Vietnam Memories

A coworker recently learned that I am a Vietnam veteran and asked me for information.  That started me thinking about long past events, and I decided to write down one of my most memorable experiences, a trip out of the war zone to Japan.  The story is off topic; I'll post some Vietnam boat pictures to give the story context.  Above, top to bottom: 1. Wayne, on watch on the bridge of the USS Askari.  2. A patrol boat of the S. Vietnamese navy.  3. The smoke of battle on the horizon on the Mekong.  4. Heavily armored landing craft used in close range patrols/combat in canals off the Mekong River. 5. A peaceful sunrise on the Mekong.  6. Downtown VungTau.  

September, 1966, I entered active duty with the US Navy.  After attending basic navigation school, I reported aboard the USS Askari, ARL-30, and was immediately assigned to help load armor plate and other supplies for our mission in Vietnam.  We left San Francisco in early December, stopping in Hawaii and the Philippines along the way, toward our new homeport of VungTau, Vietnam.  Most of 1967 was spent in the Mekong Delta.  I then returned to Vietnam aboard the USS Preston, DD 795, during the summer of 1968.  It was an important point in my life when I was on my own, deciding what was important and who I wanted to be.  No one cared whether hours were spent in a library, gymnasium, or a bar; each person chose their own path.  It made for interesting observations and experiences.

When you were stationed “in country” in the Vietnam combat zone for an extended period you would eventually qualify for “R&R”, rest and relaxation outside Vietnam. A friend, Carl Nixon, and I both qualified for R&R in June ’67 and both chose Japan as our destination. You were given permissive orders for the period.  “Permissive” meant that you were to find your own way from our ship upriver on the Mekong to Saigon to catch a flight and then find your way back upon return.  We got a ride on a supply boat downriver to the coastal town of VungTau.  As soon as we arrived, we made ourselves scarce until the scheduled flight to Saigon had departed; then we reported in at the airfield.  That gave us an extra day on our own.  At VungTau, we often would walk some distance to an off-limits beach in a rocky cove served by a single café.  There we could eat lunch and play in the waves which were sometimes big enough for body surfing.  Later, we had dinner and a few drinks in town and, in the process, were joined by another Navy man who was headed to Saigon.  With curfew time approaching, the three of us visited a local hotel to get a room for the night.  The entry to the hotel featured a line of young women waiting along the corridor.  Carl and I politely declined companionship for the evening, but the other fellow bought dinner for “his girl” and she spent the night with him.

The next day we took a twin rotor Chinook helicopter to Saigon; it felt like a flying bus. The military had leased an entire hotel with a barracks-type configuration for transient personnel in Saigon.  We didn’t wander far from the hotel that day, saving our funds until we reached Japan. We were anxious to get started and happily boarded a leased aircraft the next morning.  Arriving at Tachikawa AFB near Tokyo, we were given barracks-type beds & lockers.  This would be home base.  We relaxed and took a swim in the base pool.  Carl and I had lost our fellow Navy man, but picked up a crazy Marine on R&R.  Why do I say crazy?  This man had been in Vietnam for several years on back-to-back tours in the region of the North Vietnam border.  Every time his tour of duty was up, he would volunteer to stay longer.  Why would he do this?  Because soldiers don’t fight for their country; they fight for their buddies.  If he went home to the US, in his mind he would be abandoning his “band of brothers”.  At this point, his unit had sent him on R&R, and then he was mandatorily being sent back to the States.  They would allow no more extensions, and we could sense why.  He spoke casually about killing the enemy, had done it multiple times, and the enemy was anyone who would harm a US Marine.  It was questionable to us how he would re-adapt to civilian life.

Our Marine wanted to rent a taxi and go to Yokohama (20 miles away) to drink Black Russians at a bar he knew of.  Money meant nothing to him.  We decided to go with him and show him how to use the train system, saving considerable funds.  We found the bar, and drank a few Black Russians, but not enough to keep us from finding our way back.

The next day Carl and I set out again on a train to explore the area.  While on the train (think metro commuter line), I noticed a man reading a newspaper section which had a picture of a person water skiing on the back cover.  We asked where the picture was taken, and, although communication was limited, we were able to ascertain that the water skiing was at Hayama Beach, on the ocean southwest of Tokyo.  Looking at the train schedule, we realized that we could make the last train to Hayama that night.  Arriving at Hayama Beach well after dark, we walked down to the beach and discovered a party for college students was taking place.  We were immediately invited to join the party with the incentive, “We have more beer than we can drink.”  They were very friendly and spoke fluent English. We learned that water skiing was offered in late morning sessions and that a college music festival was taking place for the next few days. A little before midnight we rented a bamboo shack on the beach to sleep in.  Being in the Navy on a regular watch schedule I had developed an 'internal clock' and was able to awaken at an early hour to get us on our way.  We needed to get up early to take the train back to our home base to clean up and get bathing suits and fresh clothes.

We arrived back in time to sign up for water skiing. This consisted of all participants lining up for mandatory exercises; then being transferred by boat to a covered platform moored in the bay.  The ski boat would come by the platform, each time picking up a new participant for a short period of skiing.  Water skiing was apparently a very new sport in Japan.  I watched people struggle to get up and then wobble around for a few laps before collapsing in the water.  This was the ocean, and waves were present, so their difficulty was understandable. Growing up in Nebraska, I had been skiing for 5-6 years using our family boat.  When it was my turn to ski, I quickly kicked off one ski to slalom and was able to perform enough tricks that a photographer was called out to the platform to take pictures of the action.  He had questions for my friend, Carl. The photographer couldn’t speak English, and Carl knew no Japanese, but they discovered that they both were fluent enough in Spanish to discuss water skiing.

