My jaw ached from hours of clenching. My fingers grew numb from white-knuckling the companionway as a brace. We were crossing the Sea of Cortez from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, with our course set for Chacala on the mainland. There, we planned to rendezvous with my partner’s family.  

We had disobeyed the cardinal rule of cruising: You can choose a time or a place, but you can’t choose both. 

Despite the weather reports predicting sporty winds blowing into the 20s with moderate northwest swells, we were 40 miles southeast of Cabo when the northwest swell grew to 10 to 12 feet, every six to eight seconds, breaking frequently over the beam of our 41-foot Cheoy Lee sailboat, Avocet. The wind was sporty, as predicted, but at a much higher speed of 25 knots sustained with chronic gusts into the mid-30s from behind us.

I was on the first watch of the night, my harness clipped into our dodger, my eyes on the horizon. The only light to fill the ink-black space ahead of us came from the breaking waves that painted the sea with moments of phosphorescence.

Then, the faint glow of the moon began to rise. It was around that time that things took a turn for the worse. 

Bang is a sound you never want to hear at sea, let alone at night. Chris sprung from below as I tried to free myself from the dodger. “What was that?” he asked, thinking we had hit something. 

“It came from the rig!” I yelled over the deafening wind and sea. “I can’t see anything!” 

It took a few moments to realize that our 130 percent genoa that was heavily reefed had completely unfurled, leading us to become overpowered very quickly.

We disengaged our autopilot and immediately broke off, putting the swell more on our aft quarter to prevent further rounding up. Avocet became a sled with hull speeds into the double digits as we tried to figure out a plan. 

I clipped into the helm. Chris secured himself to the jack lines and walked to the bow with a new furling line in hand. 

In horror, I watched waves break over the bow and snuff out his headlamp. He would soon realize that our furling line had chafed through at the drum. 

At first, he tried to install the new furling line within the drum, but there was no way he could get enough wraps. Chris returned to the cockpit to grab another line, kissed me on the forehead, gave me a reassuring smile, and scrambled back to the bow. He attached the bitter end of the line to the sail’s tack and wrapped as many loops around the top of the drum as he could, essentially creating an external furling unit. 

Then, Chris sat, feet braced against our bulwark, and pulled in the furling line. The wind was howling, but it couldn’t muffle his cheers as the sail began to furl in. 

We then used the same technique as dousing our spinnaker to have our main sail shade the genoa, removing as much power as we could from the sail before blowing the sheet to make it easier to pull it in. Once the secondary furling line was secured to a cleat, Chris could remove the defunct line within the drum, install the new one, and reef the sail again to get us back on course. 

This was a worst-case scenario for a furler failure, but the method worked in a pinch. It prevented us from having to pull down the sail, which would have increased risk for us and for Avocet. In high winds, you should actively avoid coming into irons because there is a high probability that it will shred your sails to oblivion or tangle your lines. Or both.

In calmer seas later, after further investigation, we concluded that the furler drum had been set incorrectly and went undetected until the furler line was tested under tension, causing the abrupt chafe and snap. Ever since then, we have reset the furler drum and replaced the line, and have not had a single issue in the additional 2,000 nautical miles under our keel. 

We hope you never have to try this yourself, but we urge you to run through a Plan B, C and D if you should ever experience a failure like this.

The post Redundancy of Thought appeared first on Cruising World.

In 2020, our friends purchased a 1980 43-foot Hans Christian, Remedy, that had a compromised bowsprit. My husband, Chris, had reinforced it for the previous owner, but it was time to replace it entirely because it was suffering from severe termite damage and was the weakest link of the rig. Chris was asked to tackle the replacement job too, based on his reputation here in Southern California for delivering excellent results, even if it means putting projects aboard our own Cheoy Lee 41, Avocet, on the back burner. 

Hans Christians are pretty easy yachts to spot; many of the designs have a substantial bowsprit, carrying the lines of the large bulwarks that make for a stout bluewater cruiser. The rigs differ from ketch, sloop and cutters, but they all get as much sail area as possible, utilizing the bowsprit. For example, the 33-foot Hans Christian has a relatively small footprint on deck but sports the rig and sail area of what you might see on a 40-foot yacht, to compensate for the heavy displacement.

Forty-one-year-old Remedy had never had the bowsprit removed and inspected—hence the termites, along with wood rot at the base, where water pooled easily. 

There also was the issue of the samson posts (the physical stopping point for the aft end of the bowsprit) having separated from their lateral support underneath the deck. And we noted a classic case of stainless-steel crevice ­corrosion that had claimed all of the bowsprit hardware, which had hairline cracks, pitting and bent tangs. 

A total rebuild was necessary, and there was a lot to consider about the way to go about it, given how much materials and technology have improved since Remedy splashed decades ago. We could stick with wood and re-create what was there, or make something like a fiberglass bowsprit. Using the old bowsprit as a mold, we could build something that was impervious to rot, and that was stronger and lighter than its wood counterpart. Or we could build one out of aluminum. It wouldn’t sport the exact same design, but it could be better in many ways. 

Our friends decided to stick with traditional wood, which led to new considerations. Since materials like old-growth wood are simply not available these days, we couldn’t carve a new bowsprit out of a single piece of timber like the original. Instead, we would have to utilize techniques such as laminating. Having just finished our bulwark aboard Avocet, we knew that we liked cumaru wood (sometimes called Brazilian teak) for its strength, but finding a piece that was a minimum of 8½ feet wide by 14 feet long, and kiln-dried, turned out to be more difficult than we anticipated. 

Remedy’s owners found a lead on sapele, a type of mahogany with higher tensile strength than teak and better gluing adhesion. It lacks the oils that teak has for fighting off rot and bugs, but given the general lack of wood on the West Coast, we decided that sapele was our best option. 

With the wood ordered, Chris set out to translate measurements from the old bowsprit to paper so that he could dimensionally see how Hans Christian had done it, and where he could improve the design. 

Hans Christian had made the original bowsprit quickly and efficiently, leaving details such as perfectly straight lines, 90-degree cuts and appropriate spacing as an afterthought. Chris added notes where material needed to be added and taken away to create an upgraded version. He then laid out his tools and got busy turning the 5-by-5-foot boards into a bowsprit. 

This was a messy project. Not only were we dealing with a large amount of dripping resin, but there was also a fair bit of dust and shavings that wouldn’t be appropriate to manage dockside. Fortunately, our friends at Ventura Harbor Boatyard allowed us to set up shop there. Chris created a workspace encapsulated with a tarp to control the dust and temperature. Inside, we used box fans for air circulation.

 From the initial concept, we knew that the hardest part of building the new bowsprit was going to be cutting an 8½-by-8½-foot cube with a taper. So, instead of trying to cut an entire solid piece of timber, Chris instead cut 10 planks into the shape of the bowsprit, with the intention of gluing them together. When he cut the boards, he purposely left about a ¼-inch of extra material on all sides to act as a buffer while gluing everything together, and to allow for enough material to be planed away during the shaping process. 

Once the boards were cut into their desired shape, it was time to glue them together. 

This process of laminating wood with many layers introduces an incredible amount of tensile strength, if you can keep the layers well-bonded for the life of the beam. There have been horror stories about laminated beams on ships coming apart, but if the job is done properly, the result will be stronger than it could be with a single piece of timber. 

After speaking with a few experts about lamination materials, Chris used Smith’s Oak and Teak Epoxy Glue, which turned out to be by far the stickiest, strongest and goopiest epoxy we have ever seen. Chris did a quick run with the orbital sander to raise the grain of the wood, and then a wipe-down with acetone, before he and one of the boat’s owners began applying the glue with a 4-inch filler spreader. 

This was among the most stressful parts of the entire project—and not just because we needed it to work. At that time, there was a nationwide epoxy shortage, so we were trying to conserve epoxy at the same time that we were liberally applying it. And we were racing to make sure all the boards were clamped before the epoxy “kicked off” (entered the initial cure phase). 

