2003 Michigan Challenge
The Michigan Challenge in a bubble;
or What Was He Thinking?
By Matthew Layden (aka Wizard)
The Dream
For a long time I've been wanting a 'travel boat,' a small light portable
camp-cruiser that could be carried in a backpack, checked as normal baggage on
airline, bus or train, and set up quickly at the destination. It should give
the opportunity to explore distant watery places in the short patches of
vacation time my current reality allows. I was never certain what platform
would be best: canoe, kayak, row, sail? Skin-on-frame, sectional, inflatable or
some hybrid? Till recently I've had more ideas than ambition to make the Dream
happen. Finally this Spring I decided to use the WaterTribe Michigan Challenge
as a motivating agent with a hard deadline, to focus my attention on preparing
a suitable boat and system. I didn't need a racing machine, just so whatever I
came up with had a reasonable chance of finishing the Challenge in a creditable
time.
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In June I began building a 14-foot plywood rowing boat. It had a complex and
laborious panelized disassembly system so that it could break down into a flat
60-inch long package for travel. This was nearing completion as the last few
weeks before the Michigan Challenge slid by. Karen and I had it in the water a
few times, I rowed it down the St Lucie River out into the ocean, played in
tide rips and easy summer beach surf, and was happy enough with its
performance. But at the same time I was getting disenchanted with its
applicability to the Dream: It is heavy- I went overboard on strength with
cheap materials, the empty boat weighs almost 60 lbs. The assembly process is
time consuming and relies on about 100 fastenings and quantities of white
Teflon pipe dope to make watertight panel joints, which got all over me and my
surroundings during and after setup/breakdown. The disassembled package is
oversize, incurring extra charges that could double the cost of a cut-rate
plane ticket, and making it a pain to backpack any distance.
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So Saturday two weeks before the start of the Challenge I was lying in bed when
I should have been working on the boat, bummed out, with the deadline looming,
casting about for alternatives. I did recall seeing something at the local West
Marine that might be worth another look, just for laughs. For years I have seen
ads and catalog offers for Stearns' inflatable kayaks, a 10-foot single and a
12-foot double. I've never taken them seriously- they're usually displayed
right next to plastic inner tubes and inflatable pool toys, besides which they
are just ... strange looking. Certainly no serious paddler would give them a
second glance, especially me with my long-held distrust of blow-up boats.
Ever since my early sailboat-cruising days on the East Coast and Bahamas, I've
been pleased to refer to inflatable boats as 'deflatable rubber rafts.' It's
amusing to see people's reactions to the term, since most of the cruisers'
dinghies and sport boats seem to be in a sporadic but ongoing battle with
self-deflation. The typical deflatable tender is fat, wet, floppy and rows like
a haystack. I have never been comfortable calling them 'boats.' Unless pushed
by an outboard motor, they are only suitable as rafts to move crew and goods a
short distance from pier to yacht in a sheltered harbor. But just possibly, a
deflatable kayak might be different?
The Boat
The nice manager at the store promised to take the 10' single back if we
returned it clean and dry in its original bag. Better yet, it was on sale, 20%
off! Who could refuse? With nothing to lose we took it home, blew it up and I
gave it a quick trial in the river with a black thunder squall bearing down. It
handled the wind and chop well, and moved easily at a reasonable speed for its
length, the odd shape resulting from the realities of tube geometry and
manufacturing economy didn't seem to be holding it back unduly. Next morning I
took it on a 15-mile, 5-hour tour of the lower St Lucie and out to sea, tried a
few surf landings in the prevailing easy conditions, followed by a short
portage and return by a favorite mangrove creek. There were some troublesome
details (skeg fin deeper than hull, spray deck puddled & leaked, seat back
poked me in the ribs) but nothing that couldn't be fixed.
Overall I liked the boat's performance, it is low-drag at my comfortable
cruising pace though sprint speed is obviously limited. It tracks straight and
yaws surprisingly little with the alternating thrust of the double paddle. It
is great fun in surf: the beamy, rounded shape resists catching an edge (no
edges) and slides sideways out of the way of breakers; it's buoyant enough that
the cockpit stays dry and the low ends resist burying. Best of all, the short
waterline and strong rocker make it supremely maneuverable. The boat spins
quickly without lost momentum to work around breaking crests or to follow
twisting channels. The low ends reduce wind drag and turning moment, it is
completely neutral and balanced in any wind direction. Initial and secondary
stability are great. I didn't practice capsizing or even think of trying a
roll; recovery in this type of boat consists of tipping the water out and
climbing back in, facilitated by the full-length zipper in the spray deck.
