Big Frickin' Sails - Pucker Factor

Big frickin' sails.  When I first heard this phrase, the first thought that came to mind was, "must be for a big frickin' boat".  I first saw "Big Frickin' Sails" on a sailing web forum.  As I read on, I found that the phrase was actually coined not to describe the physical sails on a boat, but rather to describe a day's sail which increased one's personal pucker-factor, or risk tolerance.  The author of the phrase further explained, it didn't matter if it was a 60 foot yacht, a small daysailer, or a sunfish - the point was it is an experience under sail where the skipper can look back and say "Whoa.".

Today, for me, was a Big Frickin' Sail.  It's been quite a few weeks since I have been out.  We were out of town a lot during the summer, leaving Connecticut to go relax at our lake house where we have a pontoon powerboat.  This is actually alright because the winds typically die down a bit during the summer, leaving the best sailing conditions in the Spring and Fall seasons.  Sharon was unable to go today, so I asked a long time friend and neighbor Zsolt Megai to crew with me.  Zsolt has been a great friend for almost ten years now, and is always up for any sort of outdoor adventure.  At 73 years old, he's as fit as any 30-something I know, and the two of us have a tendency to always find ourselves in situations that press the envelope.

Given the conditions and weather forecast, we decided to go to Bantam Lake here in Connecticut.  While not being especially large, Bantam is the largest natural lake in the state.  It's a fairly decent area, has a small sailing community, and has a nice state operated boat launch.  After rigging my boat "Rhumb Line", we decided to reef the main sail (reduce sail area for heavy wind), and then we proceeded out.  It's always better to reef early when you think you might need it, as it's far easier to shake out an unneeded reef rather than put one in during heavy conditions.  We tacked back and forth into the main bay of Bantam, and decided we could handle the wind with full sail, so out came the reef.  We then enjoyed spirited sailing around the main bay before dropping the sails and motoring into a little cove for lunch at anchor.

As we were finishing up lunch, we could see heavy white caps in the main bay.  It was clear that the forecast of winds building to 14-16 knots, and gusts well into the 20's was unfolding as planned.  A few quick knots later the reef was back in, the anchor was pulled, and we sailed back out under the main sail alone.  As we fell off the wind on a nice port tack, Zsolt went forward to raise the jib (the head sail).

Here is where hindsight is 20/20.  I always, without exception, stow my gear properly and make everything ship-shape before sailing off.  Well, I guess in this case, there was one exception.  I don't know why neither of us took care of it.  The anchor line was all over the front of the cockpit, the jib sheets were loose, as well as the main sheet.  Under main sail alone we were already building big speed and I had my hands full with the tiller.  As the jib flung violently loose in the wind, the jib sheets twisted about faster than Chubby Checker, fully entangling themselves in the loose anchor line.  The winds were well into the 20 knot range and it was overpowering us, giving enough pucker factor to make a dime from a quarter.

I watched as Zsolt worked on the tangle, and I tried to move my heft as far up on the upwind rail as possible.  The main sail was taking the brunt of some major gusts, and the jib was flailing, making my mast bend and flop as if it were made of spaghetti.  As Zsolt managed to get the spider web of lines and sheets untangled we sailed on, taking one-plus-foot chop waves against the hull continually drenching us.  With both sails now under control, I thought we were fine.

The wind continued to build.  It was ever more apparent that we were on the hairy edge.  Being bald, I really didn't think this was possible.  Busier than a one-legged man in an butt-kicking contest, we worked the boat - letting the sheets out in big puffs, and pushing the tiller to head the boat up into wind.  We were making 6.5 knots of speed with each gust seeming to grow in power.  "Rhumb Line" has high sides and is not meant to be hiked, but we did anyway, leaning out as far as we could, and still watched our leeward rail drop below the water line until water came in.

We were now at the far end of the lake, away from most that could lend assistance to us if needed.  We tacked back around heading back into the widest area of the lake giving the wind the most fetch.  Again we were insanely busy working the boat, and watching the rail drop below the water line.  Part of me was laughing with the excitement of the speed and power, while the other part was trying to control nerves and my heart rate which seemed likely to go into arrest. While I was frantically telling Zsolt "We need to get out of here, this is too much", he returned his usual calm retort of (in heavy Hungarian accent) - "Teeeemy, eet ees okaaay.  We are luurning the leeemits of your boat."  With a brand new Honda outboard attached, I really didn't want to find the limit of the boat.  Capsizing would be a $900 mistake, or - I guess maybe successful test of the limit.

After we sailed through the thick of it all, and returned safely, I understood the value of it all.  This Big Frickin' Sail, this solid quarter-to-dime pucker-factor, was another learning experience.  Zsolt was right.  We had raised my tolerance level, and I had gained more hours sailing under conditions that were extremely heavy for my little boat.  I'm looking forward to my next big frickin' sail - but I hope it will be a while.  Thanks for a great sail Zsolt!