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The Lovers
The following is a fictional account written by Phil Bolger himself for WoodenBoat Magazine of how the Micro might be used, and what the boats' capabilities might be. This piece has been reproduced in several places including in a plans catalog and a plan sales brochure.
An April sun is rising over Italy, far out of sight over the lee quarter of the tiny cat-
yawl making her way toward France. The little boat has been bobbing along at 4 knots,
close-hauled in a gentle westerly breeze, all night and since dawn the day before. The
mountains of Corsica went under the horizon about noon. The young woman at the tiller
is sitting on the weather side, her weight reducing the angle of heel. If the wind were
much lighter she would move to the lee side, since the flat bottom is noisy if the boat is
sailed bolt-upright.
A very small inflatable boat is in tow. The tiller is held in a rack, and the boat is
keeping a good course unsteered, with the mizzen sheet slightly freer than the main-
sheet. The woman occasionally turns a flashlight on the box compass that is chocked off
against the break of the deck. Near her feet, in the open hatch of the hold under the after-
deck, are dry-cell navigation lights ready to show approaching ships. She used them
once during her watch when a large power yacht crossed their course -- bound for
Genoa, she guessed.
Her husband is sleeping below, his feet under her left buttock, his head on the slop-
ing forward end of the cuddy sole. A length of canvas laid under his mattress and
stretched up 30cm above the inboard edge of the berth would hold him in place if the
boat heeled much. He sleeps on the weather side, to be live ballast -- not necessary in
this weather, but a great help to the boat when there's more wind. His weight is centered
well back from the bow, and his wife's weight, in the cockpit, is far from the stern, keep-
ing the ends of the boat light as well as balanced. This is especially necessary because,
while the boat is nominally all of 4% meters long, each end is a free-flooding well, more
of cutwater and stern platform than boat proper; the actual watertight envelope is barely
3 meters long. The arrangement makes certain that outboard motor fuel, stowed aft, and
muddy anchors and warps, stowed forward, won't contaminate the cuddy. Some of their
other supplies are also stowed in the end wells, including a 4-liter jug of red wine
wrapped in life vests.
The cuddy is reasonably clean, but it's hardly dry. The berths have the same prob-
lem that quarter berths do in more reasonably sized cruisers: they're in the way of drips
and splashes from the companionway. The forward ventilator has been known to spit
when there's a strong headwind. The cockpit hatch is supposed to be kept shut under-
way, but the couple find it so comfortable to sit with their feet in it that they usually have
it open. Through ventilation is good between the openings in the forward bulkhead and
the one in front of the sternpost; the draft will work with either bow or stern to the wind,
so the cuddy dries quickly whenever the air is dry. They scrub it out with fresh water
when they can. On one glorious occasion they found themselves within reach of a large
yacht's deck hose, with a group of amiable deckhands looking down at them. They
stripped the cuddy and half-filled the boat with fresh water without making an appre-
ciable inroad on the yacht's seawater conversion capacity. They had a memorable soak-
ing bath in the flooded cuddy, and took no offense when a voice from above was heard
to say, "I knew there had to be some reason for a boat that shape!"
They normally keep their few clothes, including some large bath towels, in water-
proof bags. A portable toilet lives under the forward end of the cockpit, between the feet
of the berths. It is slid forward under the companionway hatch for use. They dump it
furtively over the side as far offshore as possible.
They have found that a boat with a keel drawing 53cm with the boat trimmed level
(and less when she's down by the head) does not always have to lie in the crowded and
quarrelsome ranks of Mediterranean yacht harbors. Nearly every port they've visited has
a shallow place somewhere, that has allowed them to lie out of the way and have some
privacy. They motor around in search of it, frequently pursued by a harbormaster trying
to warn them away from the shoals. They have arranged supports for the cuddy floor-
boards at the slightly higher level of the berths, to convert the cuddy into a bed almost
185cm wide. A square awning shades the companionway and most of the cockpit; it
hangs slightly cockeyed between the mainmast and the off-center mizzen. The long sprit
boom forms a ridgepole; mizzen boom and boomkin serve as transverse spreaders.
A propane stove is used in the cockpit, when they're in port. Underway the couple
lives on bread, cheese, fruit, and the red wine. They have two Walkman cassette players
and a paperback copy of El Conde de Monte Cristo, the latter now almost perished.
There's a dry-cell riding light which is more often used for cabin lighting. For reading
after dark they use candles, four at a time in a socketed block of wood mounted between
the heads of the berths. There have been some nights when the heat of the candles was
welcome.
They were lucky in their weather, and they hopped from port to port around the
Gulf of Genoa with increasing confidence, fulfilling a dream by reaching Montecristo.
They considered pushing on to the Strait of Bonifacio but decided they did not have
time. If they had passed the strait they would almost certainly have lost the boat. The
Libeccio, a southwest dry gale, blew up out of a clear sky as they neared Cap Corse, and
even under the lee of Corsica they got the scare of their lives and just made it into Bastia
with deep-reefed mainsail and motor wide open. They came close to being blown over
to the Italian coast. If they'd been on the west coast of Corsica, they would have piled
up on the lee shore.
After the fright, they ventured the long jump to France with their hearts in their
mouths, but they will boast later that none of their gear shifted or got wet. In truth, the
shifts weren't disastrous and the wetting was limited. While waiting for the gale to blow
itself out, they added some more hooks and eyes and bought some net material to
improve restraint against beam-ends knockdowns.
The woman looks ahead and sees the mountains of Provence catch the first sunlight
behind a gap that ought to be the Gulf of Saint-Tropez. Her cry, "Tierra!" brings her
husband's tousled head out of the hatch. It's a good sign that he looks good to her after
a month in that boat.
Saludos y birras que no falten
astrolabio
(Bolge Micro)