Cutting the Dragon's Tail

by Lynda Chidell

  After the halyards used for hoisting the three sails, the next set of ropes to mention are the three spare halyards (also twelve millimetre three strand polyester). Each of these was positioned on the opposite side of the mast to the principal halyard, and on the same side as the sail. They proved to be invaluable for bosun’s chair work at the masthead.

  Then there were the ten millimetre lazy jacks – yet more rope running to and from the mastheads, making the Chinese junk rig seem still more complicated to the uninitiated eye. We used to watch people an quay walls gazing for hours at Tin Hau’s spaghetti as they tried to work out the function of each line.

  The purpose of lazy jacks is to support in a bundle well clear of the deck some of the sail, when reefed, or all of it when fully lowered– another junk speciality. The slope of the bundle and the height it rests above deck is controllable. We found this extremely handy, as by ‘reefing up’ (raising the bundle) we could obtain very good visibility forward and, in harbour, enjoy full standing room under the stowed sails.

  Tin Hau had two lazy jacks per sail, an aft one cleating to the bulwark rail on both sides (port and starboard), and a forward one cleating to one side only.

  Figure 6 shows how they work. Now comes one of the most debated parts of a Chinese junk’s running rigging, the sheeting system– the ropes needed to adjust and control the sails when sailing.

  A large part of the skill of sailing is the way in which these ropes (or sheets) are set. In western yachts, the sheets are normally attached to one point on the sail (to the boom in the case of the mainsail). In junks, however, there is a significant difference. Generally, each sail batten is attached to a sheet, directly or indirectly via sheetlets and bridles. Unfortunately this means considerably more rope, but the strain on the sail cloth is much reduced, with obvious advantages.

  Not knowing any better, initially we used the system recommended by Tom Colvin, with separate sheets and sheetlets and traditional euphroes and friction blocks (see Figure 7). These were made of Oregon pine, salvaged from the demolished floor of Port Elizabeth’s opera house. We decided also to adopt the double sheeting method– two sets of sheets and sheetlets per sail.

  While we never had any regrets about the latter (there are many advantages; particularly the ability to hold the sail steady, sheeted amidships or near midships, when motor-sailing or simply stopping in mid-ocean for a rest), we had reason to change the former. We decided during our maiden voyage that euphroes and friction blocks were not for us. Balancing on the cabin top, or worse still on the pilothouse roof, to reduce sheetlet lengths was no fun, and positively dangerous at times. (If this was not done the euphroes touched deck level, catching every obstruction they could find.) The procedure had to be carried out all too often on our maiden voyage, whenever reefing or unreefing was required (typically, four times a day). Reefing from full sail (six panels) to five panels required no adjustment. But from five panels to four each sheetlet had to be shortened and the excess tied up on the euphroe (two per sail, and perhaps all three sails). From four panels to three there was no further adjustment, but from three to two (winds in excess of gale force by now), once again we had to shorten the sheetlets, and this time in extremely difficult conditions. Reefing a junk was meant to be easy!

  We planned various changes during the maiden voyage, and experimented with them in Mauritius and later throughout the Indian Ocean. However, it was not until we reached Cyprus that the bulk of the alterations were done, and even after our arrival in England there was still one last adjustment. Much as we loved the traditional aspect of euphroes, and much as we were proud of our first efforts at woodwork on Tin Hau, they had to go. With the euphroes went the sheetlets and friction blocks. We were left with just the sheets and western blocks.

  Figure 8 shows the final arrangement we adopted. Note the totally new gallows frame – like a football goal post. This raised the sheeting blocks as high and as far outboard as possible, with good provision for coiling the excess rope. There were no further problems of sheets catching on doors, cabin top drain spouts, deck seats, and all the other places that used to be a problem when the sheet blocks were at bulwark level. Note also that we decided in the end to sheet the upper part and the lower part of the sail separately. This was useful in controlling the sail’s twist and thus its performance, but the main reason we chose this system was to ease the hoisting load. One continuous sheet through numerous blocks on the gallows frame had resulted in too much friction. Hoisting was difficult.