Carl was an interesting guy.  Out of high school, he was accepted and enrolled at the US Naval Academy.  After a short time at the Academy, he decided he didn’t like it and requested release. His request was refused until he contacted his Alabama Senator, who was on the Armed Forces Defense committee. He then quickly got his release from the Academy, but it wasn’t a release from military commitment. He was ordered on enlisted duty on our ship, the USS Askari, in Vietnam.  After release from active duty, he eventually moved to Morelia, Mexico, where he graduated from medical school and became a primary care physician in rural Mexico.

After skiing we learned that a dance would be held that night.  Carl and I went to a local communal bath house to freshen up.  Do you take a shower before stepping into the hot pool or afterwards? We may have done both. That evening we went to the dance. The music was almost exclusively familiar American rock & roll songs.  As we walked in, all the girls were in clusters along the far wall, and the boys were along the near wall to our left.  The dance floor was uncrowded. Adults were at tables toward the rear of the room to our right. We were the only Caucasians present. What do you do in such a situation?  If you are on R&R from Vietnam, you ask a girl to dance.

My attention was drawn to a girl standing on the edge of a group (pretty, relaxed, not engaged in the group chatter), and I approached her with a request for a dance.  After several dances she, Tamea, asked me to meet some of her relatives, who were seated in a booth toward the back of the room.  I learned that Tamea’s extended family rented one floor of the Hayama Beach Hotel each summer for several weeks.  Tamea was a student at Tokyo University.  Later that evening, Tamea and one of her female friends took Carl and me for a ride to show us the area.  We sat in back with a white-gloved chauffeur driving our dark limousine-type car and drove to a lookout point for a view of the surrounding bay area illuminated by thousands of lights along the shore.  After such hospitality, Carl and I requested that we treat the girls (okay, young women) to dinner the following day.

The next day we spent the afternoon listening to the music festival and talking with Tamea and her friend; one subject was explaining the lyrics and their context for American songs.  That evening we had reservations for dinner in a private room at the hotel.  As an E-4 in Vietnam, I was paid maybe $300 per month, but the exchange rate was 360 yen to the dollar, and we were on vacation.  We wanted to show our appreciation.  However, toward the end of the dinner, Tamea’s brother walked into the room.  Carl and I knew that was a 'bad' sign.  Sure enough, they would not let us pay for dinner!  Look, we are enlisted US warmongers from Vietnam!  Why are you treating us so nice?

I had agreed to shop for some speakers for a friend’s stereo system back on the ship in Vietnam before we went home (to Askari).  The week ended quickly.  Before leaving, I got Tamea’s address and learned that her father’s name was Dodan Kuruma. He was President of the Tokyo Buddhist Federation.  They lived in a suburb of Tokyo (Toshima-ku).  Her father had traveled extensively, to the US and Europe as well as throughout Asia, as a part of his responsibilities.

Tamea and I exchanged several letters during the next four months.  When I was notified of the November end date of my Vietnam duty and realized that I would be passing through Japan on my way to the States, I let her know, and she invited me to visit at their home in Tokyo.  Carl Nixon was given the same return date; we would be flying back together.  Again, we were routed to VungTau, Saigon, and on to Tachikawa AFB, where we would lay over for a few days awaiting our flight to Travis AFB, California.

As soon as we arrived at Tachikawa, Carl and I headed for a train to Tokyo.  Another shipmate, Steven Quade, asked to be included.  Tamea had met Carl, but I was hesitant to impose on the Kuruma family with three of us.  Quade was from the south side of Chicago (“the baddest part of town” according to Jim Croce’s song).  He didn’t have college aspirations like Carl or me, but he was a fairly polite and decent guy so we couldn’t refuse.  We had the commuter train directions figured out, and the three of us had little trouble making train transfers to arrive in Toshima-ku.

Stepping out on the street of this busy neighborhood, we wandered for a while before giving up on finding Tamea’s home.  We enlisted the aid of the local police precinct station.  A helpful policeman escorted us to the Kuruma home.  No wonder we couldn’t recognize the home!  OMG!  It wasn’t a house; it was a compound encompassing an entire (small) city block.  A tall, black, wrought-iron fence enclosed the entire block.  The entry gates were closed; behind that were trees, bushes, a garden, and the home.  The policeman was able to rouse one of the house staff to open the gate and notify the family of our arrival.

They quickly invited us into their home, more family members arrived, and we enjoyed a warm welcome.  We were invited to stay for dinner.  The dinner table was only about one foot above the floor, but we discovered that the tablecloth disguised a foot well built into the floor under the table.  We tried our best to use chopsticks and be polite guests, but I am sure we transgressed some unfamiliar Japanese custom.  They offered us the option of forks to use and were forgiving of any shortcomings.  After dinner, various conversations sprang up around the table, lubricated by ample servings of wine and sake.  When we said our good-byes for the evening, Tamea’s brother escorted us to the train station to ensure that the sake’s influence didn’t mislead us.  We were invited back the next day.

Upon arrival the following morning we were introduced to Tamea’s older sister, Masayo. Wow! Tamea was a very pretty young woman, but her older (and taller) sister, Masayo, would have been appropriate on a magazine cover.  They offered to show us downtown Tokyo.  We took a smaller vehicle, Masayo (driving) and Tamea in the front seat, and us three sailors in back.  It was amusing to watch these two gorgeous women maneuver their way through heavy traffic.  With the car windows open, they would smile and wave out the window and the nearby cars would move aside to let them pass.

We parked in front of the Imperial Palace and walked the area, peering through the surrounding fence at the extensive landscaped gardens.  Tamea’s father, Dodan, met us at Chinzanso restaurant for lunch.  This is an internationally known eatery where we were served, outdoors in a garden, by a chef preparing our meals at our table.  Later we went to a playground/park with adult-sized swings, slides, and such items and walked, talked, and played on the equipment.  Tamea and I went down the slide together (my arms around her).  For dinner, we rode an elevator to the top of a skyscraper in downtown Tokyo to the Suehiro restaurant.  The entire restaurant rotates as you dine so that you enjoy a 360-degree skyline.  Another famous eatery: no, we were not allowed to pay for ANYthing.