When the last clamp was placed, the old bowsprit was placed on top of the laminated boards for more downward pressure. With the epoxy curing, we draped a tarp over the whole ensemble and plugged in three space heaters to increase the ambient temperature to 95 or 100 degrees Fahrenheit, to assist in the curing process. To be safe, we checked on the heaters continually, and we removed them from our workspace the following day.

Two days later, we removed the clamps to get a good look at what was now one cohesive piece of wood. We were pleased with the results (whew!). It was now time to shape the laminated wood into a proper bowsprit. 

The first tool Chris grabbed was his trusty grinder with a 5-inch sanding-pad attachment, to get rid of all the epoxy that had squeezed out between the boards. This step left a flat surface that was suitable for a hand planer. 

Chris struck a centerline and started marking the sides of the bowsprit where the final dimensions would be. The least amount of material he had to remove was about a ¼-inch, and the most was about 4 inches around where the bottom edge of the bowsprit tapered from the middle section up to the very front. This exercise confirmed that his initial cuts in the individual planks were correct, leaving enough material to shape. 

After lamination, the bowsprit weighed more than 300 pounds—yikes, indeed—but that figure decreased with every inch of material that Chris shaved away. The final weight was around 270 pounds. This is why a lighter material such as fiberglass, carbon or aluminum would be great to consider.

Once the bowsprit was between ⅛ and ¼ inch of the original spec, we relocated our project to the dock, where the final shaping would make a minimal mess. 

To say that we were ­nervous at this point was an ­understatement. Chris worried that the monster he had crafted might not gracefully replace the previous bowsprit, and his worrying made me anxious. There was only one way to put our nerves to bed, and that was to lift the bowsprit and see if it fit. 

At first, it didn’t—but that was OK. We had anticipated an improper fit, which is why Chris had left enough material to continue taking it away, finely tuning the bowsprit’s shape to the boat itself. Using his wood planer and contractor square, he shaved another ¼ inch off the sides. He repeated the process about three times, with the fourth time being the golden ticket. The bowsprit slid with no resistance into place, with a very rewarding thunk into the samson post notches. 

The bowsprit was at that point dry-fitted to Remedy,but the work was far from over. Chris had intentionally left the mating surface (where the samson posts and bowsprit made contact) proud so that he could strike a final line on the bowsprit once it was in place. This step in the process ensured that the bowsprit would be fully supported by the samson post while ­avoiding point-loading.

After this step was ­complete, it was time to install the hardware, which you might think would have been easier than everything else we had done so far. Nope. 

By far, the most intimidating part of this project was drilling for the fasteners. Chris had thought about using a mobile drill press, but the holes he had to re-create in the bowsprit needed to accommodate the original hardware (like the pulpit), and those holes were not all uniform in where they went in and came out of the sprit. 

For example: The two ½-inch bolts that go through the staysail chainplate went into the wood at about a 60-degree angle. So we took the process old-school and laid the hardware down on the bowsprit exactly where we wanted it. We then marked both sides of the hole, and used a handheld ½-inch drill to cut the holes in both sides until they connected in the middle. This technique ended up working pretty well—but there was a level of guesswork involved that, while it did not affect the quality of the finished product, just felt wrong to us after so much attention to detail in the project thus far. 

Once all the holes had been drilled, Chris oversized them slightly and inlaid G10 (prefabricated epoxy-based fiberglass laminate) tubes for the bolts to go inside. Adding this upgrade to the original design meant the hardware didn’t need to be bedded because the G10 was epoxied in place. This upgrade to the design also meant the bolts couldn’t oval the wood over time, a problem that would lead to water ingress and put our friends right back where they had started. 

After the tubes had been installed and bedded with thickened epoxy, the entire bowsprit was saturated in Smith’s Clear Penetrating Epoxy Sealer, and then finished with nine coats of Awlgrip’s Awlwood Clear Gloss. If we do say so ourselves, it looked quite lovely.

In the end—with all new hardware, a beautifully varnished bowsprit, and a bluewater cruising boat that was ready for adventure—our friends set a course south for Mexico in October 2021. 

When we last checked, Remedy had covered more than 1,000 nautical miles, with the bowsprit we created proudly leading the way.

Marissa and Chris Neely are currently refitting their Cheoy Lee 41, Avocet, prepping to cast off their lines and go cruising.

The post A Bowsprit Reborn: A DIY Renovation Story appeared first on Cruising World.

Updating the standing rigging on our Stevens 47, Totem, wasn’t an intentional part of the 40-year refit that we recently completed. We had re-rigged in 2019, anticipating our departure to the South Pacific in spring 2020. The pandemic scratched that, and we embarked on a significant refit in 2021 that instead left this rig on saw horses for a year and a half.

Putting the rig back up was among the last tasks during our extended stay at Cabrales Boatyard in Puerto Peñasco, Mexico. As we neared mast-stepping day in November 2023, my husband, Jamie, busted out his rigging kit. That’s how we refer to the 10X loupe that serves as the key for scrutinizing components at a level that human eyes just can’t do without magnification. 

Some halyards showed age and wear, but we already knew this and had a replacement Dyneema/polyester double braid replacement line on hand. The one surprise? Totem’s backstay.

Our Backstay’s Weak Link

New in 2019, the wire still looked fine, as did the swages. But two Sta-Lok insulators on the backstay—an assembly that enables that aft wire to be used as an antenna for single sideband radio—didn’t. Surface crazing on the black nylon portion of the insulators, which were added in 2008, suggested ultraviolet degradation.

During our 2019 rerig, we chose to reuse the backstay insulators. The fittings inspected well. Some people consider mechanical rigging terminals such as Sta-Lok, Hayn Hi-MOD and Norseman to be indefinitely reusable. They’re not. Jamie considers their lifespan at two rigging cycles (or about 20 years) maximum. Our old insulators met safe criteria, so we saved money by keeping them.

Still, we knew to look out for trouble. In the past few years, friends on two different cruising boats had rig failures due to broken insulators. Both crews practice good seamanship and don’t skimp on safety. Melissa White has written about losing the backstay on Galapagos (in her blog, Little Cunning Plan, and also in 48°N magazine), three weeks into a passage from Hawaii to the Pacific Northwest. With only 500 nautical miles to Cape Flattery, Washington, their insulator snapped in half in the rolling swells of the North Pacific Ocean. They were in conditions that allowed them to stabilize the rig, and they altered course to a closer point of landfall.

The crew of Miles wasn’t so lucky: When their insulator failed, their rig came down. Never mind the fact that they’d had a rigging inspection only months before, and no faults had been found.

When they dismasted, they were in degrading conditions approximately 100 miles east of Eleuthera, Bahamas. In an admirable effort, they secured the wreckage and bashed overnight to the nearest safe harbor in San Salvador.

So, Jamie took another look at our setup last November, and he condemned Totem’s insulator. The conclusion was easy, but the decision about next steps was not.

We were days from putting Totem back in the water, looking for a weather window to sail south. Five family members were flying to meet us in a bay 800 nautical miles south of the boatyard. Any delay in stepping would make us late for the family Christmas. Could we get to Puerto Vallarta with the existing backstay, or could the rig be compromised on our trip south?

And, in the time between putting insulators on the new rig in 2019 and wrapping an extensive refit in 2023, we had changed our stance on single sideband use. Once our only offshore communication, the hardware no longer earned a place on Totem because multiple satellite options are available today. Since we weren’t installing the SSB, we didn’t need new insulators. This opened options to consider in replacing the backstay.

One of those options was Dyneema, which is a strong, lightweight line made from synthetic ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene fibers. Dynex Dux is Dyneema that’s put through another cycle of heating and stretching to get every fiber in every yarn bundle to be exactly the same length. It’s lightweight, super strong and has virtually no stretch, making it a great alternative to wire for rigging.

