Articles
By
George M. Bollenbacher
Making the
purchase
My adventure with an Alacrity 19 began unexpectedly on Ebay, where I was idly surfing one day in December, 2002, while taking a coffee break at work. Flipping through the sailboats, I stopped at the listing of a “1970 Alty 18” including a trailer and outboard, with a bid somewhat under $1,000. The location was Albany, NY, not too far from the New York City area where I live and work. Hmm…interesting. On a whim, I turned to a co-worker, Jacob Aruldhas, and asked, “Do you want to go halves on a sailboat?” Jacob, who had never sailed before, but who has a Ph.D. in engineering, grinned and said, “Sure.”
So the die was cast. Of course the bids started climbing, and of course we kept pace, so a few days later we were the proud owners of an Alacrity 19. Fortunately, the seller offered to deliver it, and it arrived at our house in Tarrytown one Saturday morning before Christmas. We took it right to Jacob’s house in Yonkers, and parked it in his driveway. As the seller drove away, we stood there grinning like little kids, oblivious to the adventures that lay ahead of us. The first task was to name her, and I suggested Greyhound, partly to urge her to ever greater speeds on the water, and partly after the two retired racers who occupy couches throughout our house. Jacob was fine with that name, so we were in business.
Getting ready
Our first adventure was that Jacob’s neighbors objected to having the boat parked in his driveway all winter, so he found an auto storage yard in Yonkers where we could keep it until spring. The main problem was that, for insurance reasons, we couldn’t work on the boat in the yard. We managed to take home a few critical components, like the outboard motor and the rudder, but for the most part Greyhound, and all her little projects, were tantalizingly out of reach until March. Meanwhile, I reserved our slip at the Tarrytown Marina, right down the hill from my house. When the dockmaster asked me how long the boat was, he responded to my answer with, “Oh, tiny!” It was my first indication of where I stood in the marina pecking order.
Greyhound as it appeared on Ebay
Ebay, BoatUS, and Sailnet were still within reach, so I spent the winter stocking up on parts and supplies. Our UPS driver, who knew all about my fly fishing and golf hobbies from past deliveries, began calling me “Cap’n George,” as he deposited box after box of sailing gear on our front porch. My “boat corner” in the basement took on the appearance of the storeroom at West Marine, until March finally arrived, and we took Greyhound back to Jacob’s driveway to start preparations for the season.
The previous owner had trailered the boat instead of mooring it, but we were going to leave her at a slip, so we applied the first coats of bottom paint she may have seen in years. With a few other pre-launch projects completed, we took her down to the river in mid-April and pushed her off the trailer. Finally afloat! Hooray! When we went to rig her, we discovered that the mast tabernacle was sitting on one of the bunks below, instead of attached to the deck. A quick trip to Home Depot for bolts and stuff (well, a couple of trips, if the truth be told) and the mast was standing tall. We bent on the very old sails and ran her out into the Tappan Zee to see how she went.
Sailing and failing
Nothing broke, so we counted ourselves lucky, and began planning for a summer on the water. We were just about the first boat launched in the marina, so we had no idea who our neighbors were. As April turned into May, and the BIG boats that filled the parking lot migrated into the water, our pride in Greyhound began to ebb a little, but our list of projects began to grow.
Our propulsion was first. The motor was an old 5-horse Mercury which was permanently in forward gear, since it was missing the shift lever. That made getting into and out of the slip something of a challenge, and it became impossible when the motor slipped out of gear for good. So it was back to Ebay for a replacement, which I found in South Carolina. When the UPS driver finally dropped that on my front porch, I was really ready for it; sailing through the marina on the genny every time I went out was more of a test of seamanship than I wanted.
My adventure with an Alacrity 19 began unexpectedly on Ebay, where I was idly surfing one day in December, 2002, while taking a coffee break at work. Flipping through the sailboats, I stopped at the listing of a “1970 Alty 18” including a trailer and outboard, with a bid somewhat under $1,000. The location was Albany, NY, not too far from the New York City area where I live and work. Hmm…interesting. On a whim, I turned to a co-worker, Jacob Aruldhas, and asked, “Do you want to go halves on a sailboat?” Jacob, who had never sailed before, but who has a Ph.D. in engineering, grinned and said, “Sure.”
So the die was cast. Of course the bids started climbing, and of course we kept pace, so a few days later we were the proud owners of an Alacrity 19. Fortunately, the seller offered to deliver it, and it arrived at our house in Tarrytown one Saturday morning before Christmas. We took it right to Jacob’s house in Yonkers, and parked it in his driveway. As the seller drove away, we stood there grinning like little kids, oblivious to the adventures that lay ahead of us. The first task was to name her, and I suggested Greyhound, partly to urge her to ever greater speeds on the water, and partly after the two retired racers who occupy couches throughout our house. Jacob was fine with that name, so we were in business.