The following day, Carl, Steven, and I boarded our non-stop flight to Travis AFB, near Sacramento.  I passed through Tachikawa again in September 1968, coming home from my second tour in Vietnam, but was only there for a few hours.  I continued corresponding periodically with Tamea for about 1-1 ½ years after that until I mentioned in a letter that I had a girlfriend.  Carl and I kept in contact until he graduated from medical school.  I always considered Tamea as a “pen pal”.  She was obviously very attractive, educated, and congenial.  But there was a huge economic, cultural and geographic separation to consider, and I was only a college student, financially on my own.  I have always wondered, "What if?"  Routine decisions can change our direction in life.     

I have never forgotten my visits to Japan because what we experienced was so exceptional.  It seems like a dream with events bigger than life.  What motivated this wealthy, high class family from a vastly different culture to treat us with such openness and generosity?  Is this the Buddhist influence?  Carl and I were junior enlisted sailors from a war zone; nothing notable about us.  Wouldn’t most people have brushed us aside?  How did this all happen?

Along the Adriatic Coast

                                                     The complete tan, near Rovinj

To end the summer, we spent most of September in Europe with our main destination being Croatia. The Adriatic, Istrian Peninsula, Dalmatian coast must represent one of the most ideal yachting areas on earth.  Of course we couldn't bring our boat, but we did enjoy a day cruise in the Porec-Rovinj area of Istria, a stay on the island of Hvar, and ferry boat rides across the Bay of Kotor.  The weather was perfect, the waves were moderate, and the breeze was consistent for the sailors.  Anchored off the city of Split was the beautiful and unique yacht "A", 394 feet long with the outline of a modernistic submarine.  It is reportedly owned by a Russian billionaire who is now building a larger yacht.  For me, ogling the beautiful yachts, in the harbors along the coast, was a significant attraction.  Hvar and Dubrovnik are especially beautiful.  Put the area on your vacation wish list. 

Grand Tetons National Park boating

This summer we have been traveling, towing our boat to new locations.  We started at Holter Reservoir, near Helena, Montana, then on to McDonald Lake in Glacier National Park, and, from there, onward to Lake Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.  With the concern about invasive aquatic species, the boat has been inspected numerous times as we traveled from lake to lake.  In Wyoming, Montana, and Glacier N.P. the inspections were free.  In Idaho we were charged for a state sticker but received no inspection.  Then we traveled to Grand Tetons National Park.  There, we first had a park entry fee, then a boat inspection, then an aquatic invasive species sticker $30 payment, a boat entry fee payment ($40 season's pass only), then a $35 per day slip fee.  We then discovered that another boat was already tied up in our assigned slip.  It was almost sundown before we were able to launch and tie up in our assigned slip.  We were wondering if all the cost and hassle was worth it.  But, as we motored out onto the lake next morning, all our concerns faded.  The Grand Tetons have to be one of the most scenic mountain ranges on earth.  Steep, jagged peaks still with visible snow fields in mid-summer.  The mountains end right at the lake's edge; the shores are covered in undisturbed dense forest.  As we went out onto the main lake, I recorded a reverse compass bearing of the entrance to the cove where our dock was so that we could find our way back to it.  Jackson Lake is about 15 miles long by 7 miles wide with over a dozen islands and located at a high altitude of about 6800'.  From a distance, the shoreline blends into continuous forest.

We spent the next three days exploring the lake (as well as hiking).  The water is clear, cold, and deep (almost 450 feet).  Few other boats were encountered.  We went water skiing briefly (no wet suit).  The Tetons, especially Mt. Moran, kept attracting us like moths-to-a-candle with its high, rugged prominence and partially snow (glacier?) clad slopes.  The peaks were so picture-perfect they seemed like something computer-generated out of a movie.  The weather was cool and calm which meant very few waves.

We met my brother and his wife at the lake.  They have a 27' Sea Ray cruiser, twin engine, 430 hp, so we cruised the lake together, stopping in quiet coves for lunch.  I had mounted a 13" pitch propeller on my boat which provided extremely quick acceleration and a top speed of 33-34 mph.  We had a full tank of gas (18 gallons) because we spent hours exploring away from any harbor.  My brother, Jay, commented that he had never skied behind a boat which pulled him out of the water so quickly (and he has been skiing for 50+ years).  I could have easily mounted a 15" pitch prop which would have provided more speed.  My wife, Dawn, also enjoyed the boat handling, such as making high-speed circles, banking into the turns and creating a large wake.  It rained several times, mainly at night, but our full canvas enclosure kept the boat interior completely dry.

At this point, I am completely satisfied with my boat's performance.  The secret to success in this case is the strong but light-weight construction of the boat.  Modern wood/epoxy/glass construction provides a water-tight, monocoque, composite structure which is significantly lighter than normal fiberglass.  I should add that the boat tows on its trailer so easily that you can almost forget that it is there.  We towed on the highway at 80 mph or better when allowed.  Our SUV still got decent fuel efficiency, 16-18 mpg.  One thing needs to be addressed: I originally wanted to paint the topsides but was encouraged to finish it clear to show the wood grain.  Now the "clear" finish is becoming slightly opaque and uneven in color.  Before next boating season, I hope to sand and paint the topsides.  A black color, to match the deck edge, would be the most obvious choice, but I would prefer a lighter color to not absorb so much sunlight.

The link below is to a brief video showing the beautiful scenery surrounding Jackson Lake with our runabout gliding across its surface.

https://youtu.be/X1m7WiJS7S8
 

 

Modified "next boat" design

After re-considering the boat lines plan I posted a few months ago, I decided it could be improved.  The aft portion seemed too dominant, so I added more taper to the deck and topsides, and gave the transom more of a forward slant.  That aft section is now proportionally smaller.  My goal in developable designs has been always to show that a design that can be sheathed in plywood doesn't have to look "boxy", and I think that has been achieved.  Of course, a developable design can also be sheathed by almost any other technique or material.  There are no sharp curves which would require extra thin sheathing materials; 6mm ply will bend to

any of these curves.