We knew this because in 2008, Jamie had installed a Dynex Dux solent stay and inner forestay on Totem. He had also installed a Dux backstay on a friend’s boat in Puerto Rico in 2017, and loved the results.

With Totem now our focus, we reached out to Colligo Marine, the US distributor for Dynex Dux, rebranded as Colligo Dux. Colligo’s founder, co-owner and lead engineer, John Franta, helped us. Picking up the backstay became a perfect excuse for us to drive to Southern California for Thanksgiving with cousins. (Shipping into Mexico is fraught with issues.) Barely a week later, we were on our way back to Mexico with the new backstay in hand.

Shifting forward a few weeks, Totem was in Banderas Bay in time for family Christmas, after a conservative sail south with the old backstay in place. The new one was installed in the slip at Marina Riviera Nayarit. The hardest part of replacing the backstay with the mast up? Detaching and lowering the old backstay, because it was so heavy. The new stay was in place minutes later.

Wire vs. Synthetic Rigging

If Dux is so great, why didn’t we replace all of our standing rigging with it back in 2019?

Well, we did think about it. At the time, Jamie chose wire because of the cost of additional hardware necessary in the shift to synthetic rigging. We simply didn’t have the resources to consider the upgrade.

There are other considerations for a switch to synthetic rigging, too. They include abrasion, chafe, ultraviolet longevity and thermal expansion. Stainless steel wire has just as many issues and is harder to inspect well. Our new backstay was an easy choice this time around because of the weight savings, ease of installation and absence of chafe points.

We’re now getting ready to sail around 2,000 nautical miles from Hawaii to Micronesia. We aren’t sure yet if we’ll make landfall in Tarawa, Kiribati, or sail the slightly shorter distance to Majuro, Marshall Islands. Ideally, we can visit Tarawa first (it’s harder to get there later), but the weather will make the decision for us.

Meanwhile: Totem Talks will be on again before we sail west. For this next free livestream, we’ll have a circumnavigation roundtable with our friend and neighbor here in Hawaii, Dustin Reynolds. He didn’t just circumnavigate: Dustin holds a Guinness World Record for the first solo voyage around the world by a double amputee (arm and leg).Bring your voyaging questions, and sign up to be notified by email for the date of the livestream.

The post Rigging Redo: Our Switch to Synthetic appeared first on Cruising World.

The mainsheet on our new Sabre 30 didn’t look right. It was the middle of a hot, airless July week. We’d bought the boat barely a month earlier, and now we were attempting to get it from New Jersey to Maine. Because of the lack of wind, the mainsail sagged as we motored up Long Island Sound. I had plenty of time to look at Ora Kali’s boom but not a lot of incentive to solve any problems. 

Then one day, we were tied to a mooring in the harbor at Scituate, Massachusetts, cheek by jowl with another Sabre 30. Wow, I realized: Our ­block-and-tackle arrangement is just wrong. 

The weight of the boom and pressure on the mainsail on a small boat are light enough that the connection between boom and hand can be direct, but a boat of any size requires an arrangement of block-and-tackle to make it manageable.

Block-and-tackle reduces the forces necessary both to hold something in place and to lift it. In terms of mainsheet tackle, a block-and-tackle system makes it easier for the person in the cockpit to steady or control the boom and to sheet in the sail when there’s wind.

Ora Kali has three blocks in her mainsheet tackle. While the arrangement on the port side was fine for holding the boom in place, it did not take full advantage of the power for sheeting in. I took down the blocks and rearranged them. The correct arrangement gives a 3-to-1 advantage on the aft block-and-tackle, and employs the forward block mostly for turning.

The sloppy mainsheet tackle setup shouldn’t have been a surprise. This was not the first instance of the boom being rigged wrong. But Ora Kali was in such good shape for a 38-year-old boat when we bought it that I assumed something this basic would be correctly run. 

When the seller bent on the sails the day before the sale, I was still dazzled by our good fortune in securing the boat and didn’t take careful notice of what he was doing. A week later, we took down the mainsail before we sailed off to inspect it for wear that might need repair and noticed that the tack cringle was hooked onto one of a pair of hooks normally used when reefing the sail. It became obvious why this was done: The gooseneck fitting was set up backward, putting the attachment point for a tack shackle behind the hooks. Useless. In fact, it turned out there was no tack shackle. It was a simple matter to reposition the reef hook/tack assembly, and I eventually found a tack shackle that fit. 

Another puzzle we chose to work around in the interest of setting off for Maine was a barely functioning outhaul. An outhaul is used to tension the foot of the mainsail and attaches to the clew or clew car, then runs to the after end of the boom and around either an internal or external sheave and forward, where it can be adjusted. If the sail is fixed to the boom with slides or bolt rope, as it was on Oddly Enough, our Peterson 44, then an outhaul isn’t crucial for setting the general sail shape. In fact, we rarely touched ours. 

With a loose-footed main, the outhaul has more work to do. The Sabre 30 is the first boat I’ve owned with a loose-footed main, and I didn’t understand what the rig was. The rope that attached to the clew car was not the same rope as emerged from an exit plate forward on the boom. When we tried pulling on either end, the car would budge only so far, and we never were able to fully stretch out the loose foot. I assumed that the outhaul had broken and a knot someone had made to add new rope to the original was jamming inside. 

During the spring refit, I looked up in-boom outhaul rigs and saw that they usually include a block-and-tackle to add purchase for adjusting the mainsail foot. This is fixed midway by a bolt through the boom. I took Ora Kali’s boom end off and discovered that the bolt holding the block had been run right through it rather than through a shackle, keeping it from swiveling. The two pieces of line were too big to run alongside each other freely. Between a seized block and the friction built up in the lines, the outhaul was useless.

The tricky part of this rerigging was snagging the shackle. I used a messenger line to pull the block-and-­tackle into ­approximate position inside the boom, then ran a ­screwdriver through holes in the boom and the shackle.

The last piece of boom ­rigging that bothered me was the topping lift. On Ora Kali, this was a fixed length of ­7-by-19 wire rope attached at the masthead with a small block at the other end. A Dacron rope ran from a shackle on the end of the boom, up over this block, down to the boom end sheaves, then inside to an exit sheave.

This is a fairly common way of rigging a topping lift, but I’m not a big fan of using wire in running rigging. 

The primary purpose of the topping lift is to take the weight off the boom when the sails are furled and for reefing. On my previous cruising boats, I had topping lifts that doubled as a spare main halyard. 

To fulfill both of these needs, I replaced the system with a single rope outhaul, shackling one end of the new topping lift to the after end of the boom, leading the other end over an unused masthead sheave, and installing a halyard exit plate at the bottom of the mast for the topping lift to run out and be adjusted. The lift is simpler, which I like, but running it over a masthead sheave puts it more in the way of the mainsail leach. To make sure we ease it when the sail is raised, I plan to bring the bitter end of the topping lift back to the cockpit to an existing set of sheet stoppers and a winch on the coachroof beside the main halyard and the mainsheet.

All in all, I now have a cleaner, more rationally rigged boom. 

Ann Hoffner started sailing when she was 9 years old. Along with her husband, Tom Bailey, she spent 10 years cruising on their P-44, Oddly Enough, in the South Pacific, Australia and Borneo. Ora Kali, a nimble, shoal-draft Sabre 30, is now teaching them the joys of Maine coastal cruising.

The post Rerigging the Boom appeared first on Cruising World.

The late Ted Hood, one of sailing’s most accomplished practitioners, mainstreamed roller-furling mainsails. He acknowledged that a sail being wound into one of his Stowaway Masts had to be cut flatter, devoid of horizontal battens, and lack a big roach. But despite these performance-sapping attributes, he saw the upside it would offer shorthanded sailors: The system demonstrated that performance is also linked to having the right amount of sail area set. And over time, making the mainsail behave like a zoom lens has proved to be as appealing to sailors as the latter has been to photographers. 

