#ketch-rigged

[ltwilliammowett]

In today's 9th door I have not only one enchanting beauty for you, there are two of them, in a friendly battle - The Lady Washington and the Hawaiian Chieftain

Lady Washington, left, and Hawaiian Chieftain in a battle

More about them here:

The Brig Lady Washington ( the original ship) was built around 1780 in Massachusetts as a merchant ship. The sloop was named after Martha Washington, but often appears in contemporary documents simply as Washington. In 1787, the ship was acquired by the investor group Bullfinch, Barrell & Company and, under Captain Robert Gray, accompanied the Columbia under Captain John Kendrick on its voyage around the world from Boston to the North American west coast from September 1787. The two ships were lost in a storm and the Lady Washington reached Oregon a week before the Columbia. She was thus the first US ship to reach the west coast. The ships were involved in the fur trade with the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest coast and then sailed on to Guangzhou in China. There, the commanders swapped vessels and the Lady Washington remained in the Pacific. Together with the Grace, she reached the island of Kii-Ōshima in 1791, where she established the first contact between the United States and Japan, while the Columbia returned to Boston on a westerly course in August 1790.

Hawaiian Chieftain is the name of a Square Topsail Ketch briefly known as the Spirit of Larinda. Built in 1988 in Lahaina on the island of Maui, the Hawaiian Chieftain is a contemporary interpretation of a traditional design. She is unique with the rig of a 19th-century trading vessel and a modern triple keel, shallow draft hull. Drawing only 5.5 feet (1.7 m), she is highly maneuverable in shallow waters.

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Roger Salier was handsome, sophisticated, and dull as dishwater.

His manners were impeccable, and he smiled at her with a disarming ease. Their conversation flowed readily -- he laughed when he was supposed to and provided segues whenever there was a lull.

He was, in every sense, the epitome of good breeding. An eligible bachelor, indeed.

Nesta was bored out of her skull.

Roger was the type of millionaire who wanted nothing, completely self-assured in his tastes. Coming here tonight was for entertainment, something to pass the time. Nesta knew quickly that Roger didn't care about the DNC or the success of any of the candidates. He didn't even care about Hybern. To men like Roger, it was impossible to conceive of other people's misfortunes outside the walled gardens of his charmed life.

After nearly twenty minutes, Roger finally offered a personal donation to the Starborn campaign -- thrown out casually like an afterthought while demuring about how he spent the summer on a 45-foot double-masted wishbone-rigged ketch. Shortly after, an eager young woman feigned an acquaintance with Nesta to join their conversation about sailing.

Tossing Azriel an apologetic glance -- he had been pulled into a larger group by Myron nearby -- Nesta quickly excused herself, relieved.

She made her way towards the bar. She needed another drink to wash down the vapidity of the last half hour.

"Can’t stomach how the sausage is made?"

The question sliced through the strum of the party around her. She knew the owner of that voice.

"Eris," she spun on her heels to face him. "I was beginning to worry I'd have to endure the night without your sparkling wit."

His grin was all sharp edges, a predator amongst sheep. "You know I can't resist you, Nesta."

"A fact I try to forget daily, thanks." Nesta rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't you be schmoozing with the rich and powerful right now? Or are you trying to see how many people you can infuriate in one evening?"

Eris's chuckle sent goosebumps over her skin. "I miss when we used to talk over the phone," he said, giving her a hug that lingered just a second too long. "Though I prefer to infuriate you in person. It's more... intimate."

Pulling back, Nesta shot him a look that could freeze boiling water. "A masochist, then. I've always wondered."

"Only for you," he quipped, unfazed. "So, what poison are we drowning our sorrows in tonight?"

She glanced at the bar, then back at him. "I was going to ask for something strong enough to make me forget this conversation, but I doubt they serve miracles here."

"Ouch, you're cutting deep tonight. Should I be worried about bleeding out?"

"Only if you bleed champagne," she said, her tone lighter now. "Then you might actually contribute something worthwhile to this party."

He leaned in, his voice low and suggestive, "Admit it, you love our little dance."

"Maybe once," she conceded. "But even the best dances come to an end."

At that, Eris seemed genuinely taken aback. He rolled his jaw as if unsure how to respond.

After a long beat, Nesta asked, "Are you consulting for the Morgenstern campaign now like everyone else in the Speaker's Office?" She steered the conversation to safer waters.

Eris studied her, amber eyes glinting dangerously. "No," he replied.

When he offered no elaboration, she tilted her head. "I'm surprised."

"Why?"

"Thesan Morgenstern is the party favorite."

Eris shrugged, a casual gesture, but his demeanor was one of cold calculation. "I'm waiting to see how the dust settles."

"Ah," Nesta smiled. "Of course."

"Do you always think so ill of me?"

Nesta met his gaze squarely. "I think you only think about yourself."

"You're still wasting your talent for the little engine that could." It was Eris’s turn to roll his eyes at her. "Is that due to altruism or a misplaced sense of patriotism?"

"Starborn is the best candidate to defeat Hybern, and you know it," she countered.

"Maybe," he considered. Then, all levity disappeared from his posture, replaced by a menacing aloofness. "Everyone has skeletons in their closets."

Nesta squinted at him, trying to see around his sharp edges. "You've been doing oppo research on Rhys," she finally concluded.

"Nothing Hybern won't also find."

"And?"

He paused, deliberating his next words. She could see him weigh the cost of the information he possessed, and she wondered if she was willing to pay the price.

Eris's gaze roamed the crowd around them, stopping on Cassian in the distance. "Do you know how many people he's killed?" Eris asked.

That was not what she expected. "W-what?" she stammered.

"I pulled his FBI file," Eris replied, his words flat, but his eyes remained trained on Cassian. "Most of it was blacked out. It is not often that I come across personnel files that are classified above the security clearance of the Speaker of the House. Your lapdog was involved in some gnarly shit in Afghanistan."

Nesta felt her breath catch. "You are looking into Cassian," she said, surprised at how small her own voice became.

"An extremely effective blunt instrument, that much is clear even though all his mission details were redacted," he sneered as his eyes narrowed. "There was an interesting report about how Rhysand and Cassian leveled an entire town by themselves to retrieve a POW. It resulted in the highest civilian death ratio of the entire war. Did you know that afterward, the locals took to calling him the Lord of Bloodshed?"

"Stop -- why are you telling me this?"

Eris's amber eyes were penetrating as he turned his attention back to her. “Don't sell yourself short, Nesta,” he replied smoothly. “You can do better than Starborn -- than him."

Nesta felt her face flush with anger. How dare he?

"Jealousy is not a good look on you, Eris," she spat.

He showed no reaction. The soft lights made his red hair glow rose gold as he carded his hand through the strands. "You are --" Before he could finish his sentence, his eyes snapped to a spot behind Nesta's left shoulder. "Speaker Beron."

