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Peapod and the Sea Dragon
by
Anne Westlund
Anne speaks:
It all began when the urge to go sailing became an obsession – like the one I’ve had since age 8 or so. But
that’s another story in and of itself. Meantime, Peapod met the Sea Dragon…I had been sailing the wee
sailboat for five years before Sea Dragon entered my life. I’ll let Peapod tell the first part of the story.
Peapod speaks:
My new owner, Anne, found me on the Internet. Isn’t that a heck of a way to buy a sailboat? Or, is it the best
way to find an abandoned boat? I’m a West Wight Potter, fifteen feet long. Anne had researched all of the
small sailboats within her price and requirement ranges. She wanted to be able to beach the boat, walk
ashore (not tow a dinghy), be able to sail in some pretty large waters, like the Great Lakes, and she wanted
it to be easily trailerable. She didn’t have a lot of money and that was a huge part of the choices she made.
Buying the boat is the first part of the money drain on a boat owner. The dockage, hauling, maintenance and
other costs go up exponentially with the length of a boat. Initial costs are not too bad usually. It’s the cost of
up-keep that drives people off the big boats and into small boats.
When Anne found me I was in St. Petersburg, Florida where a previous owner had left her at a brokerage to
be sold. That former owner came from Phoenix, Arizona. Anne doesn’t know why the boat went up for sale
but she imagined a person who fell in love with sailing, bought a tiny boat, and then a larger boat, moved to
the south where waters beat the desert and are good for sailing year around; and probably never looked
back when he left me in the lot, abandoned. I never did a thing to let that owner down and vowed to behave
and be a better boat when Anne bought me.
She came to St. Pete one hot October afternoon to pick me up. She had arranged to get me way back in
August if the broker had not misrepresented me in the advertisement or the description or the photos sent
over the net. I was pristine and polished when Anne came to get me. I showed beautifully. Anne was
delighted when she first saw me all spiffed up, polished to a fair-thee-well! I was Bristol without a speck
of dirt and looked brand new. She had slugs installed on the mainsail to slide up the slot in the mast better
than a boltrope. And, she made sure the sail cover fit as well as the tiller cover she had ordered. After a
long inspection process, and checking over the trailer really well, she paid the broker and hitched me up to
her car. In bright sunshine we went north to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula on I-75 traveling to a new home in
the fast lane. Little did I know what would come into my new life as a busy little sailboat. Since that day
Anne has sailed me over 2500 miles and has enjoyed five summers in the North Channel of Lake Huron, a
spring in Lake Powell, sailed portions of Lake Superior and dreamed of longer cruising seasons. I’ve been
a part of her dreams and although I can’t talk to her, I support her explorations and sailing days.
On the way north Anne stopped near Asheville, North Carolina to visit her brother, Bob. When she got to
his house she carried in a small wind vane made of brass and copper. It had come from her day sailor, a
Snipe she got at age 13. It had fallen off one time and Bob had found it when he was scuba diving. She put it
back up on the mast and lost it again a year later. Several years went by before she found it while scuba
diving. The bracket had broken and it could no longer be put back on the mast. She carefully put it away
and, now some forty-two years later she still had it.
Her brother, Bob, is a fine machinist and has his own shop where he makes, sells and repairs antique
surveying instruments, sextants, telescopes, microscopes, and such. She asked him to make a bracket for my
mast so she could use it again. He waxed nostalgic when she produced the little wind vane, memories
flowing of his youth and early scuba experiences. He made a brass bracket and lock for the wind vane and
helped her install it on the mast top.
After a great visit with family she drove the thousand miles home to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, to
Paradise, Michigan. I was sailed in Lake Superior where she played with the systems and how I behaved.
She led all the halyards and lines aft to the cockpit for easier solo sailing, and made up aft sheeting on my
boom. The system was really efficient and made me a great solo boat. It became time for me to tell her my
name: Peapod. Boats should be able to tell their owners their own names. It is done by intuition and a
certain “fitting quality”. New owners mess about thinking of names but often don’t listen to the quiet times.
It’s then that we can slide into their consciousness our names. My green hull lends itself well to my name.
This is my story.
Our first sailing was in May on the sweetwater sea, Lake Superior. Anne launched me at the Tahquamenon
River mouth ramp after rigging me in the lot. She then parked the car and trailer in the shade. Looking
around to read the winds and clouds, she came aboard and warmed up the little motor. When she was
satisfied that the motor was purring like a tiger she cast off the bow and stern lines and backed out of the
slip. We went out the mouth of the river with its brown, tannic waters, opaque and dark under my keel.
Within minutes we were in four to six feet of water that had suddenly become as clear as gin.
Anne turned me to the light winds and raised the jib. She cleated it firmly in place keeping me upwind.
Then she raised the mainsail and holding the sheet, turned the motor off, tilting it up out of the water. She
dropped the tiller to the lee side and we sailed away into a beautiful backbay of Whitefish Bay. The water
was every possible color of blue over the white sand bottom. I gave it my all and Anne was pleased. The
sails set cleanly and drew well. She tacked me back and forth up wind, sailed downwind and played,
getting to know my bow chuckles and turning moments. She also played with the centerboard settings to see
how I performed with the board down, part way down and mostly up.
