sail fast, swim slow......... from P

What a week! We knew we were in trouble when we saw the list of entries in our class. Almost every boat in the class had been a regular winner in their respective locales. We have won a number of regattas - but mostly the Friday night "barnacle races" sponsored by our local boat club. It is unusual to race in a fleet of boats wherein every crew expects to win, and any one of them are capable. Usually there are two or three premier boats in a class, but this regatta series is packed full of them. It was quickly clear that the other nine boats in our class had spent more money on sails than the entire cost of Tony's boat, TL Sea. But here we were, on the racecourse early every morning, going hard every race. Three races on Sunday, two on Monday, three more on Tuesday. It was a blast.

The wind was up Sunday, and we finished fourth, just ten seconds behind the boat that eventually won the class "overall" for the week, Black Widow. It was fun at the party that night to hear Black Widow's crew tell us they were getting worried about us, and how well we sailed that old Cal 31, etc. etc. It was downhill from there. On the second race of the third day, we were on our game and the breeze was just right for TL Sea. Lo and behold, as we were nearing the windward mark preparing for the rounding and final downwind leg to the finish, we found ourselves in second place! Just about the time the adrenaline of a second place finish started to kick in - disaster struck. Somehow our portside gennie sheet got caught on the whisker pole (laying unclipped on the gunwale), and as the sheet came taught, it flung the whisker pole overboard. Much yelling. Tony (our skipper) is frozen for a few seconds, then he lets go of the helm, turns around, and dives into the water!! I scramble behind the wheel to regain control of the boat. Tony swims over to the floating whisker pole. I'm gybing the boat around to pick up Tony as a cacophony of indiscernible yelling and flailing of sails confuses the scene. Approaching Tony's shaved head bobbing up and down in the Chesapeake Bay, I reach back to push the swim ladder down over the transom so that he can climb up. Oh no. Someone has taped the ladder in the "up" position - around and around - with thick vinyl tape. I cannot force it down. Someone find a knife - quick!! By the time we get the ladder cut loose, I have missed Tony. He is still bobbing, quickly getting tired. We tack around. We see a man in a motorized inflatable dinghy zipping across the water toward Tony. It's the race photographer! Tony grabs a line on the side of the dinghy, and the photographer tows him over to our stern. The first thing I yell to Tony is ".... you know what this means... you have to buy a photo from him tonight!" Once aboard, a dripping, caughing, cussing Tony takes the helm, and we all look around to see that the fleet has passed us by. I asked Tony what he wanted to do. He said "you didn't start the motor, right?" Right. "So let's finish the race!" We gathered ourselves, re-hoisted both headsails, and headed for the finish line. As it turned out, with time corrections, we still finished eighth out of the ten-boat fleet!

We ended up eighth overall in our class, but first in line for beer, and first in the hearts of our compatriots. A great week; three days of sailing Senara up the bay to Solomons, three days of racing and partying, and two more days sailing home. I already cannot wait for next year!

Charging toward the starting line.

Tony and I working a downwind run.

Fred watching out for crossing boats.

Drew taking a short break between races.

Party central!

Tony, Drew, and Fred relaxing aboard Senara after the first day.

good morning America .......... from P

Do I hear someone walking on my deck? What time is it? Just barely some light; must be around 5:30 AM. I must still be dreaming, so I roll over and close my eyes. But now I smell bacon frying. Footsteps across my deck again.

We three boats are rafted together in a gorgeous little cove inside the Coan River, which is six or seven miles up the Potomac River. We are on the way up to Solomon’s MD for the Screwpile Light Challenge race series. We have sailed for two days, made approximately 100 nautical miles with 30 or so to go. K and I are aboard Senara, Tony is sailing TLSea (the boat we are racing). Fred is aboard his old boat, which he recently sold to his brother, then immediately refurbished and refitted from stem to stern. She is a great looking, rock solid Columbia 26, originally built at the old Columbia yacht factory in Portsmouth, VA. If you see an old Columbia 26 that looks like a bumble bee (a bright yellow hull with black trim) it will probably be him. I doubt if there is another one.

I hear the squeaking of fenders rubbing up and down between our boats. Maybe I’m not dreaming. Definitely smelling bacon. Hungry. Suddenly I hear Willy Nelson singing at what must be the maximum volume on the CD player. “Good morning America how are ya! Don’tcha know me I’m your native son….I’m the train they call the city of New Orleans……….. Yes, I am awake. It is Fred’s unique way of rousting everyone out of their berth to enjoy one of his big breakfasts cooked on a small gas burner in the 26 footer. Bacon, poached eggs, toast, strong coffee. I wouldn’t want to miss it.

K "enjoying" a sunrise breakfast.

Senara in the middle of a 3-way raft up.

Fred aboard "Maxine" - named after his late mother.

oh, sailing is soooo quiet and peaceful... from P

There’s the horn, one minute!! Boat at two o'clock on your starboard bow! Come up, come up! We’re too early, prepare to gybe! Gybe ho! We gotta get better on the gybes – too slow on the trim. We’re gonna tack back toward the committee boat and luff up on the line – prepare to tack! Helm’s alee! Get that #&*# sheet in! Watch out for Black Widow, she always barges the line. Twenty seconds! Watch the flag! Watch the flag! Luff up! Luff up! Ten seconds! Excelsior is coming down hard on us – don’t let him push us down! Give me some power! Power now!! Harden up! Class flag is down! We’re racing!!

