I'd Really Like Tp Have a Sailboat Again, Part 3 - Better a Live Chicken!

Article By Bernard Boulanger

I came by my 3rd little boat in a sort of roundabout way. I was looking for little boats and my girlfriend mentioned they had a little sailboat in their backyard , but it was all smashed in half because a willow tree had fallen on it in a storm. Well at that time I didn't want an all-smashed-in-half boat, but she said she would ask her father about it anyway. It turned out that he was undecided about it and so the idea was temporarily forgotten. I ended up buying an FJ , fixing it up and sailing it all that summer . The next year the boat came up again as my girlfriend's father wanted to plant some root vegetables, and the smashed up boat happened to occupy the very patch of earth he had his eye on. They were planning on taking it to the dump unless someone was interested, so I thought I'd go and have a look.

It was sitting at the back of their large and fertile backyard, which seemed alive with every plant and flower known to mankind. Beautiful! The boat had a sad, dispirited look, with a pronounced trailer list, and was hiding under a crumbling tarp pooled with water. Yet in spite of that it didn't look too bad. I pulled the tarp aside and the hull once revealed, looked modern and slick with an interesting reverse sheer line ..like a powerboat! It was a Chrysler Marine Mutineer 15 . Cool! Chrysler made sailboats? Who would've thunk it? I'm gonna drive a Mercedes and sail a Chrysler!

The hull was badly munched for about 3 feet on the stern starboard quarter. Happily the damage didn't go too far down into the rounded part of the hull and the rest of the hull seemed fine. The thing that gave me the most reservations was that the mast was badly kinked about 2/3 of the way up. On inspection the trailer seemed okay except both the tires were pretty flat and the rims were rusted. It had sat there for a year or two in the moist rainshadow climate of Lynn Valley, North Vancouver. The sails and rudder had been stored indoors and seemed to be in pretty good shape..and it had a roller furler..cool!.. but what the hell was a roller furler??

I said I was interested and scurried home to do some research. It turns out the Chrysler Mutineer 15 was a pretty neat boat. 15' on deck and a 6' beam. The 8' cockpit was quite roomy and the decked in area forward could hold a lot of supplies. Here was a boat you could use for marine camping trips! Made in the 70s, they came with full flotation between the inner and outer hull, reef points on the main ,roller furling gear for the headsail and a boom vang. It was about this time that I learned what roller furling was. Any other line that I could pull and make something neat happen was fine with me! After reading all the promotional information and researching aluminum mast repair I decided that I had to have her and I would make her sail again. I headed over to my girlfriend's place, jacked the mutineer up on blocks , and took off the trailer wheels to get some air in them. Well, at the local gas station they wouldn't hold air! I had to get them to bead. So after some thought, I cleaned and painted the rusty rims as best I could, and then used some small ratchet straps I had around the tire to force them to bead while I pumped them up. Excelsior! It worked! (but a little scary..don't try this at home kids)I put them back on the trailer, put a plate on it and hauled it over to a friends house who graciously let me use half their garage for my evil messy plans.

The trailer made some awfully funny wobbly sounds on the trip over and I soon discovered why. The axle was a square pipe, it had mostly rusted through and was now hideously bent. What is with me and trailers anyway?? So I jacked it up and removed the axle. I decided to do that work later and started tackling the munched hull. Much scheming and deliberation led to a plan of sorts. I would cut out the whole starboard stern rail (about 6" wide) for about 2.5 feet and 4" down the side on both sides, and rebuild it using the old piece as a mold to lay up on. It worked pretty well, and the end result turned out quite good except that,despite a generous application of mold release, for the life of me I couldn't get the old piece of rail out of the space between the hulls. There was a handy access port and everything, but not being able to dislocate my shoulder at will like Houdini, it looked like it would stay there. Not a huge deal as it didn't weigh too much but it was kind of a paint-yourself-into-a-corner scenario. I then turned my attention to the sadly kinked mast. I knew I was going to have to remove a few inches of mast and from what I read, one shouldn't weld an aluminum mast because at the point of the weld the aluminum would lose it's temper ( I know I $&#&$#&$ did! and more than &%(&^%^& once!!) It seemed the best route to go would be an insert and moving the hounds and jib halyard block higher up to compensate for the diminished length. So that's just what I did. Once again the welding circus brother to the rescue, as we bounced on the mast to straighten it out, cut out the kinked section( about 5" I think) inserted the 3 feet of aluminum pipe insert and riveted the whole thing together. As there was 1.5 feet of strengthener on either side of the break my brother welded it up for good measure. While there we made a new trailer axle out of a piece of discarded heavy duty piping and even managed to get it mostly straight and aligned..oy vey! There was only a slight wobble

