Aye--heavy weather there might well be for the good people of Galveston this Memorial Day weekend. For on the horizon to leeward speed two swift ships, Revolver and the mighty Houdini, like sea-birds skimming the water for prey. And they point to the Strand.
Woe betide the merchants of that hoary avenue, of those innumerable taverns and houses of fleshly indulgences. For pirates stalk silently upon them. Har-Harr.
(Photo courtesy of Phoebe Copeland)
Now for an edition of "Ask yer Captain"...Dear, The Captain,I like riding Houdini. It's a fun boat. But why does everybody else get to sit back there and I have to sit up here? My bum gets splashed.Sincerely,Bow OrnamentDear, Ornament,Tell better stories.Sincerely, The Captain
And so Magellan is back in business. Only now he has another problem--as indicated by the angle of this photo, the Mighty Houdini is behind him. Not where you want to have The Captain and his cut-throat crew on a bright day with plenty of wind. We are given to lingering "on station" as we called it in the Navy, only to come gliding down upon you as you sail along enjoying your little sea-visit and a good drink. Suddenly your guest says, "Hey, isn't that boat getting kind of close?" Whereupon you turn to look, only to hear these fateful words from the Hoo: "Helmsman, you'll want a steady hand on that tiller in a moment." But, for you, it's too late. The Mighty Houdini sweeps under your stern and marches windward. In a few seconds, Houdini's sails billow with your wind, your sails luff and slap. You turn off, but to no avail. Without your wind, you're going dead in the water. Your ship is at our mercy. And so begins the broadside--a good soaking from Houdini's expert gunnery team and its long nines. (Two giant super-soaker water guns).
One reason to sail--the refined pleasures of a well-balanced vessel on a quiet beam reach in the sun....
Then, of course, there's the scenery to be enjoyed...
And then there are the occasional porpoise escorts....
And then there's the real reason The Captain sails...
"So Steve goes, 'Yeah, but we don't need any tow insurance. I've got the engine running just like it's supposed to.'"
---Tracie Boyd aka Thumper, Crew, co-owner and advisor aboard Revolver
So this is what it feels like to have power. I think I like this.
--Steve Boyd, aka Magellan, Skipper of Alberg 30, Revolver
Revolver, my friend Magellan's 12,000 lb Alberg 30, seemed at first to resist the pull like a jetty boulder. The line from his bow to the stern cleat of my 17 ft bay boat was tight as a guitar string, and Tracie, standing over it, seemed to be oblivious to the huge momentary forces developing just a few inches from her feet. I wondered if the stern cleat would fail under the increasing strain and suddenly rocket off my boat, shooting the line back to Tracy like a big limp arrow--with a nice hard, double-pointed cleat on the business end. If that happened, Tracie might find herself decked with a nasty headache or an impressive bruise or a damned fine gash. And Magellan might learn the ultimate meanings of mutiny and "a wife with an agenda".
But Revolver slowly began to float to us--and then the abrupt physics of a 2-knot current and the inertia of Revolver's lumbering 6-ton bulk took command of my 600 lb bay boat. So the barking my Nearly Perfect Wife loves so much began in earnest. Under the concerted forces of Revolver and the current, my little fishing boat began a quick 360 degree spin. The stern line began its inevitable sweep across the deck to the console and I was yelling, "Cast off! Cast off now, ye wogs!"
Annette (The Nearly Perfect Wife) was quick at the stern and saved us a good pinching, but the fun was only starting. That damnable current set us on a fine trip down the channel, toward restaraunt decks, rocks, bidge supports, broken pilings and at least one john boat full of oblivious fishermen who might find themselves with the biggest catch of the day if somebody didn't move soon.
But the channel gods seemed to be dozing. The current carried us between the pilings and the bridge supports and past the restaraunt dock and its lunchtime watchers of our little mid-channel waltz. We had time to get the fenders out so we might raft the boats, and let Magellan steer us as I provided propulsion. The pace got downright leisurely for a minute--when another sailboat, whose skipper was inattentive enough to make his track downwind of our drift, appeared in the cut from the channel--and he was coming fast. He seemed completely at ease with the idea of a heavy disabled sailboat perhaps blowing right down on him. Must have had insurance or beer on board.
At that I said, "I don't mean to be rude, but you people are going to have to move faster--we have a sailboat without a clue coming on, wind and current taking us to him and to those rocks over there and we are running out of room fast." And with that Tracie and Annette tied stern and bow lines between the two boats as quickly as any seasoned boatswain's mate. I barked, "Watch your hands!" and throttled-up.
And with that, Revolver came along quietly, in the way a big friendly drunk allows himself to be maneuvered into his bed to sleep it off.
But for Magellan--ah, his fun is only beginning. Now Tracie has a cause. It's called tow insurance.
It seems logical that a blog about a boy and his boat should include some information about the boat--perhaps more about the boat than about the boy.
About the Pearson Ariel. As I recall, the Ariel production run lasted from 1961 through 1968. I believe about 600 were built. Nowadays they are found in various states of repair as far away as Australia--though there may be even more exotic anchorages sporting the fine lines of these little boats. These venerable little ships certainly have big trips in them, as many ocean sailors have proved.
The Ariel is a little masterpiece of sailboat design from one of the gods of naval architecture, Carl Alberg. Too, they are lucky technological accidents, in a way, since they were built before the technical data on fiberglass tensile strength was well known. As a result of this information shortage, the hulls were built to thicknesses that would have been used if the boats had been destined for wooden construction.
That means these hulls are really thick--and therefore incredibly tough and stiff--and certainly long-lived. By contrast, modern sailboat hull thickness is a fraction of what you'll find in the old Ariel or her big sister Triton, or that other luminary in the Pearson Sailboat roster, the Vanguard (designed by another naval giant, Rhodes).
Compared to modern designs, Ariels are narrow in the beam (appr0x 8 ft), but they are heavy. Houdini weighs approx 6000 lbs at 26 ft in length. The Ariel draft is about 4'. Because of their design and comparatively heavy weight, Houdini (as do all Ariels) shows wonderful sea-keeping qualities. Ariel owners report going to sea (for example a trek from San Francisco to Hawaii), having storms fall upon them with 20-foot waves, heaving-to and feeling safe as pelicans while the ocean raged all around them--all because the boat is so stiff and stable. They just don't make 'em like that anymore--unless you want to pony-up $135,000.00 or so for the newer designs in boats of approximately the same size.
For now, the inestimable Houdini (Ariel# 407) is docked at Watergate Marina in Kemah, TX. I sail her on Galveston Bay, with the occasional trip into the Gulf. We'll do more of that as the Executive Officer (and NearlyPerfect Wife) gets more comfortable with the notion of being on the briny well beyond sight of land. When not sailing her (the boat, that is) I am pampering her. She gets new varnish regularly, the engine is kept to original standards, the lines are replaced as a matter of routine--and all the other little things that make her the local flagship of these fine boats get their turns under the Captain's watchful and obsessive eye.
Avast, gentle readers. To starboard find a graven image of The Captain, your Ahab in these unseaworthy days of metrosexuals run amok. He is Oracle and Enforcer of the Man Code, as you will shortly see. If ye dare, venture further into what lurks below. But remember: whiners, the politcally correct, the damnably insolent, the half-educated and presumptuous, and the congenitally indecisive, as well, must all walk the plank once brought before the mast aboard The Mighty Houdini.
