The Time Has Come

Time to start planning the Yankee-Swap! Who's in? What's the suggested limit? Remember, unless you are under 16 or over 60, participation in the Virtual Yankee-Swap(tm) precludes you from receiving otherwise tangible gift like items from others in the VY-S. Not that you would be guaranteed of getting one anyway!

Last Race Report of the Season

Part 1: No Sooner Said Than Done

My last race report ended, as you may recall, with the words “Providing, of course, that I don’t run into anything.” Life keeps teaching us an important lesson, and we (or, at least, I) keep failing to learn it — Do not tempt fate. The very next time I sailed, I ran into something.

The occasion was the Harbor Sailboats Fall Fleet Race, an annual event that sends racers in any type of boat off on a handicapped random-leg course. It was entirely separate from the Capri 22 series about which I’ve been reporting, but I was sailing a Capri 22 anyway, with Emma as crew. Ross and Kyle were competing in their own 22.

In the final (but long) leg of the race, I was sailing close-hauled on starboard tack. I came into range of a 30-or-so-foot boat called Tangaroa, sailing close-hauled on port tack. If you know your right-of-way rules, you know he was required to get out of my way. But he crossed ahead of me with too little room to pass clearly; I hailed him, and he did nothing; I attempted to evade him, but we hit.

Fortunately, no one was hurt, and damage was limited to my bow pulpit being bent out of shape. (Should you happen not to know, a bow pulpit is a structure of stainless steel pipes mounted on the bow to give crew something to grab onto. It’s absent from smaller boats, but standard on larger boats.)

Incredibly, even after the collision this guy seemed intent on getting in my way. We crossed three or four more times and, regardless of what the rules might require, I had to evade him every time.

The New York Times, by convention, declares itself a “family newspaper” and declines to use off-color language even when a story might make such language appropriate. Well this, I suppose, is a family blog. So allow me, by way of editorial comment, to note that Tangaroa is the name not only of the boat with which I collided, but also of a mythical Polynesian god renowned for an anatomical characteristic entirely in keeping with my opinion of the boat’s skipper.

Part 2: All’s Well That Ends Well

So — Race 4. I was there, with Emma once again as crew. Steve was there. Dennis was there. So were two other boats. But the wind was somewhere else.

Because there was literally no breeze, we had to motor out to reach the course before the race began. Just before the start (and I mean perhaps two minutes before the start) a waft of breeze materialized on the right side of the start line. I got the best of it — regardless of how I can finish, these days apparently I sure can start. The breeze continued to build, and at the first mark I was in first place.

But Steve passed me on the second leg, a close reach, and Dennis came up close behind. As we rounded the second mark, Steve set a course to, and then along, North Island. We were in a strong ebb tide, and Steve was trying to avoid it as best he could. But Dennis went out into the middle of the bay. I followed Steve but, tide or no tide, Dennis kicked our butts. Within a space of perhaps ten minutes, he was at least 30 boat lengths ahead.

So I altered course to go out into the bay, where the tide may have been stronger, but so was the wind. I began to catch Dennis; I began to leave Steve behind; but the wind began to drop. By the time it dropped to nothing (my GPS read 0.0 knots of boat speed), I was ahead of Dennis, well ahead of Steve, and the others weren’t even a consideration.

But now the true breeze filled in — from behind. This meant that every boat gained ground while I drifted, waiting for wind. (By the way, “gained ground” is the term I hear used, but why? Shouldn’t it be “gained water”?) I imagine there is no more frustrating sensation on this planet.

Here’s where Steve’s stay-out-of-the-current strategy paid off. Once the wind reached all of us and we were all moving well, he moved a little better. And a little at any moment adds up to a lot after many moments; by the time he reached the downwind mark he was very safely in first. I reached it in second, Dennis in third, and the others once more not even a consideration.

Now it was close-hauled sailing to the finish. I suffered a “moment” — actually about three minutes — during which I couldn’t point or move the boat at all well, and Dennis caught and passed me. But then, as we continued to sail, I gained ground (there’s that word again). It all came down to a single crossing — I on starboard, Dennis on port — on which our boats were inches apart. A puff hit us and my boat rounded up naturally onto a course that would have led me to hit him. And I had right of way….

But I already owed Harbor Sailboats for a new bow pulpit. What’s more, I suddenly recalled: This race didn’t matter. He had to put five boats between me and him in order to pass me in the overall standings. So, I turned down, passed behind him, and ended up taking third in the race, but second overall in the regatta. First went to Steve, and Steve: Congratulations!

New Class Legal Equipment Unveiled for 2006

Race Three

Sure there was a race last Saturday, and there are results to report, but let’s skip straight to the good stuff: the most spectacular collision I’ve ever seen.

Bear in mind, I’ve seen more than a couple in the last couple of years (and, in fact, been involved in a few of them). Even Tom Hirsh, the guy who owns the boats we race and who has publicly proclaimed something close to a you-bang-em-you-buy-em policy, mentioned privately just last week that “if you don’t crash now and again you’re just not trying hard enough.” But this was a doozy.

A cutter called the Californian, the official “tall ship” of the state of California and a beast of some 130 tons, often cruises San Diego Bay. This particular day, it was out and about along with another sailing ship — name and exact size, I regret to say, unknown, but it was nearly as large, and let’s call it the Phantom. The two were scheduled to go out and blast cannons (plenty of gunpowder, no actual balls) at each other the next day, and they were, I suppose, warming up.

And there we were — “we” being myself and Midshipman Krabby Kyle — close-hauled on the final leg of our race, battling it out with archrival Steve McNally for first. We were on port tack, and I could see that the Phantom was on collision course on starboard. He had, in other words, right of way. But you know what? That didn’t matter. The law of gross tonnage applied here, and I was going to get out of his way. We tacked, and it cost us, and we were annoyed that we had to tack, but all was well.

Now, the Chapman brothers were in our race. As it happens, I am the only person to have entered a boat in these races longer and more regularly than they have. They’re established. But they have a record — a “crash-to-takeoff ratio,” as Tom put it in that private conversation, far exceeding that of any other entrant. They’re also remarkably uneven sailors; sometimes they’re way back in the fleet, and sometimes they contend for first. This was one of the latter occasions. They’d led much of the race and, only in a late leg, had fallen into a close third.

So, a minute or two after we were clear of the Phantom, I heard a noise. I looked back. There were the Chapmans, in exactly the same situation in which I had found myself a few minutes before, except apparently they’d never heard of the law of gross tonnage. (Admittedly, it’s a concept that’s essentially intuitive; I doubt it appears in any rule book.) They were crossing before the Phantom, on port to its starboard (as if that mattered!), and they had already made contact — hence the noise. The Chapman’s mast and the ship’s bowsprit had fouled, and I watched their mast being literally ripped right off their boat.

Hoochie Mamma! But, amazingly, there was no hull-to-hull contact, and no one was hurt. Even so, I turned back to offer any help we could (a decision that seemed obvious to me). It took less than a minute to reach them and to have them convince us they were ok and wave us back into the race, but by then we had no chance of catching Steve. (And in fairness to Steve, we likely would not have caught him anyway.) But the turning back led us to be caught by another boat, and we ended up in third.

So, in the final race a week from this Saturday, it seems highly unlikely that I’ll catch Steve (I’d need to beat him by four boats), and even less likely that the third-place boat will catch me. So it looks like it will be a nice, leisurely affair resulting in a second overall. Providing, of course, that I don’t run into anything……

Howdy pardners

the game ended in a tie, 2-2 if i recall. and ain't that a real nice tie.