"Vanserra," a gruff voice sounded behind her. "Come, I need to introduce you to someone."

Eris leaned in for a kiss goodbye. "I'll see you around," he murmured in her ear.

Nesta turned around to see Eris stalk off with the older man. Beron made no effort to acknowledge her. She watched them cross the terrace to join a group of severe-looking men, shaking their hands. Eris's movements were elegant, sure -- every bit of the cold-blooded political killer she knew in action.

Why did he tell her this? He would only give her privileged information if it served his own purposes somehow. There was something she was missing.

Nesta ordered another glass of wine at the bar and then wandered back onto the grounds towards the elm tree where she had left Cassian earlier in the evening. Mor had fluttered off somewhere, probably wooing more donors for the campaign.

Cassian was in the middle of a heated conversation with three members of the DNC leadership. He gave her a tentative smile when greeting her but continued discussing something about the fall debate schedule and campaign finances.

She slid into place smoothly beside him. His hand briefly touched hers, like a question.

Nesta didn't bother to keep up, nodding and absentmindedly contributing a comment or two when necessary. Instead, she was turning over the new information, again and again, trying to reconcile the different versions of Cassian.

The Lord of Bloodshed -- Nesta knew in her heart that it had to be true. Cassian would have been a force to be reckoned with, lethal and decisive, with lightning-fast reflexes and all ruthless grace on the battlefield.

An angel of death.

Nesta traced the rim of her glass, unable to look up at his face. She had only ever seen one person die, her mother, and it nearly destroyed her.

I was a good soldier, he had told her. How many people had he killed during the war? How many people did he watch perish in front of him, because of him?

She wondered if there was a limit, a number to the amount of death that she wouldn't be able to bear.

Cassian cast her a sidelong glance, concern in those gentle hazel eyes. He was gorgeous, silhouetted against the twinkling light -- indulgent like he had been melded from the magical possibilities of summer nights.

How could he bear it?

At the end of the evening, when his hand brushed against hers again, Nesta recoiled.

---

When Nesta arrived at her office on Monday morning, she was greeted by a large bouquet of flowers. It was a wild yet elegant display of snapdragons, tulips, and proteas in a delicate crystal vase. The arrangement was so stunning that Nesta paused to take it in before she read the card, smiling to herself.

“It looks like you made quite an impression with Roger Salier,” Feyre said appraisingly as she came into the office a few moments later.

Nesta trained her expression to neutral as she said, “Roger is making a donation to the campaign.”

She touched the flowers. Roger was not subtle.

Feyre's blue-gray eyes flickered with amusement. "You had a good time at the fundraiser?"

For a moment, Nesta didn’t know how to answer that question. Her mind was still stuck on the wounded look on Cassian's face when she had left him at the end of the night. She wanted to be open, wanted to let him in... but now she wasn’t sure if she could look into those warm hazel eyes and not see how much violence he was capable of.

The war had always existed in the abstract for her. She read and wrote about it. She had reviewed videos and photos from the frontlines when she was reporting. She knew it had been bloody, deadly, and harrowing. Intellectually, she knew the statistics and fatality reports, but it had always been far away from her day-to-day.

Cassian -- and Azriel and Rhysand -- had lived it, had been forged by it.

How did all that killing not break him? She couldn't shake the horror from her bones.

She willed herself to not glance over at Cassian's open desk on the other side of the room -- how he had left it, clean and orderly, while he was working in Raleigh, Greensboro, or wherever else the campaign needed him. He was gone for another week. But she knew if she opened her inbox right now, she would find at least three new emails from him. He always called her first thing to check in with her about logistics and media strategy. She could hear his voice -- "Good morning, sweetheart!" -- ringing clearly in her mind before she even picked up her phone.

"It was work," Nesta finally replied, refocusing her thoughts.

Feyre hesitated, watching Nesta's posture stiffen, her jaw clenching and unclenching. "I thought the society piece in the Velaris paper turned out okay," she finally said, looking nervous. "What did you think?"

"The luncheon was a huge success," Nesta reassured her softly. "You should be proud."

Feyre's answering smile was radiant. "Thank you, again, for your help with that interview."

"You are a natural, Feyre. I'd like to set you up for more interviews," Nesta returned her smile. "Rhys is lucky to have you."

She tried to infuse the words with as much sincerity as she could. It was true -- Rhys was incredibly lucky to have Feyre as his partner. She smoothed out his rough edges and tempered his bravado.

Nesta had watched the two of them work the attendees and schmooze the donors in perfect harmony at the fundraiser, charming everyone. They made for an exceedingly handsome couple.

Feyre blushed, looking away. Nesta sat down at her desk.

"Is there anything else?"

"Well," Feyre hesitated again and then barreled forward. "Nyx's birthday is coming up in September. We were thinking about having a party for him here -- in DC, at the Townhouse. I know you always send him something in the mail. But I was wondering if this year, maybe, if you are in town then, whether you would --"

Nesta reached out and put her hand on her sister's arm. "I'll be there," she said quickly.

She felt a deep well of sadness open in her chest -- she was the cause of such trepidation, that her own sister would be so nervous to make a simple personal request. Even though Nesta didn't know how to be a part of her nephew's life, it didn't mean she didn't want to try.

"Elain is planning the party. She's baking a cake," Feyre blurted out, looking truly pained. "We -- all of us would love to have you."

Nesta swallowed, a mixture of shame and guilt swirling in her gut.

"I'll be there," she repeated. And she knew she would, for Nyx.

---

"You're avoiding me." Gwyn's voice was irate.

Nesta grimaced. "I didn't mean to."

On the last Thursday of August, Nesta cleared her schedule for dinner and drinks with her two best friends. Gwyn and Emerie had even made the trip to Capitol Hill since Nesta couldn't go far from the office. She had appointments all day with barely any break time in between. Gwyn had traveled to DC to meet with other women's advocacy groups during the day.

Now that the summer was coming to an end, the campaign was starting up in earnest. The fall meant the first round of debates. Then, the Iowa Caucus was right around the corner -- the middle of January. The remaining primaries fell in quick succession after that. Nesta suspected that by next March, they would know the party's nominee. It was shaping up to be a two-man race between Morgenstern and Starborn.

They were hurtling quickly towards the real storm ahead: the general election against Hybern. The coming months would fly by.

"Work has been insane," Nesta tried to explain. "Morgenstern has the edge on us with both media coverage and fundraising. We are trying to reach a new demographic, but our social media strategy needs to be overhauled and --"

Emerie was not impressed. "Yes, yes, we know the campaign is important." She waved her hand dismissively. "You always get like this when you're overwhelmed. But this time it feels different from your usual workaholism. "

Emerie was dressed head to toe in black. Her silk shirt was cut asymmetrically in a modern, almost architectural style. Nesta always admired Emerie's ability to pull off the most daring designs. She also admired Emerie's ability to cut through any and all bullshit.

