Sail-Repairs

On lovely, sunny, quiet days, Kathryn and I sometimes lay on a towel on the teak deck, liberally applied with coconut tanning lotion. We had stood on our towels laid upon the teak deck and very carefully applied tanning lotion to each other. Oil and teak decks do not mix. The amount of scrubbing required to get the mark out was beyond thought. The task would involve scrubbing the whole deck. When weathered, the teak turns a lovely silvery-white, but when it is freshly scrubbed, some has been removed, leaving slightly pink-tinged wood. Hence, the oil may be gone, but the "clean" wood is now very noticeable. Teak planking is laid fore-and-aft, but one scrubs it across the grain to not allow the bristles to "eat away" at the softer valleys. This makes scrubbing the decks much harder, as they are only one metre wide in some places.

Finally, I laid out on my front, enjoying the gentle tickle of the cool breeze as it drifted off the headsail and eddied around the dinghy upside down on the front hatch cover. The day is so perfect, not too hot, a zephyr of wind to keep the sails full, just a gentle swell to lull me away from my book.

Turning over to sunbake on my front, I drowsily noticed the new panel of sailcloth in the mainsail, which was brilliant white compared to the older dulled & stained panels. My thoughts drifted back to the night it happened and the following work involved in the repair.

The wind had been rising slowly for several days and the seas with it. The wind, just forward of the beam, was very suitable for Franda II. She revelled in a bit of a blow. With a "bone in her teeth", she had been flying. Just before sunset, the decision had been made to drop the genoa and hank on the jib. The smaller headsail would drop the speed but enable Franda II to handle stronger winds more comfortably. Changing the sail in daylight was more enjoyable than just having climbed out of a warm bed to deal with it.

However, on this night, a squall crept up on Dad while on watch. By the time it revealed itself, and he had yelled for the crew, the old tired mainsail had already blown out. The two pieces flogged noisily as the warm bodies hurried out into the brightly lit cold, wet squall.

With deck lights blazing, the two girls hauled in on the mainsheets & tightened the topping lift, the two brothers poised to lower the mainsail and tie it to the boom. As it came down, the girls, with their "sheeting home" completed, went and helped tie down the sail to the boom. Still, on the helm, Doad had Franda II close-hauled to allow the crew more control over the sail. Without the mainsails' stabilising effect, Franda II's movement was wilder, and the crew had to maintain a tight grip to stop being flung about.

The next day, Franda II wallowed in the seas left by the storm. With not enough wind to maintain a steady motion and even with the mizzen sail sheeted tight amidships, her movement was livelier, jerky and very uncomfortable, not at all suitable for a significant sail repair. Luckily, the second day dawned calmer, but still, it would take days for the repair, and we had to hope that the tranquil conditions would last that long.

The mainsail was slid off the mast once the slide stopper was removed from the bottom of the track. The slides are sewn onto the eyelets, situated inside the bolt rope in the sail. To remove the sail from the boom, the outhaul would be released and untied from the clew, the tack would be similarly released from near the mast, then the foot of the sail would be pulled forward out of the track. Now, there was a triangle of sail about 15m by 5m on the deck. It took all 6 of us to roll the sail up. We rolled in towards the rip from the top and bottom.

We girls, Mum and Stuart, sat on the deck, and with quick unpicks and the tip of scissors, we slowly and carefully unstitched the old ripped panel from the sail. We were cautious not to damage the panels to which it had been stitched. A small hole in that panel would weaken it, causing it to rip next. Most rips, and with this one, it had ripped along the stitching, which was the weakest place.

Although the rip was full length, it was high up the mast, at the top of the triangle, so only two metres long. Once completely removed from the sail, it would be laid out on the new cloth and cut to size. Usually, we would wait until in port and lay it on a large, flat surface, but that was not possible as we were repairing it at sea this time. This made it more difficult to find a flat surface large enough. Those who sew will understand the complexity of ensuring the cloth is cut in the correct direction(bias). A flat surface and a flat sea were needed, with little wind. An unlikely request when at sea.

Unrolling the new cloth out just far enough, holding the roll in place, and putting the old panel on the new sail cloth took all six family members. A pencil line was drawn on the new cloth around the edge of the old panel. Then, it needed to be cut. Pins could not be used because the sailcloth was too heavy and stiff. Once cut to the correct size, the work started.....

The two mainsail rolls would be laid again on deck, and the "new" panel would be laid out between them, with the sail on top. A pencil line would be drawn onto the new panel and the sail where the materials overlapped. The next step was to glue the panel onto the sail using contact cement. The litre pot, retrieved from its spot in the paint locker, was duly opened. The smell still takes me back to the boat today. Two old paintbrushes held with steady hands endeavoured to spread this thick, sticky glue evenly over one of the two overlapped surfaces, ensuring it reached the pencil line but did not intrude past.

Once both sides were "touch dry," it took about 10 minutes, give or take, as applying the glue would take more time than that. Then, employing all hands, the two layers of sailcloth were put together. There was only one chance; once the glue touched, it was stuck, so a very intense period of concentration and coordinated movement was required. Then, we took the rest of the day off to allow the glue to dry enough not to stick to the sewing needle.

Now to stitching. Mum's heavy-duty machine would be hauled from below in the forepeak onto the foredeck and sat on the anchor rope box. This machine has been modified with a handle on the flywheel so it could be used when no 240v power was available.

Although a heavy-duty machine, the arm was not much longer than usual, so the smaller sail roll would be rolled as tight as possible and fitted under the arm. Six hands moved the two rolls, Mum's two at the needle, sitting in the rip, and someone turning the handle to Mum's commands; the seam was slowly sewn twice in a zig-zag stitch.

This first join was always simpler, as Mum had a gap in the material to sit in. However, it became even more complicated once the other edge was glued. When the panel was finally fully glued in place, the third edge(leech) would also need to be rolled so Mum could sit close to the machine.

Mum would sit with this roll (Leech) in her lap, so as the seam was sewn, small lengths would need to be unrolled from her lap and fed through the machine. If the roll became too large to fit under the sewing machine's arm, the stitching would be tied off and restarted from the other end. It was not ideal, but it could not be helped. Sometimes, more hands were needed but unavailable...

While the mainsail was on deck, the slide tapes, the clew, tack, headboard and batten pockets were checked for wear and, if required, repaired.

Once "good as new" again, the mainsail would be slid back onto the boom and mast, the outhaul attached, and the foot tightened. Now, the moment of truth: Did we get the cut and size right?

Lying where I was, the new panel sat very well. Mum had negotiated another perfect repair.

Hearing my name called, I came out of my reverie and headed aft to lunch with my towel and tanning lotion. Coleslaw again!