Cormorant:Catboat from Cornwall, Page 2 |
Simple Rigging
Rigging Cormorant is simplicity itself, even for one unfamiliar with the workings of gaff sail. The 15-foot mast as well as the boom and gaff are crafted of beautiful, straight-grained silver spruce by H. Collar, the famous English oarmaker. The partly-hollow mast (it’s solid from the gooseneck to its bury, and 28 inches below the masthead, where it bears the strain of the peak halyard) took hardly any effort to step, even with the boat sitting on the trailer. There are no stays
to worry about, so it’s just a matter of joining the boom at the stainless steel gooseneck, attaching the halyards and topping lifts, tying the plastic-sheathed gaff jaws to the mast with the beaded parrel, and lacing on the main. With the sail already attached to the gaff and boom, and with a little practice, the entire operation shouldn’t take more than a dozen minutes.
Once the uninitiated learns the purpose behind the myriad lines needed for a gaff rig — two halyards, twin topping lifts, as well as boom yang, outhaul, and reefing lines — and doesn’t forget the difference between the peak halyard and the throat halyard, Cormorant’s 88-square foot main is up in a trice and ready to sail.
The last gaff-rigged catboat I sailed —in fact it was the first boat I’d ever sailed — was a stout little Beetle Cat. I remember well sitting on the floorboards, safely encircled by the oak coaming, feeling the hull heave and slide over the summer swells on Buzzards Bay. Cormorant’s cockpit is also deep, with seating all around, and though it lacks the friendly feel of the Beetle Cat’s oak trim, it is just as comfortable and relaxing, rather like an old-fashioned bathtub.
A cockpit this deep in a boat this small can’t be self-bailing, so Cormorant comes with cedar duckboards to keep feet dry and an optional bilge pump mounted on the centerboard case. Beneath the narrow afterdeck is a shallow sump to collect any water that gets on the seats — transom drains are designed to siphon this water out. Under the foredeck to port and starboard are storage shelves to keep miscellaneous gear out of the water.
Reassuring Stability
Though Cormorant’s styling is traditional, her handling is anything but. Her narrow, kick-up rudder required only a -light touch and carried just enough weather helm to keep me attentive. There was no wearying tug-of-war between my desire to steer off the wind and the boat’s desire to head into it, a battle I recall having with the Beetle Cat’s big, barn door rudder. Thanks to her deep centerboard and minimal underwater surface, Cormorant balanced nicely on all points of sail and responded to her tiller with alacrity. One can’t maneuver her 350 pounds with lightning speed — Dongray didn’t design her for round-the-buoys racing — but then one doesn’t need lightning reflexes to steer her, either. She’s meant for easy sailing, and pays no attention to tiller twitchers.
Her manually-operated centerboard functioned quite well, by the way. It didn’t slip, it didn’t rattle, and the handle projecting through the slot in the deck gave me a clear indication of its position.
Tacking is effortless: She self-tacks within about 90 degrees, sedately carrying her way through stays like a much bigger boat. With the help of her high-peaked main, she moves well upwind —in a 7 knot breeze I got her up to 4 knots — but she slows considerably and
starts to make leeway when pinched. Give her big main some room to breathe and Cormorant scoots right along, churning a bow wave up her vertical bow sections that occasionally finds its way over the gunwale (no water ended up in the cockpit, however). She managed about 4¾ knots on a beam reach and 5 knots on a broad reach, but never more than 5½ knots in the gusts.
Cormorant isn’t slow, but she isn’t likely to get up on a screaming plane, either. Thrills and spills aren’t part of Cormorant’s character, reassuring stability is.
Before I became acquainted with her stability, I sailed her upwind like a tender, persnickety Laser — sitting on her side decks, leaning with all my might to windward in the gusts. She ignored these antics. Since she acted like she didn’t need my help, I sat down in the cockpit and waited for the next puff to push her lee rail under. It didn’t. She heeled a bit and slowed down
some, but the wind just spilled out of her low-aspect sail and she stayed on her feet.
Impressed by this display of steadiness, I stayed in the cockpit, brought her beam to the wind, and sheeted in hard
For a 12-foot sailboat, she’s also remarkably stable fore-and-aft, a sure sign that she could carry a couple more passengers without upsetting her trim too much. As she comes off the wind, though, and the sail’s center of effort moves forward, her bow tends to nose down even with my weight moved aft. Can her fine, unflared bow support the weight of her spars in a pitching sea? I don’t know definitely. She can handle heavy winds, but I’d recommend prudence when out in a steep slop.