Initially, a few innovators attempted to retrofit older rigs with external, behind-the-mast roller-furling systems. In essence, these units were akin to a roller-furling headstay stretched between a beefed-up masthead fitting and the gooseneck. Unfortunately, as the tension between the masthead and gooseneck increased, the spar tended to bow and the luff of the mainsail curved to leeward. This made reefing and furling difficult, and placed excess stress on the spar itself.

Seldén and Schaefer solved the problem by adding evenly spaced track connections that linked the mainsail furler to the mast track. Today, Facnor also offers a refined version of this concept for those interested in converting a standard spar into one that hosts a roller-furling mainsail.

Meanwhile, spar-makers soon recognized that a specially extruded, open-trailing-edge spar could house a furled mainsail. A central mandrel, or furling rod with a luff-tape slot, rotates and retracts or releases the mainsail from within the mast. The design requires a way to support and tension the luff rod and a bearing system to handle rotation under load. The geometry of the sail slot and cavity is vital, as is the cut and construction of the mainsail. 

Hood’s sailmaking ­background and yacht-design ­business put him at the head of the fleet, and Stowaway Masts, with their mechanical, electric or hydraulic roller reefing systems, showed up on vessels from 35 to 100-plus feet.

The furling concept might seem fairly simple, but the devil is in the details. Hood, Seldén and many others eventually worked out most of the kinks, including maintaining proper furling-rod tension. But even so, care needs to be taken when furling and outhauling the mainsail, and that’s especially true when an electric or hydraulic winch does the pulling. The big danger lies in overloading the outhaul due to a hockle, or kink, in the furling line. Too hard a pull by a power winch can wedge the partially furled sail in the exit slot, or damage the drive system or the sail itself. Units with narrower exit slots avoid this “herniated” mainsail condition but add increased chafe concerns. Hood’s furling designs have continued to evolve and are now being produced by Formula Spars.

Just as monohulls and multihulls have their advocates, there’s plenty of partisanship when it comes to in-mast or in-boom furling systems, the latter being another option for those seeking ease of sailhandling. Both approaches succeed at sail-area reduction, and both act as a “force multiplier”—allowing a shorthanded crew to cope with a much larger mainsail. But there are also a few not-so-subtle differences between the two. 

Advocates of in-boom furling call the ability to have a deeper-draft, horizontal-batten-equipped, roach-sporting mainsail an important value-added feature. This means that when comparing equal sail areas, the in-boom option will outperform the in-mast alternative. The boom-­furling mainsail comes closer to matching the performance of a conventionally hoisted mainsail. Another big plus is that if the boom-furler function fails, you can still lower the mainsail conventionally.

As with most good things, there are also a couple of downsides that need to be recognized. The first is the size and weight of the boom, which is typically at least double or more the diameter and weight of a conventional boom. The weight issue raises some tactical and safety concerns. The heavier boom will more actively respond in light air and a rolling seaway, creating trimming issues. It also presents a greater risk to the crew during an unanticipated jibe, so more attention needs to be paid to the preventer or the boom brake. 

Ultimately, there’s a vulnerability to the short portion of track that leads the sail’s luff from the mast to the boom mandrel. The angle that the boom makes with the mast is very important, as is following the manufacturer’s furling guidelines. A heavy-duty mechanical or hydraulic boom vang will help ensure that the correct angle is maintained while reefing. 

Ted Hood was correct: Furling is the future. But a few of us still cling to the simplicity, sail-shaping advantage, and lessened chafe found in conventional slab reefing.

Ralph Naranjo is a circumnavigator, technical writer, former Vanderstar Chair at the US Naval Academy, and author of The Art of Seamanship, among other books.

Mainsail Furler Manufacturers

• Axxon Composites
• CDI
• Facnor
• Hood Yacht Systems
• Leisure Furl
• Hall Spars
• Rondal
• Schaefer Marine
• Seldén
• Sparcraft
• Southern Spars
• US Spars
• Z Spars

The post Mainsail Furlers Lighten the Load appeared first on Cruising World.

Our pal Ian Scott, the skipper of the Swan 36 Coco, was in need of some new rigging in order to set sail this season. With the help of our friends at West Marine, Cruising World walks through the steps to re-rig your sailboat. Want to get started on your own project? Make sure to visit the Rigging Shop at your local West Marine or visit their website.

The post How to Re-Rig a Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

Clive Strickett is a rugged guy, so it takes strong arms to winch him aloft to the masthead. But that’s exactly where you want him: eyeball to halyard sheave, looking for problems. He’s a veteran rigger with a keen eye and a background in ocean racing on the competitive Maxi circuit. On the island of Lanzarote, where I first encountered Strickett, he has a reputation for detail.

We were on the dock at Marina Lanzarote in a fresh breeze of about 20 knots. It was sunny and warm, the sort of weather you’d expect when you’re about 400 nautical miles off the coast of Morocco. These Canary Islands, of which Lanzarote is the farthest north, are a staging area for boats embarking on a trans-Atlantic crossing.

Strickett had just been lowered to the deck of a Bavaria 41 by the boat’s skipper after checking the spreaders, and was now shaking his head. Problems. There are always problems. This time it was mismatched metals. “It’s rare to find a boat that has nothing wrong with it,” he said.

Never mind the Atlantic—the first leg of the trip from the United Kingdom and Europe to the Canaries can be brutal on gear. And that’s before the 3,800-nautical-mile downwind crossing to the Caribbean. It’s wise to have a guy like Strickett check your rig before you leave. “I’ve been doing this for a few years now,” he said. “I might see a problem that the owner missed. They weren’t looking for it, or weren’t looking where they should have been. 

“You never know what’s going to happen on boats. Even on new boats,” he continued. “A friend of mine had a new catamaran, a big one, with a carbon-fiber mast. One of the genoa clutches ripped right off the mast. Brand new boat, right from the factory. We had to get the OK from the factory in France to make a repair. We fixed it, and he crossed the Atlantic.” 

Minor rig problems compound quickly under pressure. Strong winds funneling through these volcanic islands can mimic trade-wind sailing, but that doesn’t mean that every boat is ready for the crossing. According to Strickett, safety lies in the details, and he points out where to look for potential problems in your rig. Here’s what Strickett is looking for as he inspects a spar, from top to bottom.

Masthead: “Be sure the sheave axles are secure. Sometimes the holes elongate or even crack. And then halyards can get mixed up. One boat that came through here from Tenerife was using the wrong halyard. They were using the spinnaker halyard instead of the genoa halyard. When I went up to look at it, the sheave box was completely gone; the rivets were all loose. The holes had elongated because the halyard was at the wrong angle. They didn’t even realize it. It’s tough to see what’s happening aloft when you’re on deck.” 

Working down the mast on a fractional rig, there might be additional sheave boxes fitted for internal halyards. “Make sure all the rivets are tight. Anything fitted with bolts or rivets should be double-checked.”

Spreaders: “Inspect the spreader tips; make sure they’re OK and there’s no corrosion. Whenever you get stainless steel and aluminum together, there’s corrosion. One fleet of charter boats here had put 8 mm stainless bolts into the aluminum spreaders with no protection. Now the spreaders are corroding—the holes get bigger and bigger. But not only that, the spreader was already weakened by putting big holes in it to begin with.”

Shrouds: Broken or damaged wire rigging is the most common problem. “Most cruising boats use 1-by-19 stainless wire. Inside, one strand can let go, then another. When you get up to four broken strands, the wire gets weaker and weaker, and eventually fails. If you’re underway and that happens, then you have a big problem.”

You also don’t want extra weight aloft. “Some people use Dyform, or compacted wire, which uses triangular-shaped strands around a core. If you compare a 10 mm Dyform wire to a 10 mm 1-by-19 wire, the Dyform is stronger. I once changed a 12 mm 1-by-19 wire to a 10 mm Dyform wire. It’s the same strength, but I saved some weight aloft. 

