Back in 1929 when I was a deckhand on the steamer “Albany” of the Hudson River Day Line, I thought maybe I’d like to go quartermaster on one of the boats of the Saugerties Evening Line.
 
I walked from the 42nd Street Pier of the Day Line down to Pier 43, North River, at the foot of Christopher Street—where the Saugerties boat would be tied up during the day.  I wanted to talk to an old friend of my brother’s from their days on the “Onteora.’’  He was pilot on the steamer ‘‘Robert A. Snyder” and his name was Harry Grough.
 
As we sat in the Snyder’s pilot house talking and looking out over the harbor, we could hear all kinds of steam whistles from all sorts of floating equipment— including  tugboats, ferries, ocean liners and sidewheel steamboats.  I told him I thought I would like a quartermaster’s position if one was open.

Captain Absent
He said I would have to see, the captain, Richard Heffernan. The captain, however, was not aboard that afternoon as he had gone downtown to get the boat’s papers renewed, and would not be back until just before sailing time.
 
Harry said to me, “If I were young like you, Bill, I would go over to Jersey and get a job on the railroad tugs.  That’s where the business is.  This business is dying out every day.”
 
Then, we went down on the freight deck.  Harry said, “Look, here it is almost 3:30 p.m. and we only have a few boxes and bags on board.  A few years ago at this time, this deck would have been piled right up to the carlings with all kinds of freight.”
 
Harry continued, “Tonight, we’ll be lucky if we have a half dozen passengers.  The passengers used to start to come on board at 2 p.m. and, by now, the staterooms would be sold out.  Tonight, you could take your pick of almost anyone you’d want.  This Line can’t go on like this very long.  When the company doesn’t make a dollar, then we don’t have a job either.  No, Bill, you will be better off going on the tugboats.”

He Was Right
Over the years, I found out for myself Harry was right.

The Saugerties Evening Line boats were the ‘‘Robert A. Snyder’’ and the ‘‘Ida.” Every night, one would leave Saugerties, sail out Saugerties Creek and make landings at Tivoli, Barrytown, Rhinecliff and Hyde Park on its sail to New York.

When the “Snyder” and “Ida” were operating back in those long ago days, every night at about 7:30 of 8 p. m. one would hear one or the other blow three long whistles for the Rhinecliff landing to take on freight and passengers.  Between 1 and 2 a.m. in the lonely morning hours the up boat would be heard blowing her whistle for Jim Conroy, the dock master at Rhinecliff, to take its lines.

To the tugboatmen, the night boats were like old friends.  During the long night and early morning hours, it was indeed pleasant to see the night boats approaching in the distance and hear the slap, slap of their paddle wheels in the stillness of the night. 

A Glittering Crown
Then, as they passed by, they would often blow a low salute on their whistle.  As they faded into the night, their deck and cabin lights would blend into a glittering crown of light reflecting on the water.

I remember on several occasions Dan McDonald, the pilot on the “Osceola,” telling me how he would be coming down river with a large tow off Germantown, and on a clear night look down the river at about 3 a.m. and see one of the Saugerties boats coming up off Crugers Island; then turn and show her green starboard light as she went into Saugerties Creek.  He would remark how nice it must have been at that hour to get tied up and go to your room in the pilot house block and sleep until you felt like getting up and then look out on the quiet and peaceful dock at the fine little village of Saugerties.  No worries about morning fog, how the tow was going to follow, or old leaky brick or stone scows in the tow.

The “Robert A. Snyder” was layed up for good in 1931 at her dock on Saugerties Creek.  As there was only enough business for one boat, the “Ida,’’ since she had a steel hull and was the younger boat, continued for one more year.  Then in 1932 she was quietly layed up.
​
Strangely, the Saugerties Evening Line, serving Saugerties and small villages on the upper Hudson, outlasted all the other night lines on the river except the big night boats to Albany.  The Central Hudson Line, serving Kingston, Poughkeepsie and Newburgh went out in 1929 and the last boat of the Catskill Evening Line stopped for good in 1931.  Finally, in 1932, the automobile and the Great Depression took their tolls of the last night boat from Saugerties.

