Sunday, 30 March 1987, Debi and I were taking Puffin to Gig Harbor for a haul-out. We were aware that a wind front was due on Sunday afternoon. Being of reasonably sound minds and bodies, we motored out of Baird's Cove and proceeded around Devil's Head up to Eagle and through Balch Passage, below McNeil Island. The weather conditions at our departure were clear and cool with little or no wind. By the time we gained the Steilicoom Reach, we were in four to six foot waves. Wind was blowing a steady thirty miles per hour and reaching forty miles per hour in blasts. We were not amused. We made steady progress to the ferry dock at Steilicoom where we waited out the worst of the wind before continuing on to Gig Harbor. We arrived there damp, red-cheeked, salt encrusted and a bit smarter.
We let a time schedule put us out on the water at the wrong time. While this story could be a great deal more exciting, it will not be, at least not for another year or two. We have a pretty solid little boat, we had foulies, we wore out SOSpenders (TM) and we had our VHF close to hand. We were as prepared as we could have been. But, there is always that chance of seaman Murphy being onboard. It is this goal of preparedness and confidence in your equipment, vessel and skills that prompts this month's review. The book is Down Channel, by R.T. McMullen, published by Grafton Books, London, first published in 1869, this edition 1986. This edition also contains much of the author's later writings, greatly expanding the original 1869 book.
Richard McMullen was a stockbroker who built his first boat in 1850. It was a smaller version of a revenue cutter of the time, with a long keel and gaff rigged. McMullen knew nothing of sailing when he had her built and his first experiences were not likely to inspire confidence. His first time out on the Thames River, he ran afoul of a brig, getting his masthead tangled in the brig's bowsprit. He then fouled an anchor line and banged into another small craft, bringing two men, wearing their nightshirts, on deck to free him and push him off. He was forcibly lifted from the deck by a flailing sister hook, caught in his right eye socket, that could have blinded him.
Despite this steep learning curve, he writes, "My plan was to persevere in sailing by day or night in all weathers, and never to let want of confidence stand in the way...getting into scrapes and getting out of them, I learnt more of practical sailing in a few months than I should have learnt in several years..." A few lines on he says, "Twenty fair-wind passages would have taught me nothing in comparison, so that in the end it was most fortunate." Mr. McMullen definitely learned from his mistakes.
In a time when yachting was a spectator sport and cruises were taken on very large vessels with full crews and professional captains, McMullen preferred to sail alone or with minimal crew. He sailed for the enjoyment of the day and the judgment of his own increasing skills. He tells of one sail change, in advance of a storm front, that took him over two hours to complete. This was a gaff rigged boat, already reefed down, carrying heavy, wet canvas. He feels the requirement to admit that he wore a thin pair of leather gloves to prevent abrading the skin off of his fingers. This particular sail change was done solo.
Mr. McMullen strove to perform every task, trivial or large, to as high a standard as was possible. He was professional in his actions, something not seen in small boat yachting at that time. He was a perfectionist, unhappy if he could not personally finish what he started. He maintained his boats to near naval standards in cleanliness, order and condition of his equipment. No matter the weather, he scrubbed the decks each morning, while his tea water was heating.
The yachting circles of McMullen's day were inshore, in the harbors and rivers. McMullen left them there, going instead out onto the English Channel, along the southern coast of England and up into Cornwall, Wales, Ireland, Scotland and over to France. This was sometimes with a one or two man hired crew, or with a friend, but most often he was solo. This was nearly unheard of in the 1850's and 1860's. He felt that all of his journeying was no reason for fanfare. It was only a personal effort to better himself and test his mettle against the sea.
Written originally as log extracts, the early years of McMullen's travels read very 1 - 2 - 3. As his skills increase and his wanderlust expands, he becomes very good at describing not only what he does, but what he feels. His voice is confident, modest to extremes and carries the weight of experience.
Down Channel is another book about cruising in small boats. Its major attraction to me, as I read through it, was the time period and the glimpses given of the character and will possessed by Mr. McMullen. His beliefs in preparedness and responsibility for one's own actions read well today, as refreshing as a cold, wet, challenging wind.
During that crossing to Steilicoom, I thought briefly of Richard Turrell McMullen and the seas and currents and winds that he faced 140 years ago. Materials and equipment may have changed, but the elements remain. Wind, water and boats.
Hunter Davis, Puffin