Photo courtesy of Alcort/AMF Head
Sunfish sailboats are small enough for kids to handle, but they are prone to tipping.

A sunfish sailor's dream

By Jay Gallagher

When most nature-loving boaters think of the Adirondacks, canoes and guideboats first come to mind. But it’s also ideal for small-boat sailing. And I mean really small boats. Since 1987, I have hauled my 14-foot, 130-pound Sunfish around the Park and put it in at several lakes, including George, Upper Saranac, Piseco, Schroon, Indian, Blue Mountain, Long, Big Moose and Sacandaga.

A Sunfish—the brilliantly designed boat that serious sailors look down on but is the most popular sailboat in the world—is ideal for small-lake sailing because of its size and its simplicity. It has only one sail, and even someone who is baffled by most mechanical chores can rig it in five minutes.

And like other boats without engines, the Sunfish also disturbs no one, except those who object to looking at brightly colored sails skimming across the water.

My wife and I have dithered for years about whether to buy a summer place but never pulled the trigger. So I have to carry any boat I use with me. The Sunfish is light enough that it can be easily pulled on a trailer, put on the roof of a car if necessary, and then manhandled around the dock if the wind is tricky or the boat traffic thick.

I bought mine used ($1,300, with trailer) in 1987—the best recreational investment I’ve ever made. They list now for $2,775 new. I got hooked after we rented a place on Upper Saranac Lake earlier that year and I rented a Sunfish for a week. The advantage of a small boat is that you’re closer to what makes sailing fun: the sensation of gliding along the water without the noise and vibration of an engine, the feeling of the sun and the wind on your face, the tiller and sail responsive to your every touch. The advantage of small-boat sailing in the Adirondacks is the pristine water and stunning views that shape the experience. With a little luck, you won’t see or hear a motorboat or jet-ski for a few minutes.

My boat has a jam cleat to hold the rope that controls the sail. Sunfish generally don’t come equipped with them because, although they make holding the sheet in a heavy wind much easier, they also take some time to release, and an unexpected puff of wind will knock you over if the sheet is cleated. My solution, not always successful, is to cleat it but pay close attention. You can actually sail a Sunfish with a beer in one hand, the other on the tiller and the jam cleat taking care of the sheet. But that’s almost asking to get dumped.

TIPPING OVER IS NO BIG DEAL
Getting dumped is part of the Sunfish experience. I was racing a friend in another Sunfish one summer day on Schroon Lake. He kept going over because, to maximize speed, he was holding the sail in tight, making the boat much tippier. The second time he did it I started razzing him so hard that I stopped paying attention for a moment and found myself in the same position.

Tipping over is usually no big deal because Sunfish are made to right easily. They typically go over just on their side; the sail and aluminum mast lie on the water. Then it’s just a matter of grabbing the rail that’s high out of the water, stepping on the centerboard and pulling down. It’s a little trickier when the boat turns “turtle’’ and goes over 180 degrees. Then the technique is to yank hard on the centerboard, which in this position is sticking straight up in the air, yank it until the boat is on its side and then proceed as before.

Because dumping happens a lot, I’m a fanatic about wearing a life jacket, and insist that my passengers wear them too. The only time dumping is no joke is when the water is cold. My church has a retreat weekend at Silver Bay on Lake George the third weekend every October, and I’ve brought my boat several times. There wasn’t much wind a few years ago, when I took it out on one of those fall afternoons that make the lake famous: brilliant blue sky setting off the bright oranges and yellows of the trees that gird the mountains as they tumble down to the azure-colored lake. I was sort of dreaming when a puff hit and the boat started to go over. I dove to the high side of the boat, releasing the sheet from the jam cleat, and barely avoided a chilly swim.

Lake George is as big a lake as I’m comfortable sailing on. We rented a place for a week near Hulett’s Landing about 10 years ago. One morning it was cloudy and cool, but with a big wind blowing. My then-9-year-old daughter, with the confidence in her Dad’s omnipotence that has since sadly eroded, couldn’t wait for us to hoist the sail and get going. Warmly dressed, she sat in front of the sail almost on the bow, shrieking with delight when we’d pound through a wave or keel over sharply. She had no idea that in a wind like that, the lake looked like the Pacific Ocean to me as I tensely held the tiller while we whizzed up to Silver Bay and back almost as fast as a motorboat.

If you’re not renting a place on Lake George, it’s hard to find access to the water unless you pay a marina $20 or so. The state boat launch in Lake George village is closed from Memorial Day to Labor Day to ease boat traffic. I’ve found there is almost always at least one warm, sunny weekend day in September when the launch is open and most boats are already out of the water.

A better lake for a Sunfish—and one where the state boat launch is open all summer—is Upper Saranac. But it also has some of the drawbacks of lake sailing. It’s about seven miles long and is alternately wide and narrow. The portion of the lake known as “The Narrows’’ is almost always hard to get through because of the mountains that line both shores. No matter how hard it’s blowing, the wind dies in such places.

My older daughter, now 23, and I spent about six hours on the water a few summers ago when we were renting a place on Rainbow Lake (great for canoeing, but too narrow for sailing even a Sunfish). We didn’t mean to spend that much time out there, but coming out of the cove at the northern end of the lake I lost my bearings and we went around in a circle for about an hour.

LITTLE COMFORT FOR PASSENGERS
It’s sociable to have a companion on a Sunfish, but it’s almost impossible for the passenger to be comfortable. They’re often just starting to relax, leaning against the mast when we have to tack and they have to duck and relocate. When our daughters were small, the four of us would sometimes go out together. That makes the boat very stable, but also slow and uncomfortable. I usually go solo now.

Like Upper Saranac, Schroon also has a narrows, but the land isn’t nearly as high and the wind is more reliable. The town of Schroon maintains a boat launch, almost always busy. The launch is a few miles across the water from my friend’s cottage on the east shore, where the bank is much too steep to carry even a Sunfish down. We have to be careful to get the boat back to the launch and out of the water well before dusk, when the wind usually dies. We’ve towed it a couple of times across the water at dusk with his powerboat, but that’s a relatively hairy proposition.

Lacking a boat launch, I’ve sometimes used the centerboard wheels that came with the board when I bought it. That means when I can’t maneuver a trailer to the water and I don’t have people to help me carry the boat, I can roll it down to the water on these wheels. I’ve done that across the beach at Lake George village.

I typically ride in it in what I’m sure is a non-regulation position. Instead of perching on the side with my feet in the cockpit, I sit on one cushion in the bottom of the cockpit and lean against another one propped along the rear of the cockpit. My feet dangle outside. It’s my own little living room. Only a pretty strong wind brings me up to the side of the cockpit, since that’s the only way to distribute your weight to go fast and keep the boat from keeling over.

But if that happens, so what? You smile ruefully about your mistake, right the boat, climb on and you’re off again. If the sun is shining and the wind blowing, it’s still a great day.

 

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