home is where the boat is: The Peapod: Parts I, II, & III

Friday, November 8, 2013

The Peapod, Part II

Today was a rough day. It sounds crazy saying it, but today the Peapod sank. We thought yesterday was a rough day. Yesterday we ran aground. But then today was much worse.

Yesterday we were moving towards our anchorage for the evening, and we were happy to do so. Most the day had been calm so we had gently motored along (though it was dark, and overcast, and wet), but the last few hours the wind had picked up and was right in our face, so we kept on motoring since Evelyn doesn’t perform as well to windward. We were heading up the Potomac, and had just entered Smith Creek, the sky had finally cleared to the west but was dark to the east, and the light was stunning. Everything was so beautiful that we couldn’t stop looking around us. So we weren’t looking at our charts or the GPS on Lou’s iPhone (we don’t have a chartplotter, but we have downloaded charts and GPS to Lou’s phone, to complement our paper charts and help us during anchoring). We plowed into about three feet of water at high tide, at sunset, with strong 15-20 knot winds with gusts right on our beam, pushing us over and closer to shore…everything you don’t want. To say the least, it wasn’t pleasant.

The sunset along the Potomac that distracted us from our charts.

Things were hectic at first, but we were off in about twenty minutes. Lou rowed out in the Peapod with an anchor, we began to pull forward, decided it might be a bad angle, sounded depths with our lead, and then Lou rowed out in the Peapod again, hauled the anchor in by hand, reset it in a better spot, and we hauled away until free. Ahhh, the Peapod…what a wonderful little boat! It responded quickly and perfectly, and let Lou stand with his foot on the gunnel and haul in both anchor and chain without fear of tipping. For us, it was the perfect rowboat…rowed like a dream, stable, and seaworthy. We are so sad that we have tortured the poor little boat.

The Peapod followed us faithfully from Maine to Virginia, though there were moments of stress. The biggest problem was that when Evelyn performed her best—with a strong wind and waves behind us, the towing conditions were the worst. The Peapod would yank around, causing stress on her bowline and U-bolt fittings. By the time we reached New Jersey, the fitting we towed from had wiggled enough to gauge holes in the stern (she like towing from the stern because the weight distribution was better because the seats were mostly forward), so we had planned some fixes and were now towing from the bow.

Today Evelyn was sailing great—a broad reach with just her staysail and mizzen, flying in 20-25 knots. She was flat and the ride was comfortable. She was showing exactly how well she handles in an autumn breeze. Unfortunately these were exactly the conditions the peapod dislikes. We knew they would be and had actually hauled the peapod aboard earlier that morning, but she doesn’t fit well aboard and it was awkward and ironically, we were afraid she would get damaged. We tried to prop her on her side on our decks, but without ribs she had no structural support. We tried to put her on our cabin top, and she blocked our mainsail. Because she’d done fine before in similar conditions, we put her back in the water, and decided we’d trouble-shoot a way to fit her aboard in the future.

New fiberglass covering the holes on
the Peapod's bow, which were enlarged
by her fittings and contributed to her sinking.

And that decision taught us a lesson—it’s a shame the sinking happened, but it did—it could have been worse and it wasn’t, and now we’ve learned.

As we towed the Peapod that day, her fittings once again worked loose. Lou attempted to tighten them, but at that point, with the boat towing behind us fast, it was clear it wouldn’t be safe. We had just a few miles to go before we’d be able to turn and sail at an angle more preferable to the Peapod, so we hoped she’d be able to hold on until then. We rounded, turned, and had just about twenty minutes left before land would block the swell, and things would feel calmer. But unfortunately the Peapod took water through her loose fittings into her bow, quickly sinking the bow under, and nose-diving within moments.

By then Lou was already trying to mitigate the situation, and I was sailing, and trying to focus on keeping us away from the lighthouse and shoal we’d just rounded. I was trying to focus forward, but when I glanced back and saw the sunken Peapod, my heart hurt for it.

Lou managed to pull the boat in closer and rescue two of the four oars (though not a matching set), and then the peapod sunk. She went beneath us, and with each wave Evelyn slammed atop her. Lou managed to drop the staysail and I pulled the mizzen in tight—Evelyn did her job and pointed into the strong wind perfectly. The teamwork involved in yesterday’s grounding was just practice for today.