An outboard engine of 60-90 hp should give 30-40 mph at the altitude here (6000') and somewhat faster speeds near sea level.  I have wondered about installing an inboard engine, revising the cockpit, and increasing the deadrise to 14 degrees (due to an anticipated greater displacement).  An inboard would have that authentic runabout aura; the deep rumbling exhaust; the weight and power to knife through waves, but I can't forget the many advantages of an outboard.

We will be busy this summer on some significant boating trips: the Grand Tetons in Wyoming, Glacier National Park in Montana, and Coeur dAlene, Idaho.  Our current boat is well-suited for the trip.  The ample freeboard and raised foredeck provide weather protection.  A newer boat is only a dream for now; however, I hope to build a scaled model this winter.

Because the design is created mathematically (geometry, algebra, trigonometry), the design is initially a table of offsets for a full-size hull. To make a model, the dimensions need to be scaled down and then plotted on paper.  Engineering paper makes the task easier for a model.  Full-size patterns require much larger sheets of strong, stiff paper (rosin paper) and careful plotting.

Sail design

Long ago, in 1983, I was building a two-masted 20' sharpie.  Naturally, it was a custom design and would require custom sails.  In order to save money, I would sew my own sails.  Sailcloth was ordered from the Sailrite company which is still in business.  At that time it was headed by Jim Grant (and may still be) who put out a quarterly newsletter.  As a customer, I received a newsletter which included an article on "broadseaming", a method of varying the width of seam overlaps in the fabric panels of a sail so as to control the shape, specifically the draft, of a sail.  Broadseaming was considered to be an art and somewhat of a mystery (at least in the published literature).  Just as plywood hull shapes can be described mathematically, I thought that sails made from stabilized fabric panels could be similarly described.  I wrote a letter to Sailrite outlining such an idea.  Later, upon receiving the July 1984 Sailrite newsletter, I discovered that Jim Grant had made my letter into an article titled, "The Mathematics of Sail Design".  Although CAD technology has progressed greatly since 1983, that article is included here because a recent internet discussion suggested that even now little has be made public.

Jim Grant overstated the difficulty of the mathematics required for these computations.  An inexpensive pocket scientific calculator provided necessary results for me, and the described method was used to design the sails for that 20' sharpie.  A photo of the sharpie is included in which you can see the shape of the sail draft by looking at the curved shadow that the straight sail boom makes on the sail surface.  The curvature appears to closely duplicate the cross-section shape of an airplane wing.

  I made one mistake in this sail design: the draft is too shallow.  Due to a lack of published data, I had to guess what the proper draft/chord ratio should be.  I guessed too shallow (it was about 7-8%); it should have been about 10-11%.  Although the boat handled okay, I have wondered how much more power the sails would have developed with a greater draft.

Next Boat?

Should there always be a "next boat"?  Creating another boat design is always rewarding: changing a mental vision into something that is real; something you can see and touch.  The work of creating and building is a pleasurable challenge, but how many boats can one person use?  I only have space for one full-size boat.  To completely equip a new boat is far from cheap.  And there is no guarantee that the new boat will be better, only that it will be different.

With that in mind, I started on a new design.  The guiding idea was to create something with more curvature to be more visually interesting but maintain an uncomplicated build sequence.  A forward sloping bow profile with more lateral flare provides a more modern look and will also be easier to plank.  The raised foredeck of my previous build added complication to the build and would not blend well with the flared bow; thus, it was deleted.  The vertical stern on the previous build was helpful in providing internal volume for flotation foam, but it was esthetically bland.  The new hull would have a forward sloping stern.  The topsides avoid any slab-sided sense by continuously transitioning from significant flare forward to significant tumble-home aft.  In fact, tumble-home has been reduced to be more in harmony with the added beam forward.  Added beam means more usable cockpit space.

The result, if built full-size, would be a hull 18 1/2 feet long by 6 feet 3inches wide with a 12 1/2 degree deadrise for about the aft 1/2 length of the hull.  Of course, the hull surface is fully developable which simplifies construction and provides exact dimensions.

If you can't build the full-size boat, a model helps to visualize what has been designed and also really clarifies construction details.  Thus, I built a model at 1/6.25 scale (alternately expressed as 0.16 scale) which gives a model about three feet long.  I had enough scraps from previous projects to provide all the parts.  At this point I regret not spending more time creating a rigid strongback building form.  Some of the frames shifted as parts were bonded together resulting in a slight distortion in the model, but it still is accurate enough to serve its purpose.  And I was able to visualize

a much better strongback design to be used if the hull were ever built full size.  For now, the next boat is a dream.  Owner designed, home-built wooden boats are hard to sell.  I need more time to enjoy the boat I completed last spring, and a new boat would take about two years, spare time.  Anyone looking for a design to build?

                  

A Day at the Lake

Not much to report.  This summer in Colorado has been unusually cool and rainy, providing fewer dry, sunny days for boating.  Yesterday we did take the boat out and had a bit of an adventure.  Friends brought their boat, a 21' pontoon boat, also.  I had checked the weather forecast before leaving; nice weather until mid afternoon when wind and possible rain was predicted.