So back to North Vancouver with 21' of mast atop the Mercedes to reassemble the whole thing. I put the axle on the trailer, moved the gear on the mast up , and then raised it on the boat. Cool! I couldn't wait, so I rigged her up and raised the sails too, the main sail had enough room , despite the shortened mast, and with an inch or two to spare. She looked fast and ready to go. I tried the roller furling and it worked like a charm. For good luck I bought her a nice piece of brand new red yacht braid for her mainsheet and new halyards Now I had to clean out the 2 stroke oil that'd spilled in her bilge while she sat munched. Lot's of enviro degreaser came in handy, it was at this point I noticed she had a foot bilge pump with thru hull fitting. arrr a bilge pump like a real ship! All in my free boat had cost me about $200 so far, not bad!

I took her to the water for her first sail. By this time I was a confirmed inlet sailor so it was off to Cates Park boat launch. She launched quite easy and I paddled out to the dock. After the obligatory car and trailer parking, I raised the mainsail, sheeted her in and off I went..wheeee. Then I uncleated the furling line , gave the jib sheet a tug and, magic! the jib unfurled , I heeled over, and shot ahead. The Mutineer is a fine sailing boat. Here I am setting her up at the Cates Park launch

At 400 lbs she's a good deal heavier and stiff than the Flying Junior, but for all that she's still nimble and fast. The 150 square foot sail area gives her the extra push, yet compared to the Fj I was able to move about her a lot easier without risking a capsize. That stability was one of the reasons I kept the boat . It enabled me to take my folks or my (then) timid girlfriend out and have sailing be less of a hair-raising experience for them. Arrr me dear ol' mom! If you look closely at the bottom right hand corner you can see the white paint covering my patch job. It was left over paint from the FJ. I was more concerned at that point with sailing, than colour matching

This was the first boat I took camping, I filled her with all sorts of supplies (of course too many) that overflowed the cuddy into the cockpit. I also found a mahogany yacht flag staff that I affixed to the repaired stern quarter and attached a pirate flag my brother had brought me from England. Many names were bandied about , like the 'rusty cutlass' (because I used to keep a cadets cutlass on the boat till the $#^$# chrome rusted) but none seemed to stick, She kept being 'the Mutineer' A good piratical name regardless.

I learned how to anchor on this boat. We were camping at Twin Islands and had decided to anchor in the small lagoon by our secluded campsite. Here it is at low tide at the bottom right of the photo

I had got to where I wanted to be, just behind a large power boat riding at anchor, with some older fellows lounging on arm chairs in the stern. I got out my rusty old danforth and chain, and standing on the bow I gave it a mighty whirl and tossed it as far as I could. It made an impressive splash. I pulled it in and made it fast, but the boat was still drifting back, the anchor was slipping! I pulled it in, which happily pulled me forward a little and repeated the procedure, The mighty whirling throw, the splash, the pulling in, the drifting towards the pointy rocks!! Aiiie what was up? Was the bottom made of glass?? Panicky desperation started to set in , when, as after a few more ineffectual attempts, I yanked out my paddle and tried to make good the drift. Grrr. I ended up perched on a pointy rock (more on this later). All of this, under the undoubtedly amused, yet happily silent eyes of the watching loungers on the power boat. I was just about to try my umpteenth mighty whirling throw, when one of them spoke up." What exactly are you trying to accomplish?" he asked, in a relaxed inoffensive manner. Wow this guy was good! He didn't piss me off at all and I sure piss off easy!! I said, somewhat despondently " I'm trying to anchor, but the anchor's not holding." "hmmm" he said "Would you like some help?" "Yes I sure would" said I (Despite being pigheaded, touchy and ornery I at least know to accept help.. when it's almost too late) So the nice man explained, in a calm matter of fact way, the proper method to go about anchoring a boat, and of course, it worked fine, and the knowledge has stuck with me since...like my anchor now sticks in the bottom!

