Picture the largest wave you've ever ridden. See it taking form behind you as you prepared to swim or paddle into it. Recall how if felt as it took hold of you and began to propel you through the water.
Well, that was nothing.
In the first of three Hot Rum races, Ross and I had just completed a five-mile leg that began inside San Diego Bay and ended well out into the Pacific. We were crewing for a guy named Eugene on his J105 (a 35-foot boat), called "Vamoose." Ross was trimming jib and I was trimming main. That first leg was predominantly a beam reach, but as we rounded the first mark, we turned onto a run, and so put the swell directly behind us. It was therefore much more noticeable than it had been.
The first wave to reach us was easily ten feet — perhaps more like twelve. Another boat rounded moments behind us and the wave lifted it first, so that although it was overlapped with us, it was for a moment four or five feet higher up than we were. We were basically looking at the underside of its hull. It was about half out of the water and then, a moment later, so were we — surfing. I should mention, by the way, that the wind was blowing a sustained 25 knots with gusts to 30.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
All the way out on that first leg, our minimum speed was eight knots, with bursts of acceleration up to nine and more — speeds rarely achieved in this particular class of boat. Everyone on board was just having a blast (there were three others in addition to Eugene, Ross, and me), so we were all a bit disappointed when, moments after rounding that first mark, the Race Committee broadcast that it was abandoning the race. Seems the conditions were so severe that the race marks wouldn't stay put, despite being held by anchors and chain. They drifted literally miles away.
In fact, that first mark that we rounded was not actually a race mark at all, but was instead a channel buoy that everyone seemed to have decided to round because the race mark was missing. That was an adventure in itself. As we approached it our tactician brought us closer to it that we meant to be — almost close enough to reach out and touch it. Just then we stalled (we had, perhaps, entered the lee of one of those large waves). We all held our breath, wondering whether we would roll right into the buoy, which would have been rather messy. Fortunately, we picked up speed and shot safely past the buoy.
One of the great days of sailing! The Hot Rums, I should mention, are a racing tradition in San Diego — three fun races that sort of extend the sailing season into the autumn because no one wants to see it end. They start in the bay, go out into the ocean, and finish back in the bay; it's not unusual to have a hundred boats, of all classes, competing. (Starting's always interesting, even in calm conditions.) Naturally, when you finish racing you go back to San Diego Yacht Club and drink rum, which his how the races get their name. So, two more Hot Rums to go — one next Sunday and the last two Sundays later. Perhaps we'll get an entire race in next time.
P.S. Emma Gets Her Fifteen MinutesYou may have heard some nonsense or other about a big earthquake drill that was staged recently out here. A local paper — the North County Times — dutifully provided coverage. It sent a photographer out to Mira Costa College to see if he couldn't get a shot that somehow encapsulated things. Sure enough, the front page of the issue for Friday, November 14 featured a picture of purposeful people striding briskly about in a parking lot while one person, apparently finding it all a bit silly, sat and read. That person was our Emma! I'm hoping to find an on-line copy of the photo, but for the moment have only one, paper-and-ink copy here at home.....
Maris Stella Yacht Club and Crabbing Society