We joined up with our friends, who anchored their pontoon at the entrance to a small bay, for lunch on the pontoon's broad deck.  Everyone was enjoying the beautiful weather and showed no concern about a possible change later that afternoon.  Then my wife, myself, and our friend, Roger, left in our boat to explore the lake which was several miles long.  His wife and her two sisters stayed on the pontoon.  As we headed up the lake, the wind picked up, and whitecaps started to appear.  The waves continued to build, but by now we were at the upper end of the lake where we were somewhat protected.  As we came downwind along the opposite lake shore, I was able to make out the pontoon in the distance and noticed that it was no longer anchored in the center of the small bay, but drifting toward the shore.  When I pointed it out, Roger agreed we better get over there to see what had happened.  As we crossed the lake we met with the full force of the waves, 2-3 feet high.  We lowered our bimini to reduce windage and took some spray in the cockpit from occasional waves breaking on our starboard side.

When we got to the pontoon, it was being pounded on the rocks on the lee side of the bay.  The three women on the pontoon had decided that the anchor was dragging so they started trying to pull it in.  They did not take down their boat's bimini; they did not start the motor and use it to position themselves over the anchor.  Thus, their efforts to bring in the anchor only accelerated the effects of the strong wind and waves which quickly pushed their boat onto the rocky shore.  My job was to get our boat as close as possible so that a tow line could be passed.

The wind and waves were too strong to keep the bow of our boat into the wind while maneuvering slowly, and I wanted to keep our propeller as far as possible from the shallow rocky shore.  So I approached the pontoon bow first with the waves breaking against our stern.  The engine splash well and covered rear deck were valuable in keeping our boat interior dry.  Roger went over the side (with a life preserver), waded chest-deep to the pontoon, and passed a tow line to our runabout.  Then it was just a matter of putting our 75hp Evinrude in reverse and backing off, pulling the pontoon with us.  I wasn't sure that the prop would have enough reverse thrust for the task, but it worked well.

Once we were free of the shore, they were able to get their engine started and the tow line was returned.  We headed for a somewhat sheltered marina which was further downwind.  With the wind and waves behind us, we were able to surf the face of waves, and it became an enjoyable run.  On later inspection of the pontoon, the actual aluminum tubes had been protected by aluminum angles welded onto the tubes to act as strakes which minimized damage.

It frustrates me that all the women involved showed so little interest in learning competent boat handling.  This entire situation could have been avoided.  What happens if they encounter a more serious situation in the future?  People die from simple errors.       

Resting on its design waterline

If my wife were sitting in the forward seat, the boat waterline would be about exactly where I painted it.  Calculating displacement takes place very early in the design process.  This hull has a 12-degree deadrise. If I increased the deadrise, then something else would also have to change:  increase displacement (weight), shorten the waterline length, or risk the hull riding above the major chine which would decrease stability and may cause the hull to be louder at speed from water slapping against the hull bottom.

Increased deadrise will make the hull ride better in waves and may increase directional tracking, but it also could require more power to maintain planing speed.  Everything is a trade-off.

At Flaming Gorge, Utah

A planned trip to Pueblo Reservoir had to be cut short because of an electrical short in the power tilt/trim switch.  Diagnosis was difficult; installing a new switch was simple.  There was a crack in the rubber cover for this switch which, after a period of use, allowed moisture intrusion to complete the circuit.  This past week we went to Flaming Gorge Reservoir in Utah for some real boating.  The lake extends into Wyoming for 75-100 miles filling a deep and scenic gorge.  We explored the lake for 30-40 miles and encountered some wind and waves.  It is a light boat with little draft so, when maneuvering into the dock with a wind present, we lower the bimini top to cut windage.  Also, when cornering while planed out, the hull will skid; when cornering while accelerating onto a plane, the hull will bank well and turn sharply.

There is almost no bow rise when accelerating, and the hull rides smoothly and cuts through moderate waves with no fuss.  I switched to a 15" pitch prop for this trip.  We were operating at 6000' altitude, and the engine achieved 4700 rpm, easily exceeding the 35-mph maximum speed of the speedometer dial.  The "sweet spot" for this engine is supposed to be 5000-5200 rpm and our next outing is at Grand Lake, over 9000' elevation, so I have ordered a new 13" pitch stainless steel propeller which, hopefully, will be perfect for these circumstances.  I have to think that, if we were near sea level, this boat would easily exceed 40 mph or, alternately, I could have installed a somewhat less powerful engine.

I haven't yet mentioned that this new boat fits our trailer perfectly, much better than the previous boat.  We trailed it 400+ miles to the lake; other than a decrease in acceleration, you couldn't notice that we were towing.  Although I can't find anything design-wise to improve on this boat, I am always evaluating what could be made better/ more esthetically pleasing on a next boat.  This is a 12-degree deadrise hull; I wonder what a 14-degree deadrise would do to performance?  I have an idea for a more modern-looking runabout which I hope to publish here in the near future.  I already have all the offsets and need to make up some drawings.  Then perhaps construct a model.

    

What a day!

Having been busy/out-of-town the past few weeks (a trip to the Galapagos islands), this week was finally the chance to take the new boat out.  I picked a nearby (50 miles away) small reservoir knowing that this was a test run with possible complications.  The boat performed well; however, there are still adjustments to be made.  In a few spots at the transom, the red bottom paint came off.  I don't expect it to be difficult to repair; probably just a light sanding and thorough cleaning to improve adhesion.  The engine RPM topped out at 4200 which is below the recommended range of 4500-5500.  I was using a 17" pitch propeller and will need to switch to a 15" or 13", both of which I have on hand.  The indicated speed was 35+ mph due to the speedometer only reading to 35 mph.  I need to decide if I should replace the speedometer.  We had three people and 8 gallons of gas on board with the bimini top up.  The boat accelerates quickly with very moderate bow rise and vision is good from the driver's seat.

I want to view and photograph the boat at speed, but we will need a second boat for that.  On this lake the shore areas are "No Wake Zones".  The reason for the "What a day!" label for this entry is because when we arrived home from the lake, and I was putting away the boat, I developed some stomach discomfort which quickly worsened into acute appendicitis.  We went to the emergency room, and within a few hours my appendix was removed.  Now no strenuous exercise for the next six weeks.

The new boat looks complete.

