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impishnature · 8 years ago

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The Light Keeper (Part 3)

AO3

Part 1, Part 2,

Rating: T

Summary: A beast lurks in the waters. Stan loses Ford to the waves, the lighthouse his only point of contact and hope of ever getting him back. …He used to love the sea, now it’s taken everything from him.

Lighthouse Keeper AU

Series of One-shots.

AN: Commission and story collab with @garrulousgibberish based on their Lighthouse Keeper AU ^o^ Some of Ran’s art is included! ♥ Part 3~ This one gets a bit dark so warning for nightmares and intrusive thoughts.

Part 3: What Lies Beneath

The wind howled, loud and persistent in his ear, it tugged and clawed at his hands on the railing, yanked at his clothes and his hair, as if it could pull him off his lofty perch and drag him down into the sea far far below.

Stan frowned, head bending to look over the edge before back out to sea again, a niggling sensation that he shouldn’t be here running through his skull but not enough of a warning to truly listen to.

What was I doing?

His breath puffed out before him but it didn’t really feel all that cold, just the constant pressure of the wind, pushing him towards the edge. He could taste the salt in the sea breeze, feel it hitting his face and mingling with the rain that was beginning to hammer down on him.

Wait. It isn’t raining. And there’s no way the sea should be able to reach me from here…

He shook his head, the storm abating for a moment as the fog seemed to clear from his head. Things weren’t making sense. He was sure he was meant to be searching for something- no, someone. He was looking for someone…

“Stan…”

A voice hissed through the wind and sea spray, all thoughts of what was wrong about the scene forgotten as it spoke.

“Ford.” The word ghosted out of Stan in a gasp. Of course, that’s what he was doing. His eyes widened as his hands gripped the railing tighter, leaning over it to look out over the ocean, ignoring the way the wind seemed to try and help him further.

A small figure on a tiny toy boat stared back at him. The light of the silver moon showed the deck in sharp contrast. Everything gleamed, bright and luminescent as the boat drifted aimlessly in the sea.

“Ford!” He shouted, hearing his voice echo and ricochet off of the rock around him. The figure waved back at him, the flashlight in his hand flickering with the movement and he heaved a sigh of relief.

Ford had heard him.

Ford had seen him.

Everything’s going to be OK this time.

“This time?” Stan blinked, eyebrows furrowing. Where had all that come from? Sure he was happy Ford had seen him but there was no reason for him to be alarmed. He was just doing a bit of research at night, nothing out of the ordinary. Not that anything really was out of the ordinary when it came to Ford’s research.

He should know, he’d been trawling through it for months.

Stan sat back a bit at the thought, shaking his head. No, that wasn’t right. He’d only arrived that night…

“Stan…”

He shifted forward again, distractions brushed away as the voice came again, this time more insistent, more panicked. Clouds were partially covering the moon making it harder to see but he could still make out the boat and the light twinkling on board.

His heart fell into his stomach as he also saw what the figure was pointing at.

A dark shape below the surface was fast approaching the ship. White teeth and claws sparkled in the moonlight, multiple poisonous yellow eyes gleamed towards him, like pinprick lights hoping to ensnare and enchant someone into the depths below.

All Stan felt was horror though, dripping down his spine as he watched it close in rapidly on his brother’s boat.

Slick black scales stirred and shook as it broke the surface, its shape shifting as it appeared. No longer clawed, no longer full of teeth, a kraken emerged from the water, tendrils and tentacles popping out of the water to surround the boat, anchoring it in place.

A weird haunting laugh seemed to emanate towards him as the monster bore down on the tiny figure.

“Stan! Help me!”

“What do I do? Ford! What do I do?!”

The clouds covered the moon entirely and Stan was sure this had all happened before and yet the darkness didn’t seem to affect him. It was like a spotlight was on the boat as the creature’s tentacles ensnared it, as it wrapped around and around until he heard a sickening crunch and the boat fell apart into dust.

“Sixer!”

The small flashlight vanished below the waves, a cut off gurgling scream shook the rocks around him as he saw his brother reach out towards him one last time before he fell beneath the surface.

