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Crew: Andrew, Koby, Lena
There are days in Boston Harbor when the wind is so weak and feeble that I wish we had a third or forth sail to grab as much of it as we can. Then, there are days like August the 30th, 2020. The forecast had warned me of wind gusts up to 30 knots and seas with 2-3 ft waves so I had a vague idea that this was going to be a day of intense sailing which would require skill and caution. I had worked on mentally preparing myself for what was to come, on remembering that the only way to grow is to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. In strong winds a sailboat can easily become overpowered—for that reason, the mainsail in most boats is rigged to allow one or two reefs, i.e. to reduce the amount of sail surface that is exposed to the wind by means of a set of lines that pull the sail down and secure it over the boom and back toward the stern.
I took some pictures of the water around the sailing club as I waited for the rest of the crew. The water appeared calm; “Maybe it will not be as bad as I imagined”, I remember thinking. We left the marina in the Aeolus—a blue Sabre 30 owned by the Boston Sailing Center. Our exit from the slip was smooth and with the west winds to our stern we were soon on our way to the outer harbor. We didn’t notice until we were pretty far from the marina and ready to raise the mainsail that our boat was rigged for the first reef but not the second. When Andrew pointed it out, I didn’t immediately fully appreciate what that would mean for our ability to steer and control the boat.
As we approached Castle Island, Andrew asked me to pick a destination. We could go southeast or northeast. After some discussion, we decided that we would try going northeast—we might even be able to reach Marblehead, something that this crew had attempted before but had run out of wind and ended up anchoring in Nahant instead. Going north seemed like a good idea, not only because we had been mostly sailing south this year but also because Andrew expected (or rather hoped) that the wind would veer northward and become northwest, which meant we would be returning home on a beam reach.
Turning toward the North Channel after Deer Island was when I first felt the full might of the wind—and the impact of that missing second reef. The gusts and the waves made the Aeolus very hard to control and even though I had been trying to hold on to the wheel and keep her steady and on course, my shoulders started to hurt from the stress and the tension and I had to ask Andrew to take the helm. We were travelling at a respectable 7 knots and were zooming past buoys but she was definitely putting up a fight, occasionally heeling intensely due to a stronger gust or two.
On passing red number 4 the gusts intensified and Andrew felt it was time to further reef the jib, i.e. to furl it even more to reduce its power. Still in charge of navigation, I gave Andrew the instructions to arrive at our next target—a red and green buoy marking the entrance to Salem Sound. The required heading and distance were clearly annotated in the chart (I would have had to use a ruler otherwise), but I still felt proud of playing the navigator role—this was the first time that I was doing it alone.
Our plan was to leave the buoy to our port side and then tack to enter Marblehead Harbor. Instead, as we approached it, I saw a partially submerged lobster trap floater cross our bow. When I heard the captain utter the words “we have a problem”, I knew we were “trapped”—in all meanings of the word. The line connecting the floater to the trap had got caught either on our propeller or keel and even though we had plenty of wind, the boat was stopped, and Andrew could not steer. He suggested that we jibed her in place instead. After making sure that there were no heads on the way, Andrew used the jib to turn the boat away from the wind and the boom swinged violently toward our starboard side as the wind caught the sails on the other side. Something was happening—we were moving—but it was not clear to me whether we were moving forward or rotating around the trap. After a few agonizing seconds wondering if we had regained control of our ship, I saw the guilty floater a few feet behind us—we were free!
Marblehead Harbor was finally within reach, so we dropped the main and turned on the engine; it was time for some relaxation! Marblehead Harbor was a sea of boats with a little bit of water in between. The deeper into the harbor we went, the less windy it became. We followed the tiny channel between the moorings and the shore which led us to the town dock, where we were able to easily dock thanks to the practice we had done the week before.
Then came the gourmet lunch—which always happens when Koby joins the adventure and gives us the pleasure not only of his company but also of his cooking. From the galley and by Koby’s hand, food kept coming up to the cockpit—bread, multiple types of sandwich fillings, cole slaw, crab salad and of course wine! We ended up having a very pleasant, very filling lunch under the sun with almost no waves and no wind.