This is a vinyl boat (as opposed to the more expensive and more durable
Hypalon), but I found it to be well built out of strong materials. In contrast
to the usual single-layer pool toy, it is of 3-layer construction: the hull
bottom (below the spray rail at mid-tube) is heavy nylon-reinforced vinyl as
used in commercial truck covers. The tube shell is a vinyl coated nylon fabric
and is the primary tensile structure. Then there is the inner tube which is a
heavy, stretchy unreinforced vinyl, in one piece but having two independent
chambers, inner and outer, for redundancy. This is the air-containing layer but
its skin is not really stressed because it is contained inside the
tight-fitting tube shell. The inner tube is machine-welded, the rest of the
boat is sewn (nicely double-stitched with heavy thread, no doubt by some poor
far-eastern sweat shop lady) which weeps slightly unless seam-sealed by the
buyer, but I regard as more reliable long-term than a welded or glued boat, and
is easy to field repair even when wet. There is also a removable inflatable
floor built like (and useable as) an air mattress. Detailing and deck rigging
are well thought-out and strong, for a consumer boat. The obvious advantage of
the layered construction is you have to get through the hull bottom and tube
shell to attack the inner tube, so it should take some doing for a sharp rock
or stick to disable it.
Some numbers: The Stearns 10' single is 9'-8" long overall, 32" maximum beam,
12" depth from hull bottom at centerline to top of side tubes when empty, this
increases by a variable amount afloat depending on operator & gear weight
and tube pressure. The cockpit is 51" long x 15" wide inside the tube, and
comes with a zippered spray deck covering the forward half and strong enough to
serve as a knee brace. Seat height is similar to typical hard-shell sea kayaks.
Empty weight is 30 lbs.
Modifications
With only a week before I was scheduled to leave, I was mercifully limited in
what I had time to do (fantasies of opening up and re-cutting the hull-to-tube
seam to "improve" hull shape were thrown roughly aside). I made a sewn-in
permanent extension of the existing spraydeck, with a centerline zipper and
shock cord waist closure. Because of the deep hull, the skirt comes up nearly
to my armpits so I wear it outside my PFD, which worked well in practice,
allowing some ventilation and admitting less water over the top than leaked in
at the seams and zipper. In cold or rainy weather, an Inuit-style over-jacket
with hood and sleeves, that goes on outside PFD, skirt and everything, might be
a good top layer, but I never got around to it and didn't need it on this trip.
The stock built-in spray deck is strongly made, but being dead flat it tends to
puddle any paddle splash or spray in the middle, where it drips through the
zipper annoyingly. After playing with different ideas (an inflatable pillow
might work) I combined several functions and built a light removable plywood
deck section, 14" long by the full width of the spray deck and cambered up
about 2 1/2" at centerline to shed water to the sides. This is inserted under
the spray deck just forward of the paddler's knees and is sandwiched tightly
between the cloth deck and the tube shell, making it rigid enough to be the
sole support for the sailing rig's mast. The bottom 3" of the mast is tapered
slightly and steps into a matching fiberglass sleeve molded in place near the
forward end of the sub-deck, slightly off center to clear the spray deck's
zipper. I also added a mesh stowage pocket attached to the underside the
sub-deck; this immediately became the most popular stowage spot aboard for
small things that could get wet and might be wanted while underway: GPS, VHF,
flashlight, snacks, watch cap, lots more.
The sailing rig ended up being a standing lug of about 8.2 square feet area.
Lug rig has the shortest spars and easiest setup and reefing of any rig. It
worked great but I would have loved if it could have been increased to the
class 1 limit of 10 sqft. I faced a semi-arbitrary restriction on the length of
the spars, since I wanted an easily transportable package and prefer not to
have 2-piece spars with joints. Greyhound check baggage is limited to 45" long,
and my favorite 2-piece paddle happens to have sections 44" long. Therefore I
made the spars 44" as well, and together they make a nice bundle that stows in
the boat's carry bag without much danger of breakage. When paddling, the sail
and mast are bundled together and stowed inside along one side of the cockpit.
