Helm commands, especially for sail trim?

[Loren Beach]

I have forgotten the details, but there was a nice racing article from the 80's that referenced a regatta in Europe with Elvstrom helming a boat, and the author was an American racer, who might have been crewing for a competitor.
He said that watching the masters race was quite unlike a "big name" regatta in the US, which always involved lots of shouting and emotion. When Elvestrom or one of his peers would foul someone, they would only raise a hand to acknowledge it, and immediately do their 720. No fuss no noise. Just quiet efficiency and skill.

 

[Slick470]

I've gone to either just saying "tacking" or "helms down" in lieu of "hard a lee" although I'm not sure where I picked up helms down. Probably on one of the boats I've raced on over the years. I agree with the practice of calling out a control and then the amount of it I want moved in inches or feet. Although sometimes the description of the amount ends up being a bump, burp, ease, little ease, big ease, dump, blow it, let it run, etc... Lots of ways to say the same or similar things.

Most boats I've raced on have slightly different terminology for the same things. It helps to be flexible and willing to ask if you aren't sure what it is they are talking about.

 

[Prairie Schooner]

I didn't start sailing until my late forties, then almost exclusively racing with a former F-14 RIO and alumni of the Naval Academy sailing team. He also had a penchant for creating nicknames for things. My sailing jargon is a combination of mariner's tradition, Navy slang, dogfight references, and mystery words.

After years of sailing with the same crew, we had a vocabulary that worked and we had to speak very little. I never played an instrument, but that kind of synchrony is what I imagine a tight band experiences. Pretty cool.

This conversation is very timely. Now that I'm a skipper (Donna actually drives more, we comfortably co-skipper) I find myself teaching neophytes the heritage (whether they like it or not).

I've noticed that when I ask people to 'slack the blue fleck' they aren't quite sure what it means. I might start saying, "Ease the blue fleck." But I won't mess with the language much.

Gustav Mahler is quoted as saying, "Tradition is not the worship of ashes. It is the handing down of fire." For my part I'll continue with "Ready about? Helm's alee."

 

[Teranodon]

Tacking Ship Off Shore
By Walter Mitchell (1826-1908)


The weather-leech of the topsail shivers,
The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken,
The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken.

Open one point on the weather-bow,
Is the light-house tall on Fire Island Head.
There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,
And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of "Full and by!"
Is suddenly changed for "Full for stays!"

The ship bends lower before the breeze,
As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas,
As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays!"

It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coil in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island Head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout
From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear,
With the welcome call of "Ready! About!"

No time to spare! It is touch and go;
And the captain growls, "Down helm! hard down!"
As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw,
While heaven grows black with the storm-cloud's frown.

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea;
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay,
As I answer, "Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a-lee!"

With the swerving leap of a startled steed
The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind,
The dangerous shoals on the lee recede,
And the headland white we have left behind.

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse,
And belly and tug at the groaning cleats;
The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps;
And thunders the order, "Tacks and sheets!"

Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew,
Hisses the rain of the rushing squall:
The sails are aback from clew to clew,
And now is the moment for "Mainsail, haul!"

And the heavy yards, like a baby's toy,
By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung:
She holds her way, and I look with joy
For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung.

"Let go, and haul!" 'T is the last command,
And the head-sails fill to the blast once more:
Astern and to leeward lies the land,
With its breakers white on the shingly shore.

What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall?
I steady the helm for the open sea;
The first mate clamors, "Belay, there, all!"
And the captain's breath once more comes free.

And so off shore let the good ship fly;
Little care I how the gusts may blow,
In my for'castle bunk, in a jacket dry.
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.

 

[Filkee]

Pretentious to you, old boy, historical to me. Pry them out of my cold dead hands.

What new words do you have for halyard, vang, topping lift, taffrail, tumblehome, gooseneck, cringle, tiller, thwart? Your new improved dictionary will be long.

And say, Isn't "tacking" a bit pretentious, after all? I mean shouldn't you really say, "making a right turn," so the automobile drivers won't be troubled by unfamiliar words?

Not to add fuel to the fire but I’ve always been a “helms-a…” kind of guy and my kids came home from sailing camp with all those other words and I just felt lonely.

 

[Filkee]

Tacking Ship Off Shore
By Walter Mitchell (1826-1908)


The weather-leech of the topsail shivers,
The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken,
The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken.

Open one point on the weather-bow,
Is the light-house tall on Fire Island Head.
There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,
And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of "Full and by!"
Is suddenly changed for "Full for stays!"

The ship bends lower before the breeze,
As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas,
As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays!"

It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coil in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island Head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout
From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear,
With the welcome call of "Ready! About!"

No time to spare! It is touch and go;
And the captain growls, "Down helm! hard down!"
As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw,
While heaven grows black with the storm-cloud's frown.

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea;
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay,
As I answer, "Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a-lee!"

With the swerving leap of a startled steed
The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind,
The dangerous shoals on the lee recede,
And the headland white we have left behind.

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse,
And belly and tug at the groaning cleats;
The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps;
And thunders the order, "Tacks and sheets!"

Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew,
Hisses the rain of the rushing squall:
The sails are aback from clew to clew,
And now is the moment for "Mainsail, haul!"

And the heavy yards, like a baby's toy,
By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung:
She holds her way, and I look with joy
For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung.

"Let go, and haul!" 'T is the last command,
And the head-sails fill to the blast once more:
Astern and to leeward lies the land,
With its breakers white on the shingly shore.

What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall?
I steady the helm for the open sea;
The first mate clamors, "Belay, there, all!"
And the captain's breath once more comes free.

And so off shore let the good ship fly;
Little care I how the gusts may blow,
In my for'castle bunk, in a jacket dry.
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.

Vivid thanks to vocabulary.