Why We Sail Engine-Free

Article by Dave Zeiger

See no engine.
Hear no engine.
Smell no engine.
—Obiwan Squareboti

Why sail engine-free? There are several answers, among which—at least for us—purity counts for nothing.

Engine-freedom itself, so-called, is “impure” as every facet of our voyage is supported and enabled by a complex web of internal combustion: our vessel is built of plywood, lumber, fasteners, plastics, copper, etc.; food grown, harvested, packaged and delivered; even knowledge is preserved in the industrially printed word!

But the question remains. All that aside, why sail engine-free?

First is the sheer magic of it. That lift of wind in the sails which can bear us across any waters deep enough to float us. It's an enchantment of wind, water and anchor-depth earth. Elemental as fire. An Alchemy as spiritual as it is physical.

Second, the freedom. An engine and its needs tether us to towns on a short leash. To supply chains that stretch beyond our horizon. Without an engine, we are free to roam as we will, living from the bounty at hand.

Third, sailing without keeps us at our lessons. Practice doesn't make us perfect, but it does make us better. Sailing and sea-savvy are deep and complex studies that will certainly absorb more time than we are allotted. Motoring along with attention isn't devoid of lessons, but they're a fraction of what one learns every minute under sail.

Finally, the dull consideration of cost/benefit analysis.

Engines, parts, accessories and fuel all cost time and space lost to care, feeding and housing a large and hungry, noisy, smelly beast. Engine, mounts, shaft, mounts, through-hull and cut-water, mounts, (seawater?) coolant system, mounts, zincs, mounts, muffler, mounts, fuel tanks, mounts, controls, mounts, linkages, mounts, sensors, mounts, electrical, mounts, fire extinguishers, mounts, soundproofing, mounts, plaques and, you guessed it, mounts! Tools, spares, oils, fuel, filters, sniffers, blowers.

Outboards are somewhat less onerous, but have their own demands and issues.

All this takes up a big chunk of our very limited space. It's a heavy chunk of ironmongery that weighs us down. Its appetites tie us to a schedule with regular stops for refuel and resupply. It's truly said that a calendar is the most dangerous thing on a boat… an engine imposes one.

And these are just up-front costs.

All this takes money = time x life energy. Money is earned, for most of us, via time spent in gainful employment, which has its own overheads. That engine, to save a little time and effort, ends up costing a lot of time, effort and life energy. Time and energy that could be better spent sailing.

A potential cost of engines: We can be tempted to motor ourselves into situations that depend on our engine's continuous good behavior. Should it fail while codependent, we fail dangerouser. Dangerous to our vessels, pockets and lives.

And the benefit? Supposedly, engines save us time. But I submit that this runs counter to a voyage or life under sail with the object of experience. We choose sailboats not for efficiency but rather their inefficiency. For their intimate connection with the world in its own time. With wind and tides rolling in time to the sun and moon.

Engines allow us to briefly oppose conditions. In most cases, however, this seems ill-advised. They are better at getting us into trouble than out of it.

One possible safety advantage would be for scampering into shelter in 'the calm that precedes the storm'. Another would be if we were embayed (caught by wind blowing us into a U-shaped bight). But in a third of a century practicing defensive sailing in the Pacific NW we've never gotten caught where a motor might have saved us, though once or twice where one could have been a compounding problem.

Lotta bucks : Little bang… it doesn't pencil out.

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Why sail without an engine? Nobody believes us when we answer, because we're lazy. But it's the truth. On a calm day, you might see us sculling seemingly in place, lingering on the horizon for subjective hours. When we finally reach hailing distance, often as not we're stripped down to our skivvies, breathing deep and beaded with sweat. How can that be lazy, compared to flicking the starter button and gliding along effortlessly? What lies hidden behind this vision of effortless convenience is hustle and bustle. Every engine must be specified, shopped for, transported, mounted, maintained, fed, overhauled, worked around and just plain endured!

We fudge some kind of mounting, get all the pieces stowed away, elbow deck gear aside for a jerry can or two of fuel. Crank her up and off we go. Hmm... not as quiet as advertised. Cough, cough (debit future medical bills). But we're moving! We head out into the Backwaters for as long as we wish. But wait... it's a calm week. After several hours of motoring, the engine splutters and dies. WHAT? Our new motor?? Oh. Out of gas. That's OK. We've got one more jerry-can. But now we're worried... this is our first day out. Will we be out a month? Six months? We never used to know, but we do now! Friends, with the amount of fuel we can carry, that motor shortly becomes useless ballast; an anchor that won't hold. We're like a hawk on a short tether, orbiting its next morsel of food. Our vaunted 'unlimited range' as a sailboat has devolved into an MPG equation whose solution is a small, obsessively rational number. It's made week-enders of us! Hope we kept the receipts!

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Earnest friends urge us to go mechanized... Modern engines are so reliable! They're quiet and sip fuel, making them cost effective! Diesels run forever!

Mm-hm. We've been around a long time. We come sailing into a town at any random old time, and there will be a minimum of two or three of those same friends, hunkered miserably over the engines of their dead-in-the-water vessels, red in the face and short of temper. Bills mounting and summer fleeting.

We meet cruisers whose trip is on hold until some part arrives from a factory half the globe away, many afraid to leave harbor for so much as a day sail with their engine down.

We hear them motoring from miles away as they “sip" their way through drums of fuel.

No. We listen to the exertions and lamentations of our mechanical friends. We commiserate and lend a hand where we're able.

And thank our lazy stars.

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Last words…

We love that the physical labor of moving around engine-free contributes to keeping us healthy and strong.

We love the open-ended voyage, freed from a deal of 'gainful' employment, towns for refueling and that cloud of smoke that attends the motor.

We love coming into a quiet cove, barely disturbing the peace.

We love sinking into our bedding, bodies humming with the effort that brought us to this place.

We love the challenge and the satisfaction of sailing by wind and water, brain and brawn.

We LOVE it!

Reason enough. •SCA•