I set the mast up on the boat and fiddled out the exact dimensions of the sail
in situ with sticks and string, taking care to keep the boom and sheet clear of
the normal range of motion of the paddle and paddler. The final shape worked
out very well in practice, being just high enough and far enough away that you
only occasionally tap it while paddling. Being able to paddle and sail
efficiently both at the same time (paddle-sailing) is a key feature of a
successful cruising rig. It lets you keep up a good speed in light or shifty
winds, with a big reduction in paddling effort over straight paddling, and
without the frustration and low average speed of straight sailing in those
conditions. I went with a fore & aft rig geometry (as opposed to a square
rig geometry as in the Spirit Sail, Balogh Twins, etc.) because it can sail
closer to the wind and is more tolerant of temporary shifts and gusts; it luffs
harmlessly rather than going aback and stopping (or capsizing) you if the wind
suddenly comes ahead. Yes, these are supposed to be 'downwind' rigs, but
'downwind' is taken loosely to mean anything up to a beam reach across the
wind. Paddle-sailing in light air, the apparent wind can come quite far forward
even though the true wind may be over your shoulder, so it's important that the
sail be efficient when sheeted well in at small angles of attack. Class rules
prohibit a leeboard or other leeway control device
, which saved me the trouble of working one out.
For anyone interested in playing with this idea further, my sail's dimensions
are: Foot 42.5", Luff 17.5", Leach 43.5", Head 43", Diagonal throat to clew
43.5". Head and foot are sleeved onto the boom and yard (dimensions given are
to the outside corners of the overall sail including sleeves). The sail is cut
quite full, since it won't be going upwind. An open jaws is bolted to the
forward end of the boom, to reef you slack away the halyard a few inches, pull
the boom aft to disengage the jaws, and rotate the boom to roll up the desired
amount of sail. Once the halyard is tensioned again there is no tendency for
the jaws to jump off the mast and unroll. Increasing mast, boom and yard all to
48.5" long would give a 10 sqft sail of the same plan form, dimensions would
then be: Foot 47", Luff 19.3", Leach 48", Head 47.5", Diagonal throat to clew
48". There is nothing particularly magical about these proportions, they can
and should be modified to suit boat, paddle clearance or owner's taste. I've
used this rig and reefing method on several boats up to 120 sqft sail area and
love it.
The boat came with a 15" long semi-rigid plastic wear strip at bow and stern,
plus a short, 3" deep fixed soft plastic skeg or fin located just behind the
seat near the point of maximum draft. This skeg placement is good for leeway
prevention and reducing slip while turning, but it does little to improve
straight tracking, which is more of an issue in a short boat. It also increases
the draft unacceptably. I tried peeling the skeg off the bottom, but had to
settle for cutting it off flush at the root, leaving its wide soft plastic base
attached. Then I made a new and (I think...) better shaped skeg, 12" long by 3
1/2" deep of rounded-triangular profile, out of a scrap of 1/4" Lexan, and
bolted it to the wear strip near the aft end of the boat's waterline. This has
the same draft as the deep part of the hull so has little tendency to hang up
on rocks, etc. It is well placed and strong enough to be a good dragging shoe
for moving the boat short distances up and down a rough beach, but the
flexibility of the mounting and hull skin let it fold over sideways if struck
from the side or below, rather than break off or rip a hole in the boat.
For night visibility I made a short wood staff that attaches via a plywood base
plate to aft deck rigging, and elevates a Tek-Tite white LED marker light
slightly above head height, so it is visible all around but doesn't shine in my
eyes.
Getting There
The Stuart, FL Greyhound bus station is right next to my office, so I only had
to carry my bags over after work and wait. The boat and most of the camping
gear were in one bag, 42" x 20" x about 8" and weighing just under the maximum
of 50 lbs. I also had two smaller carry-ons of perhaps 15 lbs each with
clothes, electronics and food. The bus voyage was straightforward and on time,
getting into Oscoda Thursday evening. I carried my gear the couple miles to the
Start beach, spent a casual hour setting up and stowing gear, and launched into
Lake Huron just before sunset Everything fit in the boat as planned and it
hardly noticed the extra load (it may be short but it is beamy and buoyant). I
paddled a few miles up the Au Sable River and found a nice spot to camp in a
daisy field on a low northeast facing sand bluff , and had the best night's
sleep of the last several and many to come.