Gwyn reached out and touched Nesta's forearm. "Just talk to us."

Nesta sighed into her cocktail. She wasn't avoiding her friends. She just hadn't decided how she felt herself.

"I didn't expect how difficult it was going to be, working with my sisters," she finally offered.

Gwyn regarded her over her own cocktail, her bright teal eyes bright and open. "Have you talked about what happened?"

Nesta shook her head. "I can't."

There was a weight against her chest -- the past crashing into the present. She could smell the antiseptic of hospital rooms in her nostrils. She had diminished all her anger and grief to an abstraction, forced it all back into the recesses of her memories where it sat inchoate and simmering.

Nesta had watched her own mother die, hooked up to tubes and wires; the cancer had wasted her body away -- she had decided to stop eating and drinking. It took ten days. Then she couldn't bear to do it again when her father asked for her at the end. What kind of daughter was she who refused to go to her own father's deathbed? What kind of sister was she who disappeared for years?

She couldn't bear it.

The depth of her shame had already swallowed her heart whole.

Gwyn didn't look away, as if she knew everything Nesta wanted to voice, everything she failed to do, and still didn't find all her shortcomings reprehensible.

Gwyn and Emerie knew, and they were still here. Nesta couldn't put into words how much that meant.

"Your sisters will understand," Emerie hummed.

Nesta downed her drink, pushing down the tidal wave of all that she couldn't allow herself to feel.

"Let's talk about something else."

---

Gwyn missed her train back to New York.

At the night's end, the three of them piled into a taxi -- drunk and giggling. Nesta was giddy with fondness for her friends. They always had a way of picking up exactly where they had left off.

"Come on, Berdara. You're going home with me!" Nesta announced as the taxi pulled up to her Art Deco apartment building.

Emerie protested, but Nesta was already dragging Gwyn out of the backseat.

"Leave me to fend for myself, why don't you." Emerie pouted.

Gwyn wobbled, laughing. "Text when you get home!" She hiccuped, her face red in the car window.

Nesta threw her arms around Gwyn's waist as they entered her building. The taxi sped off towards Emerie's house on the other side of the city.

They fell into Nesta's bed, and neither bothered to undress. They were a tipsy tangle of limbs and wild hair. It was familiar and absurd, like they were back in college again -- twenty years old and didn't know better -- stumbling back to their shared dorm after a long night partying.

Gwyn's body was warm against her as they fell asleep. Nesta couldn't remember the last time she had someone in her bed.

---

Nesta saw Gwyn off early the next day at the train station. Gwyn had to call into work sick for the morning, but the train should get her back into Manhattan on time for her afternoon appointments.

They both had wakened to pounding headaches and roiling stomaches. "I'm never drinking again," Gwyn had groaned.

"We are too old for this," Nesta had agreed miserably.

Then, Gwyn gave Nesta a bone-crushing hug goodbye at Washington Union Station.

"I see you, Nesta, and I still love you." Her parting words.

Nesta blinked back the sting in her eyes as Gwyn vanished into the throng of commuters.

---

"Miss Nesta Archeron, are you hungover?"

Cassian watched her jump upon seeing him leaning against her desk in the office.

She stared at him for a long minute as if determining whether he was really there -- it was early enough that no one else had arrived yet. He hadn't told her he had decided to return to DC before the end of the month. It was meant to be a surprise, and she was indeed surprised.

She blinked at him -- it was adorable. "Too loud," she finally grumbled, rubbing her temples.

"Tsk, tsk, indulging on a school night, were we?" he chided, grinning wide.

She huffed and dropped into her chair, resigned to the fact that he was really there.

Cassian scanned her over. Nesta was always put together, and today was no exception. She wore a tailored navy shift dress that tastefully hugged all her curves. Her makeup was natural and precise, but Cassian could see the fatigue from the previous night peeking through.

She leaned back in her seat, eyes weary and tired, waiting for him to continue. The way she looked up at him through her lashes was so devastating that Cassian felt all thoughts in his mind empty until nothing was left but her piercing gaze -- like he could only exist under that intent gaze.

For weeks, all Cassian wanted to do was see her in person, not just exchange messages and phone calls. Things had felt off ever since they parted at the Hewn fundraiser earlier in August. One moment, he was practically pressing his face against hers in the soft twinkling lights -- God, she smelled incredible -- and the next, she was avoiding him.

Their relationship felt like a pendulum, swinging close then away.

"Tell me about your big night out on the town?" he prompted.

She propped her elbows on the desk and massaged her temples. "Girls night," replied Nesta. "Please go away."

Cassian softened immediately. "What do you need, Nes?" he asked. "More tea? Maybe something greasy? Or is the hair of the dog more your style?"

Nesta shot him a narrow glance. "Is silence an option on the menu?" she countered.

"Silence and me? We're hardly acquainted," Cassian retorted with a smirk, pushing himself off her desk.

"Maybe it's time you introduced yourself to it." She did look genuinely miserable.

Cassian poured her a glass of water. "Here," he said, placing it in front of her and looking at his watch. "I'll get you more tea and breakfast after this morning's meeting."

The main door swung open as if on cue to reveal Amren, Azriel, and Rhysand. They were in the middle of an animated discussion, but all three stopped in their tracks when they noticed Nesta and Cassian.

"Cass!" Rhysand exclaimed, his face lit up.

Both Azriel and Rhys swung their arms around either side of Cassian's shoulders. Cassian laughed, letting himself settle into the joy of his brothers' company.

Amren cut through the reunion with a sharp look toward Nesta. "You look a little worse for wear," she commented dryly, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Nesta.

"Eventful night?" Azriel asked, his tone light but smug as he glanced meaningfully between Cassian and Nesta.

Nesta sunk back further into her seat.

"This one is hungover," said Cassian with a dry laugh. "And don't look at me -- for once, I had nothing to do with it."

Amren rolled her eyes. She walked purposefully towards Rhysand's inner office, ready to start their morning team meeting. She gestured for the group to follow her.

Never one for beating around the bush, Amren announced over her shoulder, “Let’s beat Thesan fucking Morgenstern.”

[malbecmusings]

How times (and with it design and engineering and consumer demand) have changed. A early 80's ketch rigged HR.

[flowers-of-io]

Repostober #2: Orbits (18 November 2022)

Read in full on Ao3

Days pass.

Rumours solidify into facts, missing persons turn found—dead, mostly, though some come back alive in broken and welded-over Galliots or shiplike vessels jury-rigged from reefjunk and stolen parts. Guardians start showing up like hyenas sniffing blood, and Petra diverts them to chasing out enemies from the inner planets. The Reef is their grief, the Awoken’s, and she will not cede this sorrow until she’s drowned herself in it. The Prince is presumed dead, unconfirmed. The Queen is—

Her Ketch was last seen vaporised by the blast from the Hive King’s star-weapon. Petra does not say the word.

Variks watches.