Let us now turn our attention to the hull, to see how to give our rig the best possible vehicle. Speaking in the broadest of generalities, the ideal hull would be strong enough to take all the stresses that may come to bear on it; light enough to be easily handled and yet not so light as to sacrifice momentum; easily and surely steered; comfortable enough to allow the driver to devote his attention to driving and none to hanging on, and shod with the fastest and most maneuverable runners for the conditions prevailing.
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The principal hull member, running fore and aft, is variously called ‘‘keelson,” ‘‘backbone,” ‘‘body,” or ‘‘fuselage,” depending on its design and the word most common in local usage. Its functions are many; in fact, it is the boat. The rig drives it, and the runner plank and runners carry it. It must carry the crew with reasonable safety and comfort; it must contain the control elements — steering gear and sheet blocks. Finally, it must carry the mast step (except in the case of the lateen rig). The mast step is subject to terrific stresses which may easily be underestimated. 

​The backbone of the bow-steerer is fundamentally a simple beam, supported at its two extremities. This beam carries two loads — the weight and sailing pressure of the rig, at the mast step; and the weight of the crew, close to the rear point of support (runner plank). The mast load is highly variable, reaching a maximum whenever a strong puff strikes the sails. Since the mast step in a bow-steerer is usually located almost at the mid-point of the span between supports, the backbone must be carefully designed to take all the mast pressure without danger of failure. The weight of the crew is carried so close to the runner plank that it hardly stresses the backbone, and it is safe to assume that a backbone strong enough to withstand mast pressures will carry the crew without extra strengthening. ​

The single-stick backbone has been almost entirely abandoned by bow-steerer designers, and has been supplanted by the ‘‘box” or "fuselage" backbone. This consists of two side pieces, on edge, meeting at bow and stern, and spread apart enough to permit the crew to ride between them. They are spaced and braced by transverse bulkheads of plywood, and a plywood deck and bottom. This construction is rigid and non-twisting, a great improvement over the crazily twisting solid backbones which often used to toss the crew overboard. In addition, it affords the driver a safe, sitting-up position which increases his comfort and efficiency. Resistance to bending in such a structure comes from every element in it, for it is “welded” into a unit by waterproof glue at every joint. Nevertheless, the side pieces contribute practically all the resistance or ‘‘stiffness,’’ with some help from the crowned plywood deck. The deck would contribute far more than it does if the openings for the cockpits were not taken out of it but, after all, the skipper has some rights!

A good many fuselage boats are now equipped with windshields, exactly like those mounted on open airplane fuselages. It is significant, however, that not one championship winner in the Eastern Association and, to the best of my knowledge, in the Northwestern Association either, has carried a windshield. The answer is not that these boats are manned by supermen, who sail gaily on, oblivious of the biting wind in their faces. It is simply a matter of preference; the best skippers seem unanimous in believing that a windshield prevents them from ‘‘feeling” the wind properly. Goggles or face masks are often worn when the temperature is too low and freezing of noses seems to threaten. They are discarded the moment they can be spared in favor of the unimpaired chance to feel the wind. ​

And so we come to the steering gear. Here, again, tradition has hindered design tremendously. Because sail boats — even big ones — are steered with a tiller, ice boats were rigged the same way. No sail boat answers her helm as fast as the poorest ice boat; a sudden small jerk of the helm will probably not alter the course of the boat at all. In an ice boat, this can be fatal. The sharp steering runner provides absolutely instantaneous answering of the slightest twitch of the helm, and at a speed commonly ranging from 25 to 60 miles an hour. Imagine trying to steer your automobile at 25 to 60 miles per hour with a direct-connected tiller! You wouldn’t dare try it. And what have the automobile designers provided, to give safe, sure control of a fast vehicle? A neat, foolproof, worm-geared outfit, ideal for your ice boat. No need to get a gear from a big, heavy car; those used on Model “A” Fords of the early ’30’s are perfect for the purpose. Rig the gear so that it turns an arm or sheave connected by airplane cable to a similar one on the rudder post. 