Friday morning I explored the Au Sable a little more, paddling upstream a few
miles in clear, easy water before returning to the Lake and the Start beach
shortly after noon. It was a great pleasure greeting friends made at the
Everglades Challenge in March, and meeting the rest of the starters whom I
hadn't met before; a fine afternoon was had going over gear, discussing boats
and strategies and trying to ignore the fact that my boat was about half the
size of everyone else's. I have to express my sincere thanks to everyone who
was there for keeping your true reactions (mostly) to yourselves. Whatever
comments may have been made were done tastefully out of my hearing and you were
entitled to them. After the EC most of you knew better than to expect sanity
from me, and I doubt anyone was really that surprised.
I made a quick trip up the street to the IGA and bought last-minute fresh food
and heavy things I hadn't wanted to haul on the bus, and spent a relaxed
evening finding space for it all. It wasn't as hard as it may seem; the layered
construction of the boat means there is a large pocket in each end between the
hull bottom and the tube shell. Normally the inflated shell fills the hull out
tight, but if you partially deflate the tube, you can cram things into these
pockets from the cockpit all the way to the ends. I had a SealLine 25-liter dry
bag in each end, the forward one with sleeping bag and camp clothes; the aft
one with paddling clothes, some food, and other loose things that shouldn't get
wet but might be wanted during the day. I stuffed the soft goods loosely in
long folds, not balled in knots, to present a smooth surface to the hull skin.
I pushed the bags into position without closing them, inflated the boat, which
compressed the bags' contents and removed excess air, and only then sealed the
dry bags.
There is also a lot of space available between the tube shell and inflatable
floor along the sides. I had a couple of long, thin cloth bags that fit the
space okay, and filled these with packets of dry food, power bars, pop-tarts
and like that, that could get wet safely. Again attention needed to be paid to
avoiding lumps that would telegraph through the skin and slow the boat down.
Bulky items that could get wet (backpacking tent, cookset, toiletries, and such)
went in a small day pack at my feet in the cockpit, which was nicely placed as
a footrest, and a couple of 3-liter flexible water jugs (blue Igloo
freeze-paks) went under my knees on the bottom where their weight belongs and
they are at hand. A bag of apples and a stem of bananas were lashed on top of
the aft tube, and others reported that my 'produce stand' made the
blue-and-gray boat much more visible out on the lake.
The Race
The actual event was sometimes hard, grueling, painful even; and sometimes
incredibly beautiful, thrilling, or just a low pleasant glow behind the rhythm
of paddling, paddling. I don't feel compelled to write a detailed travelogue, I
will just note the major where & whens so others who may be interested can
compare progress among the other racers.
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Saturday:
We trickled out of the start just before sunrise, in no particular hurry, in a
light NW wind and flat sea. A couple hours on, a weak cold front passed over
bringing a wind shift to the N and NNE and freshening to 15 knots or so, and
the sea started to build. I kept close to the beach all day as the shelving
bottom and offshore sandbars offered a big reduction in energy of the head sea.
Crossed tacks with VanMan & Draco in their catamaran, which was the last I
saw of them until the finish. Also crossed paths with StandingWave a couple
times in the afternoon; in the evening we both called in our positions from a
protected beach a few miles S of Thunder Bay's South Point. I hoped for and
thought I was seeing a wind reduction after sunset, but it was temporary and
came back up to NE 12-15 as I worked across the mouth of Thunder Bay in deep
water and a 2-3' sea, making shore a half-mile west of North Point about 0200
Sunday morning, cold and beat tired. Dragged the boat up a cobblestone beach a
safe distance and hauled some gear to the tree-line where I set up on pine
needles in a one-man niche in the solid wall of forest. Slept like the dead
till sunrise.
