The Spinnaker Survival Guide

Humble thoughts from a sailor who’s learned a few lessons the hard way.

I was swapping sailing stories with some folks the other day, and it got me thinking. I’ve had this same conversation with racers and sailors alike all over the world over the last several of years. When I first learned to sail, I was mainly racing—generally as a bowman—which means I’ve hoisted my fair share of kites on different types of boats. I’ve done it singlehanded, double-handed, fully crewed; symmetrical, asymmetrical; monohull, catamaran; with a sock, out of a bag, on a top-down furler…. Now, 40,000 miles into this journey, I feel like there’s not much I haven’t experienced when it comes to popping and dumping a kite—a lot of it the hard way, as it usually is with sailing. 🏴‍☠️

Tip: There’s no better way to learn how to sail than by being on a race boat. It’s all about precision, method, and teamwork—turning the crew into a well-oiled machine from bow to stern. Getting on one usually isn’t that tough for local races; even if you’re just rail meat, you can watch it all unfold.

Warning: The challenge of learning on a race boat is that you’ll find yourself making micro-adjustments, staring at the telltales on your jib at 3 a.m., chasing half a knot on a 3,000-mile passage—the definition of futility, and the true mark of a recovering racer. There really should be a 12-step program for this. 😂

What I’ve realized on this journey is that a lot of sailors are terrified of their spinnakers. They treat that big, beautiful sail like a loaded weapon wrapped in nylon, or a misbehaving ghost they summoned but can’t quite control. And to be fair, in the wrong hands—or the wrong gust—it is exactly that.

You don’t “need” a spinnaker to get where you’re going, especially while cruising, where time is irrelevant. You’ll get there without one. That said, on my boat there’s a time and a place for it. I just think of it as another tool in my tool bag and a good skillset to have when I need it.

Whether you’re a seasoned sailor or just learning, there’s no arguing that flying a kite takes more effort than sticking with your standard sail plan. Most folks don’t want to babysit it at night—or for a week during an open-ocean crossing. Never mind when sailing in Squall-landia, where a lot of the good cruising is—that’s a quick way to turn a good day into a bad movie. You’re cruising—we’re cruising, not racing. Still, when the wind gods are in a good mood and the seas are friendly, hoisting that bright beast can transform a slow painful passage into pure poetry!

With that, the snuffer—or spinnaker sock—is generally the go-to weapon of choice for most folks not racing to launch and douse their kite. That long, tubular contraption slides up and down the sail like a magician’s sleeve, supposedly taming the beast. And when it works, it’s pure sorcery. You hoist, pull the control line, the sock slides up, and boom—instant horsepower. Then, when it’s time to douse, you pull it down, wrap it up, pour a coffee, and pat yourself on the back for being a genius who has conquered chaos.

There’s also the top-down furler—arguably a bit easier to use, but requiring just as much space to store (unless it’s got a sacrificial Sunbrella cover), extra deck hardware, and carrying its own quirks to contend with—and it’s way more expensive!

Before we go any further, let’s clarify: I’m mainly talking about the asymmetrical spinnaker here. Most cruisers aren’t flying symmetricals anymore. They’re very effective (I have one), but the fact is they’re more complex—especially for newer sailors. I can already hear the feverish keyboard clicking from the desktop captains and super-sailors chiming in to prove their sailorie-ness, “They are simple to fly!” ← You’re cool, ego stroked! Moving on…. 😂

The symmetrical kite needs a pole, guys—downhauls, topping lifts, and usually a small army of caffeine-fueled deck apes. On a catamaran, you can cheat—sheet the clews straight to the bows and skip the pole gymnastics altogether. Personally, if I’m going to go through all that effort for setup on my boat, I’ll just sail “Simbo” (dual headsails on my forestay). It reefs in seconds, removes gybing, and balances the rig perfectly.

Quick note on the Code Zero: It’s an incredible light-air weapon—basically a hybrid between a genoa and an asymmetrical spinnaker. It excels reaching in 6 to 12 knots when you’d otherwise be wallowing, and it can make a dead day feel alive again. The only reason I’m not diving into it here is that it’s generally flown on a furler (either a top-down or a Solent rig), which makes it more of a specialized, semi-permanent sail rather than something you launch and douse like a true kite. It’s a fantastic addition to a cruising inventory—but a different animal altogether. It can also get quite expensive!

But for our purposes here, we’re talking about the asymmetrical—the friendlier, technicolor dragon.