Andrew and I went for a walk after lunch (Koby stayed with the boat as the harbormaster did not allow unattended boats in the town dock). We came across a lovely park with great views of the harbor and a lot of “in loving memory” benches, water fountains, statues and other memorials. Looking down into the harbor helped us fully appreciate how busy this harbor is: there are about 2000 moorings crammed in the 1 mile-long, 700-yard-wide horseshoe-shaped harbor! There’s also an interesting tidbit of maritime history that I didn’t learn about until later: Marblehead Harbor was home to the first armed vessel of the United States Navy (originally called Continental Navy). The town of Marblehead—originally called Massebequash—used to be home to the Naumkeag people, who were unfortunately decimated by smallpox (or so it is believed) in the 1600s, and it was later colonized by European settlers, who renamed it "Marblehead" when they mistook its granite ledges for marble.
Eventually, I freaked out about the lack of control and asked Andrew to take the wheel while Koby and I attempted to push the mainsail down and backwards with a makeshift second “reef” line that we had tied to the main and wrapped around the boom. Our reef job was ugly—we had nothing but sail ties to try to keep the lower part of sail from filling with air, but our combined strength could not compete with the power of the wind and there was only so much we could do about tying the main to the boom. Even with a handicapped main and a reefed jib we were moving at about 6 knots. Relieved that Andrew was at the wheel and that we had reefed the sails as much as we could, I sat down and settled—I had had enough excitement for the day… or so I thought!
The return to the North Channel was uneventful—even though I was tempted to fix the ugly second reef job, it would be too dangerous to do so: Andrew would need to turn her into the wind to release some of the pressure on the sail, but that would have made the sail luff so violently that it would have been a danger to the crew. I was glad I decided to not do anything about it. Until, that is, we turned into Presidents Roads to take her back home.
With the wind coming directly from the northwest, which was our heading, the handicapped/reefed sails meant that we had to sail her at a large angle relative to the wind direction. We were heeling a lot but moving slowly. To make matters worse, the wind was pushing us toward Spectacle Island. We tacked to avoid a collision with the island but did not have enough speed to cross the “no-sail” zone due to our handicapped main and our jib trying to turn us away from the wind. I had experienced this many times while sailing on the Charles River (in fact, the only time I capsized in the Charles was caused by a jibe tied directly to my frustration at the inability to tack due to lack of speed), but it had not occurred to me until that very moment that the heavier the boat, the more speed it needs to tack successfully. And we did not have enough speed for our heavy boat.
Andrew quickly turned on the engine and we were soon getting out of that perilous situation. And then, he taught me and Koby a new technique that I had never learned before: backwinding the jib while tacking. So here’s how it worked: every time we tacked, we would allow the jib to catch the wind on the opposite side before letting it flip over entirely to the other side. The intent was to use the jib to help push the bow across the wind (to help us rotate past the “no sail zone”) until we were safely tacked instead of in irons—and it worked! According to Andrew, this is often used as a tactic when racing to minimize the inevitable speed loss caused by crossing the wind.
We tacked a few times within Presidents Roads but left the engine on… just in case. Poor Koby got violently hit by the whipping jib sheet a few times before he learned to stay away. As we approached the inner harbor, the wind slowed down, the sun was low, the full moon showed up and we saw two of the most beautiful ships in Boston Harbor sail into the sunset: the Liberty Clipper and the Adirondack III. It was an idyllic setting after a fun—but intense—day on the water.
Writing this blog a week later, I appreciate that the most important lesson I learned that day was that sailing in heavy wind is part of learning to become a good sailor. It is fun to do it for the challenge and the pride of having done it, but I always need to remind myself that these conditions need a lot more preparation, focus and attention. I can’t express how grateful I am to Andrew for being willing and able to take me out in these conditions and for patiently holding my hand when I inevitably panic and mess up. Overall, the day was very successful, and in spite of the intense pressure on our sails, the only thing broken was the cockpit table which came off of its support when I was bringing it down after lunch (and that had nothing to do with the wind!).
I took some pictures of the water around the sailing club as I waited for the rest of the crew. The water appeared calm; “Maybe it will not be as bad as I imagined”, I remember thinking. We left the marina in the Aeolus—a blue Sabre 30 owned by the Boston Sailing Center. Our exit from the slip was smooth and with the west winds to our stern we were soon on our way to the outer harbor. We didn’t notice until we were pretty far from the marina and ready to raise the mainsail that our boat was rigged for the first reef but not the second. When Andrew pointed it out, I didn’t immediately fully appreciate what that would mean for our ability to steer and control the boat.
 The water around the sailing club appeared calm and serene |
As we approached Castle Island, Andrew asked me to pick a destination. We could go southeast or northeast. After some discussion, we decided that we would try going northeast—we might even be able to reach Marblehead, something that this crew had attempted before but had run out of wind and ended up anchoring in Nahant instead. Going north seemed like a good idea, not only because we had been mostly sailing south this year but also because Andrew expected (or rather hoped) that the wind would veer northward and become northwest, which meant we would be returning home on a beam reach.