The monster followed him.

“Sixer!”

He reached out as far as his arm would let him, as if he could magically grab Ford out of the water and right the world again.

I have to- There’s nothing you can do- If only I had got here sooner, if I had been here just an hour earlier maybe he’d have never gotten on that boat- maybe- NO. There’s got to be something I can do this time.

Bright light beamed out behind him, encasing him in white hot heat. He hissed, his eyes squinting and full of tears as if he was staring straight into the glowing bulb. He couldn’t stop the scream as he felt himself burning all over, from head to foot, sizzling and fizzling as if his very essence was being boiled away, leaving him hollow and helpless.

His arm slipped on the railing, his body pitching forward into blissful darkness, away from the all-encompassing pain.

The water rushed up to greet him, the wind howling once again around him, yet it wasn’t as cold as he felt it should be. He could still feel himself blistering, couldn’t seem to think about the fact that he was falling to his death, the lighthouse becoming smaller and smaller as he stared up at the now dark and abandoned glass lantern room he had been in only moments before.

He turned in the air, dazed and lethargic, the sweet release of the water a welcome balm as he watched it steadily approaching.

At least I’ll be with Sixer…

He frowned as the sea became a bubbling mess, foaming and roaring as he approached.

A giant glowing eye opened below the waves, the creature rising up to greet him as he fell towards it.

Laughter filled the air again, drowning out the sounds of the wind and sea, filling up all the nooks and crannies left behind by the fires that had engulfed him. He tried to put his hands to his ears, the sound ringing through his head as a gaping maw opened up in the sea below him, sharp glistening rocks surrounding the circumference ready to break him down piece by piece.

He raised his hands to his face, a last minute defence against his descent into darkness.

“Stan!”

Stan jolted, jumping up in one swift movement, the seat he had been on clattered to the side as the floor bobbed below his feet. His heart thudded a steady beat against his chest as he heaved in gulps of the sea air, confused and startled by the sudden change in scenery as he gripped tight to the railing to stop himself from pitching over.

A snort of amusement came from nearby and he looked around, finding his brother with his back turned to him. He frowned at the image, something seeming off about the entire scenario. He was sure he’d heard his voice calling to him…

Perhaps Ford was being tactful for once, having noticed his distress and woken him up, but now for his benefit was pretending not to have seen anything.

He took a steadying breath, hand rubbing at his chest as he glanced about the small boat he was on, let the rolling waves calm him as the moon rose overhead.

Just a dream…

He chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair as he took another glance at his brother, leaning as far as he could over the railing as he scribbled in his journal.

What on earth are you doing dreaming about things like that when you’re living the dream, you moron?

Stan sighed, leaning back against the wall as his eyes skimmed the scene, his brother hard at work, the sea beneath their feet and the world to be explored. He grinned despite himself, the remnants of the dream fading to nothingness as he stood back and watched the world go by.

His eyes flickered over the shoreline, scaling an ominous looking lighthouse until his eyes reached the glass dome at the top.

A small pulsing orange light twinkled back at him, a small spark of recognition flaring up the more he stared at it. Something was calling to him, seeking him out.

Reminding him of the truth.

Wait. I never made amends with Ford- how am I out here- I shouldn’t be here.

The nightmare burst back behind his eyelids, the creature- whatever it was looming over the boat from afar, his brother’s screams. He had to get the boat to shore.

The light vanished suddenly as if the stars themselves had gone out all at once. The boat listed to one side and he hit the deck with a solid thud, the wind knocked out of him as he found himself staring closely at wood. A loud surprised yelp and a soft thud was all he had to tell him his brother had done the same.

Not that he seemed overly perturbed by it. Stan stood up on shaking legs as Ford walked towards him, dusting himself off without a word. “Sixer, we need to get to shore-”

His words caught in his throat as his brother walked through him, completely ignoring his presence as he slipped through him unseen. His breathing hitched, a panicked bubble lodging in his airways as he fumbled for his chest, a cold chasm opening up as if Ford had taken something with him as he passed, his lungs refusing to operate through the sudden emptiness.