  In conclusion, the final sheeting system – with which we were very happy– had four stainless steel pins per sail for cleating-off purposes. Each sail had a port top, port bottom, starboard top and starboard bottom sheet. With three sails, there were twelve sheet pins in total, together with twelve excess rope hooks.

  Before moving away from the sheets, it is worth mentioning that the new main and mizzen gallow frames had a number of secondary functions. They gave us improved washing line and hammock slinging positions. (The hammocks were all important on Tin Hau. A good all-round watch could be kept from them – in comfort – while the autopilot steered the boat.) Also they gave us an excellent sun awning arrangement. It usually took less than a minute to set up the awning; and in the places Tin Hau’s crew liked to be, sun awnings were vital. They made the difference between utter contentment and sheer misery.

  The remaining items of running rigging and other lines not yet mentioned include the flag halyards, sail ties, snotters, parrels, bowsing tackle and downhauls, I will explain these briefly as they relate to Tin Hau:

  The flag halyards: we chose – very wisely as it turned out – to have three flag halyards (three millimetre, eight plait standard polyester), one on each mast, passing through a single block at the masthead cross-tree. Additionally, we flew the Red Ensign on its own flag pole aft. We used the mizzen mast (starboard side) for the courtesy flag of whatever country we might be visiting. The main mast (port side) was used for any house flag we wanted to fly (normally our Junk Rig Association flag). And the foremast (starboard side) was available for the yellow quarantine flag (‘Q’) flown on our first arrival in a country (not necessary everywhere, nowadays). Lynda made all our flags, most of them in Swaziland before Tin Hau’s keel had even been laid, including a complete set of signal flags. The other useful function of the flag halyards was as a means of passing equipment from deck to masthead. Whenever I was up there I would often forget items such as screwdrivers, pliers and shackle pins. Lynda would send these up to me in a plastic bag via the flag halyard.

  The sail ties: Jacqui (much more of whom will be heard later) was given as her first job on Tin Hau the task of end-splicing three hundred and fifty short lengths of six millimetre three strand rope needed for tying the sails to the battens. This may have turned her into the best splicing hand in the Southern Ocean, but, unfortunately, except on the yards, these ties later became redundant. They had a habit of undoing themselves, given enough time. Eventually, the solution we found for a cheap, easy sail tie that would never undo itself was six millimetre shock cord. Rope such as is used for dinghy sheeting would also have been satisfactory.

  The snotters: I imagine many readers will not know what is meant by the term ‘snotter’ on a Colvin junk. We certainly did not know when we first became involved. The Chambers English Dictionary gives three meanings for ‘snotter’: first, as a verb: ‘to breathe through an obstruction in the nostrils: to sob, snuffle, blubber’. This was not the one. Secondly as a noun: ‘the wattles of a turkey-cock’. Also not the one. And finally ‘the lower support of the sprit’. This is nautical and nearer the mark. English junkies call the snotter the yard hauling parrel. But we became used to Colvin terminology. It is actually the rope used to hold the yard close to the mast (one per sail, ten millimetre polyester in our case). It is redundant when the sail is fully hoisted or in its stowed position, but is vitally important in each of the four reef positions. Without it the yard would bounce all over the place. One end
of the snotter is shackled to the yard halyard block. The other end is taken once round the mast, back through a ring or shackle on the yard and thence down to one of the bulwark pins at deck level.