Finally, the windshield is completed.  My wife encouraged me to have a metal windshield frame, but now that it is done, she says that the wood looks better than a metal frame.  But she thinks that it should have been taller.  I considered the height, angle, and fore-aft placement of the windshield when designing it; both from an esthetic and functional aspect.  Unless you make the windshield quite tall, the upper edge of the frame is in your field of vision.  Tall would have not fit the esthetic I desired; most of the time I expect to be viewing ahead over the top edge of the windshield.  I had an extra cushion made for the captain's seat to raise the line-of-sight.

And the upholstery is completed.  The seats are separately removable, allowing access to the fuel tank under the front seats and access to the battery and storage behind the rear seats.  A person could do their own upholstery, but it is not an area I have any expertise in; so I contracted it out.  And the bimini top with full enclosure panels is complete as well as a travel cover.  Looking over the amount of detail in all those panels, the variety of materials required, and the expertise involved, I am glad to have it done professionally.  Bringing the boat home, I had to drive through a spring snow storm; the boat and cover were wet and dirty when I arrived at our garage.

The boat is still not done, but we are in the home stretch.  I need to bundle and strap the control leads, electrical wiring, and fuel lines in place.  There is one slight scratch in the paint to touch up.  I need to get the boat inspected by the State of Colorado to get a Hull Identification Number (HIN) for licensing.  Then we will be on the water.  Here in Colorado, the scenic mountain lakes aren't warm enough for boating until June.  We may end up towing the boat to lower altitudes for a longer boating season.

       

Why I use rosin paper

I recently read an article concerning conversion of developable surfaces into flat sheet patterns.  In previous posts, I really haven't discussed how to do that using a mathematical approach.  It can be done; I used this approach when I built a 20 1/2-foot sharpie design many years ago.  The only reason I haven't expanded on the subject is that, once I have a hull framework constructed, it is easier to simply make a stiff rosin paper pattern by laying a roll of paper over the framework and tracing the edges.  But, for those who do not want to construct a full hull framework, being able to go directly to laying out patterns for sheathing may be worthwhile.

The method utilizes what may be best called external triangulation.  It is external because we are not calculating distances just between points within the design surface but instead are using our conic apex, located at some distance from the surface borders, as a reference point for many measurements.  Using the coordinates of the apex in conic development and the coordinates of consecutive points along the chine of the hull, we can calculate the length of radiating (ruling) lines emanating from that apex.  The chine of the hull is created using a mathematical equation; thus, by integrating this equation (the power of calculus) we can find an equation [it is a long but standard equation] to calculate the distance along the curve between any two designated points on the chine.  Those points along the chine provide the third distance in creating a series of triangles which, when plotted in sequence, will give us the shape of the developed surface.

However, part of the chine curvature may be contained within the outline of the surface itself; thus, the sequential points of the chine are best first plotted along a fair batten which is then laid in place and connected to the ruling lines from the apex.  For parallel projections, instead of an apex, we would be plotting parallel ruling lines.  If you calculate the distance between two sets of coordinates in a developed surface NOT connected by a ruling (straight) line by using simply the formula square root of (x squared plus y squared plus z squared), the distance will be distorted by lack of consideration for the curvature present.

In conclusion, yes, I can create flat surface patterns for sheathing.  But is it really worth the effort when a roll of rosin paper will give me the same thing?   

Pictures of boat windshield

The windshield was constructed in four separate sections.  Each section shape was calculated using the x-y-z coordinates available because the entire hull shape was created numerically before any construction began.  Junction angles between sections, and between the windshield and deck could also be pre-calculated.  Because some error can be anticipated in any human-constructed shape, the four sections of the windshield were then bonded together while positioned on the actual hull deck.

When finished, the windshield will be bonded to the deck and fastened with screws from underneath the hull decking.

I'm getting excited about what it will look like after the interior is upholstered (not by me).  The same people will also make a bimini top, full foul weather enclosure, and travel cover.  By the time I get it back, the weather will be warm enough to finish the windshield details for final installation.  I am guessing you have noticed the snow present in the background.

Winter progress

Sorry for the lack of recent posts; the winter weather and some logistical problems have slowed things down.  My previous boat has been transferred to a new owner and is now residing in Montana.  The new boat has been transferred to the trailer and fits it perfectly.  The new 75hp Evinrude E-Tec engine has been installed, and all the controls have been connected.  I still need to organize tubes & wires by wrapping and strapping them under the deck.  I had wanted a stainless-steel windshield frame, but no matter how exact and simple I made the proposed design, the metal fabrication shop still estimated the cost at $4000-5000 which just didn't fit my goal of producing a good boat at a moderate price.

I bought a plank of African mahogany for $68 and built my own windshield frame.  I have had the glass cut and fit for the frame.  The glass people said that they think the wood frame will look nicer than metal.  Nice to hear such comments.  The wood frame has been fabricated in four sections.  Although the four sections fit together well, I want to bond them together with epoxy while they are in place on the hull foredeck for a strong, accurate result.  The boat is now in our unheated garage with outside temperatures mainly below freezing.  The epoxy will require warmer temperatures.  It may be a while before the final assembly of the windshield takes place, but, in the meantime, I can clamp and screw the windshield in place well enough to have a boat cover fabricated.

The windshield frame was designed mathematically.  It is a system which works incredibly well for me.  Everything is done in an X,Y, Z coordinate system.  After building two mock-ups, I elected to build a windshield 12.5 inches high which slants aft 10.5 inches from bottom to top and is 53.5 inches wide with rectangular sections.  Knowing also the offsets of the deck curvature, I was able to calculate the angle of intersection of the two front panels, 16.54 degrees, the angle of intersection of the front panels to the deck, 42.48 degrees, and the angle of intersection of the side panels to the deck, 9.09 degrees.  All the linear dimensions were calculated to similar accuracy.  When cut to those angles in the shop before assembly, the panels fit together well.  I can't imagine how much more difficult it must be to use trial-and-error, cut-to-fit methods.