“You can’t take anything for granted,” he continued. “There was a boat getting ready to head to the Mediterranean from here, which is a long slog to windward. He was all ready to go. Just as an afterthought, the owner had me look over the rig. Good thing. I found some broken wires in the forestay. The whole mast could have come down. So have a close inspection just to make sure there are no broken wires, and that the terminals don’t have any cracks in them.”

Boom: “Once again, closely inspect the rivets. Loose padeyes on the boom get looser and can easily rip right out. The same goes for the gooseneck fittings. Check every bolt, every rivet for the slightest elongation of the holes or any loose rivets. I can’t emphasize that enough. The padeye is usually secured to the boom with 5 mm Monel rivets, but those can pull loose after a sharp pull like a jibe. They can get yanked right out of the boom. Then what? As insurance, I usually remove the 5 mm rivets and replace them with 6.3 mm rivets, which are the largest you can use. If you’ve had a big jibe and the boom hits a V1 (lower shroud), it might break or bend the boom. We fix booms at our engineering shop. They’ll straighten it, put a patch on, weld it and then paint it. That makes it strong enough. New booms delivered to Lanzarote come from France, and the delivery fee alone can cost up to $3,500.”

Read More: Check your Boat’s Rig

Turnbuckles: “Some people don’t like to tape turnbuckles; they like to see what’s going on with them. Fair enough. I wouldn’t tape it all the way closed though. Just a little tape around the split pins so that they don’t grab a sail or your ankle. On one boat that I inspected, the guy had taped up the whole thing. When we untaped it, it was all manky, which means pretty disgusting. The dirt will always get in somehow. If it’s all taped up like that, you can’t oil or lubricate it. I tell people: Now and then, service your turnbuckles. Take some turns off the turnbuckle. Make sure it’s clean and then put a little Teflon gel on it, or some MolyKote grease. Then tighten it back up. 

“When you haven’t done it for some years,” he added, “they seize up and you can’t undo them. Especially a small turnbuckle. They’re chrome-plated over bronze, and when you put a big spanner in there and turn it, it’ll snap. And what you don’t want is for a wire to snap when it’s under load. It’s just preventive maintenance. Do it every six months. It takes only a couple of hours.”  

Headsail Furlers: “On some ProFurl furlers, there are four black bolts that go into the furler: two that hold the cage on and two that hold the plate. On the older ones, the bolts are made of titanium, and they seize into the aluminum. I don’t know how many I have had to drill out. But you have to drill them out properly. If it’s a 6 mm bolt, first you drill straight down the middle of the hole with a 3 mm drill, then with a 4 mm, then a 5 mm, then a 5.5 mm. Hopefully it will come out with the heat and friction. ‘Easy-out’ [screw extractors] don’t work. These things are seized together. Even heat doesn’t work.”

Chain Plates: “I inspected one boat with the chain plates so loose, they were actually moving. You could see where they had scratched the paint around the hull. Down below, look carefully at the chain plates. Make sure there’s no cracking in the hull, no movement on the bolts. You can see where a bolt has bent a little, or if it’s been pulled up or down. You’ll see little scratch marks on the hull or the bulkhead.”

Mast Step: “There’s a fine balance between the shrouds being too tight and too loose. There was a good-size catamaran that left here and got into some rough seas, rolling around. The shrouds were too loose, and on one roll, the mast jumped right out of its mast step. It was just for a moment, but in that moment, the mast went overboard.”

With the inspection on the Bavaria completed, as we walked up the gangway toward the marina office, I had one last question: “If something breaks underway, can a rigger or a boatyard be held responsible?” 

Strickett answered, “Sometimes. We have a basic form that says something like: ‘Rig checked. All found to be in good condition at the time of inspection.’ And I sign it. So as far as I’m concerned, everything was OK when I signed it. But if along the way, say it blows up to 40 knots and the crew still has their spinnaker up and the mast comes down, well, they might try to come back to us. So in my opinion, it boils down to this: If you’re not up to sailing the boat, then you shouldn’t be there. You just never know what’s going to happen.”  

David Bond, a regular contributor to CW, is a writer, teacher and cruising sailor currently based in Germany.

The post Sailboat Rigging Tips from a Pro appeared first on Cruising World.

There is a general rule of thumb that standing rigging lasts 10 years. In reality this is a guide more than a rule. Knowing what degrades rigging components can help you safely carry it beyond, or recognize when it comes up short. What’s truly important is seeing and resolving a fault before it causes a bad day on the water.

Knowing the state of a boat’s rigging might follow a progression something like this: first, the surveyor’s examination before purchase. But surveyors aren’t usually riggers, so Prudent Sailor brings a pro in—whether for a new boat purchase or pre-cruise preparation for next level inspection. To be fair, no rigger’s inspection will reveal all faults. Compounding that, not all riggers are not skilled at sleuthing for them.

The rig came down on a client’s boat recently, offshore east of the Bahamas. They rigging wasn’t that old, and had a year-old pro inspection. The cause was easily identified in the aftermath; a component aged past useful life. It would be easy to blame the rigger, but back to the earlier point—it’s a lot to expect that any single inspection can identify all flaws. Every sailor becomes the de factor rigger aboard their boat.

Jamie’s often found with a loupe in his hand checking out rigging. He estimates about 100 rig inspections in the last half dozen years. Not a huge number, but enough to see themes to problems that frequent cruising boats. They boil down to four root causes. So take his list below, get an inexpensive loupe (like this one – $13.95! – which hangs neatly from a finger when aloft), and get to looking.

Alignment

Spreaders are engineered to withstand compression force. Wire, turnbuckles, tangs, etc. resist being pulled apart—tension force. You already know the different force directions.

As a de facto rigger, you understand that when a component is pulled in a way it’s not engineered for, it’s going to break. A common example of misalignment is a bad swage. Manifest with a curved shape, it gets called a banana swage. This causes the wire strands to be unequally loaded and the top of the swage to be point loaded.

Another example is a chainplate not aligned to the attached stay, creating a host of problems! The chainplate may flex and work harden. The clevis pin point loads, and the toggle carries tension (good) and torsion that slowly pull it apart.

Articulation

Rigging consists of a mix of materials with properties chosen to withstand very dynamic loads. Mostly we’re talking about stainless steel and aluminum alloy parts joined together by tangs, toggles, swages, etc. More important than the technical names, though, is understanding how they link to suit their dynamic movements. Picture sailing downwind with sails eased out. Mainsheet is attached to a tang on the bottom of the boom. The mainsail’s pushing the top of the boom forward. The mainsheet resists, pulling the bottom of the boom aft. The gooseneck is forcibly rotated (torsion) though it’s only designed for up/down and side-to-side movements. De facto rigger regularly checks the gooseneck for excess play.

Another example is the cransiron (good trivia word!), which is the headstay tang at the end of a traditional bow sprit. This fitting is made for tension aligned to the wire. Hoist the headsail, sheet it in and watch the headstay sag to leeward… sideloading the cransiron. We met a cruiser in Panama who learned of this the hard way, with mast over the side.

Economy Vs Engineering

A manufacturer’s choices to save money may not be obvious with shiny new rigging. Give it time and the right ingredients and flaws in the material properties may emerge. A good example is anything stainless steel, or bronze fixed to an aluminum mast/boom. Add a splash of salt and galvanically inferior aluminum will sacrifice itself to the stainless steel in the same way a zinc anode crumbles when protecting a propeller. Now add a trickle of stray electricity and the normally slow process gets very active. Aluminum degradation is manifested by bubbling mast paint and whitish/gray color around the fitting. This corrosion will eat through a mast wall!

Another cheap-out is chainplates made thinner then engineering calculations indicated. To account for this, large washers are welded at the clevis hole to beef up the plate thickness. But that sets up a new problem: now you have three plates which must stay securely welded together under the constant attack of salt, water, and abrasion. De facto rigger keeps vigilant, knowing it’s smaller details like this that create problems.