[prairiesongserial]

The Ghost of Prosper Island 1

The fisherfolk off the coast of Maine knew to keep their boats well and far away from Prosper Island. Enticingly named, Prosper was lush to look at on the horizon, its grass and trees visible even from the mainland. Folks liked to imagine it was a land of plenty--with the caveat, of course, that it was forbidden. 

Some said it was a fragment of God’s garden, and that if you looked out over the water at night, you could see the light of the holy spirit moving through the distant trees. Others of a less religious disposition said it was haunted by the lost souls of the shipwrecked fishermen who had perished there. For Prosper was surrounded by strong, invisible currents that snared any boat that ventured too close, dashing the vessel upon the rocks dotting Prosper’s shores. No sailor who had suffered such a fate had ever returned to the mainland.

The stories about the haunted island had spread far beyond the coastal townsfolk who could see Prosper from their fishing boats. From Maine to Montana, travelers told tales of Prosper across their campfires. And for many years, no one bothered the little island, nor its inhabitants.

*

Agrippa By-The-Sea mended a fishing net from fifteen feet above the ground, her spyglass close at hand. She had spotted a vessel to the east of her island, which was unusual. This vessel had not come from the mainland. Her treehouse lent her a decent view of the comings and goings of fishing boats, and those always clustered to the west, safely snuggled between Prosper and the Maine coast. The boat in Agrippa’s spyglass bobbed on the open ocean, looking about as seaworthy as a paper boat in a bathtub. The poor souls were coming in fast with a storm behind them. As the boat sped closer, it became clear that the vessel was much larger than a fishing boat. Two masts cut through the swirling gray storm-clouds–if Agrippa had to guess, the ship was rigged like a ketch. Unusual boat–nothing like anything Agrippa had seen in at least 20 years. An old Swedish-style galeas, it looked like, but every inch of it painted black. Whoever owned that boat was wealthy–though not for very much longer. The ship was going down.

Caspar By-The-Sea climbed up the netted rope that hung down the side of the treehouse, a tar-lined basket hoisted across his back.

“Catch anything good?” his mother asked. She kept her gaze fixed on the galeas. The overcast sky made it hard to look at Caspar directly, though she could appreciate how his glow lent light to her mending.

“Three mackerel and a haddock, but it was mutated. Take a look?”

Caspar opened his basket. The mackerel were good–meaty. The haddock was just on the edge of edible. It was eating fish like that which had delivered Agrippa of a mutated child. The haddock stared at her. She smiled at it. It was lucky. All it had to worry about was a fishing line. Its own kind hadn’t begrudged it the extra flipper.

“Thank you, Cas.”

But Caspar wasn’t paying any attention. He had spotted the galeas and snatched up Agrippa’s spyglass. He stood with his toes hanging over the edge of the platform, straining for a better look.

“They’re going to wreck,” he said. “I should row out–”

“Not with that storm,” Agrippa snapped.

“The currents on the leeward side of the island aren’t as bad, it’s just–”

“Just the rocks, and a storm half the size of a hurricane. You won’t save them, but you will bust up our boat. And your head, while you’re at it.”

Agrippa snatched back her spyglass.

“They won’t be the first to crash on this island. Just the first you’re old enough to remember. Pray for them, if it suits you. But sit down and cook dinner while you do it.”

Caspar sat. He spared the skyline a long look before he began to clean the fish, separating skin from flesh and flesh from bone.

*

Halfdan Rosenborg, Prince of Iceland, fifth in line to the throne, had read in the latest issue of Ghastly Tales from Around the Globe that there was an absolutely horrible island called Prosper off the coast of Maine, and that Maine was very close, relatively speaking, to Iceland.

Captain Viggo Vestergaard, Halfdan’s favorite private citizen, had patiently explained that while Maine may have been closer to Iceland than was any other station in the American continent, the currents were not favorable to the journey. After a point, they would be fighting the Gulf Stream unless they hung closely to the shore, which would delay their journey several weeks.

Halfdan had listened with an expression of intense interest, but this was only, of course, because he was intensely interested in going to Prosper. He fully trusted Vestergaard to make the voyage, and had told him so.

“You’re my best man, Vestergaard,” he’d said.

And Vestergaard had to agree.

The ship was made ready. They would set sail as soon as Halfdan could procure the provisions and crew. This would include Roslin and Gytta, the prince’s only friends–or his retainers, at least. The relationship wasn’t entirely clear to Viggo, who was a happy outsider to court politics. He’d picked up from rumor that they were the bastard children of notable members of the court; Roslin was the daughter of a countess and Gytta the daughter of an important minister. Or perhaps it was the reverse. And whether they were the prince’s friends or playthings, Gytta and Roslin attended him on every errand with a smile on their faces. 

On the day of departure, Captain Vestergaard watched from the deck as the prince boarded the H.M.S. Water Lily. Viggo had come to consider it his ship, although it belonged to the royal family. He and the Water Lily had weathered many a voyage together in service of the prince’s hobby. Halfdan gave Viggo a wave, smiling broadly, his blond hair already half-escaped from the tie at the base of his neck. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and strode up to Viggo with his usual confidence. Sailors streamed up the gangplank behind him, loading crates of supplies and barrels of water. Gytta and Roslin stood to the side, directing the crew on the degree of care with which they should handle each item of the prince’s luggage.

“I’ve looked at the maps and I’ve charted a course for us, Vestergaard,” Halfdan said.

“Have you, my prince?” Viggo said. His attention lingered on Roslin and Gytta, who had been pulled aside into private council with a man Viggo didn’t recognize. Viggo wouldn’t have noticed him, except that his shoes were too good to belong to a sailor.

“Straight across, I think. Don’t you?” Halfdan pulled a folded map from the front of his black velvet jacket, one of the pearl buttons popping open as he did. He presented the map of the Atlantic and traced his finger from Iceland to the coast of Maine in a straight line.

“I’ll convey this to the navigator,” Viggo said, taking the map. “Have you arranged your cabin yet?”

By the time Viggo had extricated himself from Halfdan’s debate with himself over whether the heirloom globe had been a necessary accoutrement for this particular voyage, he had forgotten about the man who’d been speaking with Roslin and Gytta. He had other things to worry about. He would have to find his new navigator before the prince got to him, for one thing. 

And at long last, they made it to Prosper Island. Or, rather, they had made it tantalizingly close, pursued by a storm, and Captain Vestergaard was convinced that they were all going to die. He had always been a Negative Nilsen.

Rain pounded the H.M.S. Water Lily. Prince Halfdan adjusted his goggles. His crew ran back and forth across the deck, doing things. He thought he heard the distinct sound of a globe falling over and smashing to bits, which decided his previous quandary on the subject.

“Can you take her in?” Halfdan yelled to Vestergaard.

“Not in one piece,” Vestergaard spat.

“God above, look there!” Halfdan shouted. He pointed across the water to the island.