There is one bad practice in bow-steering design which has caused some mean spills. This is the inboard tiller, entirely inside the cockpit, running up between the driver’s legs. The fact that such a set-up prevents sufficient turning of the rudder is adequately attested by the battered cockpit rails of every boat so rigged — mute evidence of the skipper’s desire to turn the rudder more than he could. It is a highly dangerous arrangement, because it prevents the quick turn to windward or to leeward which is the best way to “set her down” in a sudden hike. Many a boat so rigged has come to grief upside down; more than anything else, the limited throw of the tiller was directly responsible. ​

​In the days of old, before waterproof glue and lamination, the runner plank was often the most difficult part of the boat to obtain. Great pains were taken by the old-timers to cut just the right tree, to have the sawing done just so, to encourage natural warping and obtain a crown in the plank. Basswood, spruce and yellow poplar were used in various localities, and I have seen planks of ash, over 20’ long, and a full 6” by 16” at the center, along the Hudson River. Those were the days of tremendous boats, tremendous weight, and — tremendous inefficiency. Granted that these colossal old boats must have been awe inspiring, to say the least, their speed, except in a half-gale, was nothing to brag about. Here and there along the river one or two of them still appear when there is ice and, though it is a thrill to sit in the cockpit and see all that oak and iron out in front of you, it is no joke to have to push one of them through a six-inch snowdrift. Good planks, capable of carrying these boats and their tremendous spreads of canvas, were almost literally jewels of great price. 

The modern plank is far different. Almost invariably laminated, it consists of two or more boards — again Sitka spruce is tops — glued together and given the desired curvature before the glue sets. Once the glue has set, the crown is there for keeps.  Proper length of plank is vital to the success of the boat, as it has much to do with both stability and speed. Greater length of runner-plank gives: (1) Greater resiliency and spring for the same cross section; (2) a “stiffer’’ boat, less apt to hike; (3) a less favorable hiking-angle, making a bow-steerer stand on her nose or a stern-steerer rear over backward in a hike.
The final qualification for our ideal hull was that it should be “shod with the fastest and most maneuverable runners possible.” Materials used run from the tried and true cast iron shoe with oak tops to shoes of T-iron, angle iron, stainless steel and even bronze alloys. Cast iron, though prone to nick and hard to sharpen, still takes the finest polish and, in my experience, makes the fastest runner of all.

All runners are mounted on single through bolts, permitting up-and-down rocking as they pass over bumps. The proper position of this bolt in the length of the runner has a great deal to do with performance, and many runners are provided with two or more bolt holes, for use on various types of ice surface. The working principle is this: A riding bolt abaft (behind) the center of the runner will put more blade ahead of the weight, and hence will provide a longer lever arm for lifting that weight over each little bump. On smooth, hard ice (the kind we dream about and rarely see), this advantage may not be needed. 

Runners deserve good care. Their edges should be protected from nicking by canvas bags or wooden scabbards when not in use, and they should be removed from the boat, thoroughly cleaned, dried and the edges wiped down with oil whenever the boat is laid up for more than overnight. Remember to use light machine oil and to wipe it off before using the runners again. Heavy oil, when cold, is just so much sticky jelly; many a sluggish performance on snowy ice has resulted from the skipper’s neglect of this one point. Contrary to popular belief, runners treated and used with reasonable care require little sharpening during a season. Naturally, letting them accumulate rust, dragging them up on stony beaches and sailing them over stones and pieces of wire is going to make work at the filing bench — but don’t blame the runners! Filing runners is an art but, in brief, the basic “don’ts’’ are these:

Don’t file across the blade; always run the file with the runner.

Don’t work with a bad file or a bad vice. Use a good, steady vice or, preferably, a set of blocks with notches for the runner tops at such an angle that the blade faces will lie exactly horizontal.

Don’t file one side down more than the other; keep them even, to keep the edge on center.

Don’t use too coarse a file, and don’t fail to knock the filings out of it after every stroke.

Don’t be afraid to work; runner-filing is tough. Don’t expect the same care in a hired job as in one you do yourself.

