It Doesn’t Get Any Closer Than This

With two evenings of racing behind us and two to go, the Delta Force were ahead, but it was known that they would miss evening three and so put themselves out of contention. That left things to us, the Matts a couple of points behind us, and Clay a couple of points behind them. (“The Matts,” by the way, are two guys who usually sail together and who both happen to be named Matt.)

It was a tricky evening — another one with strong current and moderate wind that lightened as time passed. With the current against us on the upwind leg, the right side was heavily favored. That’s because the course was set up so that “the right side” constituted a narrow corridor along the Harbor Island shoreline, and the current there was relatively weak owing to friction with the land. You’ve all been there, and so I trust you can picture the very large rocks along that shore. I hope Tom (the Harbor Sailboats owner) wasn’t watching.

Because one side was so heavily favored going upwind (and, for that matter, the other side going down), tactics were reduced to a minimum. You were either on the correct side with clear wind, or you weren’t. Which meant either you got a good start or you didn’t.

We didn’t. No excuse to offer; I just wasn’t reading the line right. To clear our wind in the first race, we initially went left, and every time we tried to go right, someone tacked on top of us and we had to go left again. We battled with the Matts, but somewhere way, way ahead of them and us was Clay. He had gotten to the right. The result: Clay first, Matts fifth, us sixth.

We actually sailed quite well once we got off the line and found some clear air, particularly downwind, which turned out to be a pretty good thing in the second race. Again, a good start for Clay and a mediocre start for us. We were somewhere in the middle of the fleet (eight boats this particular evening, by the way) at the upwind mark, but then we passed boats on the downwind leg. Clay ended in first, but we were second, with the Matts perhaps a foot behind us. Very tense!

Then races three and four were really between Clay and the Matts. Somehow I wasn’t hitting the starts well and that threw off each entire race. But in each, Clay and the Matts were feet apart, doing everything they could to press rules advantages and gain an edge. Both races ended with the Matts first, Clay a hairsbreadth behind in second, and us in comfortable third (not threatening them, but no one else threatening us either).

And so, with one evening’s racing left, we have three boats within one point — the Matts are ahead, Clay is three-quarters of a point behind them, and we’re one-quarter of a point behind Clay. It all comes down to Tuesday!

Ordinance about ordnance

After removing 1,111 pieces of potentially explosive military ordnance from the sand and surf, the United States Army Corps of Engineers is ready to declare the beaches here (Surf City) and in neighboring Ship Bottom safe and recommend that they be reopened in time for Memorial Day.

So, once the State Department of Environmental Protection approves, the “Beach Closed” signs will come down. But in their place will be new signs prohibiting beachgoers from using metal detectors or digging deeper than a foot into the sand. These “land-use controls” will be posted at every entrance and on every lifeguard stand along the 1.4 miles of affected beach on Long Beach Island.

Better Them Than Me

Those of you who remember some challenging Sunfish conditions last summer may be amused to watch this — Laser racing, San Francisco Bay, 40 knots!

Whew… That’s More Like It

Our May regatta began back on the 1st, and if last week passing without a blog entry seemed somehow suspect, then you’re right: I chose not to write about a performance with which we weren’t all that happy. Fortunately, we made amends last night, and so I can scribble away once more.

First, the 1st: It was one of those bizarre evenings when there’s massive current and little wind. So little, in fact, that we could only manage to get in two races. What’s more, there is (perhaps was?) another rental organization on Harbor Island that sponsored its own series of Capri 22 races, but it seems to have disbanded, and a couple of their racers have joined our club. So the honor of our club was at stake: We had to put these new guys in their place.

Or not! The Delta Force (ok, we introduced ourselves to them, and they introduced themselves to us, and we forget their names, and they forget our names, but they’re nice guys and they sail in a boat called Delta) managed to pin us a bit at the start, but we held even with them up the first leg. As we converged on the upwind mark, I misread the current and had to make an extra tack. Clay it was who actually reached the mark first; the Delta Force slipped ahead of us; after an uneventful downwind leg, that’s the order in which we finished.

