By George, I Think I've Got It!

Fussing and fiddling had finally gotten me my OWN design:

• 13 1/2 feet long,
• with 13-inch-high sides for adequate freeboard heavily loaded,
• 26 inches wide at the bottom of the center frame (for a modicum of stability)
• 33 inches wide at  the top of center frame (for modest rocker and not too wide to paddle easily),
• double-ended to be paddle either way and so as not to drag much with ends immersed,
• with exterior chine logs to fasten bottom to,
• inwales to stiffen the sides without adding width,
• canoe-style seats (in addition to the center frame) to help the hull hold its shape

(Exterior chine logs are not only easier to make, but might also help the boat keep from sliding sideways in a breeze.)  Two people can paddle it comfortably.  If someone goes solo, reverse the boat so you're on the forward seat facing aft (the usual "stern" being the new "bow") for better one-person balance.  (Not an idea original to me, by the way.)

I started measuring the sides on ply this morning and came to an abrupt halt: this boat is so close to being a two sheeter!  If I continued, once I cut the 13" sides from the long edges, the resulting <22" wide center is a few inches too narrow to cut the bottom from--the more so because exterior chine logs add 1 1/2 inches to the width of the bottom.  At the same time I sat Stephen on the deck and measured up his side: even one-foot-high sides would make it difficult for him to paddle.  (Granted he wouldn't usually be sitting flat on the bottom, but either on canoe-style seats or cushions.)

The plywood layout plan implied by my original design.  Look at all the wasted wood!

So: reduce the sides to 12 inches.  Still too little left for the bottom--even if I narrowed the center frame to 24", since the ply thickness and chine width must be taken into account. 

Ah--but cutting out the sides leaves three feet or more untouched at one end of one sheet: can I work out a way to get enough of the widest part of the bottom to fit in that few feet?  Lots of drawing, and figuring, and measuring of models later, I have a plan:  keep the bottom of the center frame at 26", making total width of bottom 28" at the middle (assuming 1/4" thick ply and 3/4" wide chine logs).  Take advantage of the stems' rake of 45 degrees (1' in from ends).  Work out how the big end of one ply sheet and the small end of other piece are combined: 4 1/2' total from edges to bottom of stem cuts.  Divide this half, making center of bottom be 15" in from edge of bigger remains piece.  Now turn to the balsa model and figure out how many inches the bottom would narrow in the 27" from middle of bottom to where the bottom would be constricted by cutting the sides.  Leave a teensy bit of slack for the saw kerf and a wandering cut.

Drawing: the overall rectangle is two sheets of plywood laid end-to-end. The sides are cut from the top and bottom edges of the ply, and the two parts of the bottom are cut from the middle beginning at the outside edges.  the leftover bit in the middle of the two ply sheets could form modest decks at the ends, with advantage advantage taken of the wedge-shaped cutouts for aesthetic affect.  The top shows the finished boat in profile and end-on.

DONE--26" full width of bottom would narrow to about 22" at 2' from the middle.  That's a little short of constriction (at 27") and still leaves a bit for errors or a more gradually-narrowing bottom!  The remaining pieces of ply would amount to 3', which (after removing 4" in the middle for a bottom butt strap) could become fore and aft decks of 12" and about 20" on centerline, but much longer on the sides because of the taper of the bottom at the ends.  Little coamings following this inside curve could make this boat look rather pretty!  There should be enough left for side butt straps, and maybe seats!  One final structural test: lining up the joints and framing, the sides are butted together over 1' forward of the center frame, and the bottom is butted together about 2-3 inches forward of the center frame, so no joints align to make a weakness that extends through the entire hull.

Boat Design for Dummies

(No, not the book, if there is one.)

I have been invited by a kind pastor to run a summer program for upper elementary kids at her church.  Since I have pretty much free rein, I have decided to make it "the Boat Science Experience": we will investigate floating and sinking, buoyancy, stability and the like, building and testing paper models along the way, and finishing with the building of a real paddling boat (maybe even more than one).  To this end, I have been investigating designs for boats that would hold two kids or one kid and one adult, be a good enough performer not to be frustrating, and be simple and cheap to build.  A Michael Storer (Aussie) design called the Quick Canoe 150 seemed to fit the bill, and I bought a set of plans.  The plans--all metric--require a good deal of meticulous measuring and drawing of curves, which might be good practice for using metric units and doing careful work.  Or not, with kids this age.