We thought we were going to have to say good bye, to let her go then and there, and uncleat the line that disappeared into the water and might soon put us in danger. But with Evelyn handling herself so well, we decided to make one last effort at rescue. Lou channeled superhuman strength, and I managed to be his sidekick.

Some of the holes in the Peapod from when Evelyn
crushed her, after Lou had ground them smooth.

Lou wrestled the Peapod’s bowline to the other side of Evelyn, and managed to haul until the bow of the Peapod re-emerged. I got it tied onto our starboard gantline, and with combined strength and a turn on the halyard cleat, we managed to raise the water-filled peapod, inch by inch, and then lower her onto the cabin. In the process she tore off a stanchion post and knocked against many things (and for days we found bottom paint high in our rigging), but it was a relief to have her on board. We had lost everything inside her, but we could still see the other two oars in the distance. We spent the next stressful moments of our day trying to retrieve those, and in the end succeeded.

Our losses could have been worse, and we are fortunate. But it’s still disappointing. We lost our beautiful bronze oarlocks, our bow pudding, a LuminAid, a throwable PFD, a manual bilge pump, a scrub brush, a wrench, and whatever else was in the dinghy that we forgot was there. We are okay, aside from a few cuts and bruises. Evelyn is mostly okay, aside from a few bumps and bruises. The Peapod is not okay, but she is still with us, and for that and everything else we are grateful.

The Peapod was essentially crushed by Evelyn, and nearly snapped in half. She has a long road to a hopeful recovery, but we will do our best to salvage her. First we will attempt to patch her so that she can float and be used tenderly—this mostly for us, as she is our main transportation to and from land. Soon we will be in the protected waters of the ICW, where she will be safe.

The first layer of fiberglass, slowly drying.

Meanwhile, we will look for a boat the can be stowed aboard, because though we love the Peapod, we now understand how harsh towing can be, and why it is so rarely done. (At least, if nothing else, we are growing wiser…) Then, we can retire our poor Peapod to a life of leisure, and in the future restore her to the former beauty we worked so hard to achieve.

We hope all that is possible. Tonight we opted to rent a slip at a boatyard—we have tried so hard to always anchor so that we can hold onto our budget, but they will allow us to use space on land as well as electricity to work on the dinghy so it is well worth it. The cousin of a family friend who lives nearby has volunteered to help drive us to supplies if needed, which is so incredibly kind, as well as groceries since our transportation may be more limited for a while—before we’d row the Peapod miles to get where we needed to be. We have all the tools and supplies we think we need aboard.

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The Peapod, Part III

Our hopes were high when I wrote that, the day of the incident, but unfortunately things did not go exactly as we hoped. Lou set to work grinding and sanding and then applying the first few layers of fiberglass and our hopes were high…but unfortunately the temperatures were too cool and the first phase of the repair did not set. We would have needed to do additional layers and at the rate t fiberglass was drying, we’d need to stay put at the Marina for a good while, hoping for fair weather. So we moved on to Plan B.

Plan B was difficult, because it required leaving the Peapod, a boat we loved so much, behind us. The Marina and Boatyard were friendly and helpful, and agreed to let us leave the Peapod there until we could rescue her and transport her up to New Jersey, where we knew we could leave her with family and eventually do a better, less time-constrained repair. Meanwhile, we called places in the area and did our best to find a temporary replacement that we could purchase…we found only one, and it was at the Marina, so in the end we bought it. It rows horribly, is beat-up, doesn’t feel nearly as stable nor safe…but it does float, it fits on our cabin top, and it can suffice. We call it the Ugly Buzzard.

The Ugly Buzzard, travelling atop our cabin.

We were grateful for the help of the Marina, as well as for the friendship and kindness of our family friends, who drove me to supplies, and provided morale support (as well as excellent ideas for when the Peapod is fixed, including a drogue that might help her track better!). We were also relieved a few weeks later when with my parents help we were able to bring the Peapod from its hiding place in the woods of the Marina (as the owner said, “Are you really worried someone will take it with all those holes?”) to somewhere we knew it was safe. But traveling without the Peapod has changed our trip dramatically, as we no longer row for fun in the mornings and the evenings to explore our surroundings. We also go ashore less, because rowing the Ugly Buzzard is such a chore. And, distances that once seemed small—the Peapod had two rowing stations so we could relatively quickly cover a few miles—now seem so far, and keep us from exploring, adventuring, and traveling the way we once did. The Buzzard is not as seaworthy, and rowing the little boat with any chop, wind, or current is a difficult task…we always felt confident the Peapod could safely bring us to and fro, and we don’t feel the same about the Buzzard. But the Buzzard floats, and the Peapod doesn’t, so the Buzzard is now with us while the Peapod rests.