Am I- Did he just…Am I dead?

A hissing chuckle slipped through the wind towards him, making him shudder. He could feel the wind biting at his back, trailing feather light across the lines that crisscrossed his shoulder, toying with him as he stood there, frozen in terror.

He pulled himself out of the thought, eyes going back to Ford as they adjusted to the gloom.

Whatever happened, he had to get him out of this mess.

His eyes scanned the water, wondering how much time he had and in a moment of heart stopping dread he noticed a glistening fin slowly slink back below the surface.

It was already here.

“Sixer! Sixer, listen to me. You need to get back to shore!” He stomped forward, his hand going to slam down on his brother’s shoulder-

And passed straight through it, stumbling forward with the force he had exerted.

The laugh rang out again, bubbling like a brook, cold and sharp and painful to his ears. “Shut up, shut up! Whatever you are, shut up!”

He didn’t have time for this. His eyes skirted the water, watching as the tendrils gradually one by one rippled through the water, approaching the boat slowly, softly as if tenderly reaching for it.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Ford take in a quick hushed breath in recognition.

He’s noticed! Thank god, he’s noticed! Now get this boat out of here, Ford!

Just as Ford seemed to grasp the predicament he’d found himself in there was a loud thunk, a dull metallic noise that rang through the cove and reverberated in the silent air around them.

And then a burst of pure blinding white light hit them.

Stan winced, raising his arm up to shield himself from the onslaught.

Through hooded eyes he saw Ford stumble, heard the flashlight hit the deck and roll with a splash off the side of the boat.

“Stan?”

Stan blinked as Ford called his name, hopeful that he had finally seen him and yet when he looked Ford was staring blearily at the lighthouse. He managed to follow his gaze, hissing painfully at the glow and saw a small dark figure right in its centre.

Is that me? No… it can’t be. How am I here and there-?

Ford groaned, shaking his head as he tried to stare back into the darkness, tried to catch sight of the large creature once more. He rubbed his eyes profusely, his expression perturbed as he struggled to see through the blindness the bright light had caused.

A terrible sinking feeling took over Stan. He could feel the cold of the waves sinking into his core, as if they were already dragging him down, pulling them into the depths of despair.

Oh god, I did this, didn’t I? I did this to you. It’s all my fault. I left you blind, you’d already seen the creature and I gave it more chance to see you instead of the other way around.

As quickly as it had appeared the light vanished, leaving them in the perpetual thick darkness once more. He could just about see Ford’s outline before him, see the boat in a half vision as the light left images dancing against his retinas.

He couldn’t see it but he could hear it slithering around, sliding ever closer, drawing ever nearer to the two lost figures on their toy boat. His entire body was tingling, oversensitive, every breath of air felt like something latching on to him, every gust seemed to wrap around him, trying to trip him up and from the small whispers he could make out Ford was feeling the same.

Blinded by light and then blinded by darkness with a creature bearing down on them.

God, what did you do to deserve this, Sixer? What did you do to deserve me ruining everything as usual?

Ford stumbled as the darkness took over, gripping the railing tightly. Stan tried to help him, his arms going through him at every interval they touched.

He growled helplessly, his fist slamming on the railing.

It’s not fair! Just let me help! Let me do something! Anything!

The boat rocked abruptly, throwing them both off course away from one another, Ford still disorientated by the blinding light. Their craft juddered to a halt a few seconds later but it became too still, too silent, as if the very waves had stopped their rocking.

Stan slowly took a step back towards his brother, the atmosphere becoming thick and oppressive and hard to move through as he reached out a hand once more, ever hopeful that this time he’d be able to help.

He flinched as the darkness became tangible, his hand hitting something cold, wet and slippery. He reeled back, his sight slowly getting accustomed to the gloom until he saw the thick tentacle that was barring his path. He gulped as it wrapped around the deck between them, Ford still unknowing of the danger as he struggled to see.

“Sixer!”