Getting ready
Our first adventure was that Jacob’s neighbors objected to having the boat parked in his driveway all winter, so he found an auto storage yard in Yonkers where we could keep it until spring. The main problem was that, for insurance reasons, we couldn’t work on the boat in the yard. We managed to take home a few critical components, like the outboard motor and the rudder, but for the most part Greyhound, and all her little projects, were tantalizingly out of reach until March. Meanwhile, I reserved our slip at the Tarrytown Marina, right down the hill from my house. When the dockmaster asked me how long the boat was, he responded to my answer with, “Oh, tiny!” It was my first indication of where I stood in the marina pecking order.
Greyhound as it appeared on Ebay
Ebay, BoatUS, and Sailnet were still within reach, so I spent the winter stocking up on parts and supplies. Our UPS driver, who knew all about my fly fishing and golf hobbies from past deliveries, began calling me “Cap’n George,” as he deposited box after box of sailing gear on our front porch. My “boat corner” in the basement took on the appearance of the storeroom at West Marine, until March finally arrived, and we took Greyhound back to Jacob’s driveway to start preparations for the season.
The previous owner had trailered the boat instead of mooring it, but we were going to leave her at a slip, so we applied the first coats of bottom paint she may have seen in years. With a few other pre-launch projects completed, we took her down to the river in mid-April and pushed her off the trailer. Finally afloat! Hooray! When we went to rig her, we discovered that the mast tabernacle was sitting on one of the bunks below, instead of attached to the deck. A quick trip to Home Depot for bolts and stuff (well, a couple of trips, if the truth be told) and the mast was standing tall. We bent on the very old sails and ran her out into the Tappan Zee to see how she went.
Sailing and failing
Nothing broke, so we counted ourselves lucky, and began planning for a summer on the water. We were just about the first boat launched in the marina, so we had no idea who our neighbors were. As April turned into May, and the BIG boats that filled the parking lot migrated into the water, our pride in Greyhound began to ebb a little, but our list of projects began to grow.
Our propulsion was first. The motor was an old 5-horse Mercury which was permanently in forward gear, since it was missing the shift lever. That made getting into and out of the slip something of a challenge, and it became impossible when the motor slipped out of gear for good. So it was back to Ebay for a replacement, which I found in South Carolina. When the UPS driver finally dropped that on my front porch, I was really ready for it; sailing through the marina on the genny every time I went out was more of a test of seamanship than I wanted.
Then
there were the sails. Our main was definitely a terminal case - it had
more patches than original fabric, and the original fabric that was
left was positively translucent. After putting an iron-on patch on yet
another rip, I started scouting up sailmakers. I settled on Sails East,
a loft in Hong Kong, gave their US rep my measurements, and started
hoping we’d hold
together until the new one arrived. In due time, I got an email that my
sail was in the US, and was being sent to me.
Only it never got here. A call to the rep revealed that he had put my sail in a box with another customer’s by mistake, but he promised to get it back right away. A week later I found out that he was having a dispute with the other customer, who was holding my sail ransom to try and get better settlement on his. Faced with this impasse, I was ready to swear out a complaint with the St. Clair Shores, MI police department for theft, when Sails East offered to make me a new sail for free. Another month of waiting, hoping, and nursing the old one, and we were finally able to bend on our new canvas. Since the new one had slugs instead of a bolt rope, I got a sail cover (on Ebay, where else?) and we were looking (and sailing) pretty smart. Ebay was also the source of several used genoas, so we were ready for just about any amount of wind.
Jacob making ready to cast off, with the new rudder in the foreground
At least the sails were ready. The rudder was not. I had lovingly sanded and varnished the massive kick-up rudder over the winter, until it looked like it belonged on the HMS Surprise. However, appearances can be deceiving, in rudders as well as people. In mid-July, when we were tearing down the river in a Force 5 wind, with the lee rail right down on the water, Jacob, who was at the helm, suddenly said, “Hey! The rudder broke!”
Sure enough, one of the side pieces holding the kick-up had collapsed under the strain of battling the weather helm, and we were rudderless. Down came the sails, into the water went the motor, and we started making our way back to the marina. Except that the motor was designed to push the boat while the rudder steered, not both propel and steer. With a stiff wind off the port bow, getting home was a real struggle. I was both sore and exhausted by the time we tied up.