Here’s the rub: sometimes the sock fouls! You’re suddenly standing on deck with a duplex-sized piece of chaos trying to rip your rig apart like a drunk Godzilla made of fabric. It could be the internal line twisting, the retrieval block jamming or flipping, or the mouth ring snagging. Sometimes the line that’s supposed to control the sock decides to marry itself to the sail and lock the whole thing open like a bad zipper on prom night. And when that happens, you’d better have a Plan B—or a priest.

And just to be clear, like I said above, a top-down furler isn’t immune either. If the torsion line isn’t tight enough, the sail can start furling from the middle instead of the head, turning the whole thing into a flying taco. If the sheets stay loaded, it’ll wrap like a boa constrictor around your forestay. Even the furling drum can jam under load or refuse to spin when you need it most. Different gear, same chaos—just fancier hardware.

If you don’t know how to douse that sail manually in these situations, you’re not in “mild inconvenience” territory; you’re in “real, rig-endangering, potential-man-overboard” territory. This is not the time to Google it.

Even when the sock is working, plenty of folks make the same classic mistake: they blow the clew (sheet) instead of the tack and then start yanking the sock down from the mast like they’re trying to start a stubborn lawnmower. Remember—the spinnaker is a big, aerodynamic triangle. If you blow the clew and keep the tack loaded, you’re pulling against the angle of force. The geometry will mock you. Instead, come up to a hundred or a hundred and ten degrees apparent-ish, pop the tack, and let that sail flag out harmlessly forward of the spreaders—streaming like the world’s largest parade banner. At that point, your main should be blanketing some of the wind, making it less violent. Then you can snuff it easily, cleanly, and safely—without inventing new curse words. 😂

Tip: Make sure your tack line has a quick-release shackle—one that can be opened under load—for obvious reasons. When things get spicy, you don’t want to be fighting a jammed knot while the kite’s trying to launch itself into orbit.

If your douse does fail due to a technical malfunction, that’s when you pull out the old-school manual methods: the Mexican, the letterbox, the leeward douse, or around-the-headstay. These are the tried-and-true to get her down safely. As sailors, we’re all about redundancy—learn and practice the methods.

I could write out each of those methods here, but that’s a lot… there are a ton of great sailors on YouTube who demonstrate them. That said, think about your own boat’s layout while watching the tutorials and what backup options you’ve actually got when things go sideways.

Tip: Practice on a low-wind day with a favorable swell, a good crew, and ideally an experienced sailor who’s familiar with the tactics.

I will just say this: if the kite does foul, DO NOT just blow any of the lines without knowing what you’re doing. Any of the three can be an immediate disaster if done improperly:

• If you blow the “clew” (sheet) first without easing up on anything else, you’ll probably end up wrapping the spinnaker around the headstay and making a giant mess. Not to mention the sheets will be violently swinging across the deck.

• If you blow the “head” first, the sail will drop forward, fill with wind, and try to drag half the boat with it—good luck getting it back on board once you shrimp it!

• If you blow the “tack” first while you’re too deep, the whole sail will shoot up like a flag, flog itself to death, and there’s a good chance you’ll rip it or lose control completely.

When I first bought my boat, there was only one set of winches in the cockpit, besides the smaller ones on the cabin top for the halyards—so I had just enough for the jib sheets. I immediately added a second pair astern for three reasons:

• Redundancy offshore. It’s nice to know you’ve got options when you’re a thousand miles from help.

• Ease of use. It lets me winch in the jib furling line instead of hand-cranking it like a caveman.

• Spinnaker control. It gives me the option to unroll the jib on the same side as the spinnaker sheet and blanket the kite when things start to get spicy. That move alone can turn a near-disaster into a polite, orderly takedown.

At the end of the day, flying a kite is a magical experience that for sure has a time and place when cruising! Everyone should be able to enjoy it and not be scared of it. It’s just a matter of mechanics and methodology, like everything else on the boat.

With that, the snuffer and the top-down are fantastic bits of gear to help you—but like everything at sea, they’re only as trustworthy as your backup plan. This isn’t about fear; it’s about respect.

Fair winds, my friends!

Days Sober: 2,147 🏴‍☠️

Please feel free to share this! I write these because I love writing, teaching, and helping others—just like so many helped me before I set off on my first loop! If I missed something or if you have any questions or input, please drop it in the comments. We’re all here to learn! There are a ton more pieces like this on my personal page as well if your interested!