  The parrels: These were required to hold each batten close to the mast. Tin Hau had six per sail. We read a number of articles about parrel chafe being a problem, and we found this to be true – our original rope parrels were showing signs of wear after the first few sails. So when a roll of industrial webbing was offered to us, we jumped at the opportunity. A wide flat area rubbing backwards and forwards against the mast was obviously more desirable than a rope. We cut eighteen pieces to the correct lengths (each about a metre long) and Lynda sewed the ends back on to themselves to form two loops into which ten millimetre rope was spliced. The webbing was then led around the mast and the two rope ends tied to the batten, one at the sail luff and the other at a point about two metres back. The actual position and the tension of the parrel is critical. If it is too tight, difficulties result over hoisting and lowering the sail. If too loose, the sail hangs too far away from the mast. The latter occurs, of course, only when the wind is blowing from the side on which the parrels are located. When the wind blows from the opposite side the battens are pushed up against the mast and the sail takes on an altogether different shape. Since Tin Hau had three masts, we alternated the side of the mast on which the sail was placed. On the mizzen and foremast the sail was to port. On the main it was to starboard. By doing this we reduced the possibility of one tack being more favourable than the other. I actually much preferred the look of the sail when it was ‘hanging from its parrels’ – in other words, when the wind was blowing from the parrel side. I have always been mystified when reading the view stated in various junk articles that the opposite tack (when the battens are pushing against the mast) produces the better performance.

  The hauling parrel, bowsing tackle and downhauls: These are three more of the controlling ropes that may occur on a junk sail. We experimented with them on Tin Hau and Figure 9 shows the arrangement we finally used.

  The hauling parrel and bowsing tackle were rigged only on the foresail. They are very important for reefing. Without them the sail took on a horrifically distorted shape.

  On the mizzen and main we rigged two simple downhauls which we used occasionally, whilst close hauled, to remove some of the creasing in the sails. Whether or not this helped our windward performance is hard to say.

  10.5 the masts

  I am glad we chose aluminium masts. They proved to be one of the few fixtures on the boat that required no maintenance, in spite of constant exposure to wind, rain, sun and salt, and heavy abrasion from the battens and the yard. They were not even anodised.

  It took nearly as long to organise the masts as it took to build the boat. Right up to the last minute there were problems. But Huletts Aluminium were successful in the end, even though the mizzen and main masts – promised initially in one length – came eventually in two halves, expertly sleeved and joined at Port Elizabeth’s university.

  The sizes that were supplied, after much to-ing and fro-ing between myself (as designer) and David Whitby (the local Huletts representative) were as follows. Main and mizzen masts: 12.3 m long, 168 mm outside diameter and 7.9 mm wall thickness. Foremast: 9.5 m long, 140 mm outside diameter and 9.5 mm wall thickness.

  The alloy had a greater yield stress – and thus strength – than mild steel, but would not corrode. It was a special marine grade (reference D65S).

  Lynda’s model had demonstrated to us that a small cross-tree was required at each masthead to stop the battens fouling the stays, and Tom Colvin subsequently confirmed this. We used a solid aluminium bar two inches in diameter and welded it through the mast, notching the ends to receive the stays. It was also useful for supporting the ancillary masthead blocks, such as those required for the lazy jacks and flag halyards.

  I chose to have the mast cap made in wood (Philippine mahogany) in order to provide a convenient attachment point for the various steel fittings and to keep them electrically isolated from the mast, thus avoiding galvanic corrosion problems. The foremast carried our Firdell Blipper radar reflector. And the mizzen and main masts carried lightning conductors, together with various navigation lights (the port/starboard light, the steaming light, an all round white anchor light, and two all round reds). On the forward and aft faces of each mast cap were galvanised steel eyes held together by four long bolts passing through base plates. These eyes were used for the halyard blocks, the spare halyard block being shackled to the forward eye and the main halyard shackled to the aft one. Here, however, I made a mistake which was revealed in a dramatic manner on ‘that Sunday’, our first overnight outing from Port Elizabeth.

  10.6 the standing rigging

  We followed Tom Colvin’s specification and subsequent advice concerning the stays. He called for three stays each side of the mast in the case of the main and the mizzen; and just two on the foresail. But before going into details, I should mention one of the eternal junk debates: to stay or not to stay your masts? Unstayed masts have undoubted advantages, the main one being that the sails are totally unobstructed and so can be let out as far as is desired. A further advantage is that costs are reduced, both initially and later (in maintenance). Also, windage aloft – and noise – is reduced, resulting in less drag and thus slightly better performance.

