So, it’s been a while since I posted a blog entry. In my defence, there’s not much to report. I didn’t get to do much on the boat in the last few months, but 2019 is here now, and once again, work has re-commenced. I will say, however, I’m no fan of blogging for the sake of it. I’d prefer fewer updates with more data than those blogs that have to post daily even if it’s only to tell you what they had for lunch.
But, I digress. I thought I’d describe how I ended up with an Achilles 24 with inboard diesel engine. Especially as there is a small bit of news on that front, but more on that later. Also, my experiences with the horror of TODO lists.
On Sunday, a good friend of mine lost his six year battle with cancer. The following is a copy of an email I sent to club members, about Henry Lupton.
I remember having a conversation with Henry after Wednesday night racing. We were discussing the relative merits of a Hallberg Rassy 42 over a similar sized Najad. The abstract debate covered things like build quality versus brand premium. I neatly segued into a series of complaints about my own boat, an Achilles 24. A boat which is still by the side of the house, unfit for sea, despite Henry’s best efforts. I compared my own humble craft with the salubrious Rassy.
Henry looked at me incredulously. “Sail the boat you have, Dermot. Not the boat you want!”
“Nobody touch anything!” was Niall’s clear instruction to one and all.
It was a strange perspective, sitting on the high side of a Sigma 33, staring down at the sea directly below. As a dinghy sailor, I’m used to capsizing. I’m used to that slow-motion car crash as you traverse through the mental states of “yes, we can hold the spinnie on this reach”, through “I don’t think we’ll make it” and eventually “we’re going in…” Before I sailed and raced dinghies, I had expected a capsize to be a dramatic, instant inversion. One minute, you’re upright, sailing along enjoying the scenery. A brief nanosecond later, and you’re in the water with sail and boat on top of you. As it happens, it’s not like that. The boat heels and heels some more, releasing pressure as she increases the heel angle. But eventually gravity and Newton’s Laws intervene, and over she goes. It might take seconds, but it does indeed feel like minutes. There have been times when the capsize has been quite dramatic, explosive, even. Including that one particular time when Morgan and I decided to run dead downwind under spinnaker, in a Force 6. It was during the Laser II Regionals, and we smiled and laughed at the other boats under white sails, gybing their way downwind. Pride comes before a fall, as they might have said to us.
But this was different. This was a large, heavy keelboat on her ear. The technical definition of a capsize is the masthead is in the water. This wasn’t quite a capsize, then, but the masthead was definitely on the verge of going for a dip. The result of a nasty broach under spinnaker while ten miles offshore. Ten miles through bleak, drizzly Irish summer weather. The Mizzen Lighthouse was to the North of us, indistinct on the horizon. It’s an odd sensation, seeing the starboard lifelines under water, waves lapping over the winch and into the cockpit, even threatening the companionway, noticeably missing its washboards.
So, yesterday I found a little bit of time to go and figure out what to do with the engine hatch cover. A bit of background might be in order, however…
The Achilles 24 comes as standard with a long-shaft outboard engine and an engine mount in the sole of the cockpit. This presents itself as a hatch towards the stern, which when removed, allows you to mount the engine in the little compartment, and when lowered, the prop is approximately in the same position as an inboard. It’s a big improvement over the typical outboard bracket on the transom, as the prop is less likely to come out of the water in a big sea.