Being a frisky boat, I can be great fun or give a sailor a scare or two! When she brought the board mostly up
she found that I was top heavy with sail area. The little sails were almost too big for the conditions with the
ballast of the board tucked up in my centerboard trunk. She promptly let the board down and found I settled
down and behaved. “Ballast,” she said, “she needs ballast. That will be perfect when I go cruising with
Peapod! There will be room for all my sleeping and clothing gear, cooking stuff and food, safety gear and a
pile of books, my camera, binoculars, and other stuff. This is one neat boat!” It was a revelation to her that I
could point as well as I can. And, that I was so frisky. “Like dinghy sailing,” she thought. Of course I could
read her mind!
After several trips out on Whitefish Bay, we played with a spinnaker that Anne had been given by a friend
years earlier. She had no occasion to use it until I came along. It fit our systems as if made for me. It is
white with a red top and is soft as a nightgown. Anne used it in winds from 2-8 knots out on the bay in the
deeper waters north of where she lived along the shores, about eight miles from the river mouth. We danced
over the little wavelets and moved along briskly until the wind began to blow harder. Anne soon replaced
the spinnaker with the working jib and was underway again.
All the while Anne was dreaming about going to the North Channel islands on the north end of Lake Huron.
She had been there many years before by sailboat and sea kayak. She soon arranged for a couple of weeks
vacation from working at the local library and loaded up the car with gear, hitched me up and we went to
Spanish, Ontario to launch. Going through customs elicited a comment from the agent, “What a cute little
boat!” I grinned as usual. I hear that a lot.
Arriving at Vance’s Marina in Spanish, Anne arranged for our launch and a place to leave the car with the
trailer. New blacktop had been put down and before all the rigging was done my topsides needed a good
cleaning! So did Anne’s sailing sandals! Then we launched into the tannic Spanish River and sailed away
after backing out with the motor running. The winds were from the south and light. We eased west down the
river channel to the far markers where we could turn south. Tacking into the wind we passed our first tiny
islands before going around Green Island to Shanley Island where there was a small beach cove with some
protection. Anne dropped the stern anchor and sailed me into the beach with the jib alone. She then stepped
out and secured the bow anchor to the shore. I was afloat in about 10 inches of water.
It was dinner time and our overnight spot, our first anchorage in the North Channel. Anne felt like she had
come home.
More another time….Peapod
westlund@lighthouse.net
by
Anne Westlund
Anne speaks:
It all began when the urge to go sailing became an obsession – like the one I’ve had since age 8 or so. But
that’s another story in and of itself. Meantime, Peapod met the Sea Dragon…I had been sailing the wee
sailboat for five years before Sea Dragon entered my life. I’ll let Peapod tell the first part of the story.
Peapod speaks:
My new owner, Anne, found me on the Internet. Isn’t that a heck of a way to buy a sailboat? Or, is it the best
way to find an abandoned boat? I’m a West Wight Potter, fifteen feet long. Anne had researched all of the
small sailboats within her price and requirement ranges. She wanted to be able to beach the boat, walk
ashore (not tow a dinghy), be able to sail in some pretty large waters, like the Great Lakes, and she wanted
it to be easily trailerable. She didn’t have a lot of money and that was a huge part of the choices she made.
Buying the boat is the first part of the money drain on a boat owner. The dockage, hauling, maintenance and
other costs go up exponentially with the length of a boat. Initial costs are not too bad usually. It’s the cost of
up-keep that drives people off the big boats and into small boats.
When Anne found me I was in St. Petersburg, Florida where a previous owner had left her at a brokerage to
be sold. That former owner came from Phoenix, Arizona. Anne doesn’t know why the boat went up for sale
but she imagined a person who fell in love with sailing, bought a tiny boat, and then a larger boat, moved to
the south where waters beat the desert and are good for sailing year around; and probably never looked
back when he left me in the lot, abandoned. I never did a thing to let that owner down and vowed to behave
and be a better boat when Anne bought me.
She came to St. Pete one hot October afternoon to pick me up. She had arranged to get me way back in
August if the broker had not misrepresented me in the advertisement or the description or the photos sent
over the net. I was pristine and polished when Anne came to get me. I showed beautifully. Anne was
delighted when she first saw me all spiffed up, polished to a fair-thee-well! I was Bristol without a speck
of dirt and looked brand new. She had slugs installed on the mainsail to slide up the slot in the mast better
than a boltrope. And, she made sure the sail cover fit as well as the tiller cover she had ordered. After a
long inspection process, and checking over the trailer really well, she paid the broker and hitched me up to
her car. In bright sunshine we went north to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula on I-75 traveling to a new home in
the fast lane. Little did I know what would come into my new life as a busy little sailboat. Since that day
Anne has sailed me over 2500 miles and has enjoyed five summers in the North Channel of Lake Huron, a
spring in Lake Powell, sailed portions of Lake Superior and dreamed of longer cruising seasons. I’ve been
a part of her dreams and although I can’t talk to her, I support her explorations and sailing days.