Before we left on our trip, we had put a lot of thought into the type of rowboat we wanted, and had decided on the Peapod. We then searched for one that would suit our needs, and after finding her spent weeks making her just right for the trip. In the early days of our trip I wrote up a journal entry about the Peapod but never had time to post it, so I’ll do that here now. Obviously, things have changed and some of our reasoning may have been wrong. But below is why we chose the Peapod, and how we got her ready…

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The Peapod, Part I

As we sailed through the summer and thought about our trip, we knew Evelyn was pretty much ready for it but that there was one important puzzle piece missing: a dinghy. Our dinghy is our primary mode of transportation to and from our home, so having the right dinghy for our trip is like choosing the right car.

Our new (old) Peapod...we found one that
fit our budget in Western Maine.

For the past two years we have used a pram as our dinghy—our pram (there are many designs) is essentially the outer shape of an Optimist with an Opti rig, but the interior has in-built flotation and seats, and the rudder and daggerboard are wooden, all of which makes it at least twenty pounds heavier than an Opti. It was mine when I was younger, and I love the stable little boat. Last year as we cruised we also enjoyed sailing the pram around once we’d anchored, and in bad weather we could pull it aboard and fit it on Evelyn’s bow. It towed well enough if the daggerboard slot was stuffed full (we made a plug of plastic bags and duct tape), but if not plugged water would seep in through the opening.

The pram’s largest drawback is that it does not row well. For short distances it is fine, but for long distances the row is exhausting…especially if against wind or current. When we’ve done short trips in Evelyn before, we learned that we prefer to anchor, which gets us into quieter and more out of the way spots, and also keeps our costs low. If we anchor outside a popular harbor but still want to visit it, we have a long row ahead of ourselves. Last year as we travelled, that row felt even longer in the pram. The pram also sits just inches above the water (if I sit on the aft seat and wear a backpack, my backpack overhangs the water—if we hit a wake, my backpack gets wet), and is very small—it is difficult to fit both of us, as well as gear that needs to go to and from shore (such as laundry and groceries). So as nice as it would be to have a dinghy that can be easily brought on board and then sailed around, the pram did not seem as if it would be the best fit for our trip.

Cracks were ground out, filled and fared,
and the entire boat was primed.

What would be nice to row, fit on board, sail-able (and simply adorable!) is the lapstrake tender that we are building, but unfortunately that is not yet finished, nor would we be able to finish it before leaving without rushing through it. If we stayed through the winter we could finish it for next year, but the timing otherwise seems right for our trip for this year. So our little half-built dinghy was not an option—but one day it will be.

So it was clear that to have a boat that we thought would suit the task well, we would need to acquire one. What did we want? We wanted something that would row well. Lou is anti-engine on skiffs. As a former collegiate rower, he enjoys rowing daily and wants to row as long as he is able. And as individuals who enjoy sailing, canoeing, kayaking, hiking, and cross-country skiing, all “propel yourself” sports, I suppose it is no surprise that we are partial to engineless skiffs. Because we want to be able to row long distances at good speeds, we wanted a boat that not only rowed well but was designed for rowing—and has two rowing stations so that we both could provide power. We wanted something stable in case we ever needed it in foul weather, something that would tow nicely (but that could, if needed be brought on board—though that would be the exception, not the rule), something maneuverable. And because there is no ignoring our other, less practical interests, we wanted something that would look great alongside Evelyn, and something that had some historical significance, knew its place in history, or had a story we could tell.

Painting the hull black to match Evelyn.

It may seem like it would be difficult to find a boat that could satisfy those wants, but we had one in mind: A Peapod. Peapods are double-ended rowboats, shaped much like a canoe, that were used for fishing and lobstering in the late 1800s and early 1900s—around the same time as the Friendship Sloop. Peapods are renowned for their stability—the idea being that one could haul catch over the side without capsizing the boat. For captaining the Helen Brooks, Lou used a peapod to get to and from her, and he loved the way it rowed.

