Years ago we interviewed small-boat adventurer Shane St. Clair who, among his other exploits, once sailed a Catalina Capri 18 to Hawaii. Interestingly he didn’t view his boat choice as an intentional hardship or as part of a “stunt,” rather he cited its specific advantages. He mentioned positive flotation, the relative strength and safety margins of components on smaller boats, and also the ability to effect repairs.
“I’ve captained large sailboats,” he said, “and if you are dismasted in a large boat, or if you have a spinnaker pole hit the forestay and bend it—then you have a major problem.”
St. Clair pointed out that most things on a small boat can be temporarily jury-rigged with duct tape or bailing wire. “It’s much less daunting to sail a small boat, because physically you can handle a situation that would be a catastrophe in a larger vessel.”
It’s an interesting argument. There’s nothing quite like the stability that comes with a larger, heavily-ballasted, boat, but manageability and the capacity to manhandle the vessel and perform repairs is often better on smaller vessels.
In our SCA Seaworthiness Test we give credit for deep, ballasted keels, but we also give some points for shallow draft, as running a small boat onto the shore is a realistic emergency bail-out plan in some situations.
I was reminded of these small-boat safety advantages during a Montgomery 15 cruise years ago. I’d anchored in a shallow bay and enjoyed the sunshine, reading in the cockpit. After sunset I went below and fell asleep to a windless night and glassy bay reflecting stars. At about 5 a.m. I awoke to the boat bucking at its rode and a strong wind singing through the rigging. By dawn I’d tucked a reef, made a thermos of hot tea, and was headed for the slog home. Upon reaching the mouth of the protected bay I’d anchored in, just as we met the full force of the breeze and the choppy seas, I tacked a little early, cutting slightly across the prescribed channel. Suddenly I felt the centerboard drag and before I could change course we were hard aground. Wave action rolled the little boat as the wind and boom did their best to decapitate me, and before long we were even further stuck.
I thought about my options. Kedge? Try to motor off? Hope for a tow? Then, as I looked over the coaming the answer came clear. I grabbed the painter, kicked my boots off, and slid over the side into the cold, waist-deep water. With only a modest shove, the boat was on its way back to the deeper channel and I scrambled aboard and sailed away. •SCA•
First appeared in issue #130
Coincidentally, had the same experience a couple of days ago. What with opaque, muddy water and not having the sounder on, I ran onto a mud bank on a lee shore. By the time the outboard started churning mud it was too late. Tried to pole off with my SUP paddle but all the gain from one push was lost before I could push again. Like you, I started to consider kedging before I realised I’d overlooked the bleeding obvious . After a brief aversion to muddy legs and stingrays, I was rapidly free and in deeper water again.
Ah, a keel/centerboard. In the words of the great Emily Litella, " Never mind".