Sunday:
Woke, ate, broke camp and loaded boat all in the same breath, launched through
an increased oblique break and worked up into sun, wind & waves toward
North Point. A bunch of shouting and hoo-hooing from out of the eye of the sun
turned out to be Black Sun, KneadingWater and Danimal who had camped together
right at the point. I didn't go close in because of the heavier surf around the
point, we tried to talk over the noise but I gave up and paddled on, knowing
they would catch up shortly. Paddled out into 2-4' waves around the point and
proceeded to pilot my way through/around some breaking shoals in back of
Thunder Bay Island. KneadingWater came up to talk, soaking wet from the hat
down from playing in the break, then paddled off to find another minefield to
play in. I continued to windward in the lee of Sugar Island to find a deep
water route without breakers, and had just come around the last shoal and was
setting sail for a reach to the NW when BlackSun and Danimal caught up.
Paddle-sailing with the pleasant NE breeze in my sail I could just about keep
up with them paddling their longer, narrower kayaks. So we stayed in sight of
each other most of the day, gabbing a bit when close enough to do so, stopping
to rest on Middle Island about noon and at Presque Isle in the evening. Between
lighter evening winds and a battle with a light touch of diarrhea, I pulled
into Checkpoint 1 at Rogers City half an hour behind them at 0030, in the
middle of a fine Aurora Borealis display. KneadingWater came along just as I
was about to go up the beach, fortuitously homing on my flashlight as his GPS
had given up on him and the checkpoint beach is not too obvious in the dark. KW
and I were both feeling cold and grungy enough that we got a room at the motel
and had showers. Native hospitality.
Monday:
Off the beach about 0800 in a calm; later a light NE breeze filled in and gave
some nice easy progress. I tried relaxing under sail alone for a couple hours
at lunch time but progress was too slow and I went back to paddle-sailing. A
long easy day with no shore stops, I was comfortable in the boat and had
everything I wanted handy. Wind switched suddenly to S after sundown and began
increasing. Spectacular aurora display with moving bars and flashing bands
extending 60-70 degrees up from the horizon. Passed under the Mackinac Bridge
shortly after midnight and made camp a few miles further down on McGulpin
Point.
Tuesday:
Woke, loaded and away by sun-up but impeded by increasing SSW wind. It got so
strong (maybe 20-25 and gusty) that I preferred to add mileage by following the
shoreline into bays to stay in the lee rather than paddle point-to-point.
Started to worry about what it would be like on the other side of Waugoshance
Point. Lunch time stopped on a weather beach and hiked across the narrow neck
to see the breakers coming in off Lake Michigan in long, wide ranks. NOAA
weather report discouraging, calling for wind SW 15-25 and 4-7' seas through
Thursday. For the first time I started to have doubts about making a deadline.
Too much worrying, so lay down on the cobbles and had a nice 1-hour nap, after
which I felt a lot better and headed back out. Worked through the inside pass
at Waugoshance Pt (tricky with the lake so low, hate to have to do it in the
dark) and found a breaker-free route to the deep lake.
This was definitely the biggest water I'd ever paddled in, realistically 3-5'
steep, regular seas with sharp, occasionally breaking crests. Boat handled the
conditions fine, stable and dry, neutral balance, the low wave-piercing bow
worked great with no tendency to bury or throw water around. After assuring
myself it was safe to do so, I took a straight line to the S across Sturgeon
Bay to a semi-protected looking niche in the shoreline a few miles N of Good
Hart, worrying myself silly the whole way about what it would be like trying to
get ashore when I got there. Turned out to be nothing, the lake appears from
the chart to rise quickly from deep water (dangerous) but there is actually a
rather wide platform of slowly shelving, rough rocky bottom which wears down
the waves' energy gradually and doesn't leave much for the final shore break. I
coasted in on the crest of an easy spilling breaker about 2030 and called in my
position, and then, the wind seeming to be down a little, continued on another
few miles, coming ashore with the last of the twilight at 2200 and setting up
in a little dell behind the beach at the base of a high bluff. This was the
lowest mileage day so far, but I was feeling good to have gotten as far as I
did, given how I'd been feeling in the morning.
Wednesday:
Away before dawn after a good night's sleep, still bucking into the SW wind and
sizeable sea off the lake, but not so bad as Tuesday. Stayed inshore in the
region of 'worn-out' groundswell, sometimes paddling inside of an offshore bar
or small island for a change of pace. By 1100 wind was down and backing S, I
headed SSW across Little Traverse Bay and got back in with the shore around
1600 and past the breakwall at Charlevoix maybe 1745. Got lost finding
Checkpoint 2 due to misreading the directions and not trusting the GPS,
eventually pulled up just after SaltyFrog arrived. A good time was had catching
up on news with the checkpoint crew. Thanks Mark & Emily for a great BBQ
dinner alfresco. Headed out just before sundown to make a few more miles,
winding up on the protected tombolo beach behind Fisherman Island around 2330.