The runner tops require little or no special care, beyond varnish or paint to keep the weather out. The stud bolts that hold the runner shoes to the tops should be taken up every fall, to offset any shrinkage of the wooden tops which may have occurred during the summer.

And so we have worked out a modern ice boat, from rig to hull to runners. She is about as fast and sensitive a machine as the average man can build for himself and, like anything fast and sensitive, she can be handled or mishandled with equal ease. THE END

Solid or hollow? Again a compromise, between lightness and stiffness on one hand and ease of construction, added strength and resilience on the other. Granted that the solid spar weighs a bit more, it is far easier to build if you are going to make your own, and it is far stronger in case your boat is a bow-steerer, and capsizes some windy day. A mast that will stay up there and prop up the boat after the spill may not only save boat, sail and rigging, but may also save you. As in all questions of weight, the ice boat does not pay anything like the penalty for added weight that the sail boat or the airplane does. The sail boat sinks deeper into the water for every pound added; hence a penalty in added resistance. The airplane must use a higher lift airfoil to carry added weight; hence a penalty in speed and fuel consumption. The ice boat, on the contrary, unless sailing in deep slush, adds practically nothing to resistance or to required draft of sail by the addition of a few pounds of weight. Where the gain is on the side of safety, there should be no question, particularly now that heavier-than-average boats have proved themselves faster in competition..

​First, when the boat started out, moving slowly, her full-cut sail, with plenty of draft, was just what she wanted — the high-lift, low-speed wing, if you will. Soon she was up to real speed. Another interesting result of this method of staying the spar is that the lower portion, below the stays, was bent to leeward but the upper portion was deflected to windward because of the stiffness of the mast and the small sail area up there. The two bends had transformed a straight stick into a beautifully curved and amazingly efficient wing edge.

Stay attachment to a rotating mast presents another problem - that of proper attachment to allow, or even encourage, the pivoting action. The best method is ridiculously simple. Attach the headstay to a single tang or to the bar of a small but strong boom-type plate fitting. Attach both shrouds to a single bolt passing through the mast, from side to side, and cross these wires over one another so that the port shroud leads up, across the front of the mast and around to the starboard end of the bolt, and vice versa. The pull on the weather shroud rotates the mast exactly as we want it to rotate. Wear and fatigue in the stiff rigging wire can be avoided by fitting the upper ends of the shrouds with short pennants of flexible wire. Sheathing the mast with thin copper or brass, and grooving it for the under shroud, are refinements which will help further to reduce chafing. The great advantage, aside from the help to rotation, is the absence of any special fitting, and the clean, uninterrupted wind flow around the spar. A saving in expense and a gain in power and efficiency at the same time should be convincing arguments.

A word about the rotating mast step before we go on to the boom. The simplest and best is the ball and socket type, usually a metal socket set into the heel of the mast, riding on a metal ball mounted on deck. One word of caution about this type of fitting: The socket should be a good inch or more in depth, to prevent possible unstepping of the mast while coming about on rough ice. Adjustable mast steps of this type have the ball casting arranged to slide fore and aft in a piece of dural channel mounted on deck. Several holes in the sides of the channel permit corresponding positions of the ball casting, which is held in place by pins through the holes. A satisfactory home-made version is a trailer hitch ball, mounted either on deck or in the heel of the mast, working in a metal-lined socket. No lubricant seems necessary in these fittings. 

The boom (horizontal portion of a boat’s rig) is far simpler than the mast, both in function and design.  Early plank booms were rigged with bulky wooden jaws, which were a loose fit on the mast so that some rotation was possible. A neater solution is to use a regular roller reefing gooseneck. This is a neat bronze jaw which hugs the mast and carries a rotating boom jaw on its after side. It is satisfactory in operation and accident-proof. The gooseneck fittings designed for Class E boats, consisting of a track on the mast carrying a universal-joint boom fitting, seem satisfactory for Class E and Class D rigs but are not recommended for anything larger. 