We were in Bocas Del Toro, Panama recently and I brought back some pictures of abandoned, hollowed-out-log cayucos and the pangas which have replaced them to a great degree.  When we lived there 30+ years ago, our local maid said she wouldn't trust a boat which was made with adhesives instead of from a single tree trunk.  Times have changed.

            

A Voyage to Remember

                                                       A Voyage to Remember, Miami to Panama

When we were snorkeling in Maui recently, talk turned to snorkeling in Panama and our life there.  I recalled an exciting trip I took bringing a boat to Panama from Florida.  Our friends suggested that the trip was interesting and unique enough that I should record it on paper.  So my attempt follows.

When I was on active duty in the US Navy, 1966-68, I initially attended navigation school in San Diego.  The subject was interesting enough to me that I graduated #1 in my class, and continued to study available nautical references on board the two ships on which I served.  Spending many hours per day on the ship’s bridge deck for months at a time (crossing the Pacific twice, navigating the Mekong Delta, patrolling the Vietnam coast and Gulf of Tonkin, and cruising to Japan for maintenance) provided plenty of time for such review.  I became an enlisted supervisor in the navigation department.  Later, in 1976 while visiting Hawaii, I picked up a reference on Polynesian navigation techniques (We, the Navigators) to help understand how the early voyagers were able to find their way in the ocean’s vastness.  In late 1980, our family was living in Panama.  My assistant and her husband were buying a used 46’ trawler (single diesel engine) in Florida which they intended to bring to Panama to live and cruise on.  They asked me if I would act as navigator for the trip from Miami to Colon, Panama.

They offered to pay for my flight to Miami, which I declined.  If I were to do this, I wanted it to be from a sense of friendship rather than any monetary obligation.  I provided a list of the different nautical charts, references, and instruments which would be necessary for such a trip.  My assistant’s husband, Charles, was a retired US Navy diver who now worked for the Panama Canal Company.  He was to fly to Miami and spend one week examining and preparing the boat, including obtaining the necessary navigation supplies, before we left port.  He was one very tough individual and totally fearless.  He recruited a third crew member, Bill, who I hadn’t previously met but who seemed like a solid character.  It would be just the three of us on a quick voyage back to Panama.

I had talked to one of my patients, then employed as a canal pilot, who had previously been a Caribbean charter captain.  He gave me a route recommendation, which appeared reasonable, and loaned me his sextant.  I flew to Miami on a Saturday in early December, took a taxi to the yacht basin, and was prepared to leave harbor the following morning.  Upon arrival, I asked about the navigational charts and references and was stunned to discover that none of the publications I requested had been purchased because it was now December 6 and the contained data was only good through the end of the year.  They were deemed too expensive to obtain for such a short period of use, but, without the sight reduction tables, the sextant was useless.  Also, only one chart had been obtained.  It was an overall chart showing Miami toward the top edge and Panama at the bottom edge.  With such a large area to cover, the chart lacked any detail of depths and features of the various coastlines.  Additionally, the trawler had only been maneuvered on various headings once to check the accuracy and deviation of the compass.  The boat was equipped with a radar set, but the range was only a few miles.  LORAN coverage of the southern Caribbean was lacking at that time, and GPS had not yet been invented.  This was shaping up to be quite a challenge, and I was glad I had some knowledge of navigation without dependency on instruments.

Checking on supplies, the trawler was almost empty with very little on board for ballast, just some groceries, a few tools, and our suitcases.  Our only refrigeration was a single large ice chest.  On Sunday morning, we set out on our adventure.  The first leg was to follow the coast of Florida southwest to Key West, then head straight south to the coast of Cuba.  The hurricane season officially ends November 30; we were now in December but encountering strong winds.  As we headed south from Key West we were headed into nighttime, crossing the Gulf Stream with a strong current from the west opposing strong wind from the southeast which made for large, steep waves against our under-ballasted hull.  Forty-six feet may sound like a large vessel, but, on the open ocean, it is a tiny presence.  The strong wind created a surface haze of spray allowing very limited visibility.  Instead of an enclosed bunk, I had a bed to (try to) sleep in at night.  I tried to hold onto the bed, wrapping my arms and legs around the mattress while resting, but was completely thrown out of the bed once by the lurching hull.  Once I heard a scream from Bill, “We are going over!” as the boat slid sideways down the face of a wave with the rudder seemingly useless.  Fortunately, before we were rolled in a trough by the next wave, the rudder finally caught hold and the bow came around sufficiently to face it.  When it was my time to go on watch, I filled a paper cup with water and held it in my hand.  If I were to fall asleep, I would drop the cup, and it would be my alarm.  It worked.  Everyone needed what rest they could get; there was no asking someone else to take part of your watch.

We were glad to see the morning, but were now presented with a new problem.  Our large chart showed no detail of the Cuban coast.  As we continued south, we wanted to approach the coast as a navigational reference but not get so close that Cuban gunboats would escort us into port.  The solution was Polynesian navigation using cloud formations.  Distinctive cloud formations are found over islands.  Although we never actually saw Cuba, we followed its cloud formations west along the coast while staying offshore.

As evening set in, we were ready to jump off from the west end of Cuba toward Mexico.  It is an easy dead reckoning exercise (hard to miss Mexico) but it also meant re-crossing the Gulf Stream as it flows north.  We subtracted a few degrees from our compass course to allow for the current and set off into the night.  The next morning we sighted Isla Mujeres and pulled into port for refueling.  That afternoon we headed back out to sea with Cozumel to starboard and the Swan islands as our next intended waypoint.  Heading southeast, we encountered rising wind and waves from the northeast.  As the hull angled into the face of each oncoming wave, it was obvious that the "thump, thump, thump" sound of the big single diesel slowed significantly.  The engine was losing power.  Upon inspection it was discovered that sludge, from the diesel fuel we just received, was clogging the fuel filter.  The engine was being starved for fuel.  To clean the fuel filter we needed to stop the engine.  Then it was discovered that the alternator, used to charge the batteries, was not working.  The batteries were very low on electrical charge.  If we stopped the engine, it was doubtful that the batteries held enough electrical current to restart it.  It was time to change course and our plan.