Then I started asking around on-line for advice on building boats with kids and got a lot of good responses--some of it related to the ins and outs of doing this kind of class (keep it SIMPLE), some of it related to the choice of designs.  I was impressed by the simplicity of the designs suggested: some are made of two perfectly straight-cut sides attached to a trapezoidal center frame and bend around to form the ends of the canoe/kayak.  Though the wood is straight, the boat develops lovely curves because the sides are held at an slight angle (called "flare").  This makes the boat wider at the top than at the bottom (as most boats are) so that the ends curve gently upward both at bottom and sheer (top edge).  (The fore-and-aft curve of the bottom is called "rocker.")  The ends of the sides are cut at an angle to accommodate this flare and giving the boat more or less pointy ends as the designer wishes.  The greater the flare, the more the ends would curve upward--that is, the more the rocker and curve of the sheer.  Gunwales, sometimes inwales, and one internal frame and maybe seats give the hull enough stiffness to hold its shape.  The bottom could be experimented with to establish a shape and measurements for pre-cutting, or simply cut to fit the sides.  The designers of these "straight cuts" boats--all amateurs--could alter beam and length independently or scale the whole hull up or down as desired without altering the drawings that much.

This was a revelation.  Here were nice-looking hulls very simply drawn and built.  You could play with such designs easily with pencil, ruler, cardboard and scissors.

Top ("plan") view: from the right, the first two boats are  the published designs Wacky Lassie and Lazy Weekend Canoe, the others are my modifications.  Actual lengths are about 13 feet for most.

Except for Wacky Lassie, all the designs have a similar amount of "flare" (angle of sides from the vertical)--

--which gives them a similar "rocker" and sheer line (curve of bottom and gunwale)

Now-- I have always been of the opinion that boat design was for pros and really experienced amateurs.  I would never trust my money and time to a design of my own--I would want to be sure the thing would GO once I had spent all that money for materials and put in the months of labor.  But for a simple boat like this, I'm beginning to change my mind.  You see, the designs I've looked at aren't quite what I want: good capacity but not too much length, wide enough at the chine (bottom edge) not to be too tiddly but narrow enough at the sheer for a child to use a double paddle, and light enough for a couple of pre-teens to handle and car-top.  Hmmm...

What kinds of trips?

While my grad course work and other aspects of life keep me ashore, my mind turns to wondering how I would characterize my trips.

At least half of my trips are adventures: either going to new places, sailing in difficult conditions, pushing the envelope a bit in a new boat, or trying to achieve something I haven't done before.  The rest are a mixture: returning to favorite places like Fogland in the Sakonnet River, or Martha's Vineyard or Cuttyhunk; trips with the boys in mind, like the trip up the Cole River with Trevor a few years ago or the camping trip among the Boston Harbor islands with Stephen last year.  A few have been event-related, like the trip in Boston Harbor two years ago to watch the Tall Ships come into port.  Then there are the few that are more about relaxation than about going places--the shortest of these (sailing distance-wise) was my two days anchored in Newport Harbor, there only to sight-see.

My adventure trips are often related to covering ground.  I decided when I was first dreaming about the new boat-to-be that I would sail all the coast of this area.  After 5 seasons of sailing, I've met that goal for nearly all of Narragansett Bay and its islands, nearly the entire lengths of the Providence River and Taunton River (in various drifting and paddling boats as well as sailing), the "Southeast Corner" and sailed parts of the south coast of Massachusetts, Boston Harbor, and Cape Cod Bay.

My most memorable of this sort so far were the very first overnight with the two boys around Prudence Island in '05; from Narragansett to Block Island with the boys (while hurricane Beryl was heading up the coast) and a solo trip from Oakland Beach all the way out around the end of Jamestown and back in '06; the spring trip with Aron and Stephen from Fall River past Fogland in the Sakkonet River, a trip across Cape Cod Bay from Plymouth to Provincetown (our longest so far at 4 nights), an overnight in Lake Pepin with Bea and the two boys on a trailering trip to the midwest, all in '07; '08 trips from Warwick to Fall River, a trip around Aquidneck from Sakkonet Harbor with Stephen, from New Bedford to Martha's Vineyard with Trevor, and a solo from New Bedford to Westport, where Bea and the boys met me for dinner; our '09 trip out of Hingham for the first time to see Tall Ships, our adventure from New Bedford to Nantucket and the near-loss of the Beatrice Ann when she dragged anchor; our '10 trip in Surprise up the Providence & Seekonk Rivers, my solo to from New Bedford to Hyannis, with Stephen from Hingham to Georges Island and camping on Grape I., and now my solos in the Taunton River in December in Surprise, and this year's March float trip in Bebe.