  I knew that our masts would be strong enough without stays to withstand just about any wind. However, Tom’s advice was clear and emphatic: Stay your masts – loosely – in order to minimise masthead whipping in a seaway. He felt that continual movement backwards and forwards would eventually cause mast failure. I understood this to be some sort of fatigue fracture, such as has been known to affect aircraft.

  Not wanting to go against Tom’s advice, particularly in something as important as this, we decided to adopt stays – a decision I never regretted despite the extra work involved. Perhaps in future I would consider making the shorter masts unstayed, but they would have to be exceptionally strong.

  The next question about the stays was: what material should we use? After some thought, I chose galvanised wire rope as opposed to the alternative of stainless steel. The former was much cheaper and, if properly maintained, promised to last as long as the latter. I understood that should failure occur there would usually be plenty of warning; worn or fraying strands are noticeable well in advance. We gave the stays their initial protection, once rigged, by applying a mixture of beeswax and linseed oil (another bosun’s chair job). Subsequently, about once every two years, I went aloft with a toothbrush and a small tub of rust converter.

  Haggie Wire Rope of Port Elizabeth made the stays, complete with thimbles at each end; eight altogether – not sixteen, as might be thought. We specified that each stay should be double length, that is it should take one complete turn round the mast just above the cross-tree and return to the bulwarks on both port and starboard sides.

  Each thimble was shackled to a dead-eye made of lignum vitæ to Tom Colvin’s specification, and tied to its partner by a rope lanyard (six turns). The lower dead-eyes were shackled directly to welded eyes on the bulwarks; and here I made another annoying mistake. Those eyes should have been of stainless steel, not mild steel. I never found a way of painting them effectively to stop rust – unsightly, but in this case not dangerous.

  The real problem with the dead-eyes, however, was their metal straps. Originally these were of stainless steel, but they contained a ninety degree bend – too sharp. We had failure after failure on the maiden voyage from the third gale onwards. By the time we reached Mauritius we had made numerous temporary lashings. Eventually, they all were replaced by galvanised straps (another story involving dozens of people of many nationalities!)

  The final area of note concerning the masts is the way they were supported at deck level. Again we had a decision to make: to take them right through the deck to the level of the keel, or to step them on the deck in a tabernacle, with just a
small compression post between deck and keel?

  The latter interfered considerably less with the interior arrangement, but, in the case of the mizzen and main masts, I chose the former. We were prepared to put up with a seven inch aluminium pole coming through the middle of the accommodation. We would disguise it somehow, yet keep all-round access to the securing wedges. In the case of the mizzen, we would build a supporting bridge in the bilges across the propeller shaft. There were many disadvantages, yet it seemed to me I was choosing the stronger alternative, and I did not fancy having too many protrusions on deck that might rust and cause maintenance headaches.

  With hindsight I was right, but the mistake we made was not to keel-step our third mast – the foremast. Instead, a tabernacle was constructed, as interpreted from the designer’s drawing – and what a mistake that proved to be. It nearly led to a major disaster during the maiden voyage, which took a year to sort out afterwards.

  Before leaving the subject of the masts, perhaps I should answer one of our three most common quayside questions (the other questions being ‘Why has your rudder got holes in it?’ and ‘When are you leaving?’) ‘Why does your mast lean forward?’, someone would ask, pointing at the foremast.

  This could be answered glibly: ‘Because it was shown that way on the drawings’, or ‘Because the Chinese often do it that way’. But the real answer is clear enough. The mast rakes forward so that the foresail, which hangs from the top of the mast, is positioned well forward of the bow. It can thus be of a reasonably large area (378 square feet in our case). If the mast had been vertical, there would only have been room for about 150 square feet of sail, a reduction of 228 square feet. Moreover, in order to maintain balance, the mizzen would also have had to have been reduced by about the same amount. A sail reduction of 456 square feet out of our total of 1,321 square feet. A thirty-five per cent loss – quite significant!