SCHOONER DOCKS
WATERFALL AT CAMDEN HARBOR
THE OLAD UNDER FULL SAIL
TIDEPOOL GEESEToday we are going sailing in Penobscot Bay.
Captain Aaron Lincoln, a trim and ruddy 40 year old with a coppery beard, welcomes us aboard his two masted schooner the Olad, built in 1927.
It’s a bright sunny day with air temp about 75 and water temp about 30 degrees less.
This is one of the schooner’s first voyages of the season. Captain Aaron has spent the winter polishing and painting the Olad until her fir spars are alight with fresh varnish, her teak deck is smooth as silk and her canvas sails a startling white. What a beauty!
I’m not a sailor but I love the sea and have always been intrigued by the physics of boats.
Specifically how do sailing ships sail against the wind.? A fore-and-aft rigged two masted schooner is the ideal boat to see just how this works.
Physics, however, is the last thing on the minds of our fellow travelers.
The first challenge for your average landlubber is figuring out where to sit.
This problem is solved for us, as I am in the loo when the call goes out to board the Olad.
After debarking from the local mews, I join Rena at the end of the line.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “A full bladder and a long sea voyage are a bad combo.”
My tardiness turns out to be our lucky break, because all the other passengers lined up ahead of us decide to line the forward railings. By default, we join Captain Aaron and the life preservers in the aft cockpit. We’re the ones with soft cushions and back rests to lean on when the deck gets slanty!
“Well bless my bursting bladder,” I whisper to Rena. “I think we’ve commandeered the POSH seats for this voyage!”
(POSH, by the way, is a 19th century acronym for Port Outbound, Starboard Home. On the long sea voyage to India from England, it was best to have a cabin on the Port (left) side of the ship because the Atlantic waves arriving from the West battered those passengers on the right or Starboard side. Vice versa on the way back.)
The Olad’s crew, one broad-beamed Maine lass named Chrissie, casts off the land lines and we motor past a waterfall, through Camden harbor and onto the open sea.
The triangular sails on the foremast fill first, receiving the wind at an angle and scooping it behind the two larger quadrilateral sails - one on the back of the foremast and the other on the mainmast. This current of fast-moving air flowing in front of the big sails creates a vacuum. The vacuum sucks the large sails forward giving them a pleasing curved shape while propelling the boat forward against the wind. It’s exactly the same as the moving air over the curved top surface of an airplane’s wing lifting the entire plane up into the sky. The powerful forces of moving air overcome the clutching drag of seawater. Soon we are scooting along into the wind at about 7.5 knots or 10 MPH.
It’s all physics and the result is so beautiful it takes my breath away. A sailing schooner close-hauled to the wind is a miracle of grace and a pleasure to behold.
Captain Aaron loves his work. He bought the Olad 6 years ago and is now her indentured servant.
“In nine more years the mortgage will be paid and I’ll begin to make some money,” the Captain proclaims cheerfully.
“What do you do in the winter season?” I ask.
“ I used to sail the Olad down to the Florida Keys or the British Virgins and do the same job there,” but now I’m married with kids and so I stay here and work on the boat.
“My wife’s not a sailor,” he adds a bit wistfully.
All kinds of questions spring to mind. “How exactly does that work?”
But it doesn’t seem the time to discuss why opposites attract and whether Captain Aaron’s spouse is jealous of his lust for the sea. Family dynamics is not my favorite field of physics.
We play tag with a bank of thick fog which alternately conceals and displays the lovely Maine Coast. The deck slants in the brisk wind, sometimes at 25 or even 30 degrees. (For comparison, a black diamond ski slope is rarely more than 22 degrees.)
Captain Aaron Lincoln, a trim and ruddy 40 year old with a coppery beard, welcomes us aboard his two masted schooner the Olad, built in 1927.
It’s a bright sunny day with air temp about 75 and water temp about 30 degrees less.
This is one of the schooner’s first voyages of the season. Captain Aaron has spent the winter polishing and painting the Olad until her fir spars are alight with fresh varnish, her teak deck is smooth as silk and her canvas sails a startling white. What a beauty!
I’m not a sailor but I love the sea and have always been intrigued by the physics of boats.
Specifically how do sailing ships sail against the wind.? A fore-and-aft rigged two masted schooner is the ideal boat to see just how this works.
Physics, however, is the last thing on the minds of our fellow travelers.
The first challenge for your average landlubber is figuring out where to sit.
This problem is solved for us, as I am in the loo when the call goes out to board the Olad.