It was as if whatever held them had suddenly decided to give Stan a reprieve, Ford’s head snapping up at the shout to look him dead in the eye, his mouth falling open in shock.

“S-Stan?”

“Sixer, watch out!”

Ford finally caught sight of the thing between them, a curse rumbling out of him as he stumbled back a step, the tentacle tightening its hold on the ship.

The floor began to creak and crack beneath them, more and more tentacles joining the first to split the boat in two, effectively cutting them off from one another.

Stan glanced up, eyes drawing away from the wreckage to frantically seek out any form of escape.

Everything froze.

Stan could hear his breath whistling through his ears, growing faster and faster and yet nothing moved as if the sands of time had decided to stop falling. The roar of the wind and the waves was gone, the ship stopped creaking and groaning beneath their feet.

His heart stopped.

He couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

He couldn’t turn his head away.

His eyes focused on gleaming teeth, row upon row of sharp hooked needles ready to catch on any flesh they could grasp on to. Above them, sickly glowing eyes, teaming with revolting delight as they hovered behind Ford’s head. The gaping maw stretching around him, tendrils sliding out around it to seize him and drag him to the ocean floor.

No! Not again! I can’t lose you again!

“Ford, behind you!”

Instead of turning, Ford continued to stare at him, his hand raising towards him as Stan struggled to get closer, the barrier of scales that had formed between them impeding his lunge forward. His fingernails gouged and tore, his feet kicked and fought but it stood fast, stopping him from getting to his twin. Whenever he got footing, he seemed to slip, whenever he managed to pull himself up, the tangle would trap him, wasting time as he tried to pull away again.

“Stan! Help me!”

“Ford!”

The last image he saw was his brother’s terrified expression as the boat gave way to the barrage with a final resounding crack.

He was thrown backwards, his brother’s screams echoing through his skull as he hit the water.

He gasped, hearing Ford’s gurgling attempts at breath as he kicked out, trying to find his way to him.

Water poured into his mouth as it opened, his eyes wide and searching as he scanned the debris. But he couldn’t keep his mind on what he was searching for as he choked and spluttered, unable to draw breath, unable to get the water out of his system. Darkness was forming at the edges of his vision as he tried to stay awake, tried to move, to force himself towards the surface but his movements took him nowhere, stuck in place, his brother being dragged below and the air so tantalisingly close above him.

The water shifted around him, the laughter that he had heard before bubbling through the water.

A voice hissed in his ear, seeping in cold and cloying like the water around him as his vision tunnelled and the murky water burned down his throat.

If it was the other way around, he might have actually had a chance to save you.

What on earth makes you think you can save him?

You should just join us, rot in the sea where you belong.

…I’ll be waiting, Stan Pines.

Stan heaved as he awoke, coughing and spluttering across the age old desk. He sat for a few seconds, panting, his body wracked with tremors as sweat beaded across his brow. He blearily looked around the room, the copious notes arranged by creatures, the various exhibit materials dotted here and there for his next tour. He let the smell of leather and paper and salt that permeated the room, and had for so long that it was ingrained in his very uniform, ground him and remind him that this time, this time he was home. This time he was awake.

His hands gripped tightly to the leather seat, sighing as he leant his head back, still trying to get his breathing back under control. He found himself wincing, rubbing at the tight band of muscle that was struggling to loosen around his chest, as he tried to steady himself, centre himself.

“I am getting too old for these nightmares now. My heart’s not going to last through them much longer.”

He rubbed at his shoulder with a wince, the cold still making the old scar painful whenever it could, but he didn’t really mind. It was a constant reminder of what had happened, what he had to do.

A constant reminder that there was some truth to the nightmares even as he brushed them aside whenever dawn’s rays began to filter through to him.

He scowled, leaning forward again on to the desk, his head in his hands. He couldn’t help the small pitiful noise that left him. He hated sleeping, hated giving in to the pull even though he knew he needed the rest to get Ford back. He liked to leave it, to work and work and work until his body gave out and pulled him into blissful darkness. If he let himself sleep before that point it was always the same, his body and mind tormenting him for what had happened.