Thursday:
Thunder squall just before dawn, quickly past. SaltyFrog camped just down the
beach from me; he snuck up and BOO'd me out of my skin as I was loading up to
leave. (Will get even in due time.) Hard paddle into strong S wind and choppy
peaky sea along shore almost to Norwood, then out across Grand Traverse Bay,
bow up to the wind a bit, ferrying across steep, confused 4-6' seas. Now this
was surely the baddest water I'd ever paddled in. Wind began to ease before
noon, sea evened out, tried sailing for a while but a line of thunders squalls
coming up from to leeward made me take it down again. With a mile to go the
wind chopped to the West and blew fierce with hard rain, fortunately no nearby
lightning. The wind blew the old sea over backwards and the rain held it down;
I concentrated on hammering and keeping the bow into the wind, and seemed to be
making ground in the rare moments I could see land, knew it shouldn't last
long, and in half an hour or so it began to ease off. I worked into the lee of
Lighthouse Point around 1400, pulled up on a cobble beach, put some things out
to dry on the bushes and walked over to Leelanau State Park to call in.
Relaxed all afternoon, listening to NOAA calling tornado watches across most of
Lower Michigan and to the wind and surf. By dinner time it was still blowing
and I decided to stay over; went up and got a campsite at the Park, set up and
made some rice & beans. Went down to the water to eat and lo, the wind was
down, the sea was mysteriously flat and a rosy sunset was breaking through.
Shouldn't have done it, wish I hadn't done it, but I couldn't resist. I
finished eating, broke camp, loaded the boat and was out around Lighthouse
Point with the last of the setting sun.
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Got around Cat Head by last twilight, and set sail in a gentle WNW. The wind
seemed inclined to build, I knew the cold front was still to come and I
expected a short period of gusty wind, but the forecast and signs on the ground
agreed it wouldn't be bad. About 2200 a line of dark cloud was coming up
rapidly from the NW, shortly after that ominous rustling noise could be heard
from to windward and the wind started to veer and build quickly. Indeed, it
never got BAD bad, maybe 25 knots wind and gusty. I kept the sail up, reefed,
until the sea started building. Man, we were sailing for a while there, I'll
never know how fast, it was dark and I didn't have a spare hand for the GPS.
When she started surfing the waves my nerve ran out and I got the sail down and
switched to 'control mode' under paddle. What I should have considered was,
though the band of stronger winds was narrow, the front had been moving along
at a leisurely 12 knots or so in the same direction as its winds across 60
miles of open lake, pushing its own wave train along with it. So, in a
surprisingly short time the sea got up to a level you would expect it to take
several hours to reach. It was black, moonless dark and I was running down some
big seas in a strong wind, off an unknown exposed lee shore. I didn't belong
there. I told myself so, repeatedly. After pearling on one particularly steep
breaker and being saved by the boat's stability and ability to sideslip (really
there is something to say for a fat, round boat without edges in a following
sea) I started taking the conditions more seriously, heading up and bracing
into the breakers, holding speed down to avoid surfing. It was dark, I don't
know how big the seas were, but this was definitely the biggest water I've ever
paddled in. Average speed went all to hell in an effort to stay in the boat.
This went on for quite some time, and somewhere in there it became-
Friday:
And eventually, as these things always do, conditions started to moderate. It
got to where I could leave the boat lying ahull and pop the skirt to sponge out
the annoying puddle I'd been sitting in since the One Big Wave, and pull out
some food. I got the sail back up and got on course, but the dying wind didn't
give us that much boost, and the leftover sea was annoyingly long-lived. I
worked SW on a bearing on North Manitou Shoals Light, dozing between bouts of
paddling, and was approaching Pyramid Point by dawn. I worked around Pyramid
and on towards Sleeping Bear Point, which seemed to be taking its sweet time
coming up. Landed on the N side of Sleeping Bear about 1100 for a good
bilge-sponging and to dry my sopping seat cushion, then continued in lovely
sunny weather and, unfortunately a moderate headwind, this having defied common
sense and the boys at NOAA and backed to SSW.
