It’s about 4 pm on a balmy Saturday afternoon in July, and the entire family is out on Carina Vela, a rare occurrence indeed. A Northeast breeze is full astern as we enter the Ipswich River, and about a quarter of a mile before we hit the first nun, the bow suddenly dips down into a four foot trough and tries to round up violently into the wind. My arm is burning as I fight the tiller to stay in the narrow channel, and I hear my sister call out “12 feet, 10 feet, 7 feet,” her voice getting higher with each number. After about 10 minutes of these tiring conditions, we are into the deeper water of the channel, and finally I give the helm to my father as we motor the remaining 3 miles up the river.
We bought hull #114 four years ago from a private seller in Newburyport, Massachusetts. For the previous eight years, we sailed our O’Day 22 out of Buzzard’s Bay, constantly subjected to the 18-25 knot Southwest breeze that never failed to fill in. Being our first boat, we quickly learned the shortcomings of such a design as the O’Day. The cockpit was never quite big enough for our family of five, and the shoal draft keel had us making more leeway then headway upwind. For years we learned the finer points of sailing on the O’day, and discovered her every nuance. After a while, it was time for a larger boat. We wanted to have the ability to stay overnights and sail comfortably in heavy conditions without exhausting the dictionary of all it’s profanities. My father looked around passively for months looking at mostly full keel designs, until he finally found what we were looking for. There she was, sitting in a yard in Newburyport, all but forgotten about. Her hull was a shade of light blue that was strewn with a myriad of chips and gouges. The cabin was an absolute mess: a danforth anchor was laying haphazardly across the v-berth cabin sole, shades of paint and mildew covered the mahogany woodwork, and the port-lights were so diffuse with scratches that you could barely see the outside world. Dad looked past all these esthetic shortcomings, and was enchanted by the beautiful lines that graced the Alberg hull; he purchased her a week later.
Well, ten months and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears later, Carina Vela dipped her keel into the waters of Gloucester Harbor for the first time in many years. During that time, she was transformed from a disheveled piece of fiberglass to a beautiful yacht deserving of the waters on which she sailed. Carl Alberg had found a wonderful balance of form and function when he designed the A30, and the vitality that #114 once possessed was now restored, and she looked better then ever. Since doing our major retrofit of Carina Vela, we have undertaken small projects that have arisen over the past few years. These have included purchasing spinnaker gear to aid in those painfully slow downwind runs, mounting a solar panel off the taff-rail and installing an Autohelm tiller-pilot in the cockpit. This year’s improvements feature a new dodger, a Pro-Furl for the genoa, a new suite of sails, (slated to be completed in mid-May), and a new masthead. The result of these upgrades will make cruising just a bit more comfortable.
The name that first graced the stern of #114 was something that did not sit well with our family. It was harsh sounding, and in no way represented the ideals that we set forth while on the water. The name Carina Vela evolved over a period of a few months. We perused naming guides, throwing different names around the dinner table for the whole family to critique. Time and time again we came back to “Serendipity,” which was the name of our O’day. Mom wanted something more poetic, however, as this boat was not as serendipitous a find as the previous one. Knowing that I have always been interested in astronomy, she suggested that we look through sky guides to find a suitable name, something that would represent the essence of the beginnings of sailing. It was at this point that the name came to fruition. Both “Carina” and “Vela” are Latin, and translated into keel, and sail, respectively. Seeing as the Alberg is the essence of a full-keel vessel, this name immediately fit, and we haven’t looked back since.
Ever since Carina Vela once again tasted the north shore waters of Massachusetts, she has been moored in the Ipswich River. This location north of Gloucester, just on the inside of Plum Island, is a perfect area for sailing. The river provides protection from the early and late season storms that New England is famous for, and is a very tranquil setting during the summer months. There are only a few issues that pretty much anyone who moors in the river complains about. First is the depth problem at the mouth. The winter Nor’easters that blow through the area usually shift the sand bars so drastically that following the channel early in the season can pretty much assure one’s running aground. The best way to negotiate this area, as we have learned, is to go by water color and depth sounder readings. The mouth of the river is usually shallowest, and with a 9 foot tidal variation, can create some timing issues for sailors going out and coming in. The draft of the Alberg makes it the perfect boat for this area. Once out of the river, however, we enjoy deep waters that are nearly always in triple digits. Our mooring offers a great location for escaping for a weekend to Maine, or a jaunt down to Gloucester. The other issue with the Ipswich area is the bugs. We’re not just talking mosquitoes or random marsh bugs, but hordes of green-heads. The main infestation occurs around the late July timeframe, and lasts until the last spring tide of August. We have literally had hundreds under the dodger at once, and they always seem to get into the cabin also. These are only an issue while in the river, as they breed in the marsh grass. Once into open water, we are in the clear. Usually during this time, sailors in the area will take trips north to Maine, or head south for Cape Cod. We plan to do our first extended cruise on the Alberg this summer, as we head south to Block Island, Newport, and Martha’s Vineyard for about two weeks to avoid the bugs. As I write this, however, the weather is still a chilly 45 degrees, and there is still snow on the ground, but as long as the calendar says it’s spring, I’m not complaining, because sailing season is almost here!
Christopher Sousa
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