Home built TinCan turns back from circumnavigation

by David Vann on 22 Feb 2008 Builder David Vann tells his own story- Well, I had to turn back. The crossbeams that hold the three hulls together are a complicated structure that I have worried about ever since the initial stages of planning and building. I wanted a ladder-like design that would have low wind and water resistance and light weight.

But the beams also have to be strong enough to resist enormous stresses. What I found after a day at sea was that although the beams themselves, the primary structure, were still intact, the secondary support structures I had added—five vertical compression posts where the beams meet at the main hull—were cracking out.

The entire structure was flexing too much in waves, inadequately braced. I could still sail the boat back to San Francisco, but in a storm the entire structure would be at risk of failing. In the Southern Ocean, that would mean one of the smaller hulls breaking free, the main hull tipped over into the water by the sails. I would most likely end up in the water and, if I were not able to deploy my life raft or get safely back inside the hull, I could easily die from exposure.

I had promised my wife and family that I would turn around if things were not right. And there was no question that this had to be repaired and the beams significantly reinforced, so after angling more than 120 miles away from land, and 150 miles south, I turned around. The additions to the structure won’t take long—most likely not more than a week or two—but I was already pushing late into the season, leaving much later than I had wanted, and now it’s simply too late for this year. I’ll have to wait until December to set sail again. That will be two months earlier in the season, a significant difference in safety, and I’ll have more time, also, to test and prepare.

Though I’m disappointed not to be able to complete the trip this year, I am thrilled by the boat’s performance. I hadn’t dared to hope my little homemade boat would sail so well. When anyone asked, I’d just say “We’ll see,” and really I had no idea. I thought there was a chance it would be a complete dud and just not sail at all. But it sails faster than the wind in light air, cruising along even when the sea surface is reflective. It feels insistent. You set the sails to a faint breeze, then try not to touch the helm at all as the boat comes alive, surging forward to accelerate off the wind of its own forward movement. In 5-10 mph of breeze, it will jump so quickly from 6 mph to around 13 mph, you can feel your seat pressing into your back. It’s a lovely surprise after the months of work and doubt.

I had also feared the boat would handle terribly, out of control and unbalanced. I thought perhaps I wouldn’t be able to turn my bow quickly enough through the wind to tack my sails, but it tacks beautifully, even in only a couple knots of wind, even with only the mainsail, and it balances easily with any amount of sail. I worried about the complicated steering and self-steering systems, too, and the electrical system, which relies mostly on wind power. But that all worked beautifully. My first day at sea, I was able to sleep as much as I liked, had all systems working smoothly, and made great time.

When I sailed under the Golden Gate on Valentine’s Day, I felt things entirely new to me. A different kind of sailing, on a light, fast, nimble boat, and a different sense of commitment to the sea. A hundred and twenty days and a range of conditions and challenges, an odyssey. It was the closest I could imagine to what my Viking forebears must have felt when they set out, the journey long enough and with enough unknowns, one couldn’t be sure of returning. And the people who cheered me from the bridge gave me a great gift, a perfect sense of launching into true adventure.

My wife and I made sacrifices for the attempt this year, and we’ll have to consider whether to make the attempt again. That’s one of the questions I’ll be taking up in a future essay about my experience in Esquire’s June issue. I knew from the beginning that all of this was risky, and I’ve made mistakes, gone over budget, took longer to build, etc. But this attempt has been a look at what’s possible. The Tin Can has thrilled and surprised me, and I have no doubt that with some reinforcement to its crossbeam structure it will be capable of the route.

Heading out to sea reconfirmed, also, that the open ocean feels like home, some ancestral tug. My first sunrise far from land, I felt the veil had been lifted, the distance between self and nature foreshortened, the world returned. This entire experience has been a rich one, and I appreciate all who have taken the journey along with me.

http://www.esquire.com/the-side/blog/tincan