Here are some adventures I'd like to do some time in the future, in no particular order.

1. Sail from New Bedford, through the Cape Cod Canal, into Cape Cod Bay and tour the inside of the Cape. This won't be possible until I have a real motor: the Coast Guard does not suffer passage of boats that can't reliably maintain 6kt all the way.

2. More adventurous than the above: sail from New Bedford across Buzzards Bay through Woods Hole and along the south coast of Mass, around the outside of the Cape and then across Cape Cod Bay to Boston (maybe via Plymouth).  That would be about six days of sailing, most of those days long.

3. Explore Boston Harbor and the coast of Massachusetts Bay

4. Sail from lower Narragansett Bay westward along the Connecticut coast to Mystic: a visit to Old Mystic Seaport was one of the inspirations for my return to sailing.

5. Sail west from Narragansett Bay to Long Island, NY--possibly via Block Island.

6. A kayak camping trip along some of the Indian river trails of eastern Mass.

Earliest Ever Trip with Boys

Having already adventured alone between snow-covered river banks, it was time to plan an adventure for all three of us.  I wanted to take advantage of Surprise's peculiar capabilities as a fully-enclosed boat, and that meant working within her limitation as a boat suitable for more protected waters.  I chose a two-night trip in upper Narragansett Bay.  Life interfered, the trip was off, and the chosen day was all but over when I suddenly decided we could get awy with going out just overnight.  With all that had to be done, we didn't  push off from Oakland Beach ramp until almost 1am. 

Our planned anchorage off beautiful Goddard Park was only a couple of miles away, but winds were almost vanishingly light and on the nose.  To make matters worse, the leeboard wouldn't go all the way down--difficult to fix when your children have collapsed in a sleepy heap between you and the uphaul that might be jammed.  I finally woke the boys and dropped the hook in about 8 feet of water in the lee of the park.  Trevor did his usual good job of readying the beds while I fired up the stove to prepare hot water bottles that would warm our sleeping bags.  We finally closed up the boat and snuggled into our beds at about 4am. 

I got up only when I couldn't figure out how to keep the sun out of my eyes without suffocating in my sleeping bag.  It was after 9:30.  For once, Stephen wasn't up with the sun, casting about for something to eat or do and generally being an unwelcome distraction from sleep.  I got water heating for coffee and oatmeal, and the boys ate a lazy breakfast in bed.  While I lounged with my coffee cup, Trevor read his book The Birchbark House and Stephen pronounced himself pleased with his new bunk and our little adventure and then snuggled back into his sleeping bag.

We finally got the cabin squared away (by the expedient of stuffing all bedding into the forepeak) and got the boat rigged and anchor up some time after noon.  We sailed around Sally Rocks and beached the boat at the park at dead high tide.  I sent the boys off to explore while I returned to the boat to figure out how to keep her from grounding on the falling tide in our absence.  An anchor on the beach and another in a foot or two of water managed to keep her in shallow enough water that I could keep my feet dry in my rubber boots but still be assured that Surprise would still be afloat after a little walk.  Goddard Park is a beautiful place and worth a drive down.  It has lovely paths still trodden by horses--we saw several from the water afterwards.

We only stayed an hour or so at the park, since I was determined to try to get to the head of nearby Greenwich Cove--a place I'd never sailed to despite all my past sailing in that area.  It promised access to a good eatery we might patronize for lunch.  Back aboard and under sail once more, we headed around the point and into the teeth of a strengthing wind.  We fought our way nearly to the end of the cove, getting knocked down once along the way.  (When the starboard windows were all but submerged for a moment, Stephen decided he WANTED TO GO HOME--but he soon got over it, mostly.  Trevor and I, who had seen Surprise neatly recover from worse, were more relaxed.)  I disappointed Trevor, who had been looking forward to lunch in a restaurant, by deciding I did not want to anchor the boat here is such strong and fluky winds.  Instead we headed out of the cove and started for our ramp. 

