The Upside of Engines
Oh I don't mind comin’
And I don't mind goin’,
But I'm some damn tired of rowin’!
—From Gordon Bok's Old Fat Boat
Article by Dave Zeiger
In my next post, Why Sail Without an Engine?, while hamming up an answer, I’ll be coming down a little heavy against. But I’m not. Today’s post preambles in a tone a bit less flip.
We choose against having an engine, presently, on the basis of economics (poor payoff for us, in terms of time and energy, measured only partially in terms of money). And okay... we're tree huggin’ types.
But we sailed our first years with outboards, and would do it again.
Our access to sailing instruction was poor. We felt our way onto the water, learning to translate what we'd learned from books. It went reasonably well, but having a redundant system to move the boat was a reassuring back-up to our nascent seamanship.
We told ourselves, if we could sail for a year without the use of our motor, we'd be ready to sell it.
We’d fire it up and run it under load once a month, to keep it from going stale. We had our scrapes and scares, but even on a lifeboat-to-gaff conversion, tired and cranky, nothing exceeded our growing abilities. We worked our way up to gales; rowed through the calms. Learned all the faster for never motoring. Threw a party when we sold the engine. We may throw one again, later in life, if we ever feel we want to pick up another.
So, in the larger picture, you could say that we do sail with an engine.
Motors make all the difference to some beginners, commuters, work boats, those on tight schedules, and to all who feel that an engine provides net benefit, despite its necessities and chores. Engines are a resource, to be evaluated as one would electronic charts; in terms of cost-benefit, reliability, redundancy, and their inherent qualities and limitations.
Motors have a learning curve of their own, which must be observed. They are NOT a substitute for seamanship. They DO place a truly amazing amount of energy at our general beck and call.
Sailors on a given vessel have a number of resources at their disposal. It is seamanship that deploys those resources in concert to keep the vessel and her crew safe.
It’s true that winter's grim PAN PANs and MADAYs mostly stem, in our area, from engine failure, and that many of these events end with loss of life. It’s true that engines inspire sometimes unwarranted confidence in the teeth of storms. It’s not true that seamanship guarantees safety...
..with or without internal combustion. •SCA•
When I was cruising in Mexico I learned not to depend on my inboard as much as I had in the states. Two particular incidents using the familiar use of an auxiliary was taught to me during conditions of duress of a moment when other equipment failed. First, I would motor out to the breakwater of a marina saving me time for sailing the crowded course out to sea. That was and is a good reason, for during the time I motored out several things could occur. Motoring out to the breakwater allowed me to partially charge my batteries and with the autopilot set to the breakwater exit, I had the time to set all lines and rigging, listen intently to the NOAH weather report, not losing time spent endless tacking back and forth in the channel instead. In Mexico, over the fourteen years spent cruising in the Sea of Cortez, I taught myself to set my anchor under sail without reversing my motor after dropping it as I had in the past. Instead I would sail into an anchorage with a full jib driving me to shore, playing out the chain as I slowed down while walking aft to furl the jib in tight. Many times I received a round of applause or a horn blast from anchored neighbors. It felt like a Captain Ron moment, honestly. If anyone would ask why I set my anchor that way, I would tell them "from necessity" as my engine had blown its head gasket and took many months for a new one to arrive. I would walk to the bow and cleat off a line to the rope capstan, with a marking set at one hundred and thirty feet of chain which when taunt would tighten to the tone or a low Eb as it grabbed the bottom yanking hard on the capstan where it ended turning my boat to face aft in two seconds. Only a few times my anchor bounced along the bottom along tall ell grass or a hard bottom or fouled with debris, I slowed down, almost to a stop as I realized the anchor was not setting, I pulled up the chain to try again to attempt another try another run at it. The experience taught me to become a better sailor and I am glad for it. I did own an unusually designed boat once, a Coronado 32 CC which had a huge barn door for a rudder. I would have to back out of a very tight space in a marina, so by standing behind the usual location of the helmsman using a wheel I could steer to point the boat in reverse as if I were on course heading out. She had a sweet spot in revolutions and taught me where I needed to be to steer her like a Cadillac. I learned my motor came in handy when I was dragging anchor during a stormy night. I learned to time the motor's revolutions while watching my bow pitch up to ride over the storm's surging swells, taking the strain off of the chain leading down to the anchor. Or I could pull ahead of my chain riding the surf, but it mostly was like playing dodge ball and you were the ball! Most of us, me included, do not use their engine as purposeful as it can be used. Necessity is the mother of invention and there are clever ways to use the auxiliary on passages than just allowing it to become an iron Genny.
Here is where I most often use an engine.
To get away from the launch when it is crowded or busy.
If the conditions kick up and I have a full boat of kids and wife, and it's not fun anymore.
Becalmed, and I need to get home. Most of my sails are day sails, or afternoon sails, and if I had to row every time the wind stopped there would be times I wouldn't go out because rowing a few miles takes too long.