High in the trees, there stood the glowing figure of a man. Unmistakable, even at such distance.

Prince Halfdan shook Vestergaard by the arm.

“The ghost of Prosper Island, Vestergaard. Onward, onward!”

*

Caspar stuck spits through the mackerel, tail to head, and laid them over the coals that Agrippa had been tending all day.  Their treehouse was the only home he’d ever known, but the novelty of a wood-burning stove fifteen feet off the ground was not lost on him.  His mother wouldn’t let him forget it.  “Burnt our house down five times trying to engineer that damned contraption,” Agrippa would say with a cackle. “And I rebuilt it better every time, didn’t I?”

Caspar kept his eyes fixed on the eastern shore. The ship had disappeared from view as the sun set and the storm set in. Rain pattered on the roof of the treehouse, keeping time to the song Agrippa hummed as she worked. They ate in silence.

“Don’t begrudge me, Caspar,” Agrippa said, finally, as Caspar cleared away the fish bones and skin.

Agrippa had said those words to him a thousand times. Don’t begrudge me, Caspar, for never letting you venture off the island. Don’t begrudge me, Caspar, for you know what they would do to you on the mainland.

But this was different. There were people down there who needed help. What did they care if it was a mutant who helped them?

“Agrippa?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, love?”

“Don’t begrudge me, either,” he said.

Agrippa’s face twisted in confusion as Caspar sped down the rope ladder, sliding the last ten feet with the ease of someone who had been climbing trees all his life.

epilogue 19 || The Ghost of Prosper Island 2

[poealexholloway]

Work sheet one

After the first week I was able to make the initial hull into a ketch rig as it was short enough to do so after cleaning up some lines. Means that it looks cleaner and more complete.

I then decided to add a couple more rig types to fill the page starting with the brigantine. I made this one bigger than the others as this was a very common arrangement for pirates, though I did find I had made the hull to big to have the bow sprit

I thought it would also be a good idea to add a ship with the east asian junk rig as the spines on the sails are very distinctive. The shape of the hull seems quite similar to the polacca as it doesnt have a bowl. * I have found that this is not true as the polacca does have a rounded hull.

It was then pointed out that I did not have the front and back views of ships so I found some references and used those. I did find it much harder to find an image of the bow compared to the stern so I used another source of ship based information: reddit. I asked on both the tall ship and model making communities but unfortunately I only had one response, fortunately they also provided several picture of various angles of the ship they had worked on. Unfortunatly there is also basically nothing at the bow of the ship.

Once I had my collection of sail plans, I then proceeded to draw quick versions of the deck side view and experimented with various sails. I found that the junk sails that I thought would add some variety did not work well with the lanteen sails that I wanted, so I decided against using them, though I was a little disappointed. I also did a variation that had a square fore mast, a lanteen sail on the main mast and a gaff on the mizzen mast, but I found that this looked wrong as the square sails are typically mains and triangular sails are normally at the front. I found that I liked the polacca front sails the most, a lanteen main sail from the xebec and a small gaff sail from the polacca, however I also made a backup that removed the middle lanteen. This was made incase I decide to reduce mast count to two

I then proceeded to fill the empty space I had left with what I hope is the final look, though this may change. I decided to start with the polacca hull as it had a more interesting shape than others, though the bow did need redoing multiple times. Once the sheet was finnished I started on a trial out of foam

[berenices-commas]

USS Wasp - 1865-1876

Warship – 521 tons

The Emma Hearney was one of numerous light, very fast cargo vessels built by private shipyards in Britain for the Confederate States during the American Civil War. These ships (constructed with the tacit approval of the British government) were intended to run the blockade which Union forces imposed on the Confederate coastline, trading cotton for a wide variety of goods. She was captured by Union ships at the end of 1864, and soon armed and repurposed as a gunboat, taking a new name as the sixth USS Wasp.

The Wasp was, as was becoming common for ocean-going ships, powered jointly by sails and steam. Ketch-rigged for reliability and a fair degree of agility, she also boasted two large paddle wheels on her flanks. On a relatively light ship (she was iron-hulled, but not armoured) her large engine made her capable of bursts of extreme speed, crucial for a blockade runner. The paddle wheels also prevented her from firing broadside, however, and were themselves vulnerable to enemy fire, so when adapted as a warship she was fitted as a gunboat with a forward battery. This comprised two 24-pounder howitzers and a 30-pounder rifled gun, all muzzle-loading. While by no means formidable, this was sufficient to threaten both ships and shore installations – the howitzers could employ indirect fire to attack targets set well back from the shoreline. The Wasp’s great speed made her a potent mobile threat which could always simply flee from a more substantial enemy warship.

The Wasp saw no combat in the Civil War, which was almost over by the time she was re-launched. In its aftermath she was instead employed as an instrument of the United States’ growing hegemony in the western hemisphere. She patrolled the southern Atlantic and the eastern coast of South America, acting as a highly visible symbol of the force the USA could deploy. During the War of the Triple Alliance, in particular, she sailed up the rivers of the region around Paraguay so as to discourage the combatants from interfering with US commercial interests. She remained on extended deployment in the area until she was retired in 1876.

Wasp was clearly a more martial name for the ship, and in keeping with the general trend of applying the name to gunboats.

[saratogaroadwrites]

For King and Country (41/122)

For King and Country | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount:  280,466 characters: Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane, Aranella, Batu, Tani, Lofty, Leander Aristidies, Bracken Meadows relationships: Roland Crane & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Aranella & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane & Aranella, Batu & Tani, Batu & Evan, Tani & Evan, Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum & Lofty, Rolander other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Place Slowly Becomes Home People Slowly Become Family, Found Family, For Want of A Nail warnings: this chapter contains off-handed mentions of vomiting in the context of seasickness (Batu)

Pulled from his world by mysterious powers, former president Roland Crane finds himself caught in the middle of a coup meant to take the life of the young King Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum. Joining forces with Aranella, the pair of them set out to aid Evan in making his dream of a kingdom where everyone can live happily ever after a reality.

But the road to peace is a long and treacherous one and there is no promise of success in a world where darkness spreads ever thicker with each passing day. If they are to stand a chance, they must stand together, for king and for country.

(A retelling.)

=

“Has he always been like this?” Aranella asked incredulously, watching as Batu clung to the railing and groaned miserably. Tani, tying off a sturdy knot of rope that hitched her father to the mast so he wouldn’t go overboard, nodded.

“Yep,” She said with a sigh. Leaning back against the mast, she eyed his back and said, “Far back as I can remember, he’s always hated the water.”

“Guess it comes with living in the desert like you did,” Roland said. Under the cloudless blue sky, he had abandoned his coat and pulled his hair up. It was a good look for him, Aranella thought idly, though he was a bit flushed. “But there’s not much we can do for him now. At least he doesn't get airsick."