Tormented him for not getting him back yet.

How long had it been? Too long, that’s all he knew. There were grey hairs sprouting, bones growing weary as he trudged up and down stone steps. He’d watched people in the town grow up as he took over Ford’s life, trying to get him back without the town growing suspicious.

And all the while Ford was still stuck somewhere, lost and waiting to be found.

Or he could be-

“No.” Stan bit out, teeth gritting and fingernails digging into his scalp. “No, we’re not going there tonight. I will find him and he’ll be fine.”

“…He has to be fine. You have to be… right, Sixer?”

There was that odd click again, one that happened sporadically and still after all this time seemingly at random. Stan snapped his head up, watching light filter through the symbols on the ceiling as the lighthouse bulb abruptly came to life.

He stumbled up the steps towards it, hands flitting through familiar motions as he reached the bulb, trying to figure out the correct sequence to keep it burning. There was a series of panels and symbols that adorned the base of it that Stan had discovered not long after coming to that first morning, now visible at all times with the low level lights he had installed around the room so as not to ever be caught unaware again.

“Stan…”

The voice called to him, just like it did through his dreams. He glanced up at the glass, watching the light pierce through the fog outside as if it was a physical presence, watched it cut, burn a hole through it to find the waters below.

He gulped once, cursing himself for listening before ignoring the voice as he went back to his work.

It would not do well to dwell on that familiar voice.

Or any of the other myriad of voices that accompanied it.

He turned his back on the window, feeling the heat from the bulb as he leant below it, still trying to fiddle, trying to do anything that would stop it from sparking out at a moment’s notice. It was easier that way, easier to not look out of the window and see the shapes that shifted through the fog, hear the other voices that called out to him to join them.

At first he had assumed he was seeing things, when darker shadows seemed to move in the gloom that the light didn’t reach. When voices seemed to lull him, lead him to the edge of the balcony before he snapped out of it all.

Blamed it on little sleep, on paranoia and the weird creature he kept seeing in his dreams when he caved.

But their mother had always warned them about what was in the darkness, waiting patiently for any signs of weakness.

“Stan…”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.” Stan snapped, eyes glaring at the glass before going back to the light just as it died. He slumped back with an angry yell, eyes to the ceiling in a silent plea, the voices dying around him.

“Stan, can you hear me? I’m stuck, I need you to… please…”

“I’m trying, Ford, I promise I’m trying.”

“I know. I know you are, you’re doing great.”

Stan’s breath hitched at the praise, unable to respond as the soft consoling voice made his eyes water and a small choked noise escape him. It wasn’t fair! He so wanted it to be real but that meant that everything else had to be real too. Couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend.

He’d already resigned himself to that though. He’d resigned himself to that fate years ago, no matter how hard he tried to kid himself otherwise.

And he hated it with every fibre of his being because letting the voices in, letting them entice and snare him and just outright know just as he did that he believed in their existence gave them some kind of hold over him. Granted them entrance, granted them a small semblance of shape and form that they clung hungrily to. But he couldn’t not believe in them, couldn’t not hope for their arrival every time the light flickered on.

Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing this.

Because knowing they existed, knowing they were there and that the light drew them in gave him hope that Ford could do the same.

He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing down as his body sunk down further.

God, I’m such a mess.

Who would ever believe him if he told them that a lighthouse could save his brother?

They’d say he’d gone mad with grief. Hearing things that weren’t there, seeing things that gave him hope to carry on.

Reckless. Pitiful. He needs help, that one.

He knew it, he always had, and that’s why he struggled on without them.

No one would believe him, so why try? Just get the job done.

Get Ford back. That’s what he had to do.

Prove to them that he wasn’t- prove to himself that he wasn’t broken.

I’m right! I have to be right!

I wouldn’t just conjure up that voice… would I?

He shuddered as his thoughts went bleak, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the bulb.

He hated the nightmares, hated that between his day job and his work on the lighthouse that his eyes would sometimes drift, his eyelids droop and his head would fill with different scenarios, each one another fruitless endeavour in which he couldn’t save his brother from his watery fate.

