out our VHF in the bridge swamping (and my cell phone long before that), we didn't have a civilized way to communicate with the tender at Harkers Island Bridge (that is, beyond just honking)… so we just decided to sail around Harkers, a bit longer route but also familiar water, a comfort in waning light. We were too tired to brave Core Sound in the dark so we pulled in on Brown's Island... where we had to chase away a bull (with horns) before pitching camp. A good thing we stopped there or we’d have hit a pound net a hundred yards farther. Appreciated a hot campstove meal and a good night's sleep. We had a somewhat slow start the next morning… Even though we’d started breaking camp pre‐dawn, it took awhile to make coffee, roll up a sandy tent, drag the rudder out from packed sand that the night’s tide had deposited, and finally reassure a local fisherman in a workboat (we initially thought he was the law) who came by either to rescue us or to protect his pound net just up the beach. campsite too pretty to leave… amid bull‐pies hoi toide left ‘er, they might say on Harkers Little did we know (with most electronics disabled) that several friends following GPS tracks online were distressed at our late start, wanted badly to tell us that everyone else appeared to be moving already while we were not. Little did they know how much more we were focused on finishing healthy than on going fast. It was fun once we’d launched Saturday to have a half‐dozen Watertribers in view, kayaks & several sail craft, coming into Core Sound out of various coves and passes to the south. The NNE breeze was freshening (would continue out of NE all Saturday, building from low to high teens and gusts to 20+ knots), so our Core Sound leg was a long uphill slog, one reef in all morning and two in the afternoon. A strenuous wet ride, plenty of steep 2'+ waves about a boatlength apart, some 3’. long wet beat, reefed & still dumping wind We made 35+ tacks over 9ish hours of continuous sailing (and periodic bailing)—tacking sometimes on wind shifts, sometimes when the centerboard found sand, sometimes when we had to get around a pound net, sometimes when we encountered bigger waves or strange current near ocean inlets to the east. We were finally able to foot a bit, then reach (and let the bailers empty the boat!), on a more westerly course into Cedar Island Bay—the route to a marshy cut‐
through channel (a shorter alternative to rounding the whole island to the east). Alas, we could not sail the channel with the breeze on our nose, and some adverse current, so instead we took turns walking and pulling the boat. Walking in chest‐deep water on a muck bottom against wind and current took both our sore quads over some kind of limit. We were happy to be able to sail the last few hundred yards out of the cut‐through channel… and by then were so giddy at being close to the finish that we hardly fretted a fairly hairy crossing of a band of breakers on the windward side of the island. Once through those waves, we barely noticed the fast reach back west along the island for the last mile of the event. We decided not to land on the launch beach (which would force us to deal with breakers yet again to get to the ramp later). Instead we sailed straight into the boat ramp area, protected by a breakwater. Enthusiastic Tribe greeters on the launch dock were alarmed at our screaming downwind approach, then surprised and relieved that we could hang a u‐turn to come into the wind at the last minute. Partly their surprise came from not being used to nimble racing sloops in this event. Among monohull sailcraft, they tend to see more small cruisers and traditional row/sail dinghies with single‐sail rigs. There was one Laser 2 (that finished) and one Thistle (that broke tiller/rudder, didn’t finish). And a Banshee whose pilot was still cobbling oarlocks under flashlight at 10pm the night before the race. As it shook out, we were the first monohull with a belly to finish the course—behind two windsurfers. In all, 7 of 12 monohull sailboats finished. Variety of watercraft is one of the most interesting things about these Watertribe events. It’s really an event designed for kayakers and canoeists—singles, tandems, with sails and without, with outriggers and without. Most boats tweaked somehow in what I now know is late‐night garage and driveway craziness. Some boats home‐built. The boat we sailed alongside most often through the event was a decked canoe with beautiful custom amas sailed/paddled by Meade Gougeon (“Sawhorse”), one of the Gougeon brothers (purveyors of West System epoxy). The boat Todd and I admired most was a Core Sound 20, designed by Graham Byrnes of NC (who was at the event). Boat size is limited by the rule that you must beach‐launch and carry any launch aids (like rollers) with you throughout the event. The Jet 14 we sailed in this event, Old Blue (737) is an untanked Siddons boat. The open cockpit gave us room to lash in bedding and other gear (a lot of weight, but on balance, also added flotation). Modifications included a kick‐up rudder, oarlocks, a rowing seat that fit over the raised centerboard, a rear mast crutch/seat assembly (to carry mast while rowing, and give crew a midline seat so that rowing strokes could be level), jib furling, three sets of reefing points sewn into the main, and launch rollers (thin drainpipe filled with structural foam). Everything worked well, except that we tore one reef point (mendable) in the last hour of our final beat, and drowned some “waterproof” electronics. mods: sawz‐all & angle‐grinder craftsmanship If any other Jets want to do this sometime (Paula and Paula?), it could really be a blast with company. The WaterTribe, a motley bunch of somewhat crazy small‐craft expeditioneers, now knows what a Jet 14 is and how it can fare in exposed conditions. (“No, the ‘Paper Jet’ is an imposter.”) It could be much harder than Todd and I had it, though. We had steady wind (if a bit much at times) and perfect temperatures. We could have had no wind (more rowing), or more wind (more reefing and hiking), or wind that shifted so that more of the course was upwind; we could have faced adverse current on more of the course; we could have had more mishaps with oysters or groundings or nets. Or cold, or hot… or broken gear… etc. Todd and I had a terrific time. We loved the big water and big sky of some truly gorgeous maritime landscape. We didn’t stress about racing. We forgot about students we weren’t teaching. We speculated about what was going on in other boats (“when will the Skinnies catch us?”—the Thistle we expected would roll over us any moment). We laughed and sang. Todd was hardy, cheerful, steady, undaunted—even when we were struggling to get up out of our seats the day after the race, with sore quads and backs… Special thanks are due to: Anne for the superb oars; Connie & Marion for advice on reefing lines and sail reinforcement; Keith & Steve for wet spectatorship; Dan for monitoring progress from across the Neuse; Paula & Tom & Miller family & others for following the event online; Tom for his fine animation of the event tracking map; Erika & Susan for not fretting all the “you could die” warnings on Watertribe waivers; and many others for well‐wishes, shared anticipations, and indulgences throughout the run‐up to the event. Now we’ll shut up about it until… some other year? 1
Vague Rogue: bowdlerized, probably nonsensical, French for “rogue wave.” (Properly vague scélérate.) But also, for us Anglophones, sorta‐rogue, not‐quite‐convincing rogue. 2
Tlaloque Scramblonic: Tlaloques are minions of the Aztec rain/water god Tlaloc. But the originary ones required blood sacrifice: Scramblonic is a new, more friendly (and frenetic) Tlaloque. Scramblonic is also what Todd calls one or more of his kids when they are fired up.