Late that summer my girlfriend and I decided to sail up Indian Arm all the way to Granite falls. A round trip of about 40-45 km. We had done so once before, and it was a lovely trip, but this time we were sporting a brand-new-to-me allegedly reconditioned 1960s 3hp viking outboard. I had arrived , I had sail and auxillary power. I also had gas cans of smelly fuel and other bits necessary. No more worrying about the 80 lbs deep cycle battery leaking, tipping, melting through the bottom, or running out of juice just when needed. I only had one gear, forward, and it was direct drive, but if I carried enough fuel it would take me hell and back!!

We loaded up the little mutineer and off we went. It was a nice day and we ran before the wind up the arm towards Deep Cove. Around Deep Cove I decided to give the motor a brief test and fired her up, she ran like a top and I motored for about 10 min before deciding to sail again. Motoring is fine, but it's also loud!. If there's wind, the real beauty is riding it. On we went , making pretty good time running wing-a wing up the arm, It took us about an hour and a bit to get to Twin Islands but we had bigger fish to fry so we pressed on to Granite Falls.

What a fine wind we had, carrying us all the way up the arm, passing the two power stations and into the large bay proceeding Crocker Island. There's some amazing cliffs, halfway down the bay on the west side that are stained bright yellow, I think from sulphur deposits. We went to the left around Crocker Island to enjoy the narrower passage between the high forested rocky Island and the steep sided west wall of the arm. Coming out from behind the island we could see granite falls across the arm on the east side. I sheeted in and we zipped across on a beam reach to our destination. Granite falls is quite a sight. The falls themselves cascade down the mountainside into a large pool at the bottom and during the summer they send up misty spray that is very refreshing. The water is icy cold runoff and last bit of falls is a natural stone waterslide into the pool. To the south of the falls on a point of land and along the east edge of the arm are numerous campsites.

Tying up at the dock, we stepped ashore to do the required bathroom stop before unloading and making further plans. It was as we unloaded that I noticed there was a few inches of water below the simple wooden grating I had installed under the deck forward to provide a flat surface above the bilge to put gear on. Upon close examination, it seemed water was welling up from a spongy bit of fiberglass just forward of the mast compression post. (see bit about anchoring and pointy rocks 3 paragraphs back). It was about an hour or so before sunset and we were undecided about what to do. I was relatively inexperienced about boats,(still am really) floatation etc and didn't want to rise in the morning, to a boat, full of water and hanging from it's mooring lines. In hindsight it would've been okay, the boat really couldn't sink, but to be on the safe side we decided to head back to Twin Islands and camp there for the night so as to be closer to home in case of sinking, mutiny or any of the other perils of the deep.

I loosened the shrouds a bit so as to take pressure off the area, brought the sails down, fired up the loud Viking outboard and off we went back down the arm. It seemed like we weren't moving terribly fast and the slow darkening of the sky began to make me nervous as we hadn't any running lights. By the time we had reached the 2nd power station it was full on twilight and we had a flashlight upfront. Luckily North Twin Island has a small lighthouse on it so it was no problem making it out. The motor ran valiently and our fuel held out, until just as we entered the small channel between the island and the mainland. So out came the fuel can and I did my first refueling at sea in the dark. She fired up again right away, and we made the dock at North Twin Island in pretty well full dark. What a relief! As a precaution against sinking we unloaded all our gear, including the engine and stacked it on the dock. Then we loaded ourselves up with all the overnight gear and flashlights and made the trip along the precarious goat paths around the Island to our secluded camping spot. We had planned , on the way there, to camp at the main site right next to the dock for ease, but the loud strains of Bon Jovi and party ruckus firmed our resolve for a heavily laden night hike. (I'll do almost anything to escape Bon Jovi, and make those with me do it too, by gum! ) We set up camp and slept the sleep of the just (though someone once pointed out that the just , don't really sleep well as they're tormented by conciences, while the psychopaths sleep like babies, as they have none). Here's the sight that greeted us back at the dock in the drizzly misty morn. The mutineer riding high and dry at the dock with only a few inches of water in the boat.