Degraded Metal

Rigging components are engineered with a safety factor to account for wear and tear. This assumes predictable rates of wear. Clamp a flag halyard cleat to your cap shroud, and you’ve changed the math. The flag flutters away, ever so slightly twisting the clamp. This scrapes the micro-thin oxide layer that makes stainless steel resist corrosion. Meanwhile the clamp band catches salt, which holds moisture, and dirt on the very same unprotected surface. Further, the clamp compresses the 19 wire strands, creating a disruption in the load/relax cycle.

De facto rigger keeps that 10X loupe handy to inspect these areas. Better yet, they ditch the clamp cleat entirely!

Genoa sheets rubbing against shrouds all contribute to a fast rate of material degradation. De facto rigger loosens the sheets to reduce abrasion on the metal, then inspects. Look for localized pitting and discoloration that indicate compromised metal. How compromised? That’s a hard judgement and maybe time the call in the pro. If you cannot visibly see the metal you cannot inspect it.

Chainplates may be shiny above deck level, but a surface deprived of oxygen that stainless must have, in a wet salty environment will degrade the metal in time. But the signs are there, and if de facto rigger looks, can see those signs before a serious failure occurs.

Aboard Totem

I’m grateful for diligent checks by our de facto rigger, Jamie, and have learned so much along the way from our dock walks spotting issues on other boats and having him hand me the loupe to understand what he’s seeing beneath the lens. We preventatively re-rigged before taking off in 2007; we did it again in 2019. The only portion of our rig that didn’t pass inspection was the backstay, but rather than replacing the wire my Prudent Sailor opted to make a full replacement. Even if we didn’t SEE it, the potential was real enough and our plans for heading out across the South Pacific made it the right thing to do!

And now here we sit, back at the dock in Santa Rosalia; wings clipped by our engine issues. Trust me, it’s made tomorrow’s TOTEM TALKS a touch poignant for this crew. We’re laying low, for the most part. Jamie and I have been busy with seminars and event planning (see below) and the down time is a great opportunity to expand work with our coaching family. While we’re not out and about much, making time for fun is important, and we alternate game nights with family movie nights. Anyone have a good SciFi series to recommend?

Upcoming Events

Interview with a cruiser: on Wednesday, Feb. 3 we’re taking part in the Wooden Boat Festival’s winter program, ASK AN EXPERT. Program director Barb Trailer will ask burning questions, and we look forward to answering any others posed by participants! Register here for our event, or the series.

Rigging Fundamentals (Feb. 18): Interest piqued by this post? Consider it a preview of his rigging for cruisers session as part of Salty Dawg Sailing’s winter seminar series! Register on Salty Dawg Sailing! Coaching clients get a discount.

HEAD UP webinar series for women: kicking off Feb. 22nd, Captain Teresa Carey offers an interactive webinar series and guest instructors – designed especially for women. Her goal is to boost confidence in the fundamental aspects of sailing and cruising. I’m leading the penultimate session on March 15: watchstanding. Learn more at MorseAlpha.com/webinars.

We’ll be also be presenting on Feb 11 with Ocean Cruising Club members, and on March 16 with Coho Hoho Rally Runners – free to members, two organizations we are proud to support.

The post Sailing Totem: Check Your Boat’s Rig appeared first on Cruising World.

During my 75 years of sailing, I’ve become aware of the chasm between cruisers and racers. But I’ve never understood it because I have always been both. Even when I cruise, I’m racing—against changing weather, the need to get home in time for dinner, whatever. What that really means is that I’m determined to get the most speed out of my boat at all times. And to do so means having excellent running-rigging systems.

There are three issues in play when deciding on whether to install or upgrade your running rigging. First, do you want to increase your ease and convenience when adjusting sail trim? Second, are you willing to add lengths of line (as well as lengths of time) to make sail-trim adjustments? And last, how much investment are you willing to make to reach your sail-handling (i.e., running-rigging) goals?

I can scratch only the surface of this complicated topic and not present a ­comprehensive guide to all systems and conditions. Hopefully I’ll encourage you to think of how you might be able to improve your systems to make your sailing better and more satisfying.

Let’s begin by looking at sail-trim adjustments, which encompasses many items: sail curve (or draft, also called cord), luff tension, foot tension, sail twist from head to foot, and attack angle (the angle of wind as it approaches the sail’s leading edge, or luff).

On racing boats, all of the power required to make these adjustments is enhanced with more-powerful winches, larger crews, expensive low-friction blocks, and extremely strong and flexible lines. All of the running-rigging systems on racing boats are also appropriate for cruising boats, but cost often plays a deciding factor when making hardware and arrangement choices.

Increasing the power of running-rigging systems will always cost more, but it will also result in ease of handling and efficiency of controlling mainsail and headsail trim. Let’s move on, focusing first on the main.

Main Outhaul

Mainsail draft (depth of the sail’s curve) is controlled primarily by the outhaul but also may be supplemented by halyard tension and mast bend. So, let’s concentrate on the outhaul if for no other reason than its ease of use, as long as it is easily adjustable and also conveniently reachable. Unfortunately, most outhauls that I see on cruising boats are not adjustable and are usually a bundle of knots, difficult to reach when under sail, and almost impossible to untie without a marlinspike or fid. So let’s fix this first.

The mainsail outhaul on my Cape Dory 28 Nikki’s boom end is a 2-to-1 tackle with its hauling end attached to another 2-to-1 tackle, also called a cascade or Burton. In light air, when sailing to weather, the draft of the main can be flattened by taking in on the 2-to-1 part of the tackle. In strong breezes, flattening the mainsail’s draft is easily done by hauling in on the Burton only, a total power ratio of 4-to-1. Both of the outhaul tackles have their own clam cleats mounted on the side of the boom.

Mast Bend

I don’t ­recommend mast bending to most cruisers because its proper application depends largely on the boat owner’s knowledge of the nature and dimensions of the curve built into the sail by the sailmaker. In a nutshell, though, when sailing to weather, mast bend will flatten the luff of the sail. When sailing off the wind or in light air, a straight mast will increase the curve or draft of the sail for better drive.

Halyards

If your halyards are only general-purpose Dacron line (like those used for dock lines and sheets), as you tighten them, they will stretch and have little to no effect on sail shape with increased wind. Keep in mind that as windspeed increases, the draft of your sails will also increase, causing a greater heeling moment. The increased draft will also cause the sail luff to become fuller and reduce the ability to point upwind.

I really like limited-stretch and no-stretch halyards. They help reduce the sail draft near the luff from increasing when the wind builds. Limited-stretch halyards won’t stretch markedly when tightened in order to flatten the sail luffs. No-stretch or limited-stretch halyards might sound racy and will cost more, but the payoff is better performance, especially in strong winds. Good halyards are an easy fix that pay big dividends.

Cunninghams and Downhauls

Cunninghams and downhauls are essentially the same thing: Their function is to provide tension adjustment to the lower portion of the luff of a sail. A Cunningham, however, is more associated with the mainsail; downhauls are ­generally used with a headsail or staysail.

The purpose of Cunninghams and downhauls is to provide a rapid and convenient method of changing and distributing the tightness of a sail luff from tack to head, primarily on sails whose luff is in a mast slot, aluminum furling extrusion or attached to a stay with piston hanks; all of which cause friction that resists the luff from equalizing its load along its length. Since the halyard pulls upward from the top and the Cunningham pulls downward from slightly above the tack, the load in both directions equalizes the tension of the sail’s luff.

When you hoist a ­mainsail, there will often be about twice the tension on the luff above the spreaders than between the spreaders and the gooseneck. The load on the Cunningham is used to increase the lower luff tension. So, instead of cranking the halyard so tight that the winch is nearly torn off the mast or cabin top, raise the sail only until you begin to feel the luff load up, then tighten up the Cunningham until it feels about the same as the halyard. That’s the way your mainsail was designed and made, with about equal tension along the full length of the luff.