But there were others that he hated more.

The plausible ones. The ones where a light was just a light and a boat was just a boat on a stormy sea.

The ones that were the most impossible to him, the ones so plausible that they could never happen in the real world.

The ones where he’d never seen a monster. Where a storm had rushed in and the light of the lighthouse hadn’t been enough for Ford to steer away from the rocks.

Or times where he had never got the lantern to work in the first place.

Where he had passed out from his burns and woken in the morning, running down to the shore to try and find his brother.

Only to come across debris strewn across the beach. Shattered wood fragments and tattered sails lodged between rocks.

Where a familiar hand lay visible, cold and grey and lifeless, buried beneath the largest parts of what remained of the ship as his legs gave out beneath him.

The painful nauseating grief as he read the word Stan’O’War above his brother’s listless corpse.

Gone. Gone and there’s no hope. You can’t save him. He’s dead and gone- there’s no way he could have survived.

There’s nothing you can do.

“Stop it. Stop it! We’re not doing this!” Stan roared, snarling as he stood up, his heart racing.

It didn’t matter how plausible those dreams seemed. That had never happened.

There had been no wreckage, no body, no anything. Just the quiet sea calmly swaying as if it had never taken everything away from him that night.

Nothing to prove his brother had ever gone out to sea other than his distinct absence.

And there had been nothing since, nothing had washed up on shore, nothing to find when he had plucked up the courage to go out and search the area he had seen him disappear in, not even the monster.

Though he had never plucked up the nerve to go at night, he’d never been able to.

Besides, he always reasoned with himself, that would mean leaving the lighthouse unattended.

And he couldn’t do that.

What if it lit whilst he wasn’t there, his one chance to get Ford back gone because he was trying something else?

No, better to stay and wait and solve the puzzle here than that.

And no matter what anyone else said, he knew there was something lurking in the darkness.

Knew it wasn’t his imagination when things pitter pattered up and down the lighthouse steps.

Knew that the figures that danced across the mirrored water, pale and dainty and reflecting the light were real when he blinked and they continued to flit across his retinas.

Knew that he couldn’t dream up the way the air grew static, charged and the briny sea breeze smell vanished to sharp tangy smoke.

He knew it was all real, it had to be real.

I’m not that good. I might be able to trick gullible tourists but I’m not that imaginative.

He knew he was tempting fate, knew the world would condemn him for a madman but he’d never stop. He couldn’t let the doubts lingering at the edges of his peripheral ensnare him and drag him down into grief.

There was nothing to grieve, he’d find him. He’d find Ford and everything would be right with the world again.

Ford was alive and he’d rescue him from the clutches of the monster that held him, no matter what it took.

And even if none of it was real, he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t know what he would do if he gave in to the voices.

Didn’t know what would happen if he gave in to the grief and despair.

He glared again, out of the glass dome as he stared out to sea.

They’d always been taught the monster under the bed existed.

And he’d always promised his brother that he’d fight whatever tried to hurt them, regardless of how big and bad it seemed.

A childish promise, but then again, Stan always had held on to them.

“Stan…”

“Don’t you worry, Sixer, I’m coming for you.”

AN: RAN IS DESTROYING ME WITH THE ART AND I AM BUZZING FOR YOU ALL TO SEE ;A; SHOWER THEM WITH LOVE. ALSO I AM MEAN CAUSE I REMEMBER WHINING AT THEM ABOUT STAN’S NIGHTMARES AND THIS IS THE RESULT AND I AM NOT SORRY AT ALL.

ok ill stop but seriously nightmare fics I still have some in the woodworks.

#gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #lighthouse keeper au #bill cipher #nightmare fic #the light keeper

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antoniodias · 8 years ago

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This project has spun-off from the Gaff Yawl, Katherine Ann.

We’ve gone to a longer waterline, less rake to the transom. The rig has a larger Mizzen, meant to add some drive and not just be a trim-tab. I’ve also laid out a cutter version. The working sail is the same, but off the wind, you do lose the added power of the Mizzen Stays’l. Not many twenty-four footers can boast of 600 sq. ft. of sail!

