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Story by Tor Pinney Back to List of Tor's Tales

LEARNING THE DO'S AND DONUTS

Sixteen years, several boats, and many nautical miles ago, I bought the ketch Autant. She was a William Hand classic, 40 feet overall, with a stout gaff rig and little else. The boat had no electrical system, no tankage, no electronics - no engine. Autant was a Spartan craft, politely called "traditional." That first day of my new command was, indeed, one of the happiest days of my life, and the ketch Autant was certainly the most beautiful sailboat I had ever seen.

Among Autant's gear was a very large anchor, a great navy-type weighing 100 pounds. After taking possession of the boat, I procured a friendly tow to the outer anchorage in Coconut Grove, Florida, selected a likely spot amid the 50 or so other boats anchored there, and shoved the massive hook overboard. It would, I decided, be my mooring while I remained in the Miami area.

The next morning I was up with the dawn, anxious to take my boat out sailing. The day was clear and favored us with a steady breeze. With a friend as crew, we soon had sails up and luffing at anchor. The mooring line was let go with a buoy on a 6-foot leader. Autant fell off, her sails filled, and off we went on our maiden voyage.

All that day we sailed on the bay. Autant performed wonderfully. Too soon it was time to head in, but I smiled to think of how impressive we'd look, sailing to our mooring.

So into the crowded anchorage we flew, carrying full sail in a 15-knot breeze, under the watchful (and, I was certain, envious) eyes of a score of seasoned sailors. The classic old ketch wove smartly past the other craft, dodging rodes and dinghies. On a beam reach, we neared the critical point to leeward of my mooring buoy. My mate stationed herself at the bow, boathook in hand.

I was more worried about undershooting the buoy than overshooting it. Stopping short of the mark would require us to fall off in tight quarters, or else risk drifting back in irons into my leeward neighbor. So, directly downwind of the great anchor, with all sails drawing, I rounded up into the wind, moving at a fast clip.

The slatting sails set up an awful din, drawing the attention of all within earshot. Autant slid sleekly ahead. The buoy came under the bow and still we carried forward. My friend stabbed frantically at the leader line with the boathook as we slid past.

"Do you have it?"

"No!"

"Do you have it NOW?"

"No! Wait, uh, yes! I've got it!

I scurried forward to help. The boat continued forward; the buoy dragged alongside. Hands clutched and tugged. The mooring line eye splice came up; the boathook flipped overboard. Finally, with a desperate heave, we secured the line onto the stem post. The two of us leaned back and grinned at each other. "We did it!"

But the fun wasn't over yet. All sail was still up and luffing, and Autant was still making way, the anchor line streaming aft from the bow. Suddenly, the boat stopped hard in her tracks, tugging at the anchor. The bow became a pivot around which Autant swung broadside to the wind. The sails filled.

In a moment we were broad reaching under full sail around the anchor. A gibe was imminent. I fled to the cockpit and hauled in on the mainsheet to ease the shock on the rig. Just in time! The sails slammed over and the boat sailed on, the taut rode now pulling the bow around to windward. All sails luffed and we breathed a sigh of relief.

But the next breath was a gasp of horror as Autant carried forward, snubbed up on the rode, and proceeded to repeat the entire sequence. Back to the cockpit! Haul in the mainsheet! Gibe! What the hell should I do now? The boat was already heading for her third doughnut.

On a nearby schooner an old salt decided he'd had enough entertainment for the afternoon. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Drop your jib!"

It was an enlightening moment. The jib! Autant was just coming up hard on the line again when I clawed the headsail down. Instantly the boat stalled, settled to leeward, and came to rest with the mizzen and mainsail luffing easily at anchor. Home is the sailor, home from the sea.

Before we sailed again, we had a long chat with the neighbor who saved us. The next time we picked up our mooring buoy the jib was down, the main running free, and the mizzen sheeted in hard - and the whole maneuver was as smooth as silk, as anyone in the anchorage can tell you.

~ End ~

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