Andrew’s note: I was glad that we decided on Marblehead. We rarely go there for a day sail. It's 18 nautical miles from Boston to Marblehead. Since I refuse to go under motor (unless cornered), it’s only possible to comfortably do the round trip in a day if the wind is just right. In fact, I think it was just the third time in my life I'd done it. The first time was years ago, when I was learning to sail and took a coastal navigation class which included a day trip to Marblehead. That was also the first sail in my life outside of a harbor. Fortunately, we were practicing the traditional paper-chart-and-compass navigation back then, and I was just thrilled by sailing a compass course and then, after an hour or two, seeing the buoy we were heading to magically appear at the horizon. And then, of course, Marblehead itself is a cute town to visit, and Salem Sound (the body of water from which one enters Marblehead Harbor) is an interesting and challenging place to sail. Turned out it had some new surprises for us, too.
 The waters began to appear choppy as we approached Castle Island |
Turning toward the North Channel after Deer Island was when I first felt the full might of the wind—and the impact of that missing second reef. The gusts and the waves made the Aeolus very hard to control and even though I had been trying to hold on to the wheel and keep her steady and on course, my shoulders started to hurt from the stress and the tension and I had to ask Andrew to take the helm. We were travelling at a respectable 7 knots and were zooming past buoys but she was definitely putting up a fight, occasionally heeling intensely due to a stronger gust or two.
Moving past Nahant
At 11AM—a mere 2 hours since we had left the marina—we were by Nahant. There was therefore no reason not to aim for Marblehead. The conditions remained the same as Andrew diligently kept her on course toward the red buoy number 4 which was 6 nautical miles (or about 1 hour) away from the red and white buoy marking the beginning of the North Channel. Koby and I adjusted the sails occasionally but mostly remained silent and enjoyed the wind in our faces.
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On passing red number 4 the gusts intensified and Andrew felt it was time to further reef the jib, i.e. to furl it even more to reduce its power. Still in charge of navigation, I gave Andrew the instructions to arrive at our next target—a red and green buoy marking the entrance to Salem Sound. The required heading and distance were clearly annotated in the chart (I would have had to use a ruler otherwise), but I still felt proud of playing the navigator role—this was the first time that I was doing it alone.
Our plan was to leave the buoy to our port side and then tack to enter Marblehead Harbor. Instead, as we approached it, I saw a partially submerged lobster trap floater cross our bow. When I heard the captain utter the words “we have a problem”, I knew we were “trapped”—in all meanings of the word. The line connecting the floater to the trap had got caught either on our propeller or keel and even though we had plenty of wind, the boat was stopped, and Andrew could not steer. He suggested that we jibed her in place instead. After making sure that there were no heads on the way, Andrew used the jib to turn the boat away from the wind and the boom swinged violently toward our starboard side as the wind caught the sails on the other side. Something was happening—we were moving—but it was not clear to me whether we were moving forward or rotating around the trap. After a few agonizing seconds wondering if we had regained control of our ship, I saw the guilty floater a few feet behind us—we were free!
 |
Marblehead Harbor was finally within reach, so we dropped the main and turned on the engine; it was time for some relaxation! Marblehead Harbor was a sea of boats with a little bit of water in between. The deeper into the harbor we went, the less windy it became. We followed the tiny channel between the moorings and the shore which led us to the town dock, where we were able to easily dock thanks to the practice we had done the week before.
There were lots of boats in Marblehead Harbor and a few sailors having fun |
Then came the gourmet lunch—which always happens when Koby joins the adventure and gives us the pleasure not only of his company but also of his cooking. From the galley and by Koby’s hand, food kept coming up to the cockpit—bread, multiple types of sandwich fillings, cole slaw, crab salad and of course wine! We ended up having a very pleasant, very filling lunch under the sun with almost no waves and no wind.
Food kept coming up to the cockpit |
Andrew and I went for a walk after lunch (Koby stayed with the boat as the harbormaster did not allow unattended boats in the town dock). We came across a lovely park with great views of the harbor and a lot of “in loving memory” benches, water fountains, statues and other memorials. Looking down into the harbor helped us fully appreciate how busy this harbor is: there are about 2000 moorings crammed in the 1 mile-long, 700-yard-wide horseshoe-shaped harbor! There’s also an interesting tidbit of maritime history that I didn’t learn about until later: Marblehead Harbor was home to the first armed vessel of the United States Navy (originally called Continental Navy). The town of Marblehead—originally called Massebequash—used to be home to the Naumkeag people, who were unfortunately decimated by smallpox (or so it is believed) in the 1600s, and it was later colonized by European settlers, who renamed it "Marblehead" when they mistook its granite ledges for marble.