So went the afternoon, tired, paddling pretty hard, hot and getting angrier and
angrier at the malignant wind, the high ground of Point Betsie taking just
forever to creep across the lake toward us. Finally got under the lee of Point
Betsie about 1730, and shortly after that SaltyFrog came up from behind, talked
encouragingly for a bit, and glided off in his faster sea kayak. I was feeling
better in the cool evening. Pulled into Checkpoint 3 in twilight, was warmly
greeted by a pack of fellow WaterTribers, and set up camp on the beach in a
stupor. I don't think I so much as rolled over in my sleep until first light.
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Saturday: I don't know that SaltyFrog slept so well; he later joked to me
that he'd been up every hour or two, making sure I didn't pack up and sneak out
in the night to try and beat him to the finish. I won't say it didn't cross my
mind... Anyway Saturday dawned with weather I'd waited for all week. SF and I
both left just before sunrise and paused together for a word outside the
Frankfort breakwall before he steamed off to the south and I got busy setting
sail before a gentle NE breeze, yes, a tailwind of a useable force.
Paddle-sailed at a good speed all morning. After noon the wind backed around
NNW and strengthened as the sea breeze effect came on, and we started surfing
waves at 4, 4.5, sometimes briefly 5 knots, what fun. Too soon the breakwall at
Manistee came up over the horizon. I splashed through the confused backwash off
the inlet into the Manistee River, kept the sail up and mostly drawing while
paddling up the River to Lake Manistee, and had the best short sail of the trip
crossing the Lake in a fine, stiff N wind and flat sea to the finish beach at
1540. And that was all there was of that.
Getting Back
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Karen had flown up to see the finish and a little of Michigan. We hung out
Saturday night and Sunday enjoying the company of the other racers and their
families. Deflated and packed away the boat in the rain, people seemed politely
interested but unconvinced, that's fine, I agree that a pretty boat on top of
the car is much more impressive than a lumpy backpack, but there is the small
prerequisite of the car, which is what I was trying to sidestep. We tooled
around the area for a couple days, visited Mark & Emily at their home
(thanks again guys, what a beautiful place to live & work!), a night at
Ludington State Park where we set the boat up for a little paddling on Hamlin
Lake, just because we could, then a night in a fancy B&B in Grand Rapids (I
owed Karen one from last year) and off to the airport. The boat bag, camping
gear, pile of electronics in my carry-on, none of it raised an eyebrow in the
security lines. What held up the whole show was Karen's metal mint box in her
pocketbook. Once that was dug out and explained to everyone's satisfaction we
had a thoroughly uneventful flight to Chicago and on to Orlando where all was
transferred to the family hatchback (hand-carried, one trip, no strain) for the
final leg home.
I Took Away
- some nice jewelry and a cool tee-shirt. That's to say, I finished. It
was tough; the weather was uncooperative but not impossible; the course was not
the easiest or the hardest stretch of coast you could find in any part of the
country or the world. I learned, I grew, I got stronger. I made new friends and
renewed friendships.
Is the Stearns deflatable my idea of the ultimate expedition boat? No. It was
available on short notice, the price was right, I thought it would do the job
adequately and I wanted to learn what I could from it. I like the boat fine and
will keep it but it won't be my last boat. Would a more 'normal' canoe or kayak
have been faster over that course in those conditions? Almost certainly, though
it might have gone differently the night of the One Big Wave; I can't say.
Would I have won Class 1 in a 'better' boat? Probably not. Marty, aka Salty
Frog, arrived at Checkpoint 3, and at the finish, fresh and strong with plenty
in reserve; if I had been faster and he cared to stay ahead, he would have
worked harder and gone faster too. It's interesting that all the finishers
(except VanMan & Draco's Hobie cat which is in a different league) came in
the same afternoon/evening, and two more who made it most of the way around but
were forced out by injury or breakdown, probably would have finished that day
as well. All I'm able to say is that, I don't believe my choice of a short,
fat, inexpensive, non-mainstream boat caused me any undue stress, danger or a
great deal of lost time over that course, in those conditions.
