Over the Bounding Main

So there we were, having snatched defeat from the jaws of victory in our last series, aching for vengeance. Last night was the first of three in a new regatta — on this night three races among a disappointing five boats (there having been as many as fourteen in races last summer). Ah well, you take what you can get; at least our new nemesis, Steve McNally, was there.

But the wind was tricky: puffy all over the course and particularly weird at the starting line. Overall the wind blew at us on the first leg (as it should have), but there was a pronounced shift midway up the leg. As a result the port tack was decidedly favored at the starting line. Before the start, as a test, we approached the line close-hauled on starboard and discovered we were moving almost parallel to the line. On port, we were almost pointing at the mark.

However, on port we would be at the mercy of every boat on starboard. And no racing sailor has ever been known to be merciful. So we started on starboard tack at the committee-boat (right) end of the line, got caught eating the foul wind of all the other boats, broke free only when we went so far afield as to put ourselves almost out of the race, and came in fourth. So much for vengeance, it seemed.

I do, though, try to learn from my mistakes. In race two, a port-tack start it would be, now at the pin (left) end of the line. We (I) mistimed it ever so slightly, however, and one boat, skippered by Denny Chapman, approached us on starboard. We would have missed crossing ahead of him by perhaps a foot, so we tacked underneath him onto starboard. Denny had more speed than we and so rolled us; another boat (that damned Steve) was now off to our right, preventing us from maneuvering; we were eating Denny's bad wind again. Moments later we decided we had to tack no matter what and planned to fall beneath Steve. Yet when we tacked onto port so did he; a mistake on his part leaving us a clear lane; Denny went too far off on the left side of the course; and come to find out, we led at the upwind mark. Going downwind we managed to extend our lead from perhaps two boatlengths to about five and took a first place.

For race three the wind hadn't changed, port tack was still favored at the start, and astonishingly we were still the only crew who knew it. (Well, I knew it; Ross demurred. As I recall, when asked his opinion, he said something like "We'll be f***ed, but do it if you want to, just tell me what to do," and so I did.) This time we timed it better — once again it was Denny approaching us on starboard, the other three boats astern of him, but we crossed easily ahead and discovered, ten seconds into the race, that we were at least five boat lengths ahead of the nearest boat, pointing toward the mark on port while everyone else pointed away on starboard. All we had to do to win was sail competently, which we did, turning the helm over to Midshipman Krabby Kyle toward the end of the third leg to bring us over the finish line. Actually I think he won the race for us; I probably would have blown it.

So here we are, leading but only 1.25 points ahead of the second-place boat at the end of the first day of racing. Stay tuned for more. Linda, how did you flying scot racing go?