Got my West Wight Potter 19' wet for the first time this Saturday. This was really my first experience as skipper. I've sailed a Sunfish a few times before, crewed on a thirty-footer during a race and sailed the Caribbean for a few days aboard a crewed charter, but I've never sailed by myself on anything bigger than a Sunfish before. On top of this my confidence was shaken during my last sailing experience in Jamaica when I capsized the resort's Sunfish and was unable to right it. I had to be rescued by resort personnel and broke the mast in the process. My traveling companions really got a kick out of it and wife still shows the pictures whenever we have company.
We arrived at the marina at around 10:00 am. It was a perfect day: cloudy, wind around 5 knots and temperature in the upper seventies to low eighties. I proceeded to set up the boat for the first time while my wife Brenda waited patiently reading a book. (This is not easy for her since she is a very hands-on person, but she did a great job and was very supportive despite all my fumbling.) I had read the manual several times as well as some emails answering common questions that the factory printed out and sent with the boat and had rehearsed the process over and over in my mind. Still it took much longer than I anticipated: over three hours!
When I initially raised the mast with the factory provided mast-raising system, it seemed to be a lot heavier than I thought, requiring more effort than I had expected. I would later discover that one of the turnbuckles had gotten caught and by applying too much force I bent the two T bolts and took a chuck out of the rubrail. Du'h! I had to replace the bolts later at a cost of $8 a pop!
I finally got the boat ready and in the water at around 3:00 pm. By this time, Brenda had finally gotten impatient so she gladly agreed to pay the $45 a month for a dry slip despite initially grumbling about all the money I was spending on "the boat". Having read the manual, I extended the rudder and tightened the friction screw on the motor in order to steer with the rudder as instructed. I quickly learned that this wouldn't work as the water was too shallow and the rudder got stuck in the mud preventing us from going anywhere.
I decided to raise the rudder, lash it and steer with the motor. After clumsily struggling for a few minutes against the current that kept pushing us towards the dock and other boats, we finally managed to leave the marina. We motored to the middle of the creek where I lowered the rudder and keel. I turned boat into the wind and told Brenda to hold her steady while I raised the sails. She was hesitant at first since, being a man and having a typical male mind, I simply told her to "steer into the wind". After trying unsuccessfully to explain to her how to read the waves in order to determine the direction of the wind, I finally remembered the compass. I took off the compass cover and said, "just keep the line at 150 and remember that you turn the stick right to go left and vice versa." She did a great job holding her steady, although we would later have more problems with male-female communications.
I raised the main, turned the boat approximately into a beam reach, turned off the engine and trimmed the main. At this point something magical happened… We were sailing! I never thought that it would be so easy. I guess I had pictured this moment so many times in my mind since I was kid in Puerto Rico lusting after the big yachts that came south from the US and Canada, that I instinctively knew what to do. The past few hours of struggle just disappeared from our minds and were completely relaxed. I tacked a few times under main alone and managed to keep the boat moving, even though the maneuvers were anything but graceful. I wanted to practice jibing but Brenda protested, "Can't you just sit back and enjoy the moment?" She was right. This was a moment worthy of being savored. We were so relaxed that we finally figured out what we wanted to name her, "Capitán McPherson", after the nickname that my father jokingly gave my uncle, an old salt who was a quartermaster in a destroyer during the Korean War. He always keeps us guessing if his sea tales are fact or fiction. (I particularly like the one that ends with him and his shipmates having a beer at the base of the great pyramid, but that's another story.)
I eventually worked up the courage to unfurl the lapper. Despite my reservations about my ability to set up the furler according to the cryptic instructions supplied by the manufacturer (I can speak two languages and could swear that those instructions were written in none of them), the roller furling worked great. I'm glad I got it. For the next two and a half hours, I played around with sail trim and boat handling. I managed to squeeze more and more speed out of the boat (despite the fact that I was never able to get the motor out of the water) and my tacks became smoother. Before we knew it we passed the marker at the mouth of the creek and were headed for the Potomac. It was time to turn back.
