Lateen Rig

Yesterday afternoon I spent some time untangling and laying stuff out. What I’ve got is at least one complete Folbot lateen sail rig – four leeboards, two thwarts, one complete and the top half of another mast, a complete sail-frame (dunno what it’s called) and a couple of spare parts (spars?), three sails, two tillers, two plywood Folbot seats, two Folbot Big Glider deck seats (one’s pretty trashed), and one of the smaller ribs to either the Glider or Super, and an ancient vinyl Folbot bag in stately blue and black.

The gentleman who gave me the rigs and oddments said he and his brother had the two Folbots. First his own was stolen, and then that belonging to his brother. The sailing gear, it’s my guess, was kept separately from the boats, but has had no use for them, and was unwilling to discard them.

All the ropes or, um, sheets will have to be replaced. The wing-nuts on the thwarts are seized, but may respond to liquid wrench. One of the thwarts appears designed to fit a Super, which had a gothic-arch cockpit similar to that of the RZ96. That bag needs a cleaning, but appears intact and, with the exception of a giant-sized zipper in need of, I think, paraffin, is in excellent shape, and will make a good hull and gear-bag for the E68.

Maybe some pictures tomorrow if I get home early enough to fool around with this stuff.

Thursday 4 September: I got out in the yard with the Great Blue Heron after work, and monkeyed around with parts, spars, masts, yokes. It took me ten sweaty minutes to get the one remaining wing-nut and bolt off the Super’s yoke or thwart. Then I took two bolts, which came off easily, from the Big Glider thwart, and added them to the former (Super thwart uses three, whereas Glider thwart uses four).

The bow end of the RZ96 cockpit, with the mast partner and its corresponding step, below, forms a somewhat narrower angle – that is, it’s pointier – than the likely bow-tend of the Super’s cockpit. So the the thwart, with its rounded triangular supporting piece below, does not set far enough forward to match the Pouch’s mast partner/mast-step.

I can, however, use the thwart and leeboards, considerably more delicate than same Folbot parts, that came with my Klepper rig. Because it was windy, and because I needed to get the RZ96 disassembled and back in its bags and stored before what appeared to be a rainstorm struck, I didn’t fool around with the sails. Maybe this weekend.

Got The Sail-Rigs

Two of the sail rigs are now in the back of Thursday, the silver 850. I’ll unload them in a minute, and see about getting the back yard mowed. I got a late start yesterday afternoon – Caution-Lady made pizza, and we watched episode three of Petticoat Junction – so only got the front yard mowed. That was great television.

Folbot lateen sail-rig, came with three sails, a Folbot parts bag, four Super seat bottoms, a hiking seat, two tillers, two thwarts, two sets of leeboards.

Folbot lateen sail-rig, came with three sails, a Folbot parts bag, four Super seat bottoms, a hiking seat, two tillers, two thwarts, two sets of leeboards. I stupidly forgot to bring the two rudders...

I arose early this morning, drank coffee, ate oatmeal, washed the cars, cleaned and dressed eight wheels, eight tires, aired them up. By the time I’d finished that, Caution-Lady wanted me to hold little ’76 for awhile. Then it was time to drive down to Chattanooga. I-24 crosses the Elk, and I kept thinking the next bridge was the river. After what seemed a long way, I passed the Elk River sign, and crossed over the point to which I intend to paddle tomorrow.

In Chattanooga, I took the Fourth Avenue exit, left, then right on 23rd, and left again on Dodd. Passed an old house on the hillside to my right with Tara-style columns painted a vulgar red, and a sign which read something like “Yum Yum Good Chinese Food.” Looked disreputable, like something from a Sax Rohmer novel written in a Southern, Raymond-Chandleresque universe through which I happened to be driving. Urban decay and wild, untrimmed growth of hedges, garden plants, indigenous flowering vines.

Because of an unforeseen communication snafu, I had to wait about 40 minutes for the rig’s owner. I sort of enjoyed sitting in the front porch swing at 154, listening to the insects, air smelling of small flowers from the hedge close by, imagining what the neighborhood might have been like when the front entryways had screen doors instead of bars. I learned to paint houses, replace and glaze window panes, on old houses. I like best the ones with raised, cool, concrete porches.

The drive home was pretty uneventful, except near the I-24 West onramp where a tall black transvestite evidently in the throes of drug addiction, mental illness, or both performed a sort of chicken-dance at the occupants of the car ahead of me. I just nodded to the dancer and drove on.

Got around some unconscionably slow drivers outside of Chattanooga, ran into spattering rain that side of Monteagle Mountain (if that’s what it’s really called), got around a brake-rider on a curve coming back down the mountain. By the time I turned at my street, the Sparks were predicting a number of events both probable, then increasingly unlikely. Moscow will march to France, then do the can-can dance…

Folbot Lateen Sail-Rig

Well, tomorrow’s the day I’m scheduled to pick up the sail-rig.  I don’t think I’ll be back in time to do much paddling tomorrow afternoon, and I am thinking about skipping church, Sunday, to paddle.  Seems the days I skip church to paddle are the days the congregation meets for a meal together, which is a pity because I enjoy spending time with the folks at Cafe Church.