Here's me bailing it out!

As it looked like the Mutineer was in no danger of sinking anytime soon, we decided to explore the island some. North Twin Island is a very picturesque forested little Island with a rocky spine running down it's center. Right in the middle is a well appointed campground with several wooden tent platforms, some on the rocks overlooking the water. Sadly some people leave their toilet by-products lying about. Still it's beautiful! The Southern of the Twins is a smaller Island joining the other by a narrow spit of land and whilst you can't camp on it, it too is very pretty with some interesting remnants of old lighthouses or something! Here's the lighthouse on the North Twin Island as seen from the land, looking North up the arm

We still had another day of camping and it was starting to look like rain so we headed back to our camp. The tent was getting a little soggy so I decided to build a temporary cooking and hanging out shelter between a couple of large cleft rocks. After scavenging around for a bit we found an old fence gate(washed up on the beach) various bits of other lumber and I discretely harvested some cedar boughs from a bunch of trees. This made for a makeshift primitive shelter that did the trick for the evening. We were able to make hot drinks, yummy pasta and read stories in relative warmth and comfort. Here I am constructing it and a view out the 'window'

In the morning we packed up our sodden belongings and started trekking the gear back to the mutineer over the now sodden and slippery goat paths. We made it back without further mishap and I began again to bail the few inches of water out of the boat. Then pack her all up , raise the main and off we went in the light breeze. Tacking back up towards Deep Cove was slow going, but peaceful. A little too peaceful after a bit, as the breeze left us off Deep Cove, still 3km from the launch in Cates Park. So it was fire up the trusty Viking and motor back. Unfortunately fate was to play a dirty trick on me because now I couldn't get the $#&$#&$ thing to start! I repeated all the steps carefully and pulled and pulled at the $&3^$#$^ pullrope with no results. It wouldn't even fire! $#&$@#&#&$@&$#@&^@&$@# outboards $#$$ me off! So getting out the paddles, my girlfriend and I began the long paddle back to the launch. I think I learned a valuable lesson, I was so caught up in my own pride, self reliance and righteous frustration that I didn't even think of flagging someone down for a tow...imagine that!. Subjecting my small, yet stalwart girlfriend to a 3km paddle against the tide in a boat not made for paddling and packed to the gunwales with gear... Oh how I cursed and bemoaned my fate the whole way back. If it was ancient Greek tragedy I'm sure I would've been rending my hair and gnashing my teeth...I was not far off. My only vindication was the fact that the outboard actually was really hooped and it wasn't idiocy on my part that rendered it inoperable. I was able to return it to the seller and get my money back. Looking back now it was an adventure. It reminds me though that sometimes the adventures that you're part of, don't always feel adventurous in the moment . Funny!

I took the mutineer out many many times that summer. I went camping, swimming, I would sail down to Port Moody and visit my sister for lunch. I ended up getting a British Seagull for it (and then another, and another, and another). I like Seagulls as there only 3 things that could go wrong with them and you could likely fix them on the spot. I kind of found Seagulls a little addictive. I went through about 10 buying and selling them and currently have about three and a half.

I had a good scare in the Mutineer once off of Porteau Cove in Howe Sound. A friend and I had launched from there another time and we had a nice picnic jaunt across the sound to Anvil Island. Hoping to repeat the jaunt and maybe expand on it we decided to head out there again. I had just got over a rather long debilitating stomach flue and was feeling a little frail. A nice peaceful summer sail would be just the thing. Well there's a special wind called the Squamish that blows in the Sound and when we got to Porteau Cove it was blowing something fierce. As you move further north up Howe Sound the wind increases till by the time you reach the community of Squamish, at the head of the Sound, it can be pretty exciting. That's why Squamish is such a popular local windsurfing and kiting destination.

