First Sail of the Summer
June 17, 2010
My little sailboat has been set up at the water's edge for nearly a
month now. In a burst of optimism sometime in May, I ignored the stormy
weather and strong river currents and brought my boat to the marina. It
was soon hauled off its trailer and onto its launch ramp, where it sat,
protected by a tarpaulin.
It sat so for many weeks. My optimism had been misplaced. Over the
next month, the weather stayed stormy and the currents strong. During
my runs along the Allegheny I'd peer into river and notice debris
carried along at a walking pace, just a little too daunting for me to
beat in a sailboat. The thunderstorms continued. There is something
uninviting about sitting in the middle of a river, attached to a twenty
foot Aluminum post in the middle of thunderstorm.
I'd hoped for good weather on the June 3 weekend of the Paddle at
the Point. Even then the Weather Gods did not oblige, as we who went
out on the river that day in our kayaks and canoes found.
Then finally this Thursday, the conditions aligned. It was none too
soon. I was about to head off for a week of lectures in Germany, so
this was my last chance. (It was not all
bad. I am putting the finishing touches on this piece in a hotel room
in Hamburg. Earlier in the day, I enjoyed a restful sail in a lovely,
small wooden sailboat--about 18'--on the Alster. A photo. Another photo.)
We finally had NNW winds at 10 mph forecast and the river currents
were dropping. They were a faster 16,000 cubic feet per second on the
Ohio River when I set out, but falling fast; and they fell to 12,000 by
the time my sail was over. The wind at the water was less, as I
expected, roaming about in 3-8 mph range.
That was enough: roughly Westerly winds blowing against a weaker
current. Standing on the marina dock, I could see no current at all
revealed in debris floating there.
The Hobie Bravo is a fast boat to rig and launch. Even though this
was the first rigging of the season, I had sufficient muscle memory
from last year to proceed smoothing. Soon the boat was in the water and
ready to sail. All that was needed was for me to unroll the sail from
the mast and point the bows upstream.
Once I was in the river, there was less wind than I wanted. My
progress was slow. Sometimes a comfortable 3 mph, but then dropping to
an altogether lazy 1 mph. The wind was behind me, so there wasn't much
to do. The sail just catches the wind like a bag and the boat is blown
along.
Soon the great span of the West End Bridge neared. That has always
been my gateway. When I pass it, I know that I am going to arrive at
the Point. It is huge span that towers over me, dwarfing my little
boat. It seems to grow impossibly large as I near it and the sounds of
traffic on the road deck get louder. Since the winds are light, I can
take out my camera and snap some photos as the span passes overhead. It
is a view that can only be had from the water.
Within 20 minutes I was abreast the Point. I continued at that
leisurely pace up the Allegheny towards my favorite spot where the
bridges at 6th, 7th and 9th street cross the river. The river takes a
Northeasterly turn at the Point so that the buildings on the Northern
shore start to block the NNW winds. I am all but becalmed once again in
a familiar spot just
upstream of the Duquesne Bridge.
At this most awkward of moments, I can see a large barge, with a
foamy bow wave, approaching from downstream. It is moving fast,
straight at me and I know it could not stop even if it wanted to. In my
earlier sails, that would have been alarming. However I now know that
there's time. Even with very little wind, not much is needed to move
the boat out of the barge's course. It all happens in a few moments.
Even in the very light air, I am out the way of the barge. I let the
sail flap while I take out my camera to photograph the monster as it
powers past.
The rest of the sail takes me up the Allegheny, just passed the 9th
Street Bridge. It has taken an hour to get there with the wind behind
me and, for the return, I budget 2 hours tacking into the wind for
every hour blown ahead of the wind. Here are the GPS tracks of my
little voyage:
Click here for bigger map.
Click here for bigger view.
On the way back, I briefly beach at Kayak Pittsburgh. The lady there
had avoided looking at me, as I'd rounded the bridge pier. That's hard
to do when I'm approaching quickly in a boat with a twenty foot,
brightly colored sail. As I hopped out of the boat on the ramp, I
announced, "I just want to say hi!" That didn't seem to relax her at
all and I began to wonder if there was something frightening about me.
"I'm trying to convince Eric to rent sailboats here," I explained. That
seemed to do it. My presence now might just be professionally relevant.
She relaxed a little. The remark moved me from "possibly dangerous nut"
to "well-meaning crank." I chatted a few moments more. There was no
point in dragging out an awkward moment, so I set off, having first to
free the rudder from the mud at the river's bed.
I take a turn around the Point and sail just passed the Fort Pitt
Bridge. Where the wind on the Allegheny had been erratic, the wind was
strong under the Fort Pitt Bridge. I've noticed that now often enough
to want to declare it an expectation. There's something about the river
banks that seems to funnel wind here. So the sailing is faster and more
energetic. At the turnaround, I pause, furl the sail and take some more
photos. I get a good view under the Fort Pitt Bridge to the West End
Bridge.
It is still an hour's sail from there back to the Newport Marina, my
home and starting point. So it was definitely time to head home. There
was a lot of laborious tacking still to come. However the winds were
not so strong that I had trouble making my tacks.
About three hours after I left, I returned, feeling stiff and tired.
Even though I had mostly just sat in the boat, there is something quite
energetic about sailing. I hauled my boat up onto its launch ramp and
unrigged it. Then I was on my bicycle riding home. I now take for
granted the intensity of activity on the river front. This day, there
was a baseball game warming up at PNC Park. The lights were on; the
music was playing; there was a smell of grilled sausage; and the people
were crowding towards the gates.
John D. Norton
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