Ship's Log: 19 September 2010; Sail Ho!

Date: Sunday, 13 June 2010
Time: 2:01 p.m.
Location: 41° 46' 12" North; 88° 9' 30" West
Conditions: 77 degrees, skies clear but threatening, light but variable winds
Crew: Self, Master; Henry, Midshipman

Yesterday made the triumphant debut of the Ruddy Duck as sailing vessel.
Midshipman Henry and I loaded up the Duck, the paddles, and the sail, and headed up to the Forest Preserve lake -- this was to have been the destination of our upriver overnight excursion. It was easier to drive.

When we got there, however, The Man kept us down. All kinds of things about "registering your boat with the state" and "permits" and "substantial fines". I had Henry look as much like a dying-boy's-last-wish-is-to-go-sailing-with-his-dad-this-last-time, but to no avail.

So we turned around and went back to the Mighty DuPage River, to the same embarcation point as our previously logged voyage. (This is not the location of the videotaped sea trials, but the spot from which Henry and I departed the day we went over the rapids.)

Upstream of the rapids, the river is wide, slow and shallow. The current is mellow enough to give the impression of floating in a pond. (Incidentally, when we were right out in the middle, in what should be the deepest point, I shoved my paddle down into the water until it hit bottom. Which was about 18 inches. So even if we had a major catastrophe and overturned, even Henry could just stand up, and the water would only be up to his knees.)

It was more challenging than I had expected to rig the sail with the Duck in the water. I think this was mostly due to my incredibly unseamanlike way of storing the sail. I know in my heart that it should have been precicely furled to the yard, lashed with evenly-spaced turns of cordage, with all loose ends coiled neatly. Instead, it was all just kind of bunched up together. Disgraceful.

The end result being that I got the spar onto the mast backwards, making all of the blocks (again: sailor-ese for 'pulleys') reversed, and I had to basically un-rig all of the rigging and re-rig it, with the mast stepped into a bobbing boat. Also, all of the loose ends dropped into the water, which made a bit of a mess in the boat. Before going out again, I'll re-furl the sail to the yard in a much more seamanlike manner.

Eventually, though, I got it rigged, the mast stepped, and the yard raised, with the sail furled to the yard:
I do have to say, it is particularly gratifying to be out on the water and have people line the banks making complimentary comments. (The Naperville RiverWalk is exactly as you picture it: lined with families, children, old couples walking together, people walking dogs . . . it is like living in a Norman Rockwell painting.)

But then came the moment of truth. Letting the sail fly and trying it out.

Which almost did not happen. The winds were light and variable, but once we got out on the water and in position, they completely died. We were becalmed. I tried to explain to Henry about the Doldrums. (Nautical fact: The condition "the doldrums", that feeling of being kind of lazily bored (like a 12-year-old), is named after The Doldrums, the region around the equator where the heat and currents essentially kill the wind. A ship can be flying along at 12 knots, and then hit the Doldrums and come to a standstill for weeks.)

The prevailing wind, when there was one, was easterly (which, if I'm not mistaken, meant that it was out of the east and blowing to the west.) Which worked out perfectly, as what scant current there is in that stretch of the DuPage is in the opposite direction. My plan was to float downstream with the current, stopping just short of the rapids we shot last time out, bringing the boat about (that means 'turning around'), and sailing back upstream.

So we did just that: with the sail furled to the yard, we floated downstream a couple hundred yards, came about, and let fly.

I taught Henry several useful nautical terms during the voyage:
port: left
starboard: right
mainsail: the primary sail of a ship; in our case the only sail
haul: to pull on a rope
let fly: to let go of a rope
belay: stop whatever it is you're doing

So, as I said, I brought the boat about, and ordered Henry to "Let fly!". He released the halyards and the sail dropped. Not much happened at first, but I trimmed the sail a bit with the sheets (see the yellow lines in the previous illustrations), eventually catching the light wind.

And we started moving upstream.
IT WORKED!
We got up to the top of the pool, I had Henry haul on the lines and hoist the sail to the yard, and we came about and floated back downstream and did it all again.

On the third time up, the wind gusted for about 30 seconds and we actually got a little ripple of water along the side of the boat. We were going maybe jogging speed, nothing dramatic, but to be moving against the current, at any sort of speed, using the sail I designed and built . . . was very gratifying.

We came up with a couple of modifications/further developments to make it easier to hoist/let fly: I'm going to add a couple of blocks to the crossmember that the halyards will run through to make it easier for Henry to hoist the sail to the yard. Also, I'll add a couple of cleats to hold these once the sail is up. Yesterday, when we were floating back downstream, Henry had to hold onto the ropes hard to keep the sail up (so we didn't get blown backwards upstream.) I don't know if I'll get standard cleats that he'll have to wrap the rope around, figure-eight to lock it, or cool and modern cam cleats, which are springloaded clips that you just put the rope into and it holds . . .

It was good.

Ship's Log: 13 June 2010

Date: Sunday, 13 June 2010
Time: 1:50 p.m.
Location: 41° 46' 12" North; 88° 9' 30" West
Conditions: 77 degrees, skies clear but threatening, no wind
Crew: Self, Master; Henry, Ship's Boy

In the afternoon, decided to take the boat out for a short voyage of exploration and discovery on the DuPage river. Portaged PV Merganser ("Ruddy Duck")* to point of embarkation (DuPage River, near Centennial Park).