"Be a right lousy sky pirate if he did, eh?" Lofty said with a snort. He waved a hand through the air and said, “Just leave ‘im be. Either he gets better or he don’t. ‘En’t a thing we can do for him now.”

“Yeah,” Tani shook her head, “Not like Wyvern Stew’s going to fix this.”

A shudder ran through the others. One of Batu’s tried and trusted remedies was a big bowl of Wyvern Stew; it wasn’t actually made of Wyvern meat, he had said, but the fatty meat and chewy tendons were just as hard to swallow as actual Wyvern would have been. Eying Batu as he moaned miserably, Aranella was glad they didn’t have what they needed to make that.

He probably was, too.

Shaking off her shudder, Tani pushed off the mast.

“Come on!” Tani snatched Evan by the wrist, “I wanna show you the view from the crows nest!”

Barely giving him time to realize what she had said, Tani scampered up into the rigging. From the helm, Ketch’s laughter echoed back towards them as Evan had to scramble to keep up, his tail a banner in the sea air behind him.

“Tani!” He shouted, “Slow down!”

“Last one to the top’s a Bad Egg!”

“I am not!”

Tani’s laughter carried back down to those who had remained on deck, and soon they were almost out of sight. With a laugh, Roland turned away.

“I think I preferred it when they were chasing each other around the castle,” he said, leaving Batu be and walking to another stretch of railing. Aranella watched him go for a moment; would she have another time to ask this question? Was now even a good time? She peered up at where Evan’s top nearly blended in with the sky, then sighed quietly.

There wouldn’t be another good time. This wasn’t a good question. Padding after him, Aranella came to stand at the bow. The wind tugged at her as she eyed him sidelong. He seemed so peaceful that she was loathe to have to ask this. As she warred with herself about actually needing to, he caught her eye.

“Alright,” Roland sighed around what looked like a smile. “What’s going on?”

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Aranella looked out to sea. Were those storm clouds on the horizon? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.” He nudged her gently with one bare elbow. “Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking at me. You’ve been doing it since I got sick.”

“Maybe I’m just keeping an eye on you,” she retorted primly. “Making sure you don’t overwork yourself again.”

“Pass out one time and everyone watches you like you’re made of glass,” Roland said with a chuckle. Shaking his head, he glanced over at her. His eyes were almost honey in the sun, amused and open. “Did I pass inspection?”

“Almost.”

She had been sitting on this for weeks, turning his few words over and over in her mind. There had been so much to do after his recovery, and then Jack had reared his ugly head…spirits. Taking a deep breath of the salty sea air, she leaned on the rail and pitched her voice low.

“I have to ask you what is likely a very personal question, Roland,” She said slowly. He leaned in to catch her voice as she continued, “Honestly it’s something I should have asked you some time ago, but…”

She worried the inside of her lip. Jack’s presence in the castle had been a stark reminder that even those closest to them could be a danger. Given the way Roland had appeared out of nowhere, she knew it wasn’t the same thing but…

Evan laughed at something, the joyful sound bouncing through the air.

Spirits, forgive her.

“I’m no stranger to background checks,” Roland said. “Ask what you need.”

Aranella took another breath. She turned to look him straight in the eye and asked, “Who is Alex?”

All traces of light and amusement drained away from Roland’s face. He stared at her, skin going pale; she could almost hear the rush of his heart and held his gaze.

“When you were ill,” She clarified as gently as she could, “You called out in your sleep. You were dreaming, or…” She paused, remembering the tears that had spilled down his cheeks, the apologies, “Having a nightmare, perhaps. You called out for this Alex and asked where a Trevor was.” Carefully, she reached out and rested her hand on his. “You were crying.”

That had been explanation enough that, whoever they were, they were important to him. Idly she wondered what sort of important; siblings, perhaps? A partner and child? She didn’t dare ask him that, not yet.

Pulling his hand away he took a step back, only to stop as he saw Batu still leaning over the rail. He looked back at her with a pained expression, then looked out out to sea. A twinge of guilt tugged at her heart, but she swallowed it back and waited. It took him a few minutes, but eventually Roland settled his hands back on the railing.

“I…” The words didn’t seem to come. He ducked his head, chin nearly touching his chest. “It’s…complicated, Aranella.”

“I gathered as much.” She said quietly. Stepping closer, she stood shoulder to shoulder with him. “Were they your family?”

Roland nodded slowly. He worked his jaw open and closed, clearly struggling with the words, but nothing came. Her heart ached for him, for the usually calm and collected man she had come to know was nowhere in sight.

“Something happened to them before you arrived in Dell, didn’t it?” She asked. The heartbroken look that passed across his face was answer enough. She sighed heavily. There was no need to ask if they could be used against him now. “I’m sorry, Roland. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” He said hoarsely, scrubbing a hand over his face. His eyes were still tight as he took a deep breath, held it, then let it go. When he turned to her again, his smile was a tired, washed out little thing. “I would have done the same in your shoes.”

“Still.” Once again, she reached out and laid her hand overtop of his. This time, he didn’t pull away. She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. “I won’t ask you anything more, but if you…would like to talk,” She met his eyes. “I will listen. I know a thing or two about remembering those gone before.”

“I’m sure you do,” Roland cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was much closer to even. “Maybe someday. Just…”

“Not today.” Aranella nodded. Giving his hand a squeeze, she turned her attention back to the horizon. Those were storm clouds brewing ahead of them. Blast. No doubt Ketch had already seen them, but it would be best to warn him anyway. And it would give Roland a bit of space to compose himself. She stepped away.

“Aranella—” He reached out and caught her arm, then looked up to the mast. Evan and Tani were bright spots of color against the richly painted red wood, Lofty a spot of sunlight against a sail. He didn’t take his eyes off of them as he said, “Can you…not mention this to Evan? I don’t want to worry him.”

Any lingering doubts of Roland’s character disappeared with a gust of sea air. Truthfully, she’d had no reason to worry about him for some time. Now she was doubly sure of that, and so she nodded.

“He’ll worry anyway if he sees you like this,” She said, and he snorted quietly. He dashed his free hand across his face as she said, “But yes. I won’t mention this conversation to Evan.” She reached up and squeezed his arm. “You’re a good man, Roland. I would say try not to let the past pull you down, but.”

She knew too well how it could pull you to the bottom even if you were trying to stay afloat. Roland had only been here for a season. Perhaps, with time, it would become easier. Perhaps it wouldn’t. She shrugged one shoulder.

“We’re here if you need us,” She said instead. A little flicker of warmth returned to his eyes. It was a welcome sight. “I hope you know that by now.”

“Yeah,” He said, and turned his face to the sun. “I know.”