Then came the second race, in which the Delta Force got most of the way up the first leg just as the wind absolutely died. They had enough momentum to round the mark; now the current would carry them to the finish even without benefit of wind, while it pushed the rest of us in the wrong direction. Boats painstakingly worked their way far above the ordinary lay line, turned for the mark, only to have the current, in the absence of any wind, sweep them below the line again. It was pretty funny when it happened to other boats and not so funny when it happened to us. The Delta Force finished the race half an hour before anyone else rounded the upwind mark, Clay finished third, and we ended up (yikes!) eighth.

But that was then and this is now.

Last night, Ross got there early, we talked about things we needed to change, we sailed a bit, judged the wind and current, and mapped our strategy. Once the first race finally started, we got a fine start, and reached the first mark third, with both Clay and the Delta Force well behind us. (Clay, in fact, was trying desperately to stave off an unaccustomed last-place showing, and — forgive me my weakness, but I loved it — the screaming at the top mark between his boat and the other contender for last was, I think, audible in Tijuana.) We sailed a fine downwind leg, passed the two boats, and finished first.

Second race, we were in position for another good start, but apparently crossed the line about a second early. At least, the race committee thought so. Two other boats did as well (cross early, that is), one of them Clay. We came back, cleared the line, sailed a solid upwind leg and, by the time we reached the upwind mark, we were back in the thick of things. Perhaps a little too thick. We approached on port, another boat approached on starboard, we judged that we could reach the lay line just in time to tack, but we found that a third boat was pretty much head to wind at the upwind mark, stalled. Bozos!

We had no choice but to halt our tack to keep from hitting him, and the only legitimate boat of the three struck us, his bow banging our outboard engine. (And why does that count? I don’t want that stinking thing on my boat anyway!) Yet we were third around the upwind mark, easily passed the head-to-wind laggards, and bore down on the leaders — the Delta Force. As we neared the finish line, we were gaining seriously and you could see panic on their faces. But then, at the last minute, we did our penalty turn and dropped from second to fourth. We probably didn’t sail best in the first race; we unquestionably sailed better than anyone in the second. First and Fourth. Go figure.

On to the third race, the last and a three-legger. We approached the first (upwind) mark in third place — Delta Force in first, and Clay rounding the mark as we approached. He’d had a horrible night — tenth and eighth so far. Every time we were in earshot of him, he was calling a foul on someone. Anger will vent itself. Now it was our turn. He was on starboard and we on port, and although we were well clear of him, he turned in our direction, turned away, and called a foul. The putz.

But this isn’t the American judicial system (if, in the Bush era, we still have one). When you’re accused of a foul, you have to prove yourself innocent. So what a thing it is to have Houdini on board, working his escape artistry. As we sailed downwind on the second leg, Ross noticed that Clay’s inexperienced crew, while winging the jib, had extended his leg outside the lifeline. Oops! That’s a foul. You call one on us, we’ll call one on you.

So, at the downwind leg, the Delta Force were first, Clay was a close second, we were a close third. No one else (out of, I don’t know, ten boats total) mattered. DF and C went right; we went left. Their mistake. It was as if we were sailing in a dream. At one point Ross asked if I wanted to change the sail trim, but I knew all he really wanted was to hear me say (as, in fact, I did), “No, this is perfect!” We crossed in front of them and finished first.

So now we’re in good shape. We were first on the night, and although the Delta Force remain a few points ahead of us overall, they will miss next Tuesday’s racing (I genuinely regret to say it) and so put themselves well out of the running. That leaves us and Clay, and we’re comfortably ahead. More news next week!

Yachtswoman Linda

Yachtswoman Vanessa

Yachtswoman Emma

Yachtswoman Caroline

Bobby "Boris" Pickett, One-Hit-Wonder

Bobby "Boris" Pickett, whose dead-on Boris Karloff impression propelled the Halloween anthem to the top of the charts in 1962, making him one of pop music's most enduring one-hit wonders, has died of leukemia. He was 69.

It was October 31, 1987, the 25th anniversary of the Monster Mash. John's band, of which I was a tangential member, J.T.'s Mardi Gras Band and The Lawnchair Ladies, was playing at a dive bar in Cambridge. Paula learned that Bobby was in town (he hailed from Somerville, Mass.) for the occasion and somehow tracked him down and convinced him to sing at the gig. He agreed on the condition that we provide an open bar for him and his girlfriend "Bree". Which we did. What a time it was.

Wally Schirra, Astronaut

Born: 1923, Hackensack, NJ
Died: 2007, La Jolla, CA

Grinding Stars & Stripes