The boat came through it all in great shape. The bottom is completely unmarked
after a week of careful dragging up and down beaches and the occasional
grounding under way. There is no sign of strained stitching, torn or abraded
fabric or loosened fittings. Being short, longitudinal flexing was not a
problem, though you could certainly feel the boat breathing as the waves passed
under. I carried the inflation hose ready in the cockpit in case it was ever
needed on the water, but it was not (the boat comes with a nice foot pump but I
never found a good place to stow it so left it home; oral inflation was not a
problem for such a small vessel).
Some Design Factoids
Longer boats are commonly regarded as being 'faster' than shorter ones. The
reality is, as usual, more complicated. I would rather say that longer boats
have a higher potential speed; you still need to supply the energy to achieve
that speed. If you don't feel like working that hard ( and it can be real hard
in a headwind and sea) then you will go slowly, and the guy in the shorter boat
will keep up with you just fine at the same power output. Sorry, here comes a
little math: A boat's speed (in knots) can be expressed as a factor of the
square root of its waterline length (in feet), V / sqrtL, the Speed-Length
Ratio (or Taylor Coefficient). With variations from other factors, generally a
boat is most efficient (best speed from least effort) at S/L ratios around 1.0.
The maximum speed a boat will usually reach under sail or paddle ('hull speed')
is close to a S/L of 1.34.
So for example, my deflatable with a waterline of 9 ft is efficient at a speed
of (sqrt9 x 1.0) = 3 knots, and is maxed out at hull speed at (sqrt9 x 1.34) =
4 knots. For an imaginary competitor with a 16 ft waterline, it is efficient at
(sqrt16 x 1.0) = 4 knots, and maxed at (sqrt16 x 1.34) = 5.4 knots.
But wait, there's more! The above accounts for wave-making drag, but the other
component of hull drag, wetted surface, is also important, especially at lower
speeds where wave-making is slight. Wetted surface drag is, as you'd expect,
almost directly proportional to the underwater surface area of the boat.
Everyone knows that a sphere has the least surface area of any shape, so can we
agree without doing the math that a more nearly spherical hull (short, fat and
deep) will have less wetted surface drag than a longer skinnier one of the same
loaded weight?
So combining the two drag components we can show that a short boat of a given
loaded weight has a particular range of speed (up to about 3 knots in the
example) where it has slightly less drag than a longer boat of the same weight.
For a given power output in that speed range, the short boat is actually
'faster' than the long one. The difference is small and usually gets lost in
the clutter of other factors (different paddlers, hull shapes, wind and wave
conditions...) but the math don't lie. At higher power output levels, if the
paddlers care to work harder, the longer boat quickly becomes the lower-drag
option and so 'faster.' It's in the complex realm of choices: length, beam,
midsection, end shape, center of gravity and so on, that the science of boat
design blends into the art, and finding a good balance among all these
competing factors is what defines a good design to me. There is not necessarily
only one good solution.
In a race or cruise this long, varied and challenging, there are bound to be a
wide variety of valid solutions to boat and gear choice. That is the beauty of
the simulation situation Chief has concocted for us, it permits people to try
off-the-wall ideas if they care to. As I stated in my pre-start notes, I came
to finish, planned to go long hours at an easy pace, and hoped for not too much
headwind, ha ha. This game plan served me well, the only surprise being that
the boat went as well as it did in a head wind and sea, I guess the low ends
and clean, rounded deck made up in aerodynamics what the fat short hull was
costing in wave drag. Key to keeping going 18, 20, 24 hours at a spell is a
comfortable, sea kindly boat that will take care of a wasted (or injured, or
diarrheic...) paddler until she has recovered enough to go on or get to shore.
I feel confirmed in my belief that a moderately short, beamy, buoyant kayak is
safer and more comfortable to paddle long distances in varying conditions than
the long, low, fine-ended type that has become popular in recent years. The
Stearns 10' was an extreme example, but serves to make the point.
Finally, I truly hope I haven't hurt any feelings or stepped on the wrong toes
by bringing such an ugly, unfashionable boat and actually having the temerity
to finish respectably with it. My apologies to anyone I may have
unintentionally offended. But if anybody else starts to feel that maybe a
cutting-edge fast sea kayak isn't the best way to go for comfortable touring, I
wouldn't disagree. Just a thought.
© Matthew Layden, 2003
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