[convairsailingclub]

Sailing Serenity: Exploring the World of Sailboats

Sailboats, with their graceful silhouettes and ability to harness the power of the wind, have been captivating sailors and adventurers for centuries. Whether you're a seasoned sailor or a curious landlubber, Sailboat Sailing San Diego offers a unique and enchanting way to experience the beauty and tranquility of the open waters. In this blog post, we'll delve into the world of sailboats, exploring their characteristics, types, and the timeless allure that makes them a symbol of seafaring dreams.

The Beauty of Sailboats:

Sailboats embody elegance and simplicity. Their sleek lines, towering masts, and billowing sails create an aesthetic that is both captivating and timeless. From classic wooden sailboats to modern fiberglass designs, sailboats are crafted with meticulous attention to detail, blending form and function to create vessels that are as stunning as they are seaworthy.

Types of Sailboats:

Sailboats come in a variety of types, each with its unique characteristics and purposes. Here are a few popular types of sailboats:

Monohulls: Monohull sailboats have a single hull, making them the most common type of sailboat. They offer stability, efficiency, and a classic sailing experience. Monohulls range from small daysailers to large cruising yachts.

Catamarans: Catamarans have two parallel hulls connected by a deck, offering spaciousness, stability, and speed. These multihull sailboats are popular for their comfortable living spaces and are ideal for cruising in shallow waters.

Trimarans: Trimarans feature three hulls, with the main hull flanked by two smaller outrigger hulls. They offer excellent stability and speed, making them popular for racing and adventurous sailing.

Keelboats: Keelboats have a fixed keel beneath the hull, providing stability and enabling upwind sailing. Keelboats come in various sizes and designs, catering to different sailing preferences, from casual day sailing to bluewater cruising.

Sailboat Rigging:

Sailboat rigging refers to the arrangement of masts, sails, and supporting structures that enable sailboats to harness the power of the wind. Different types of rigging include:

Sloop Rig: The sloop rig is the most common rig configuration, consisting of a single mast and two sails: a mainsail and a headsail (jib or genoa).

Ketch Rig: Ketch rig features two masts: a taller main mast and a shorter mizzen mast located aft of the cockpit. This rig provides versatility and ease of handling.

Schooner Rig: Schooner rig has two or more masts, with the foremast being shorter than the mainmast. Schooners are known for their classic, romantic appearance.

Sailing Capabilities:

Sailboat Membership offers the thrill of harnessing the power of the wind and embarking on unforgettable voyages. They enable you to navigate vast oceans, explore coastal wonders, and reach secluded destinations that are inaccessible to larger vessels. With skill and experience, sailboats can handle a range of conditions, from light breezes to stronger winds, allowing you to adapt to the elements and embark on incredible sailing adventures.

Sailing Community and Culture:

Sailboats have a rich history and a vibrant community that spans the globe. Sailing culture is characterized by camaraderie, a shared love for the sea, and a deep respect for nature. From yacht clubs to sailing events and regattas, sailboats bring together people with a common passion, providing opportunities to connect, learn, and share experiences.

The Joy of Sailing:

The true essence of sailboats lies in the joy and freedom they offer. Sailing San Diego allows you to disconnect from the hustle and bustle of daily life, immersing yourself in the serenity of the open waters. It's a chance to experience the gentle lull of the waves, the exhilaration of catching the perfect breeze, and the feeling of harmony with nature.

Conclusion:

Sailboats are more than vessels; they are gateways to adventure, beauty, and a deeper connection with the sea. With their timeless elegance, diverse designs, and the ability to navigate the waters under the power of the wind, sailboats offer a unique and captivating sailing experience. So, whether you dream of leisurely coastal cruising or embarking on a daring ocean voyage, sailboats are ready to carry you on an unforgettable journey into the heart of the sea.

[oceanwavesail]

Why is sailboat data important when choosing bluewater sailboats?

Sailboat data is important when choosing bluewater sailboats because it provides information about the boat's design, construction, and performance characteristics that are essential for safe and comfortable long-distance cruising. Some key factors to consider include:

Seaworthiness: Bluewater sailboats need to be capable of handling rough seas and strong winds. Sailboat data can provide information on the boat's stability, buoyancy, and ability to self-right in the event of a capsize.

Rigging and Sails: The sailboat's rigging and sails are critical to its performance and safety at sea. Sailboat data can provide information on the boat's sail area, mast height, rigging type, and sail handling systems.

Hull design and construction: The hull is the most important part of any sailboat, and it's crucial that it's designed and built to withstand the rigors of ocean sailing. Sailboat data can provide information on the boat's displacement, ballast ratio, and hull material.

Comfort and Livability: When sailing offshore, comfort and livability are essential to maintaining crew morale and well-being. Sailboat data can provide information on the boat's interior layout, headroom, berths, galley, and storage.

Overall, sailboat data can help you make an informed decision when choosing a bluewater sailboat that will keep you safe, comfortable, and sailing smoothly on long-distance voyages.

A bluewater sailing boat is a type of sailboat that is designed and built for offshore or long-distance cruising. These boats are designed to be seaworthy and capable of handling the rigors of extended voyages in open ocean conditions.

Typically, a bluewater sailing boat will have a number of design features that make it well-suited for offshore sailing. These may include a full keel or a modified full keel for stability and tracking, a relatively heavy displacement for seaworthiness and carrying capacity, and a cutter or ketch rig for versatility and sail-handling ease. In addition, bluewater sailing boats often have a sturdy construction, with solid fiberglass or steel hulls and reinforced rigging and deck hardware to withstand the forces of the ocean.

The size of a bluewater sailing boat can vary, but they are usually larger than coastal cruising sailboats, with lengths ranging from 30 to 60 feet or more. They also tend to have larger fuel and water tanks for extended cruising and may have additional safety features such as multiple watertight compartments and a dedicated life raft.

Overall, a bluewater sailing boat is designed to provide a safe, comfortable, and reliable platform for long-distance cruising, with the ability to handle a variety of weather conditions and sailing scenarios that can be encountered at sea.

When analyzing sailboat data to choose a bluewater sailboat, there are several important features that should be considered. These features can be broadly categorized into the following areas:

Hull design and construction: This includes factors such as hull material, displacement, ballast ratio, and overall design. A strong and sturdy hull is essential for offshore sailing, as it provides both stability and protection from the forces of the sea.

Rigging and sails: This includes factors such as sail area, mast height, rigging type, and sail handling systems. A robust and well-designed rig is critical for performance and safety at sea, and should be capable of withstanding the rigors of offshore sailing.

Seaworthiness and safety features: This includes factors such as stability, buoyancy, and self-righting ability in the event of a capsize, as well as watertight compartments, a dedicated life raft, and other safety features.

Interior layout and amenities: This includes factors such as headroom, berths, galley, and storage. A comfortable and livable interior is important for maintaining crew morale and well-being during extended offshore voyages.

Overall condition and maintenance history: It's important to thoroughly inspect the boat and review its maintenance history to ensure that it's in good condition and has been well-maintained over time.