Because the kick-up section of the rudder had been tied to the tiller, we were able to haul it aboard, and I went to a specialty lumber yard the next day to buy an oak plank an inch thick by sixteen inches by eight feet. I staggered to the car with it and got it to a local wood shop, where we used the pieces of the broken rudder as a template to rough out a new one on their band saw. After coming home from work early for a week so I could plane, sand, drill, bolt and paint, we had a new rudder by the next Sunday. It doesn’t kick up like the old one, but it will probably outlast me.
Enjoying the boat
The rest of the summer was filled with daysails and mini-projects. After both halyards got tangled with the jib sheet in a Force 4 wind, so my wife Betsy had to lie on the weather deck trying to untangle them in time for a fast-approaching tack, I routed both halyards back to the cockpit, whichturned raising the sails from a Chinese fire drill into a pleasure. I replaced the old wooden winches with Marelon ones, which necessitated drilling out the old brass screws while Jacob lay on the quarterberths holding the nuts. Finally, I got a small photoelectric panel, designed to sit on the dashboard of a car, and left it on the deck when the boat was in the slip, so our battery was always charged - until I left the main switch on one Sunday afternoon late in the season when we buttoned things up.
Late October brought a frenzy of activity at the marina as the big boats were lifted out of the water and onto their blocks and stands. We winched Greyhound onto her trailer and took her to her winter home in Yonkers. A different yard this time, which allows us to work on the boat, and means that we can get ready for next season a little better and a little sooner. Already under way are painting the salon, and constructing a better mainsheet traveler that will allow is to sheet much more to windward. Next summer is looking better and better, but that story is for “Year 2 With an Alacrity 19.”
(This article was first published in Twin Keeler Newsletter, summer 2004).
Only it never got here. A call to the rep revealed that he had put my sail in a box with another customer’s by mistake, but he promised to get it back right away. A week later I found out that he was having a dispute with the other customer, who was holding my sail ransom to try and get better settlement on his. Faced with this impasse, I was ready to swear out a complaint with the St. Clair Shores, MI police department for theft, when Sails East offered to make me a new sail for free. Another month of waiting, hoping, and nursing the old one, and we were finally able to bend on our new canvas. Since the new one had slugs instead of a bolt rope, I got a sail cover (on Ebay, where else?) and we were looking (and sailing) pretty smart. Ebay was also the source of several used genoas, so we were ready for just about any amount of wind.
Jacob making ready to cast off, with the new rudder in the foreground
At least the sails were ready. The rudder was not. I had lovingly sanded and varnished the massive kick-up rudder over the winter, until it looked like it belonged on the HMS Surprise. However, appearances can be deceiving, in rudders as well as people. In mid-July, when we were tearing down the river in a Force 5 wind, with the lee rail right down on the water, Jacob, who was at the helm, suddenly said, “Hey! The rudder broke!”
Sure enough, one of the side pieces holding the kick-up had collapsed under the strain of battling the weather helm, and we were rudderless. Down came the sails, into the water went the motor, and we started making our way back to the marina. Except that the motor was designed to push the boat while the rudder steered, not both propel and steer. With a stiff wind off the port bow, getting home was a real struggle. I was both sore and exhausted by the time we tied up.
Because the kick-up section of the rudder had been tied to the tiller, we were able to haul it aboard, and I went to a specialty lumber yard the next day to buy an oak plank an inch thick by sixteen inches by eight feet. I staggered to the car with it and got it to a local wood shop, where we used the pieces of the broken rudder as a template to rough out a new one on their band saw. After coming home from work early for a week so I could plane, sand, drill, bolt and paint, we had a new rudder by the next Sunday. It doesn’t kick up like the old one, but it will probably outlast me.
Enjoying the boat
The rest of the summer was filled with daysails and mini-projects. After both halyards got tangled with the jib sheet in a Force 4 wind, so my wife Betsy had to lie on the weather deck trying to untangle them in time for a fast-approaching tack, I routed both halyards back to the cockpit, whichturned raising the sails from a Chinese fire drill into a pleasure. I replaced the old wooden winches with Marelon ones, which necessitated drilling out the old brass screws while Jacob lay on the quarterberths holding the nuts. Finally, I got a small photoelectric panel, designed to sit on the dashboard of a car, and left it on the deck when the boat was in the slip, so our battery was always charged - until I left the main switch on one Sunday afternoon late in the season when we buttoned things up.
Late October brought a frenzy of activity at the marina as the big boats were lifted out of the water and onto their blocks and stands. We winched Greyhound onto her trailer and took her to her winter home in Yonkers. A different yard this time, which allows us to work on the boat, and means that we can get ready for next season a little better and a little sooner. Already under way are painting the salon, and constructing a better mainsheet traveler that will allow is to sheet much more to windward. Next summer is looking better and better, but that story is for “Year 2 With an Alacrity 19.”
(This article was first published in Twin Keeler Newsletter, summer 2004).
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