After debarking from the local mews, I join Rena at the end of the line.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “A full bladder and a long sea voyage are a bad combo.”
My tardiness turns out to be our lucky break, because all the other passengers lined up ahead of us decide to line the forward railings. By default, we join Captain Aaron and the life preservers in the aft cockpit. We’re the ones with soft cushions and back rests to lean on when the deck gets slanty!
“Well bless my bursting bladder,” I whisper to Rena. “I think we’ve commandeered the POSH seats for this voyage!”
(POSH, by the way, is a 19th century acronym for Port Outbound, Starboard Home. On the long sea voyage to India from England, it was best to have a cabin on the Port (left) side of the ship because the Atlantic waves arriving from the West battered those passengers on the right or Starboard side. Vice versa on the way back.)
The Olad’s crew, one broad-beamed Maine lass named Chrissie, casts off the land lines and we motor past a waterfall, through Camden harbor and onto the open sea.
The triangular sails on the foremast fill first, receiving the wind at an angle and scooping it behind the two larger quadrilateral sails - one on the back of the foremast and the other on the mainmast. This current of fast-moving air flowing in front of the big sails creates a vacuum. The vacuum sucks the large sails forward giving them a pleasing curved shape while propelling the boat forward against the wind. It’s exactly the same as the moving air over the curved top surface of an airplane’s wing lifting the entire plane up into the sky. The powerful forces of moving air overcome the clutching drag of seawater. Soon we are scooting along into the wind at about 7.5 knots or 10 MPH.
It’s all physics and the result is so beautiful it takes my breath away. A sailing schooner close-hauled to the wind is a miracle of grace and a pleasure to behold.
Captain Aaron loves his work. He bought the Olad 6 years ago and is now her indentured servant.
“In nine more years the mortgage will be paid and I’ll begin to make some money,” the Captain proclaims cheerfully.
“What do you do in the winter season?” I ask.
“ I used to sail the Olad down to the Florida Keys or the British Virgins and do the same job there,” but now I’m married with kids and so I stay here and work on the boat.
“My wife’s not a sailor,” he adds a bit wistfully.
All kinds of questions spring to mind. “How exactly does that work?”
But it doesn’t seem the time to discuss why opposites attract and whether Captain Aaron’s spouse is jealous of his lust for the sea. Family dynamics is not my favorite field of physics.
We play tag with a bank of thick fog which alternately conceals and displays the lovely Maine Coast. The deck slants in the brisk wind, sometimes at 25 or even 30 degrees. (For comparison, a black diamond ski slope is rarely more than 22 degrees.)
It’s a jouncy, fun ride. Luckily, neither Rena nor I are prone to seasickness!
“Here’s something interesting,” says Captain Aaron. “Do you see that wide beach over there just beneath the fog bank?”
We both stare at what looks like a generous expanse of sand.
“That’s an optical illusion,” explains our Captain. “The low fog bank acts as a giant lens that bends light and makes far away objects look closer. The beach is really quite narrow and only appears larger because it’s magnified by the fog.”
We enter the fogbank and can see nothing on either side.
“How do you tell which way to go in this fog?” I inquire.
“ Well,” replies the Captain. “ The compass always works. But right now I can see the sun overhead so I just tack until the sun is about 90 degrees from my present line and as long as the wind holds true, I’m moving on approximately a straight line.”
“Then, there’s always GPS,” he adds - glancing at the electronics to his left, as if the 21st century is something of an unwanted companion for sailing captains. (Celestial navigation is yet another lovely pinnacle of applied physics which has fallen out of favor thanks to satellites and the electronic age.)
“Will we see any wildlife along the coast?” we ask.
“Our last trip we saw dolphins and seals. Sometimes we’ll even see a whale!”
We, however, see nothing but the sea and the birds.
“Do you see those birds with white backs?” asks our captain.
“Those are Eider ducks. They were hunted almost to extinction for their soft down but now they are fairly plentiful again.”
The mention of Eider down brings back memories. My first research paper ever was written in 3rd grade and was on the Eider down duck! I remember the World Book Encyclopedia where I did my research. Also, a down mattress in a small hotel in Switzerland. But that as they say is another story!
We arrive back at port all too soon and Captain Aaron shows off by not starting the Olad’s motor. She arrives at the dock under full sail with nary a scrape or a bruise on the schooner’s pristine finish. Just like the old days!
On the way to the car Rena and I agree that sailing is not a sport for us.
“Too boring,” says Rena.
“Yep,” I agree.
“Unless you’re either the Captain or happen to love physics,” I think to myself.
DAKTARI
No comments:
Post a Comment