We kept our eyes open. We looked at those we saw on the side of the road, searched online and checked Craigslist often. There were always some available, but Peapods are a beautiful, iconic Maine design and there is a good market for them, so most were out of our price range. Those that were within what we felt we could budget for were either not exactly what we needed (such as too small, with only one rowing station), or sold more quickly then we managed to react.

Finally, at the end of the summer, we found one on Craigslist with promise. It was the right size, had two rowing stations, and needed repairs but they were all tasks Lou could do quickly. It came with a set of oars, and was at a price we could afford. To make the decision easier, it seemed to be nearly identical to the Peapod Lou rowed for work, so we knew exactly how it rowed and handled, and exactly how it towed.

We floated the Peapod in a pond to find her
waterline, before applying bottom paint.

Unfortunately, though located in Maine, it was four hours away and we were still at the height of our sailing season, running trips from morning until sunset every day. Finding time to pick it up, let alone even look at it, was daunting. But we knew it would work for what we had in mind, and were willing to commit to the purchase based on the photographs, we had the cash saved, and thankfully the owner (who was incredibly nice) must have heard the honesty and desperation in Lou’s voice, because he agreed to hold it for us though he’d had other inquiries, as well as remove the listing from Craigslist. Thank you! We made plans for me to leave work around four the following Monday, pick it up, and return in the wee hours of the morning. And then luckily (for us) a system of storms moved in and the skies let loose. Inches of rain fell through Sunday night, and the consistent and soaking rain was supposed to continue all through Monday and into Tuesday. High winds swept the rains through, and the weather was absolutely miserable. It was not a day for sailing.

We added gunnel guard to protect
both Evelyn and the Peapod.

So with all sails cancelled we were able to spend the day on a road trip through Maine, pick up our new peapod, and bring her home.

About a week passed until sailing slowed enough for us to turn some attention to a few necessary projects. But soon enough, the sun began to set at 6:30, our sailing ended with the sunset, and we had evenings free to work.

The Peapod we bought is smaller than a traditional one, and made of fiberglass, not wood. But we’ve made our peace with that, because she will be our work boat, she is likely to get beat up, and with all the attention we must give Evelyn, she is perfect for the task at hand. A more classic, beautiful wooden peapod will have to come later.

Here is what we have done so far to make our peapod match our style, and feel more seaworthy and prepared for our trip:

1. Lou ground out the spider cracks in her gel coat, filled them with epoxy, and fared them smooth.

2. The exterior hull received a coat of primer (wooden rail included, as the varnish was toast anyhow), followed by two coats of semi-gloss black, to match Evelyn.

3. Because she will be used and stored in the water she needed bottom paint. We used a pond to float her and find her waterline, then applied the same environmentally-friendlier bottom paint we use for Evelyn.

4. Lou built new breast hooks and made sure they were securely installed.

5. This was our big splurge: We bought and installed gunnel guard around the entire boat, to help protect Evelyn from scratches and bumps from any angle.

6. There was no way to tow her, so we bought and installed heavy duty U-bolts for towing from bow or stern. Having a line on either end has also allowed us to tie the peapod alongside when backing, at a dock, or in a crowded anchorage.

7. We upgraded the “horsepower” and bought a second set of oars.

The Peapod's first day in the water!

So far, a week into our trip, the peapod has been great. She has towed behind Evelyn very well, and not caused too much worry as we sail. When preparing for anchoring we’ve brought her alongside, tying her in tight from bow and stern, so that we can easily reverse without worrying about her painter getting tangled in the propeller, or unnecessary crashing of the boats into each other. Then, when at anchor, we’ve rowed the peapod around most mornings and many evenings, exploring the nooks and crannies we’ve tucked ourselves into. And she’s made the distances seem smaller. For example, when we anchored in Long Cove but wanted to visit the town of Tenants Harbor using the town dock, we both took up oars and rowed. Though we were about a mile away, we made the trip easily in about ten minutes. And when we anchored at Jewell Island in Casco Bay and wanted to visit nearby Cliff Island, instead of pulling the hook and moving to a new cove, we simply jumped into the peapod and rowed.

As we continue along our way, I’m sure that we will learn much more about the peapod, it’s pros and cons, and if it was the right choice for our journey. But now we couldn’t be happier with it, and are glad that we found the boat and got it ready in time for our trip—just one of the many puzzle pieces, coming together.

And some favorites from our travels with the Peapod...