Both of these designs, K. A. and K. G., come out of traditional British antecedents. The Falmouth Quay Punt and the Itchen Ferry Punt were inspirations; small cutters and yawls with deep, narrow hulls, intended for rough water. They can make good traditional cruising boats.

I sailed a 30′ Morgan Giles design for a number of years. Tart was inspired by the Itchen Ferry Punts. I was impressed by her speed and sure and steady motion.

Kathleen Gee is almost six feet shorter at about the same displacement. She has similar headroom, but only sleeps two instead of Tart’s four. Boats like this, Tabloid Cruisers was the name given to small boats that pack a big punch, are not for everyone. I see them as a form of floating meditative space. Something like a tea-house, or a hermit’s lodge; but one that sails upon ocean. They celebrate a certain relationship to practicality – after all, when was any pleasure boat practical?

You need to enjoy your own company – that second berth will mostly likely be a place for a visitor to sit of an evening for dinner and a gam. These boats are well-suited to single-handed sailing. You need to appreciate having everything close at hand. Down below you are nestled in the cabin. Some might say you wear the boat…. But not flip-flops and shorts! A comfortable and snug Tweed Suit would be more like it!

The type’s features are useful for a single-hander. The sails are small and sail area can easily be reduced in a variety of ways depending on the situation. Tying in a reef, or just simply dropping a sail, brings the rail back out of the water and takes the weight out of the helm. The variety of sails and reefs available – the Stays’l and Mizzen reef along with the Main – make it easy to keep the boat manageable and also trimmed well enough to self-steer.

When short-handed on big water the Tops’l can remain stowed, keeping top-hamper at a minimum. In light air you can pile on sail. As I found out sailing Tart, these deep boats with a lot of wetted surface can be fast, so long as there’s enough sail for light air when friction predominates. Once it’s blowing enough to reduce to working sail wave-making takes over as the source of resistance. That’s when hull form and a good Prismatic Coefficient take over. Tart would easily surpass seven knots with very little wake. This boat should have a good turn of speed as well – though with a 21.5′ waterline, seven knots might be a stretch….

In light air the fact that the jib-stay is on a traveler-ring means that the Genoa doesn’t have it in the way tacking. The stays’ stay can also be on a Pelican Hook, so there’s nothing in the Genoa’s way.

Off the wind, with the Yawl rig, a Mizzen Stays’l can be set. On longer reaching passages it can make quite a difference. It’s one way the Mizzen pays for itself. Its basic value is fine-tuning the helm and holding the boat’s head into the wind either at anchor or underway. The Mizzen and its Boomkin provide a lot of security aft. It’s why I like to have a stout Boom Gallows on a boat without a Mizzen – Check out the one on Truth above…. It’s good to have something rock-solid aft of the cockpit that you can hold onto….

The Cutter Rig does simplify things. For one, the tiller doesn’t have to get around the Mizzen. A curved tiller does get around that…. There’s no additional expense of building, rigging, and maintaining another mast and its sails. The cutter rig still has all the other advantages of incremental sail choices. Either way, the boat will handle quite well under just the Stays’l. It’s good to be able to get everything else down and not have to go forward when it gets rough.

The interior sketched out above is minimalist, but not without its charms. The Galley wraps around from port to starboard and extends aft under the Bridge Deck. Here there’s standing headroom of 6′ – 3″ under the hatch. The settees and pipe-berth combination give you a good seat and a good bunk. I particularly like the Concordia Berth style.

Instead of a pipe frame there are two molded aluminum end-frames with wooden poles on the edges and wooden slats spaced across its surface running longitudinally. The slats are thin enough to be giving. A cloth cover holds a thin mattress in place. The end-frames are curved. This provides a good backrest when the berth is stowed and a good nest to lie in when sleeping. As with any pipe-berth, they can be adjusted to hold you in no matter what the angle of heel.