Now that we have our spars and standing rigging, the rest of our power plant is the sail, with its accessories, the battens, and the control elements, sheets and sheet blocks. Heretofore, sails have been cut ‘full,’ so that the wind would blow them out into the desired curve. Naturally, such sails hang limp and useless until the breeze strikes them. By contrast, the modern ice boat sail, rigidly set to the desired curve, wind or no wind, is a great deal more efficient. No time is lost when the breeze strikes; power is instantly generated without the wait for the sail to fill. The canvas should be much heavier than that used on a sail boat. The pressure of the battens (long, flat strips of squared wood or metal used to hold fabric in place) will soon ruin the shape of a sail made of light material, and the use of the battens makes light cloth unnecessary. The speed of ice boats and the vicious drive of the winter wind all call for good stout cloth.

When the breeze is lighter, the sheet (line attached to the lower sail) may be belayed (secured), and the skipper can loll in the cockpit and enjoy a fine afternoon’s sail — if he is that kind of a skipper. I have never seen one in an ice boat. No matter how light the air, the typical ice-boater is doing his best to get every bit of speed possible, whether racing or just sailing around. For this, playing the sheet constantly is essential. There is no “feel" of the boat through the rudder, such as that which the sail boat skipper uses to such good advantage. The steering runner has no grip in the ice equivalent to the grip of the sail boat’s rudder, and cannot possibly transmit any messages to the helmsman as to whether he is carrying a weather or lee helm. But “feel’’ via the sheet is another matter. The power and pull of the sail is directly transmitted to the skipper’s hand through the sheet and, through this instantaneous telegraph, he can tell when a shift of course has increased or decreased the power of his rig long before an appreciable change in boat speed is evident, and without any apparent difference in the set of the sail. The power of a violent puff, apt to cause a high hike or even a capsize, can be felt instantly and in ample time to ease the sheet a trifle. In fact, the whole business of getting the most out of your boat depends on a keen coordination of hand and eye to keep giving her the maximum possible drive without getting into trouble—and this makes constant sheet-trimming mandatory. 

I would like to open this discussion in true amateur fashion by stating flatly that the ice boat is a ridiculously simple affair, and that, in nine races out of ten, the only significant difference between the first boat and the  last is either better runners, better sails, better controls or, most common of all, a better skipper. 

I would add that excellence in all these four essentials is relatively easy to attain — with the possible exception of excellence in the matter of sails. Sailmaking is a fine art, and ice boat sailmaking is a specialty within that art. Nevertheless, an understanding of what a sail really is, and of how it works, will enable you to do wonders for the sail you have without having to dent the budget for a new one. One of the grand things about any kind of sailing is that the ability to write fat checks never made a sailor, and the wise old ‘horny-handed’s boys who build their own and patch their sails can still bring ’em home in front — because they know what makes ’em tick. 

​To start with the broadest of generalities, every ice boat is essentially a framework mounted on runners and propelled by sails. Her speed, unhampered by any appreciable resistance, is more like that of a small airplane than that of a sail boat. Hence, it is reasonable to suspect that there is more food for thought in the airplane field than in that of the sail boat when we get into matters of design. 

By and large, the general conclusion ran pretty close to the most obvious one: that, somehow or other, the reversed hull, with rudder forward and runner plank aft, was the key to the situation. Pinned down to paper and pencil, some of these theories were a bit weird. Here and there amid the tumult and the shouting was heard a still, small voice saying: ‘Forget about the d—- bow rudder for a while and take a good, long look at the rig.” … The Europeans insisted that the secret of the new boats’ amazing speed lay in their modern, efficient and powerful rigs. They pointed out that tiny little sails of only 75 square feet area on these boats were generating enough power to carry two men as well as the boat at speeds far above those of the older and far bigger boats. They also pointed out that heretofore no boat with less than 125 square feet of sail had ever been more than an impractical toy, with no performance rating whatsoever. That this raised a storm of dissension is putting it mildly, for not only did these newcomers run rings around us and make us feel distinctly old-fashioned and helpless, but they all sported that shameless and unscientific cat rig! 