Overall, when analyzing sailboat data to choose a bluewater sailboat, it's important to carefully consider each of these features and how they contribute to the overall safety, comfort, and performance of the boat for offshore sailing.

Sailboat ratios such as the Comfort Ratio, Motion Comfort Ratio, and Capsize Screening Formula can be helpful in analyzing sailboat data and assessing a bluewater sailboat's performance and seaworthiness for offshore sailing.

The Comfort Ratio, for example, is a ratio of a boat's displacement to the power of two-thirds of its waterline length. This ratio provides an indication of a boat's comfort at sea, with higher numbers indicating a more stable and comfortable boat in rough conditions.

The Motion Comfort Ratio is another important ratio, which takes into account a boat's displacement, beam, and capsize ratio. This ratio provides an indication of how comfortable a boat will be in a seaway, with lower numbers indicating a more comfortable ride.

The Capsize Screening Formula is yet another ratio that takes into account a boat's beam, displacement, and sail area. This ratio provides an indication of a boat's susceptibility to capsizing, with lower numbers indicating a more stable boat in rough conditions.

While sailboat ratios are not the only factors to consider when choosing a bluewater sailboat, they can provide helpful insights into a boat's performance, seaworthiness, and comfort at sea. When combined with other sailboat data such as hull design and construction, rigging and sails, and safety features, these ratios can provide a more complete picture of a bluewater sailboat's suitability for offshore sailing.

The specific ranges for sailboat ratios that are suitable for bluewater sailboats can vary depending on the boat's size, design, and intended use. However, there are general ranges that are commonly used as guidelines for assessing a bluewater sailboat's suitability for offshore sailing. Here are some approximate ranges for three commonly used ratios:

Comfort Ratio: A Comfort Ratio of 30 or higher is generally considered good for bluewater sailboats. However, some experienced offshore sailors prefer boats with a Comfort Ratio of 35 or higher for maximum comfort and stability at sea.

Motion Comfort Ratio: A Motion Comfort Ratio of 30 or higher is generally considered good for bluewater sailboats. However, some offshore sailors prefer boats with a Motion Comfort Ratio of 40 or higher for maximum comfort in rough conditions.

Capsize Screening Formula: A Capsize Screening Formula of less than 2.0 is generally considered good for bluewater sailboats, as it indicates a lower likelihood of capsizing in rough conditions.

It's important to note that these ranges are just guidelines, and other factors such as hull shape, ballast distribution, and sail area can also affect a boat's performance at sea. It's also important to consider other sailboat data, such as rigging and sails, seaworthiness and safety features, and interior layout and amenities, when evaluating a bluewater sailboat's suitability for offshore sailing.

[ltwilliammowett]

The Wreck of the Annie on the South Tail, by Mark Richard Myers (1945-)

The 58-ton Bideford ketch Annie was built by William Westacott at Barnstaple in 1872. On 8 November 1921, it went out of control coming over the Bar. The wreck was not sighted until dawn when the lifeboat crew at Appledore was despatched. It took rescuers an hour to battle out against the wind and reach the Annie and on coming up to her they found only the mate and seaman hanging exhausted in the weather rigging.

[ishmains]

Kiwi for gmail or lite

#Kiwi for gmail or lite full#

#Kiwi for gmail or lite plus#

Raised pilot house and workboat storage on fordeck.Kiwi for Gmail will appeal to any Gmail user thanks to its familiar interfaceThe app makes no effort to reinvent the wheel as far as Gmail is concerned: it basically provides a wrapper for the web interface, making the user experience an instantly familiar one. On deck lab space with wet room and main galley, double sleeping cabins for 12 crew forward. 28’ long aft deck with storage hold and engine room under. The PL80 concept adapted for long range hydrographic work. With 20’ beam and multi-chine hull for aluminum construction. Full flying bridge with additional small boat storage. Engine room under main saloon area with owner’s cabin under pilothouse, guest cabins and office area forward. Flush aft deck for boat storage over lazerette garage. A different arrangement again with stepped main deck. With 17’ beam and multi-chine hull for aluminum or steel construction. Single level flush main deck, engines aft.

#Kiwi for gmail or lite full#

Typical PL arrangement but with slightly raised pilot house and bridgedeck to provide a full width stateroom under the pilot house. With 15’ beam and multi-chine all aluminum or steel hull construction. Engine room forward of garage with owner’s full width cabin forward of that. Transom opening into huge lazerett garage for storage of boats and dive gear. Full flying bridge and large aft deck with roof over. A very different double-deck arrangement with main saloon and pilothouse on a completely flush main deck surrounded by full bulwarks. With 17’ beam and multi-chine all aluminum or steel hull construction. Engines aft and sleeping cabins forward under the boat deck. Raised pilot house with full Portuguese bridge over full width main saloons. Smaller versions of the PL80 with similar arrangements. Tender storage and outside cockpit with controls on flush main deck. Engine room aft, 16’ long full width main saloon, 8’ pilothouse, and 19’ long foc’sl. With 14’ beam and multi-chine all aluminum or steel hull construction. Owner’s suite forward and twin en-suite guest cabins aft under the boat deck. 62' aluminum ocean crossing sail-assisted powerboat with French canal capability. Large flush aft deck for tender storage.ĭawkins 62 Ketch-rigged Passagemaker Lite. Midships engine room and tank space for single or twin power.

#Kiwi for gmail or lite plus#

A large deckhouse with galley up, plus a full flying bridge, and sleeping cabins forward and aft. With 15’ beam and multi-chine aluminum construction. With good weather, a West Coast (U.S.)-to-Hawaii crossing could be made in less than eight days, and the 2,550 miles (4,103.8 km) from Bermuda to the Canary Islands can be completed in under nine. The possibilities for ocean-crossing performance with the PL 80 are impressive. All the way forward is another well deck, this one for safety while handling ground tackle. The helmsman is only a couple of steps away from line handling when docking the boat. She is built of fiberglass sheathed Japanese Cedar strip-planking on NC cut station molds. Passagemaker Lite Ataraxia is a Passagemaker Lite 46 plus, the "plus" indicating increased length for added interior volume over the original 46' design. The main machinery is completely isolated by a full-height watertight bulkhead. In this boat it has been adapted to a single mid engine configuration.Īnother feature is the aft engineroom there is no having to live around, or on top of, engines. The traditional PL arrangement of flush raised deck and sunken pilot house with bridge behind is still workable at 39’ LOA.

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Gonna summon Mary Shelley's ghost to ask her what kind of ship Robert Walton used for his voyage

[malbecmusings]

Henri Amel found a formula that worked and stuck with it. Modern Amels fully abandoned his (stable) ketch rig in favor of the more popular, generally faster sloop, but they still retain much of the original DNA. Unfortunately they still don't offer much (any) flexibility in the build/option process. Still a pretty girl tho.

[actuallybestrpgideas]

So you know how the captain is married to his ship? Does that make my father's boat my stepmom?