Forward there’s a Head Compartment with a Sail Storage bin to port, under the bowsprit. Since the ‘sprit is offset to port, the hatchway is to starboard. There’s 5’ – 10″ headroom under it. We haven’t specified a head yet. I recommend a composting toilet. The commercial units I’ve found are too large, but it should be possible to fabricate one that can handle the light usage of a single-hander.

The engine shown is a Buhk Diesel. A hefty piece of iron. Simple and rugged. It’s weight isn’t a concern here and, with the bridge-deck hatch open and the galley panel and counter removed, there’s great access. Tankage will be port & starboard under the Bridge Deck. Ten gallons of Diesel Fuel will go a long way. two ten gallon tanks gives you the chance for a back-up in case of contamination. Always a concern since the fuel tends to last so long! Water tanks can be outboard of the galley just under the deck. This provides gravity feed to a sink. An additional water tank could go aft of the engine under the Cockpit Sole.

The Cockpit has a footwell. The seats are at deck level. I’m going to work-up a sit-on coaming similar to the one on Truth. This keeps the Cockpit dry while maximizing usable beam. The top is boxed in and provides storage and a comfortable seat up high with good visibility.

I’m working this design up for a client in Australia. He will be strip-planking his boat over laminated frames. The S & S Hammond was built this way. Here the frames will be 2.5″ square and set on the station-spacing of 2′ – 1.5″. They will be laminated on the loft floor and set up instead of molds. The laminating builds in the bevel and the boat is ready to plank.

S & S Hammond‘s bilges during construction. These frames and floors are 3″ x 3″.

A tender is a problem for a small cruising boat. I do not appreciate the now ubiquitous inflatable as an answer. What’s the point of having a vessel that has been crafted to please the eye and cleave the seas with aplomb if you’re going to tie yourself to a rubber raft that can neither be sailed nor rowed and can’t get out of its own way even with the mandatory outboard motor? We sail to get away from worshiping at the throne of gasoline. That inflatable keeps you’re nose and hands in it no matter what you do.

On a small coastal cruising boat or weekender, I prefer a larger tender, say a peapod. Something that while it can’t fit on deck it will tend for itself astern and provide sport in a quiet anchorage. A quiet anchorage….

A boat that sets out to sea has to be ready for anything. A boat towing astern easily becomes a liability. A small pram that can be stowed aboard, in this case over the cabin top tied firmly to a bronze-pipe rack, is a good solution. A Tabloid Cruiser’s master will appreciate the care needed to row, and even sail, such a little boat. It provides shade to the cabin-top, a good thing in hot climates. Ashore, a little pram such as this one, 6′ -6″ long, can be carried inverted on your back like a Coracle. A bit like an oversized overcoat worn with the bow-transom pressing on the forehead. Its weight spread between the neck and shoulders. Carry it up beyond the high-tide mark, or all the way to the nearest Pub!

There are still a few things to be worked out. These are not the final drawings. But I do think we’re close!

Stay-tuned…

Dimensions:

LBP 24′ – 0″

LWL 21′ – 5 1/2″

Beam 7′ – 8 1/2″

Draft 4′ – 6″

Displacement 9,700 lbs.

Sail Area:

Yawl:

Main 194 sq. ft.

Stays’l 81 sq. ft.

Jib 96 sq. ft.

Mizzen 55 sq. ft.

Total (Lowers) 426 sq. ft.

Genoa 228 sq. ft.

Tops’l 58 sq. ft.

Total (Light Air*) 535 sq. ft.

Mizzen Stays’l 65 sq. ft.

Total (Offwind*) 600 sq. ft.

Cutter:

Main 249 sq. ft.

Stays’l 81 sq. ft.

Jib 96 sq. ft.

Total (Lowers) 426 sq. ft.

Genoa 228 sq. ft.

Tops’l 58 sq. ft.

Total (Light Air*) 535 sq. ft.

No Jib or Stays’l

Kathleen Gee This project has spun-off from the Gaff Yawl, Katherine Ann. We've gone to a longer waterline, less rake to the transom.

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