Winter Fix

Another slice o' life from Mr. Clean. Enjoy.

It seems obvious to me that the vast majority of Midwesterners would rather the winter weather was less brutal than it is, and that there were more activities to take our minds off the sooty slush that coats everything. It certainly is not just sailors and watermen who hold this view Unless you're really into ice-fishing or snowmobiling, there's just not much to do. For me it's even worse because I've been spoiled by the mountains of Colorado and Utah and so don't really enjoy the 18-second ski runs at the lovely groomed landfills they call ski resorts here in Michigan. Even with a couple of great Florida regattas thrown in, I still struggle almost daily with the gloom that weighs on the entire community. I've needed something that would make me look forward to the biting wind and gray skies. Enter Chuck.

Chuck grew up with a tinkerer for a dad. This enterprising dad built a three-person iceboat out of oak when he got back from the war and they've been sailing it ever since, through three generations of Crojacks. Chuck said that when he was a kid, every winter morning when there was no fresh snow, the entire family would dress as if they were going iceboating, because you never knew when dad would call out "ice is ready, let's go kids!" I would learn this morning that "dress for iceboating means "dress for a Mt. Denali summit attempt." Chuck told me that I needed to get out there on one of these things, that it would change the way I saw winter.

Back to my bedroom, as I wipe the crap from my eyes and deal with the throbbing in my temples, Chuck says (far too loudly), "There are DNs [iceboats] out on Orchard Lake. You should go check it out. Dress warm, maybe you'll get a ride. See ya." Mer the girlfriend was at an early Saturday meeting and Bob the Bullmastiff was itching to go for a run, so I threw on enough layers for an early season overnight race and jumped in the truck. As I pulled up to the launch ramp, I saw five trucks, all with trailers of various types backed up so the trucks were on the pavement but the trailers on the ice. It looked thick except for at the fringes, where there was a foot or two of broken ice and slush. I let Bob jump onto the ice first and go meet everyone and soften them up with his big wrinkly face, then I followed him onto the ice. They didn't need softening up. They seem to love telling newbies about their hobby. The first two guys I met were nothing but helpful. They were standing by a pair of DNs that looked racy as hell with the crazy rake to their masts (see photo) and the low, sleek structure just inches off the ice, despite being built of laminated ply and giving the definite impression that they could fall apart at any second. Even though this was my first look at iceboats outside of a boat show, it was obvious that this was not the "A" fleet of obsessive iceboaters ready to travel at a moment's notice to some cool winter regatta. These were the boats of a few suburbanites who've used these little boats for years to escape the same cabin fever I've been feeling. First I met Larry, Alan, and his son, Alan (shades of "I'm Larry, this is my brother Daryl, and my other brother Daryl.") We were talking sportboats, skiffs, and the differences between them and iceboats when Marshall walked up and asked if I wanted to take his DN for a spin. This was just what I'd been hoping for.

I tossed Bob in the back of the truck so he wouldn't run out into the lake and get chopped up by carbon steel runners, then grabbed my ski gloves, goggles, and another pair of gloves just in case. I've talked about iceboating with a dozen guys having drinks at Bayview or just bullshitting in the cockpit after races, but I'd never taken a step to try it until now. In my first two winters here, I chose to bitch and whine about the weather rather than do something about it. Here was my chance.

My heart was pumping with excitement and a little anxiety. I always act cock-sure when in new situations, trusting in my ability to deal with almost any craft powered by the wind. But already one of the kiddies was out on the ice, going what looked like 40 mph with a wind of 12-15 knots, and my confidence wavered a bit. Approaching the boat and looking at things I'm comfortable with, like telltales and full battens, gave me a little more comfort. My life has been a constant quest in search of the nervousness and fear that, when combined with the excitement that comes from trying something new and balls out, makes adrenalin junkies tick. Larry, a veteran of 40 years of iceboating, said, "Just follow me and do what I do." His DN was pointed at about a broad reach with the mainsheet loose and the boom eased way out. He stood behind it and to the windward side, then grabbed the windward shroud and started pushing the boat. After a few steps he jumped in, grabbed the tiller (in the front on a DN), trimmed the mainsheet and started moving. It looked really easy. I started pushing my borrowed DN, slipped on the ice, and landed face first on the ice before I could even think to break the fall with my hands. Ouch. As I looked up, I immediately thought of the sacked quarterback lifting his head up to see if his pass was completed or picked off. My own borrowed iceboat had fortunately only gone about 20 feet before it stopped. I brushed the ice out of my beard and went up and tried it again, this time a bit more carefully. I hopped in, settled into the cockpit (flat on your back, your head lifted up just enough to see in front of you) and sheeted in hard. HOLY SHIT.

The acceleration slid me back further into the wooden seat as the inside telltale started lifting (with the boom down on my shoulder and the sail as flat as a piece of plywood). What do I do? I can't sheet in any more. So I catch sight of Larry, steering 50 degrees down and hauling ass, and I started my easy turn to leeward. WHOOOSH. The acceleration started again, taking my breath away. 20, 30, maybe 40 mph until I was close enough to dead downwind for the boat to slow down a little. OK, what now? The far shore is coming up awfully fast, and wait a second, why is the ice so clear and dark here? I've never tacked or gybed one of these, the boom is on my shoulder with my head above it, so obviously I can't move it to the other side, what to do? I eased off a bit so I could duck under the boom, steered 30 degrees to leeward, tucked my head under and came about. At this speed there is no big pop from the main coming over. The sail filled on the other side with just a little snap, and off I was again. WHOOOSH. I caught sight of my "trainer" and went after him. Of course I instantly thought, "We're racing now!" I worked my way around the little island, making up time on the old guy, realizing I could catch him before we got to the other side. What I didn't know is how much a drop in wind slows these things down compared to a regular boat on the water. The way the apparent wind works on iceboats is amplified to an almost comical degree compared to even the highest performance skiff. So I got caught in the lee of the Island. And the boat coasted to an embarrassing speed. I had just enough momentum to keep moving, but no more. From 40 knots to 4 just like that. Then I hit a rough patch and stopped. Let's try it again. Out of the boat, hold the shroud, start running (a little "wow, I'm catching on to this quick"), and SLAM! Flat on my face again. I think I chipped a tooth this time. Unfortunately I hadn't left the main out far enough, and a gust caught the sail just as I lost my grip, so I had a significantly longer walk this time. I caught up to the boat, pushed it again, jumped in, and calmly sailed back to the launch area with my blood pumping and my ears frostbitten.

I dismounted and pulled the steel ice brake over the front runner, looking around for my new compatriots. There was one iceboat still out on the lake; I had been told this was a Skeeter (see left). It's long as hell with a fat wing mast and nice looking big-roached UK tape drive main. Looking like a Top Fuel dragster, it was moving at a rate my brain was having a tough time processing. I watched dumbstruck for a minute, and finally found the guys I'd been talking to before. They were lounging in the back of one of the trailers, a converted landscaping box job with seats, a heater, and everyone enjoying pizza and beer. I could definitely get used to this.

Marshall drained a Labatt's (see, they ARE Michigan sailors) before speaking, "So how'd you like my boat?" Of course, the only response I could give was, "How much do you want for it."

Maybe winter isn't that bad after all.

(Photos from International DN Association and Craig Wilson Aerial Kite Photography)