Let us here continue to delve into the problem of designing a proper rig for our ice boat in the light of the fast, off-the-bow, air current that seems to be what she normally has to work with. On the ice, courses are seldom held for more than a few seconds; wind direction and velocity are constantly shifting. There is no time for delicate sheet trimming. With a one-sail rig, it is possible, by hard work and a quick hand, to keep all the canvas constantly drawing. But with a sloop rig, the wind in the jib is going to do just one of three possible things: (a) help to drive the boat; (b) backwind the mainsail because trimmed too flat (killing the drive in the big sail); (c) luff because not trimmed flat enough, upsetting the air flow to the mainsail and surely doing nothing to increase progress.

​It is interesting to note here that the generally unsatisfactory behavior of ice boat jibs was well known to the pioneers of the sport along the Hudson River in the seventies and eighties of the last century. They tried the cat rig, complete with enormous mast and heavy gaff, all stepped on the backbone, well forward of the runner plank so as to bring the C.E. (Center of Effort) up by the main runners and away from the rudder. The results are not hard to imagine: One after another of these juggernauts took a quick run to windward, all very fine, turned gracefully around the weather mark, caught the breeze from the quarter, lifted her rear end off the ice and went berserk. The final wind-up was sometimes a quick spin in mid-river, with the crew sliding off gaily over the ice. But more often than not it was a sickening crash as the whole works tried vainly to rearrange the solid rock ballast of the Hudson River Railroad. 

In the early 1880’s, Charles and William Merritt, of the little village of Chelsea, on the Hudson River, designed and built the first successful lateen-rigged ice boat. Her single sail, triangular in shape, was bent to two long slender spars, called “boom” and “gaff,” respectively, from their relative positions when hoisted.

​The C.E. was well forward, away from the rudder, and yet there was no heavy mast out on the nose of the boat to overbalance her and lift the rudder off the ice — the bugbear of the cat rigs of that day. Results were as they should have been — highly successful. After one season of scaring the daylights out of far bigger sloop-rigged boats, she was bought by Commodore John E. Roosevelt, uncle of President Roosevelt, and one of the greatest of all ice boat fans. He named her Eugene and for many years she sailed with the Hyde Park fleet. Later, she was sold and renamed Vixen, under which rakish title she still races regularly as the flagship of the Orange Lake Ice Yacht Club.

Other lateens followed immediately but the sloop rig was still in favor with the famous builder and designer, Jacob Buckhout, of Poughkeepsie, who, with his son George, built most of this country’s successful ice yachts until quite recent years. The Buckhouts turned the ice boat into the ice yacht, refined and perfected their basic sloop-rigged design until their products completely swept the field. In so doing, they swept the lateen rig, which had benefited from no such refinement, into the discard. Had the Buckhouts worked on either the cat or the lateen with similar persistence, they would, without a doubt, have arrived at the highly successful cat-rigged type now almost universal in Europe; an extremely light, hollow mast and Marconi rig to cut down nose-weight, and an exceptionally long backbone, extending several feet abaft the main boom, to keep the rudder on the ice and minimize spinning. But they stuck to the sloop, which thereafter remained the accepted rig until that fatal day when some “crazy Westerner" stuck a cat rig onto a reverse-English hull that steered from the front like Sister Susie’s tricycle — and, zowie! the apple cart was not only upside down — it was demolished.

When the wind is light, the larger boats carry enough sail to get them going, and speeds are not so great that skin friction and form resistance on hull and spars are major retarding factors. Hence, the big ones should — and do — win the races when the breeze is light. But, when it breezes up, the smallest racing class of all can — and does — show a clean pair of heels (and a taut, unflapping sail) to her bigger sisters handicapped by too much canvas. Even if they don smaller sails, they cannot hide their larger and bulkier hulls, or their taller masts, with resultant greater resistance, and the little ones gaily zip around and pass them with maddening consistency. 