The cordage used as a downhaul or tack attachment for staysails and headsails, ­including those with roller-­furling systems, should be set up as tackles that are adjustable under sail. The cord should be long enough to set up a 4-to-1 tackle, and cleated or tied so that rapid luff tension can be adjusted ­without a hassle, whether slacking off in light air or tightening in a heavier breeze.

Gaining Mechanical Advantage

When I bought my schooner, At Last, back in the mid-’70s, she had lots of line and blocks but not a single winch. I think that most of her previous sailing had been done by a crew of six or a smaller crew made up of 300-pound gorillas. At that time, I weighed only 135 pounds, and my partner, Katy, was about 15 pounds lighter. Neither of us were what you would call “husky.”

Sailing At Last in light air was not difficult, but when it blew over 8 knots, every evolution became quite physical. We learned the first rule of manpower pretty quickly: The more line we pulled to achieve any sail adjustment (main or foresail sheet trimming, gaff hoisting, etc.), the more power was developed and less personal exertion was required.

Yes, eventually we did install sheet winches for each of the headsail sheets, but not for the main or foresail halyards or sheets, outhauls, vangs or topping lifts. For those, we added blocks and line to each system. It was like multiplying our crew. Every sail-trim maneuver became markedly easier—but slower. So, if we at least doubled the line length by adding sheaves, we also multiplied the power by the same ratio (not deducting for friction) and reduced the ­hauling load by the same ratio.

The rule of tackles is straightforward: The number of moving parts equals the mechanical advantage (power ratio). Google “block and tackle mechanical advantages,” and you will find excellent graphic diagrams with their power ratios.

Leading Systems to the Cockpit

More and more boat owners want every sail-control line led to the cockpit. This invariably requires at least three additional blocks or sheaves to be added to most ­running-­rigging systems, thus increasing friction as well as adding lots of line (I call it “spaghetti”) in or near the cockpit. In the case of reefing, leading all lines to the cockpit actually makes most reefing much more ­difficult and inefficient.

In 2009, my 28-foot Nikki won the Florida West Coast Boat of the Year award in a long series of races over several months’ time. Most wins occurred in extremely high winds because we had practiced reefing in under 45 seconds. That had become possible largely because of deftly efficient tackles, all kept within a single person’s reach. Only the main sheet went to the cockpit and was usually handled by the helmsman.

Mainsheets and Travelers

Thirty years ago, virtually all mainsheets were attached to the aft end of the boom and to a multisheave block on a short and mostly inefficient traveler at the stern of the boat. Because of the position of the traveler, its angle of effectiveness was fairly narrow, so when far off the wind (beam and broad reaches and running), the amount of downforce on the boom became little to ­negligible, rendering the traveler useless.

A double-legged ­mainsheet never accomplished its intended goal of acting like a traveler. Such a mainsheet always vectors the load to the longitudinal center of the boat on all points of sail regardless how far apart the lower blocks are spread. It was the racers who came up with the idea of moving the mainsheet to the approximate middle of the boom and down to a longer track and adjustable car (the traveler), usually just forward of the main companionway hatch on the cabin top. With this arrangement, the mainsheet becomes the major controller of both boom angle as well as mainsail twist by its increased downforce on the boom and sail.

The traveler car should be controlled by a port and starboard tackle of at least 3-to-1 advantage for boats up to 24 feet, 4-to-1 for boats up to 30 feet, and 5- to 6-to-1 for boats up to 34 feet and beyond. I also recommend the use of cam or clam cleats for all traveler control lines.

Boom Vang

Racing sailors also came up with the idea of a boom vang attached to the forward portion of the boom at the upper end, and to a bale at the base of the mast at the lower end. This is what you usually see on most sailboats today. That simple arrangement was a giant leap forward in the area of mainsail-twist control. But almost indiscernible additional improvement seemed to occur. Nowadays, most boom vangs aren’t all that efficient and ought to be brought into this century.

The first improvement should be to pull downward on the boom vang line in order to pull down the boom. However, I rarely see a vang rigged this way, which means it loses about half of its power ­advantage. Most vangs I see are pulled upward or aft to ­exert a download on the boom, thus losing more power.

A really practical boom vang should have at least a snap shackle on the lower block so it can be quickly detached from the mast base and moved to a car on the genoa track or a hole in a perforated aluminum toe rail. This will allow the boom vang to exert much more of a vertical download. The more vertical the vang, the more downforce on the boom. Another benefit to the detachable boom vang is that the lower block can be brought forward of the mast and attached to a stout deck-pad eye or perforated toe rail so the boom vang can also act as a preventer when sailing downwind.

Doubling the power of the boom vang can be accomplished simply and easily with a small investment by adding a 2-by-1 cascade (also, again, called a Burton), which is a single 7-by-7-foot or 7-by-37-foot stainless cable run though a wire block on the boom with one end shackled to the vang bale at the mast base. The other end of the wire is fashioned with an eye to which the upper end of the vang tackle is attached. So if your vang tackle is 5-to-1 and the cascade is 2-to-1, your vang will become 10-to-1. Then by moving the lower end of the vang from the mast to the toe-rail eye, a dedicated deck-pad eye or a genoa-track car, you have doubled it again, all for about $40.

The vang that I have ­described is most efficient when sailing long distances without jibing or tacking, but if you’re simply afternoon daysailing around the bay, the vang would be more conveniently left attached to the bale at the mast base.

I have never seen a rigid boom vang that was routinely adjusted while under sail; they’re really only a boom ­support system while under power or tied up to a dock.

Main Boom Topping Lift

I put the topping lift in the same underused category with the main outhaul; too often it’s a bundle of knots at the end of the boom that have not been adjusted or adjustable in decades.

A proper topping lift is meant to raise and store the boom off the Bimini when not in use. When under sail, however, its purpose is to adjust the weight of the boom so it changes the sail twist in various wind conditions and points of sail. It works in the opposite direction of a boom vang; it pulls the boom upward while the vang pulls downward. Upward increases sail twist, and downward reduces it.

A topping lift should also be used to take the weight of the boom off the mains’l leech when putting in a reef, then tightened again while shaking out the reef. The topping lift should be adjustable on any point of sail, which translates into “reachable.” Also, lifting your outboard from your ­dinghy becomes a simple matter by using your boom vang tackle attached to the end of the boom, and “topping” the boom with the topping lift so the outboard can clear the aft pulpit and lifelines.

Backstay Adjusters

These are used to apply tension to the backstay, which is transferred to the headstay for the purpose of flattening the luff of the headsail…or slacking the backstay, thus also easing the headstay to add more draft to the jib or genoa, as would be desirable when off the wind. When closehauled and/or sailing in a stiff breeze, a flattened headsail is preferred to lessen the boat’s heeling moment and to allow the boat to point up a little closer to the wind. With a backstay adjuster, this can be done in a few seconds with an adequate tackle arrangement.

Adjusting a headstay is usually impossible while under sail with the headsail sheeted in tightly. There are special turnbuckles and hydraulic backstay adjusters that can be used while under sail, but they are not as rapid as the appropriate backstay tackle systems. When tightening the backstay, the mast is also slightly bent to help flatten the draft and remove the “cup” from the luff of the mainsail at the same time as the headsail. So double benefits are derived from one simple adjustment.

Summing Up

Making your boat perform better does not have to be, nor should it be, a lot of work. In reality, effective running-rigging systems will make sailing a lot less strenuous, as well as more enjoyable and rewarding. Your boat will look better and perform better, and teach you a lot about getting the most out of the wind while adding joy to your afternoons under the clouds.

Don’t avoid the possibilities. Embrace them.

Boat designer, builder, writer, illustrator and longtime CW contributor Bruce Bingham lives aboard his Cape Dory 28, Nikki, on Florida’s Gulf coast.