We turned to run with the wind toward the southwest for a smoother ride and slowed boat speed slightly to match the speed of the waves and reduce engine load.  We shut off almost all electrical equipment to save the batteries, and Charles went down in the belly of the boat, holding electrical wires by hand on the batteries until the battery acid started to bubble, in an attempt to recharge the batteries.  Through the night we steered manually, using a flashlight to read the compass, and no running lights.  When it was my turn to lie in bed, I wondered what the future would hold if that engine stopped; what bit of shoreline or reef would the drifting hull crunch coral on?  Fortunately, the engine kept "thumping".

The next morning we could see some of the Bay Islands near the coast of Honduras in the distance off to port.  The wind and waves were still strong.  Charles thought that the downwind island was Roatan and suggested we aim for it.  I pointed out that if he was wrong, we would be unable to work our way back to any of the islands further upwind.  So we angled our course to port and headed for the nearest island.  It turned out to be Roatan.  The old wooden wharf was on the lee side of the island, allowing us to get out of the wind and motor quietly up to the dock (where I was to receive quite a surprise).  I was standing on the bow, dock line in hand, peering intently at the dock’s shabby state with substantial holes punched in its gray, wooden-planked surface.  I wanted to make sure that when I leaped to the dock to tie up, I didn’t put a foot through one of those holes.  Suddenly, a young black man came out on the dock, and his first words, in clear English were, “Hey, Did you hear that John Lennon was shot and killed?”  Here I thought I was in some remote place far from the beaten path, and, instead, I was getting the latest news in my own language!  Mainland Honduras inhabitants speak Spanish, but on the Islands, they speak English due to previous British influence.  In Roatan we were able to get an alternator from a wrecked yacht which Charles and Bill then installed.  The fuel filter was also cleaned, and we had a good meal and rest at anchor before leaving the next morning.

We cruised east along the Honduran coast taking turns on watch.  The following morning when I came up on deck, I was immediately concerned.  I looked down at the ocean and saw churned brown water.  I yelled to Charles that we were in too shallow of water and were in danger of running aground.  He replied that the radar range he had taken indicated that we were a sufficient distance from the beach.  I pointed out that the radar was not being reflected from the gently sloping sand beach, but from a line of tall palm trees several hundred yards behind the beach.  We immediately turned out to sea until we were in clear blue water.  Later that day we passed Cabo Gracias a Dios which held a lesson for us.  The Cabo is the outlet of a major river marking the border between Honduras and Nicaragua.  A submerged tongue of silt, an invisible delta, stretches miles out to sea at this location.  You can be miles from the coast and still run aground in very shallow water.  Several ship wrecks stood as evidence.

From here we headed south and slightly east out on the open seas, away from the Nicaraguan coast, with the next intended waypoint being the island of San Andres.  The weather was now good, and we were able to troll and catch fish for dinner.  Our ice chest no longer had any ice or fresh food so the fish was appreciated.  We were again dead reckoning [basically following a compass course allowing for expected currents and other influences] for navigation.  We never actually saw San Andres but were again aided by Polynesian navigation using wave patterns.  Ocean waves obey the same principles of physics as other types of waves.  When ocean waves or swells reach an island, the lines of wave crests are slowed causing a diffraction or bent angle toward the shallow water; on the lee side of the island you will see a cross-hatched pattern of waves from being diffracted around both ends of the island.  This phenomenon extends for miles downstream from the land.  Our intended path was planned so that if we didn’t actually sight the island we would pass on its lee side, and that is what happened.  Watching the wave pattern closely, you could see the oncoming waves transition to a cross-hatched pattern as we passed on the lee side of San Andres and then resume their undisturbed linear pattern as we came back into the clear.  Observing such a pattern, we knew where we were.

For ancient navigators on the Pacific Ocean, you can understand how important it was for them to understand natural phenomena to expand the “target size” of the islands they were seeking.  From an ocean liner, at some height above the water, the horizon is distant, but from the deck of a small boat the visible horizon may be only 2-3 miles away.  When I was in the US Navy and we were approaching Midway Island in the Pacific, we had the advantage of a huge radar array atop a tall mast and still only detected the low-lying island from about 15 miles away.  The Polynesian navigators understood clouds and waves and had memorized the passing star groupings in an ever-revolving sky with its seasonal variations so that the stars provided a map to follow.  Additionally, they knew the seasonal direction of swells (separate from waves), the patterns of bird flights, as well as other more subtle influences, and had memorized the legends of previous voyages.  Think of it as their equivalent of an advanced college degree.  I had only learned a few of their “beginner” topics.

 

On a calm evening at sea, we continued southeast toward the coast of Panama.  I miss-judged slightly in estimating the coastal currents; when we sighted the Panama coast the next day we were 10-20 miles east of the Colon harbor entrance.  But it was a familiar coast, where my wife and I had spent numerous snorkeling and sailing trips, and only a short cruise to correct our position.  During the trip, each of us had been emotionally self-contained.  We simply focused on the mechanics of getting through each day.  No long conversations; no sharing of concerns.  I still didn't know Bill's background, and he didn't know mine.  However, at the entrance to the harbor Bill turned to me and said, “If I were to meet someone who wanted to do the same trip with me as crew, I would charge them at least $2,000.”  [Remember, these were 1980 dollars] I turned to him and said, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing, and I came up with the exact same price.”

Months later, my wife Dawn and I would cruise with Charles and Jean to the San Blas Islands where we did run aground with their trawler, but that is another story.