 The Aeolus quietly awaiting her crew (lower left) in the town dock at Marblehead Harbor |
 A little castle |
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Back into the fray
With the wind pushing us away from the dock, our undocking maneuver was easy, and soon enough we were back in the small channel that would lead us back to Salem Sound. We had partially unfurled the jib before we left the channel, and I was at the helm. As soon as we left the protection of Marblehead Harbor, I could feel the strong wind on the jib. As I turned her into the wind with the intent of allowing Koby and Andrew to raise the mainsail, I felt extremely strong resistance from the jib, which was turning our bow away from the wind—with full throttle on the engine I still could not keep her facing the wind, so that Andrew could work on setting up a second reef on the mainsail. In retrospect, having the jib unfurled before raising the mainsail in these wild wind conditions was probably a mistake: live and learn!
Eventually, I freaked out about the lack of control and asked Andrew to take the wheel while Koby and I attempted to push the mainsail down and backwards with a makeshift second “reef” line that we had tied to the main and wrapped around the boom. Our reef job was ugly—we had nothing but sail ties to try to keep the lower part of sail from filling with air, but our combined strength could not compete with the power of the wind and there was only so much we could do about tying the main to the boom. Even with a handicapped main and a reefed jib we were moving at about 6 knots. Relieved that Andrew was at the wheel and that we had reefed the sails as much as we could, I sat down and settled—I had had enough excitement for the day… or so I thought!
The return to the North Channel was uneventful—even though I was tempted to fix the ugly second reef job, it would be too dangerous to do so: Andrew would need to turn her into the wind to release some of the pressure on the sail, but that would have made the sail luff so violently that it would have been a danger to the crew. I was glad I decided to not do anything about it. Until, that is, we turned into Presidents Roads to take her back home.
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With the wind coming directly from the northwest, which was our heading, the handicapped/reefed sails meant that we had to sail her at a large angle relative to the wind direction. We were heeling a lot but moving slowly. To make matters worse, the wind was pushing us toward Spectacle Island. We tacked to avoid a collision with the island but did not have enough speed to cross the “no-sail” zone due to our handicapped main and our jib trying to turn us away from the wind. I had experienced this many times while sailing on the Charles River (in fact, the only time I capsized in the Charles was caused by a jibe tied directly to my frustration at the inability to tack due to lack of speed), but it had not occurred to me until that very moment that the heavier the boat, the more speed it needs to tack successfully. And we did not have enough speed for our heavy boat.
Andrew quickly turned on the engine and we were soon getting out of that perilous situation. And then, he taught me and Koby a new technique that I had never learned before: backwinding the jib while tacking. So here’s how it worked: every time we tacked, we would allow the jib to catch the wind on the opposite side before letting it flip over entirely to the other side. The intent was to use the jib to help push the bow across the wind (to help us rotate past the “no sail zone”) until we were safely tacked instead of in irons—and it worked! According to Andrew, this is often used as a tactic when racing to minimize the inevitable speed loss caused by crossing the wind.
We tacked a few times within Presidents Roads but left the engine on… just in case. Poor Koby got violently hit by the whipping jib sheet a few times before he learned to stay away. As we approached the inner harbor, the wind slowed down, the sun was low, the full moon showed up and we saw two of the most beautiful ships in Boston Harbor sail into the sunset: the Liberty Clipper and the Adirondack III. It was an idyllic setting after a fun—but intense—day on the water.
 Liberty Clipper (left) and the Adirondack III (right) sailing into the sunset |
Writing this blog a week later, I appreciate that the most important lesson I learned that day was that sailing in heavy wind is part of learning to become a good sailor. It is fun to do it for the challenge and the pride of having done it, but I always need to remind myself that these conditions need a lot more preparation, focus and attention. I can’t express how grateful I am to Andrew for being willing and able to take me out in these conditions and for patiently holding my hand when I inevitably panic and mess up. Overall, the day was very successful, and in spite of the intense pressure on our sails, the only thing broken was the cockpit table which came off of its support when I was bringing it down after lunch (and that had nothing to do with the wind!).
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