The post Running Rigging for Cruising Sailors appeared first on Cruising World.

Major mast failures usually begin as minor hardware problems. At least that’s what scrap-bin forensics seems to confirm. So, instead of dreading a dismasting, prevent it with a sensible approach to rig maintenance.

Some sailors inspect their masts and rigging with the spar stepped, but most recognize how much will remain unseen. Riggers recommend that the mast come out every few years and be placed on a pair of sturdy sawhorses ready for close-up scrutiny. My DIY approach focuses on hardware junctions and points where load paths intersect. Packed in my rigger’s bag are the usual hand tools, plus a Scotch pad, a quality magnifying glass and a small digital camera to record the findings. The old rule of thumb is that standing rigging has a decade’s, or one circumnavigation’s, worth of reliability; it’s a benchmark that remains valid today.

Another important issue is the rigging’s designed safety factor, or how much stronger the components are than they need be. The catch here is material deterioration over time, and the fact that there’s a direct correlation between stronger structures and increased reliability. For example, by increasing 1-by-19 shrouds and their attendant hardware from 5/16 inch to 3/8 inch, the higher safe working load translates into a longer life span. It’s a legit assumption, but doing so is both costlier and adds weight aloft, which can rob performance. The same tenets apply for a larger-diameter spar section and greater wall thickness. Engineers and naval architects try to balance these competing factors.

Some decades ago, I watched the deck-stepped spar of my first little cruising sloop drop into the drink. It drove home the fact that it really is the little things that count. In that case, it was a stainless- steel toggle, connected to an upper shroud turnbuckle, which had endured a few too many on-off load cycles. A tiny, nearly invisible crack had opened up, and salt spray had found a new home. The resulting corrosion tipped the scale and led to a dramatic failure. Since then, rig scrutiny has become my obsession.

Wire and rod end fittings need a close look, especially in areas where there are brown stains and signs of cracks, pitting or other surface deterioration. This includes an evaluation of clevis-pin holes that should be circular, not elongated. Confer the same level of scrutiny to the clevis pins themselves. Don’t confuse stainless-steel clevis pins with chrome-plated bronze pins. The latter are just fine when used in bronze fittings, but when a bronze clevis pin is placed in a stainless-steel chainplate hole, the bronze pin can be carved away by the much harder stainless-steel chainplate.

My inspection process includes a rigging-wire wipe-down with a rag that easily snags on tiny cracks. It includes careful scrutiny of hardware junctions. I search for signs of chafe, especially where fiber or wire running rigging makes directional changes at sheave boxes, and around where the headsail furler’s top swivel rides. Looking closely at masthead exit points, I check for sheave wobble, excess side play and signs of pulley damage.

This is also the time to sort out halyards that are rubbing against external or internal obstructions. I use a bright, narrow-beam LED flashlight for a good visual inspection of the internal portion of the mast. Not only will it pinpoint screws and sheave boxes that might be causing chafe, but it also will help you untangle crossed halyards and confirm fairleads. While working at the heel end of the spar, look closely for corrosion and a condition riggers call “elephant foot.” It’s an actual wrinkling of the alloy tube section caused by too much compression and a too-thin wall section. It’s most often seen on raceboats with powerful hydraulic mast-adjusting systems, and on cruising boats that have pounded into too many steep wave faces.

Roller furling foils hide the wire or rod on which they spin. Rigging end fittings and terminals can usually be inspected, but a broken strand of wire inside the foil might initially go unnoticed, at least for a little while. This is another reason why offshore cruisers opt for a cutter or solent rig that adds a second stay for some extra ­insurance. Following the once-a-­decade rule, it makes sense to completely disassemble furling systems, and replace the wire along with any worn bearings, bushings or plastic spacers.

Keep in mind that when the mast is unstepped, many roller furling drums and head foils (especially on boats with deck-stepped rigs) extend beyond the heel of the spar. If the yard doesn’t splint and immobilize the extended foil and drum, do it yourself. All it entails is a couple of 2-by-4’s, or a pair of old oars lashed or duct-taped to the mast just above the heel. This double splint should extend to the base of the roller-furling drum where it too is lashed or taped. It keeps the drum from dangling and bending the foil during transport, and while the rig is stored on a mast rack.

Spreaders also deserve a really close look. All too often, excess anti-chafe protection results in the spreader tips becoming a water trap that turns into a hidden corrosion bath. So, when the rig is down, cut away the spreader-tip padding, and use white vinegar and a plastic scrub pad to get rid of any white powdery oxidation. Remove the spreaders from the spar, and inspect the area where spreader bases make contact with the mast. Look for compression damage to the mast wall and signs of corrosion damage. If all is well, reassemble using one of the tried-and-proven water-resistant lubricants. I’ve settled on Lanocote, McLube Sailkote and Super Lube, using Boeshield T-9 and WD-40 as my go-to spray protectant and penetrant. Throw away the old cotter pins, and use new pins on all of the reassembled rigging.

“She’ll be right, mate,” was the favorite phrase of an old Kiwi friend, but it isn’t good advice when it comes to keeping the rig where it belongs. Don’t shy away from calling in a qualified rigger to handle larger problems.

Most boatyards will restep spars but won’t tune the rig. Their goal is to set up the mast and rigging to approximate how it arrived. Occasionally, they hit the mark and even replace the mast wedges appropriately. Otherwise, I wait for a flat calm to make sure that the boat has no list. This involves using a tape measure to confirm the athwartship trim (waterline to rail-height port equals waterline to rail-height starboard). Then I check the perpendicular and rake of the mast using the main halyard with a makeshift plumb bob (dive weight) attached. The retune requires loosening the turnbuckles and incrementally retensioning the rigging. Small amounts of headstay and backstay adjustment relocates the masthead, causing the makeshift plumb bob to move significantly. I use prior measurements from previous mast-tuning successes to set the rake to a sweet spot that, in the past, delivered a minimal amount of weather helm.

With the rake set, I insert a set of teak or high-density hard-rubber wedges between the mast and the mast partners. These wedge-shaped spacers have a top flange that prevents them from falling into the bilge when the mast compresses on one side of the partners and opens the gap wider on the other. With all the wedges set, I incrementally add tension to the rig, tightening headstay and backstay first, while carefully maintaining the rake angle. Next, I adjust the upper shroud (or V1), working from side to side to keep the mast perpendicular. Finally, I snug up (but not overtension) the lower and intermediate shrouds. This static tuning sets the stage for an underway final tune, during which I check how well the spar remains in column. Leeward bends and S-curves are problematic and must be minimized. Boats with discontinuous rigging have shrouds that are not one continuous wire run. They utilize turnbuckles located above spreaders that must be individually adjusted to eliminate side bend.

Intentional fore and aft mast bending can influence sail shape, and is put to good use aboard raceboats. Adding such complication to most cruising boats, which are ­normally steered by an autopilot, makes less sense. In-mast furling spars are least happy with powerful hydraulic backstays bowing the mast. So, get sound advice from a rigger/mast builder before adding hydraulic sail-shaping gear.

A sea trial should follow your static mast tune. And as you beat to windward in a modest 10- to 15-knot true breeze, check the leeward standing rigging. Make sure it’s not overly slack and flopping around like loose spaghetti. If so, add more shroud tension to both sides. A tension-testing gauge will work, but many sailors do fine estimating by hand. Cruising-boat rigs shouldn’t have the same amount of rig tension as a raceboat ­beating to windward. However, if your sailboat’s mast is deck-stepped, make sure the coachroof isn’t deforming due to the compression load. A compression post, ring frame or other rigid structure should be spreading such loads. If you’re unsure of the correct rig tune, arrange a session with a rigger or sailmaker—and start the season in optimized trim.

Technical expert Ralph Naranjo has inspected the rig on his Ericson 41, Wind Shadow, on countless occasions.

The post How to Inspect and Tune a Sailboat Rig appeared first on Cruising World.