As I ineptly attempted to jibe in order to turn the boat downwind towards the marina. I wished that I had practiced the maneuver earlier. I made it somehow and only had one unintended jibe while sailing downwind wing-on-wing. Luckily the wind wasn't too strong and we still had the mast (and our heads) once it was over with. I thought I didn't have the sails trimmed correctly since we didn't appear to be moving fast enough, but I think it was just an illusion caused by the following seas of the rising tide since we arrived at the marina in no time. (I forgot to turn on my GPS, so I didn't have any way to gauge our speed.)
As soon as we were within sight of the experienced sailors working on their boats at the marina, it was as if we were Cinderella and the clock had just struck midnight. Our sleek sailing machine turned into a pumpkin and we struggled to control it and keep it from bumping into every other boat in the place.
As I was lowering the main, Brenda let the boat drift away from the eye of the wind and the sail started fluttering uncontrollably in my face. I had to climb down, turn the boat around and go back to the mast to finish lowering the sail. I forgot to raise the keel until were ready to approach the dock and had to turn away and tend to the keel. While I was down below struggling with the bolts that secure the keel in the down position, the engine started sputtering. By the time I got back on deck and raised the keel, the engine died and I had a tough time keeping it running without the choke all the way out.
I finally got the motor running again. I think it was either some bad gas or that the fuel line had come loose at the fuel tank starving the engine. Just in time too, since we were almost ready to hit the other bank. Now the rudder wouldn't kick up! I struggled with the rudder for a bit and we finally decided to tie up to the dock and get the rudder situation resolved before heading for the ramp.
We tied up to the end of the dock and forgot to move the bumpers to the other side of the boat. The swell kept banging the boat on to the bock leaving a black mark in my shinny new while hull. I finally managed to fold the rudder by taking it out and putting my weight on it in the cockpit. We staggered towards the ramp as the growing swell pushed us towards the other pier. I realized what a difference the keel makes as I motored slightly sideways towards the ramp. I felt as I did several years before when, as a student pilot, I was making an approach into Isla Grande airport in San Juan on a little Cessna in heavy crosswind. Brenda, sitting atop the cabin on the bow, thought that we were going to slam into the boats moored to starboard, as I had to keep the boat headed in that direction in order to get it to the ramp.
As we were getting ready to pull the boat out, another calamity struck. The winch brake wouldn't engage! By this time Mary, a friend of mine, had come over to check out the "cute little boat". Mary and I waded into the water to try to see what was the problem, since Brenda would have no contact with the yucky water. As I stood there winching and re-winching, with my new white boat shoes stuck in the mud, the boat got her next battle scar. She pitched in the swell, came loose from the bow roller and slammed into the side of the winch post a couple of times before I could winch her out again.
Finally, Mary called Don, the owner of the marina. Seeing that we were freaking out, Don, in a fatherly voice that he must have used with countless novice sailors before, stepped me through getting the boat secure to the winch post using the bow line and taking the boat out to were we could work on it with our feet dry. After analyzing the situation, we concluded that the winch brake had been installed incorrectly and I immediately corrected the problem. (Later, I would have to send for a new winch as the brake on the old one kept failing. The people at International Marine were very helpful in this matter.)
As Brenda made arrangements to leave the boat in a dry slip with the mast up, I washed the scum off the water line and sobbed over the scratches and dents she had picked up in her maiden voyage. We secured the boat and I went to change out of my wet, muddy clothes. When I came back, I saw Brenda talking to a man we hadn't met before. As I came closer I caught the last of the conversation: "…yep, I saw you had her moving pretty good there. You'll get the hang of it in no time… You'll really like it here…"
With all the excitement we didn't eat much all day except for some crackers with tuna salad and some Chex mix. We were starved! We stopped at a nearby restaurant, ordered a couple of burgers and sat silently next to each other. Despite all the mistakes and all the ineptitude, we were proud of ourselves. We were now officially sailors and nobody could take that away from us!
Fairwinds,
Imanuel Portalatín
P19, #1398, Capitán McPherson
Dahlgren, VA