A most interesting case in point was this year’s Open Championship of the Eastern Ice Yachting Association. (This race is a contest between the winning boats from each of six sail area classes, ranging from the 75-square feet “Skeeters” up to the 350-square feet Class A boats.) It started in a medium light breeze, which turned out to be only a temporary lull in a howling northwester. The big boat skippers started off in fine style, the three largest boats immediately walking away from the little fellows. And then the gale came back! All the boats started to go faster but the big ones were immediately in trouble; too much canvas. The only recourse was to luff, which they did, with a will, and managed to stay right side up. But what of the “BE” boat? No luffing there! She started out after the leaders like a shot out of a gun. She caught and passed all but one — and the skipper of that one can speak with feeling when he says that it was a steadily losing fight. 

And so we come to the end of this first powwow on ice boats, with a picture of the ice boat of the future gradually forming in our minds:

Rig: Cat (until someone works out a narrow, rigid jib that can be controlled by a mechanical device like a greenhouse window rig).

Type: Bow-steering (until the built-in contradictory forces of the stern-steerer can be eliminated by improved design or until the four-runner boat comes into her own).

Backbone: Long and relatively heavy.

Size: As small as possible, for strong winds — probably not over 175 square feet (Class C) in any case.

Shape of sail: Tall, narrow (2 to 1), and as smooth of surface texture as can possibly be obtained. Also, rigidly and stiffly arched into the proper airfoil curvature, either by full length battens in cloth sails, or by properties of the sail itself if we can get to metal or plywood sails. 
​(To Be Continued) Ray Ruge

Editor's Note: This article by Raymond A. Ruge is reproduced from the December 1936 issue of  Yachting​ magazine. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to White Wings and Black Ice here.  ​

In spite of all the progress toward efficiency and speed made in sailing yachts, the ice boat, the fastest non-motorized vehicle known to man, has remained until very recently the slave of convention and tradition. Improvements in materials, sails, runners, rigging and construction details followed one another in steady progression, but in her fundamental design, the ice boat of 1930 was the ice boat of 1870 — and she still retained the devilish habit of spinning. There was no escaping the tendency to depress the bow and lift the stern whenever a hard puff struck the sails. This inevitable result of the action of the forces driving her is familiar to all small boat sailors. In a sail boat, with her rudder buried deep in the water, it is not particularly annoying. But let an ice boat's rudder be lifted the slightest fraction of an inch and it loses its already precarious grip on the glassy surface, and away she goes, in a cloud of ice slivers and a roar of grinding runners, around and around in a double or even triple spin, completely out of control. At a speed of sixty to seventy miles an hour, which is common enough, and with a competitor driving hard only a few feet astern, the possibility of a nasty crack-up is not hard to imagine. 

​Once the simplicity of this, and the beautiful self-compensating relation of wind pressure to rudder-on-ice pressure, dawns on you, it seems too good to be true. While it is difficult to assign the exact credit for this brilliant solution of the ice boat's one great fault, it is safe to attribute the development and perfection of the bow-steerer to the famous Meyer Brothers, of Wisconsin. They built and raced the renowned Paula series of ice yachts, all champions but all experimental, each one eliminating certain faults found in her predecessor.

​As a result, the bow-steerer is now as safe as she is fast, and ice yachting is coming into its own all over the northern part of the country. For the bow-steerer won't spin. Her pilot need not ease her through the puffs — he can hold his sheets and let her go — and the fact that bow-steerers everywhere are consistently defeating older boats of far greater sail area is sufficient proof that she can go.
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Convinced by the logic of this analysis of spinning, and of the bow-steerer as the solution, during the fall of 1925 I constructed Icicle. She carried the rig of my 18-foot one-design sail boat - about 190 square feet, in a conventional jib and mainsail. A club was added to the foot of the jib, both to keep it flat and to simplify the jib sheet. By using a club, a single sheet working on a traveler makes the jib practically self-tending, a necessary feature where the main sheet and steering wheel require constant attention.

The rig of almost any small sloop can be used on an ice boat if provision is made for the heavier wind stresses involved. Wintry blasts are heavier, faster and harder-hitting than summer breezes. Sails which have been discarded because they have stretched and lost their precious draft are just the ones to use on your ice boat for, contrary to sail boat practice, the rule here is ”the flatter, the faster.”