We were in more open water by 3:15 and found that the wind had whipped up some real chop in the shallow waters.   We put the front door into place, but found that a little spray still made it over the top.  As I fought the tiller and the boat's tendency to round up, I began to wish I had reefed; it was too late for that now.  Fortunately the boat steadied and her motion eased when I turned downwind for our destination.  We hit the ramp soon after 4:30 and managed to get the boat onto the trailer and the car off the ramp before the tide dropped too far.  On the ride home, we finally had leisure to munch some of our snack food

Designing vs Building

          I put the roof panels on the bike shed today, leaving only a day or two of work.  The shed will be moved to its permanent location tomorrow.  Then I will put the back wall on.  Perhaps on Monday I'll frame up the doors, and finally decide what the bikes will be locked to.  By Tuesday the doors should be in place.           When the last screw was in the roof panels today, I felt a glow of satisfaction, but no great pride. On the other hand, I'm quite proud of the design.  I had worked out the dimensions and layout that would meet my objectives, compromising where needed.  I had figured out how, with standard ply and lumber, I could build it with least waste in materials, and get the most shed for the money.  I had made detailed drawings to show how all of the pieces would fit together.  (This last was more difficult than I had imagined.)
          I found the design process interesting.  I worked in stages: First design the 6 foot by 5 1/2 foot  pressure-treated 2X4 base with its cross beams supporting a 1/2 inch pressure-treated ply deck.  Then work out how to put uprights at the corners, taking advantage of this to add a few inches to the overall length.  Then work out how to attach the 1/4 inch ply sides with 2X2 reinforcements along the top.  Then work out how to build roof trusses and make them the backbone of the roof framing.  (By this point I was doing more and more of the design "in wood"--which is to say, on the fly.  But this was still design.)  Finally how I could combine simplicity with utility by using entire ply sheets to make the roof panels overhang front and back, keeping rain out of the open ends of the shed.  All that remains to be decided is how to frame and attach the doors, and how to lock up the bikes in the shed.
          The working-out of the best overall plan, and the anticipation and solving of problems is what I like best about designing.  This experience has wet my appetite for the far more challenging task of someday designing a boat.

I like designing things

          I like designing things.  The desk in my bedroom has a fold-out typing table (it is 22 years old, after all), and a built-in book case across the back.  I keep teh back of the desktop mostly clear and one shelf mostly empty so I can see out the window behind.  Most of it is painted white, but the desktop is a stained a rich cherry and varnished.  Although the design is still (I think) pretty nice, the construction is vintage early-Jeff: plywood and 2X4s along with a few pieces of other dimensional lumber.  But until the Beatrice Ann came along, my desk was the bit of construction I was proudest of.
          I would love to design a boat, but that is where my courage fails.  I've done a little reading, perused many designs, and followed many boat-design conversations on the Web, made a tentative drawing or two, but I simply don't know enough yet.  Boat building is costly in time and materials--even my three-month hardware-store ply Surprise has at least 2 kilobucks sunk in it--and I built it about as cheaply as I could, and sail it with borrowed rigs.  I'm far from willing to invest so much in my own design--or even in someone else's design before it has been put to adequate test.  Even in building the cabin I added to the Beatrice Ann two years ago (which, unlike the boat, I did design), I was sufficiently unsure of myself that the whole thing can be removed with little serious damage if I decide to.
          This week I have the kind of design challenge that I relish.  All three boys just bought new bicycles, courtesy of Beatrice's parents.  The reason they did not have bicycles already is because someone in the neighborhood has sticky fingers--we have had three bicycles stolen at two different times over the years.  Of course, none of the bicycles taken was locked or put away at the time, so we were in no hurry to replace them, even if we had the cash lying around.
          Now we have bicycles again and need a secure and weather-proof place to store them.  Boats have foreclosed the garage option.  The previous storage was under the corner of the house, but even the smaller bikes of a few years ago did not fit there comfortably.  So here is my design brief:

• each bicycle must be locked and accessible individually, so taking out one doesn't leave others exposed or unsecured.
• access must be easy and quick enough not to prevent bikes from being used frequently and on the spur of the moment
• precipitation must be kept out
• the bikes must be difficult to steal
• the shed should be no larger than needed to do these things.