At Porteau Cove that day the trees were lashing about and the lone windsurfer braving the whitecaps was moving at quite the clip. It seemed dubious, but what the heck, I'd give it a try. My friend had full confidence in me...God only knows why! I think this was the time that I learned that if you even think of reefing...you should. It would've been a great idea and made the venture an exciting and enjoyable one. As it was, I didn't reef, and it was rather a white knuckled, forced grin, terrifying one. As soon as we got under way, we were off, the boat heeling like mad and riding up and down the small but steep waves like a thing demented. There was a bit of a cross chop too, which added to the 'fun'. As we beat into the breeze, we were hiking out as far as we could go and I was spilling a lot of wind out of the main to try and keep the boat from capsizing. With the wind blowing the foam off the waves, my friend crewing in front of me was working overtime soaking up the resulting spray.

Up to that point in time , most of my sailing experience had been of the fairweather variety. From the conditions, I think the wind was blowing about 25 knots at points and for a wee centerboard dinghy it was a little bit scary. We were on a port tack beating across the sound when I decided to reef the jib with the furler to reduce sail. I told my crew member to haul in on the furler line, she did, but to no avail claiming it was stuck. I yelled "pull harder" she did, and of course, it broke.&^%$^%*!! no furling! So I decided to run before the wind as it seemed we were going to capsize. I was hiding my fear well apparently as my friend who was a little scared of the water seemed unruffled, but I kept hearing Vaughner-esque classical music in my head, the sort of music you hear in movies when ships are being tossed about by storms. I spun her around and we started tearing up the sound running before the blow . This was no good , in a few minutes we had passed the launch and the boat was no easier to control. Quite the contrary the tiller was now a willful struggling live thing in my hand. I decided to try and tack back to the launch hugging the shore where the water seemed a little calmer, we came around again and started beating back. I was pointing so high at this point to make headway and keep her from going over that we were barely moving. Aiiieee my inexperience was rearing it's ugly head! Happily though ,after much spray and tacking back and forth, with my crew member and I working like clockwork together, we made it back to the launch.

I swear I almost leaped out of the boat and kissed the earth like they do in the movies. However the captain must remain aloof and maintain decorum so I calmly fetched the car and trailer, we hauled her out and started to take her down at the launch whilst the trees whipped around us, the waves pounded the breakwater and the wind made unearthly whining noises.

As I was doing so this, an older fellow walked up and said " Quite exciting out there eh?" he sounded a little drunk, slurring his words. " Yes" I said " Really quite exciting. A little too exciting for me actually, I'm calling it a day." He sneered at me and said "Chickenshit". (Really! ) I replied "Better a live chicken, than a dead brave person" Still I couldn't believe it, I didn't even know the guy! As it looked like he wanted to linger around and kibbitz I first told him to go away (just like that, I'd had enough) and then asked my crew member to pass me an oar so I could repel the annoying boarders. True to form she said "Aye aye Captain and started handing it over. Happily he wandered off at that point, leaving me fuming and muttering to myself. I think clocking some @$$#%(& with an oar would've been just the thing at that point to restore my equanimity.

There is really nothing (short of a natural disaster) quite like the sea to illustrate how small man is compared to the awesome power of nature. Things can go terribly wrong, awfully quick out there, and in sight of land too.

That day the weather was obviously a little too much for my inexperience and weakened physical condition. Upon returning home I researched what to do in adverse conditions and discovered a lot about the joys of reefing. The next time I was at Ambleside it was blowing like crazy with white horses everywhere across English Bay.There was a killer tide rip running right down the channel leading into Burrard Inlet. You could see it as you drove down the hill towards the water. Just the conditions to try out reefing my sails. I was singlehanding that day so I reefed my main, furlled my jib down to a mini hanky jib (with the new stronger line) and zipped out into it. It was really neat how the reduced sail made the previously unmanageable conditions seem just fine. It was fun! Steering through the chop and fighting the elements!! Arrrrrrr a whole new vista of sailing had opened up before me.

I still own the Mutineer, though I didn't sail it last season as I was too obsessed with several other boats. I don't want to sell it as it seems like a zippy sports car next to my more seaworthy and stable Danica 16. Humourously they're pretty well the same LOA and beam, it's the hull shape and design that makes them so different. Besides you can't have too many boats!