Icicle has a fuselage, or body, made of light frames and ribs, covered with unbleached muslin to which was applied airplane "dope™ and aluminum paint. This superstructure serves merely as a shield from the biting wind and is built around the traditional central backbone timber, made of an 18-foot 4" x 6" to which was bolted a 16-foot 4" × 4", over- hanging 6 feet aft. This composite timber rides on edge, with the 4" x6" below and toward the bow. The runner plank crosses under the extreme after end of the 18-foot lower member. The mast is stepped directly on the backbone, passing through a hole in the cloth deck which also admits the main and jib sheets to the cockpit, where they are controlled by jam cleats. The backbone also carries the steering gear and all fastenings for frame guys, so that the cloth super-structure is subjected to no stresses except those caused by wind pressure. This permits a comfortable, protected riding position, automobile steering, and a side-by-side arrangement of the two seats, all of which tend to increase the pleasure and reduce the discomfort of a day's fast sailing.

The runner plank shown embodies the latest improvements in design. First of all, those familiar with past practice will note the unusual length of the plank for the sail area carried. This serves two purposes; it prevents excessive hiking and makes for easy riding, both of which are aids to speed. By using waterproof casein glue, a laminated arched plank, light in weight and springy in action, is easy to make. The second departure from older practice lies in the extra foot of plank projecting beyond the runners. This carries on its underside a smooth, rounded oak sliding block which comes in contact with the ice when the boat hikes very high and allows her to slip sideways and come down right side up rather than capsize.

A good runner plank is essentially a broad, flat wooden spring. A stiff plank means a slower boat. The runner plank is fastened to the backbone by two pieces of 2-1/2" x 2-1/2" angle iron, drilled for bolts through the side rails and plank. A block of rubber under the bearing surfaces will absorb some of the shock when passing over rough ice.
 
The most vital parts of any ice boat, where the right thing is the only thing, are the runners. There are many types of runners in use, but the oldest is still one of the most satisfactory and may be sometimes acquired in good condition second, third, and even fourth-hand. This type of runner consists of an oak top piece to which is bolted a cast iron or steel shoe, sharpened to a "V" edge. It is in the subtle but all important rocker of the shoe and the correct angle of the ice faces, or the two sides of the "V," that the fast runner differs from the slow one. For an all-purpose runner, which will carry the boat through soft ice and slush as well as over hard, black ice, the faces of the shoe, called "ice faces." should meet at about 90° and be from ½" to ¾" wide.
 
The rudder is a shorter edition of the main runners but has little rocker. The rudder must be kept sharp for, if it skids, control of the fast-moving craft is, at best, sketchy. After the runners are mounted, oil the inside faces of the chocks, next to the runners. This is one spot that must not be varnished or painted. Graphite is often smeared over these faces to help the runner rock freely. Keep the runner shoes greased to prevent rusting; when leaving the boat for a protracted interval, it is well to remove the runners entirely and keep them at home, along with the sails, where they will be dry and safe from inquisitive skaters.
 
Allowing $40.00 for new runners, and the same amount for a fair suit of sails, the materials for this boat should total about $120. The yachtsman who has a sail boat with a suitable rig and the usual assortment of odd rigging, turnbuckles, blocks, etc., can cut the necessary outlay down to $75. Clear spruce is the lightest and best material for the spars, runner plank and back-bone; fir is second choice. Fir is easier to get and is cheaper but is apt to be heavy. Runner tops, chocks and knees are of quartered white oak. Plywood 3/8" thick is ideal for deck and bottom of back-bone. A few oak slats passing under the plywood floor from rail to rail will stiffen it sufficiently under the cockpit.
 
A boat of this type can be transported easily by trailer, and two men can set her up in an hour, provided that this has been already completely done at home before taking the boat to the ice. It is hoped that the success of the adapted sail boat rig may encourage other yachtsmen to build ice boats to carry the rigs of their sail boats. The most active ice boating centers in the East are all within fifty miles of New York and can be reached by car in a couple of hours. I know I can speak for the ice boating fraternity in assuring all of you a most cordial welcome to this king of winter sports.

Editor’s Note:  During the fall of 1925, Ray Ruge, at age 17, constructed the Icicle.