And that’s just the start. As Tony picks his way through the traffic trying to find “clean air,” I am trimming the gennie, trying to read the telltales, and always wishing the fairlead car was either one hole further forward or astern. It rarely seems to be set perfectly. Fred is on the high side near the mast, trimming the cunningham and halyard, watching out for traffic behind the 155% genoa. Kent is thinking ahead, calling tactics. Drew is helping out anywhere he is needed; he and I tag-team trimming the main. If John is aboard, he trims the main. Fred, Kent and Tony are intently gazing forward looking for the first mark. “Halaha is tacking! Halaha is tacking!” – then Kent and I usually in unison: “Don’t go with him yet! Put some in the bank!” Soon we make the decision to tack, and all hell breaks loose. As the bow comes around through the wind, the big genoa backwinds just for a moment, then “break!”, I let loose the windward sheet and start cranking the leeward sheet as hard and fast as I can. The wind whips the big mylar sail and it sounds like someone beating on the side of a metal barn with a hammer until I can trim it tight. It seems like it took me forever to trim that sail. But actually it was a good tack and we are moving well.

We near the first mark and there is traffic. “The current is against us, put plenty in the bank before making the gybe! For God’s sake don’t miss that mark!!” Then to the boat leeward of us, “Overlap! Room at the mark!” Him to us, “Plenty of room!” Sometimes there are three or four boats stacked up trying to get around the first mark. Everyone yelling for room. Everyone dependent upon the leeward boat to fall off a little. Voices charged with tension. Someone cracks a joke about the other’s liability insurance and everyone finally laughs.

As we round the mark we are all scrambling to hoist the second headsail, gybe the mainsail, and hoist the whisker pole - all simultaneously - for the downwind run. Inevitably there is a snag, or the clip on the whisker pole gets jammed, or something. Initially everyone is shouting, then a tense quiet as Fred and Drew work to solve the problem. Then both headsails pop like big kites and we start gaining on the fleet. I love it.

Yes, race week is here again. K and I are sailing Senara up to Solomons, MD where we will live aboard her for a week while “the boys” will indeed act like boys and race Tony’s boat (TLSea) again this year in the Screwpile Challenge Regatta. It is hard to believe it’s been a year since I blogged from Solomons, as we stopped there to race while on the first leg of our trip last July. Three days of racing, two or three races each day. Parties every night, and lots bragging, bonding, and B.S. I can hardly wait!

windward leg to the first mark

birth of a nation ............ from P

This independence day weekend I tip my sailing hat to the brave revolutionaries of Key West. The courageous, and possibly inebriated, Mayor Dennis Wardlow along his brave band of city councilmen made their stand and declared independence from the mighty U.S. of A. Yes, the fledgling new republic of hardy souls would struggle against all odds to form a more perfect republic by raising their glasses and pointing out to the rest of the world the absurdity of the treatment they had been subject to by the mother country.

It was April of 1982. The U.S. government’s previous loose immigration policies, capped by the Mariel Boat Lift, resulted in a backlash of tight immigration and drug enforcement crackdowns. U.S. customs had set up a checkpoint on A1A at Florida City – just before the bridge crossing to the northern keys. That was the last straw. According to first-hand accounts from those who survived these trying times, the checkpoint looked and felt just like a border station. So the intrepid city council did what any good sunburned, T-shirt wearing American city council would do. They declared independence, thereby forming a new country and a more perfect union of native islanders, a.k.a. “Conchs.” For good measure they declared war on the U.S. by breaking a loaf of stale Cuban bread over the head of a U.S. soldier in full uniform. Oh say can you see! The bravery and vision! After finishing their beers, these leaders wisely decided to surrender their new country rather than risk the wrath of having to do all the paperwork required to sustain a new republic. So the history of the Conch Republic spans a total of approximately one minute. But since that fateful day in 1982 the rich history and lore of the Conch Republic has been passed down from biker bar to biker bar throughout the ages. One of the lasting vestiges of this revolt is the flag of the Conch Republic. Senara now proudly flies the Conch Republic flag on her mast. Yes, on this independence day we should remember those who seceded when others failed.

Flag of the mighty Conch Republic

next time ................... from P

Our relationship with Senara feels like that of so many family members. Familiar and perfect in many ways, yet so flawed in other ways. She has taken on her own personality traits - spritely and eager, but quite demanding. We have been through a lot together, and I feel like a cheating husband whenever my eye wanders toward another, newer boat. But it seems impossible to not dream about some of the nicer cruising features of the boats we have been aboard, or just seen in marinas up and down the coast. K has already said that we should consider a roomier, newer boat if we take another year long sail trip. Maybe. If I had several hundred thousand to spend on a new boat, I would have to consider a Caliber, or an Island Packet - less than ten years old, somewhere in the 36 to 42 foot range. Those girls are super roomy, rock solid, and chock full of live-aboard luxuries. Or, I could definitely be tempted into an old Morgan Out Island 41. That has to be one of the best cruisers ever built - but then I would have to do a full upgrade to all the electrical and mechanical systems. Hmmm.... could be fun again.

Actually, I think I would rather remain loyal to Senara, but upgrade here a bit to be more suited for long term cruising. My list of upgrades would include: Full zip-up cockpit enclosure with optional bug screens, solar panels mounted above the bimini for constant battery charging, wind generator for same, wind-vane rudder system for use as a backup auto pilot and a backup rudder, water maker for constant fresh water supply, radar with AIS system, single side band (SSB) radio for offshore radio communication, dinghy davit for easy dinghy deployment, generator to run the air conditioner while anchored out, diesel fired heater, built-in seats on the stern railing, and a few other little things that just make life a little more comfortable out there. Well, after reading that list, maybe I will keep my eye open for that next boat. You never know.

Wow -even Columbus had a dinghy davit off the stern of the Nina! who knew?