On the way north Anne stopped near Asheville, North Carolina to visit her brother, Bob. When she got to
his house she carried in a small wind vane made of brass and copper. It had come from her day sailor, a
Snipe she got at age 13. It had fallen off one time and Bob had found it when he was scuba diving. She put it
back up on the mast and lost it again a year later. Several years went by before she found it while scuba
diving. The bracket had broken and it could no longer be put back on the mast. She carefully put it away
and, now some forty-two years later she still had it.
Her brother, Bob, is a fine machinist and has his own shop where he makes, sells and repairs antique
surveying instruments, sextants, telescopes, microscopes, and such. She asked him to make a bracket for my
mast so she could use it again. He waxed nostalgic when she produced the little wind vane, memories
flowing of his youth and early scuba experiences. He made a brass bracket and lock for the wind vane and
helped her install it on the mast top.
After a great visit with family she drove the thousand miles home to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, to
Paradise, Michigan. I was sailed in Lake Superior where she played with the systems and how I behaved.
She led all the halyards and lines aft to the cockpit for easier solo sailing, and made up aft sheeting on my
boom. The system was really efficient and made me a great solo boat. It became time for me to tell her my
name: Peapod. Boats should be able to tell their owners their own names. It is done by intuition and a
certain “fitting quality”. New owners mess about thinking of names but often don’t listen to the quiet times.
It’s then that we can slide into their consciousness our names. My green hull lends itself well to my name.
This is my story.
Our first sailing was in May on the sweetwater sea, Lake Superior. Anne launched me at the Tahquamenon
River mouth ramp after rigging me in the lot. She then parked the car and trailer in the shade. Looking
around to read the winds and clouds, she came aboard and warmed up the little motor. When she was
satisfied that the motor was purring like a tiger she cast off the bow and stern lines and backed out of the
slip. We went out the mouth of the river with its brown, tannic waters, opaque and dark under my keel.
Within minutes we were in four to six feet of water that had suddenly become as clear as gin.
Anne turned me to the light winds and raised the jib. She cleated it firmly in place keeping me upwind.
Then she raised the mainsail and holding the sheet, turned the motor off, tilting it up out of the water. She
dropped the tiller to the lee side and we sailed away into a beautiful backbay of Whitefish Bay. The water
was every possible color of blue over the white sand bottom. I gave it my all and Anne was pleased. The
sails set cleanly and drew well. She tacked me back and forth up wind, sailed downwind and played,
getting to know my bow chuckles and turning moments. She also played with the centerboard settings to see
how I performed with the board down, part way down and mostly up.
Being a frisky boat, I can be great fun or give a sailor a scare or two! When she brought the board mostly up
she found that I was top heavy with sail area. The little sails were almost too big for the conditions with the
ballast of the board tucked up in my centerboard trunk. She promptly let the board down and found I settled
down and behaved. “Ballast,” she said, “she needs ballast. That will be perfect when I go cruising with
Peapod! There will be room for all my sleeping and clothing gear, cooking stuff and food, safety gear and a
pile of books, my camera, binoculars, and other stuff. This is one neat boat!” It was a revelation to her that I
could point as well as I can. And, that I was so frisky. “Like dinghy sailing,” she thought. Of course I could
read her mind!
After several trips out on Whitefish Bay, we played with a spinnaker that Anne had been given by a friend
years earlier. She had no occasion to use it until I came along. It fit our systems as if made for me. It is
white with a red top and is soft as a nightgown. Anne used it in winds from 2-8 knots out on the bay in the
deeper waters north of where she lived along the shores, about eight miles from the river mouth. We danced
over the little wavelets and moved along briskly until the wind began to blow harder. Anne soon replaced
the spinnaker with the working jib and was underway again.
All the while Anne was dreaming about going to the North Channel islands on the north end of Lake Huron.
She had been there many years before by sailboat and sea kayak. She soon arranged for a couple of weeks
vacation from working at the local library and loaded up the car with gear, hitched me up and we went to
Spanish, Ontario to launch. Going through customs elicited a comment from the agent, “What a cute little
boat!” I grinned as usual. I hear that a lot.
Arriving at Vance’s Marina in Spanish, Anne arranged for our launch and a place to leave the car with the
trailer. New blacktop had been put down and before all the rigging was done my topsides needed a good
cleaning! So did Anne’s sailing sandals! Then we launched into the tannic Spanish River and sailed away
after backing out with the motor running. The winds were from the south and light. We eased west down the
river channel to the far markers where we could turn south. Tacking into the wind we passed our first tiny
islands before going around Green Island to Shanley Island where there was a small beach cove with some
protection. Anne dropped the stern anchor and sailed me into the beach with the jib alone. She then stepped
out and secured the bow anchor to the shore. I was afloat in about 10 inches of water.
It was dinner time and our overnight spot, our first anchorage in the North Channel. Anne felt like she had
come home.
More another time….Peapod
westlund@lighthouse.net