          Having lined up the three bikes (and leaving room for my own, just in case I rehab it), I think I can accomplish all this with a shed 6 feet long and 5 feet wide in which the bikes alternate orientation and can be pulled out either end--that way the bikes handlebars don't interfere with each other and can be stored in a smaller space. A pitched roof will shed rain and snow.  Doors will close both ends, both to keep out weather and to make it harder for a passerby to see how the bicycles are secured inside.  I will build this out of exterior plywood and 2X4s (with maybe some 1X2s to save weight), and I will design it in such a way that it can be assembled or disassembled of two or three sections on-site (since it will be a heavy son-of -a-gun).  I figure to keep it raised a few inches off the ground to allow air to move.  Exterior latex paint will help it last.  It will probably sit behind the garage, where it will not kill any grass or shade other parts of the yard. 
          I may look to see how retail bike sheds deal with some of these problems before I commit too far.  I plan to do a quick preliminary drawing and buy most of the lumber today or tomorrow.  This will be a satisfying build!

Why adventure?

                I live in a nice home, weather-proof and warm with a well-stocked refrigerator and a wife who loves to cook as much as I like to eat her cooking.  Our bed has a heated mattress pad and a down comforter.  And yet I persist in wanting to go out on the water in a cramped boat, eating instant oatmeal and canned soup and drinking instant coffee, getting wet and cold, and tossing and turn at night in a berth that cramps my legs.  At some point the wind will probably fail or turn foul or blow hard.  Rock and reef and current will make life difficult and stressful.  I will come home with hands raw from hauling on wet lines.  Even so, I go.  This is a never-ending source of wonder for my wife, Beatrice.

                Why do I do it?  I know from experience that I will be glad for a hot shower and a good night's sleep when I get home, but no sooner home and done writing up the trip than I'm planning the next trip.

                I can't say I'm sure myself.

                I look for clues in the kinds of trips I plan.

                  Many, especially early on, are firsts: first time overnight, first time sailing the whole length of Narragansett Bay, first time in open water sailing to Block Island.  More recently most trips take me back to places I remember fondly, or places I want to explore more fully.  To most of these trips there is either something of novelty, or some kind of challenge testing the capability of skipper and boat.  Taking Surprise into Buzzard's Bay in a bit of wind and sea was such a challenge, as was overnighting in her last December. 

                An occasional trip is the exception that proves the rule: one weekend I stopped at a little deli on my way to the ramp and bought nice food and desserts, then had a leisurely sail to a quiet cove nearby and a long time to eat nice food and watch the sun set.  These trips are usually solo!

                I look for clues in the parts of the trip I enjoy most.

                The planning will often consume days and weeks of those quiet moments when my time is my own.  Charts will be pored over, lists drawn up, tide and current tables consulted, problems chewed over. 

                For a trip of any duration, I will take my time collecting and stowing gear and thinking through menus.  My wife wonders at all this time I need, not grasping that I find this planning and preparing very satisfying.  I am solving problems I know how to solve, which is much more fun (and easier) than trying to figure out how to get one son's grades up, or deal with the administration at another son's school. 

                The trip itself of course has its own satisfactions.  The trip is reality, life made simple, almost elemental.  It calls out skills most don't have.  Negotiate the hurricane barrier against the wind while dodging fishing boats.  Beat out of the river while watching the shoals.  Make Woods Hole before the current reverses.  Find a good sheltered anchorage with good shore access.  Exercising skills of seamanship is also very satisfying, and makes good fodder for some "modest" bragging among acquaintances.  And even if I never mention a trip, I'm still taken with a sense of wonder at lying at anchor in a distant place, reached with my own skill and effort.

                The clean-up after the trip is, admittedly, the part I'm least fond of.  I realize this on my rare day-sails, when I can take the trailer off the car, back it into the garage, and be done.  But the clean-up is followed by time at the computer writing the story of the trip.  At one time I wanted to write for a living.  I know now that my writing is not up to this, but I still enjoy putting my thoughts down the best way I know how.

                Finally comes the remembering.  I love reliving past trips.  Many's the time when Stephen, my youngest, will come to me with, "Dad, remember the time we...?"  When I first began to sail again, I thought I could live forever on the memories of our first few adventures.  Many more adventures later, I'm afraid I've gotten a little piggish.  But even so, remembering these trips gets me enormous "bang for my buck."  As does the planning.  In fact, a three-day trip could easily bring a month of pleasure.

                I guess that's why I adventure.