Found a suitable launching site not far from the parking lot. Got the boat in the water and loaded her with supplies (captain's seat, paddles, water) and Ship's Boy boarded. Captain climbed aboard (no ceremonial piping nor Marines), and we pushed off.

This section of the river is wide, calm, and deep. The Ship's Boy was shown the rudiments of paddling (how to grip a canoe paddle, how to row a stroke) and, after showing proficiency, was rated Able Seaman.

I set a course for the Naperville River Walk, a stretch of the DuPage with sidewalks and parklands on both side. We have often walked there, and thought about being out on the boat there.

Thus, we paddled downstream (east southeast, a half east) where the lookout reported troubled water ahead: we were heading straight for a waterfall. Veered off to starboard to assess the situation. Remembered that this was a voyage of discovery, after all, and so circled back to survey the waterfall area. Turned beam-on to the rapids, and felt the accelerating pace of the current pulling us towards the precipice; not unlike a lee shore.

Through valiant rowing, we pulled clear of the current and back into the pool. By this point, there were several local residents observing our progress from a bridge suspended above the beginning of the rapids.

Upgraded Able Seaman to Master's Mate, and thereby discussed with him the best course for action. It was determined that the sea is no place for cowards, so we decided to brave the rapids. I steered the boat towards the rushing water, looking for the deepest, smoothest passage through the falls.

The water grew much faster as we approached the edge, and we were pulled into the current and over the falls. Halfway through we hit a rock, temporarily grounding and pulling the stern of the vessel around so that we were broadside to the oncoming current. I ordered the Master's Mate to avast rowing, stow his oar and clap on to the gunwales. I effectively club-hauled us off of the rock, allowing the stern to pay around with the current and pull us off the rock. After one more bump we were clear, and by dropping a sea anchor (my paddle, thrust perpendicular to the current), I brought about the head and we were able to pay off downstream.

It was a most exciting few moments.

After we got back underway (much to the delight of the onlookers), we took stock of the ship and the crew and found all was well: The Ruddy Duck had weathered the current well. But we were far from clear.

We continued downstream, approaching the River Walk proper and familiar surroundings. However, between us and our goal was another set of rapids, and this one looked shallower. After nearly grounding in the previous falls, I chose to bring the vessel about and go back upstream, choosing to scout that water before sailing there.

We proceeded upstream at a very slow pace; with both myself and my mate paddling, we made progress, but against the current it was slow going. I thought it might be easier to get over the shallow draft if we lightened the ballast, so I headed for a nice cove and put the Mate ashore, instructing him to forage ahead, cross the bridge over the rapids, and meet me on the bank in the calm water.

I found the way easier in the shallows, where the current was not so strong. Still, it was slow going, and with all of the assembled natives on the bridge watching my every move, I made the decision to land the craft and continue upstream by wading and pulling the boat through the rapid shallows.

I was barefoot, and the water was cold, but not unreasonably so. I was very pleased to find the footing solid and smooth; it took little time to get up under the bridge and (despite offers of assistance from above), I proceeded in a very seamanlike manner to the pool, where I re-boarded and proceeded to the rendezvous, where I picked up the Master's Mate.

After showing such bravery through this adventure, I rated him Midshipman.

We decided to continue the exploration upstream, but as we paddled away, one of the old salts on the bridge (no doubt a former captain himself, perhaps now an admiral) called out that "there's weather brewin'!". And, sure enough, a glance to the west showed dark clouds lowering.

We set a course for the cove from where we had departed and, as soon as the Midshipman disembarked, the heavens opened and rain pelted down.

I was able to get the Ruddy Duck out of the water and to the car, where we sat for 10 minutes, waiting for the driving rain to slacken. When it did, I loaded the boat back onto the car and portaged home.


* A note about the name:
While I have chosen "Ruddy Duck" for the actual name of the boat, I felt it needed a little bit more for a proper formal title. So I went back to naval history (specifically the Royal Navy), and found that ships generally had an abbreviated description of the service to which the ship belonged, then a description of the vessel type, and then the name itself.

For example, HMS Frigate Boadicea would belong to His Majesty's Service (i.e., in the Royal Navy), would be a frigate-class ship (38 guns), and be called the Boadicea.

Privateers, which were ships licensed by the King to attack enemy vessels but were not part of the navy proper, were signified "HMHV": His Majesty's Hired Vessel.

I have taken that to the next (logical) step to come up with "PV": Private Vessel.

As for the class my boat belongs in, I don't know that there is one: It's no doubt a pirogue (flat-bottomed, double-ended canoe), but it will eventually sport a single-mast square sail and, perhaps, a transom. I doubt any such vessel has ever existed in the history of boat building. So I determined it is a new class, the Merganser class. This is in tribute to Fred, in gratitude for all of his invaluable help on this project. (Fred had proffered the name "Merganser" or "Smew" for the boat, when I was casting about for names.)

A Merganser is a fish-eating seaduck, although almost all mergansers live in and on rivers rather than the sea. While a Ruddy Duck is not technically in the merganser family, I thought it was close enough.

So, the offical name of The Boat is PV Merganser "Ruddy Duck".