Now that the #3 is with the sail loft to be re-cut, I’ve been looking back on raceQs data, other notes I’ve been keeping, and doing a little trigonometry. Here are some interesting facts:
On an average race we spend about 60% of our time sailing upwind
For each degree of pointing ability, we sail 1.5% to 2.5% less distance upwind.
We are typically sailing 10% more distance upwind than Battlewagon, but sailing about 5% faster than them, which makes us fall behind them on the beats.
For a race of about an hour long, each degree of pointing would save between 30 seconds and 50 seconds (assuming we didn’t sail any slower — debatable)
Which means that 7 degrees of pointing could translate into nearly 5 minutes off our time.
And looking back, that often would have been enough to catch Top Gun.
So, can we point 7 degrees higher?
With the #3, I’m convinced.  In fact, on Thursday, we did point 7 degrees higher than June 2nd and June 7th, using the same sail. (Note: we did this when the main wasn’t reefed, and was mostly powered up).  On June 2nd, we finished 6th, but could have been third, and on June 7th, we finished 5th, but could have finished second, if we were pointing like Thursday night!  And now that we are getting the #3 re-cut into a flatter shape, we should be able to point a few more degrees higher, and shave another minute or two off our time.
Why will re-cutting the jib help?  Four reasons:
A finer entry, means the tell-tales will fly properly when sailing closer to the wind
Shallower shape means the jib will be less powerful, so that we can power up the mainsail more fully in the strong wind, and sail just as fast (maybe even faster).
Using the mainsail for power improves pointing, since the force is generated behind the center of balance of the boat
More control over weather helm to keep the rudder from creating drag — should also translate into speed.
So, I’m very optimistic about the performance we’ll have with the new #3 once its re-cut. Â Can’t wait for another windy night to try it out!
With the #1, the story depends on the wind speed.
When the wind is low (<7 knots), we’ve been competing well with a very soft rig, generating a lot of boat speed, not quite pointing as high as the rest of the fleet.  June 23rd was a good example, when we were second to the windward mark after Sabotage, and kept that second place all the way to the leeward mark when I made a big tactical blunder.
We haven’t had as many races in the 10-15 knots range, so there is still room to optimize. Â At the upper end of that range, it may make sense to drop to the #3, since I’ve noticed that leeway becomes a big factor with the #1 in higher wind without the main fully powered — the gusts push our bow down rather than up.
Of course, this is the wind zone where a #2 genoa would be just the ticket. (Nice and flat with a tight rig)
Three seconds! Â Just three measly seconds! Â That’s how much Battlewagon beat us by. Â We almost had them, but couldn’t quite real them in at the finish. Â It was an exciting end to an exciting night on the water. Â Once again we had big wind, and once again we flew the spinnaker. Â The Thursday night lads got back on the bike again after our humbling last week — even though we were only four of us on board!
Of course, we’d a had ’em handily if I didn’t get caught at the start — this time Sabotage shut the door on us at the start line, so we had to circle around behind them, which cost is 30 seconds right off the top. Â Not my week for starts — time for a new technique!
Sorry no video feed tonight — such a shame since we had water on the rail many times, a nice close crossing with Battlewagon when we had to dip them by a hair, and the slightest bit of a rolling motion starting when the spinnaker was up — those all would have made great highlights, and the finish would have been precious to record. Â What a night to forget the camera!
Here’s how it went.
At the dock, we turned the boat around and changed to the new #3 (the deep one that doesn’t point very high). Â In the pre-start we had 25-28 knots of wind blowing on our nose, so we reefed the main too. Â Even so, we were going 8 knots on a reach (with the jib furled)!
We waited until the approach to the committee boat before opening up the jib.  Once again, we were faster than I was expecting, and before I could decide to slip to leeward of Sabotage, Doug was hollering — “you’ve got no room, Rob!” while he hugged the layline to the committee boat.  At the last moment, we tacked away, jibed quickly and charged at the line again.  It seemed really fast to us on board, but RaceQs shows that loop, and at least 30 seconds went by.  By this time our fleet was well away and we had to reel them in.
And here’s where the narrative gets technical. Â I got some advice from Doug about tuning the shrouds differently for high wind — much tighter uppers and mids — and to max out the backstay. Â On the first upwind leg, we were pointing as high as Battlewagon, and sometimes it seemed as we were pointing nearly as high as Sabotage — that was a new experience, and that was with the mainsail reefed. Â Big Yellow was breathing down our necks from astern, but could not catch up to us! Â By the windward mark, we were in a solid third place: Â Sabotage, Battlewagon, us, and Big Yellow. Â We decided against hoisting the spinnaker — the wind was still really strong. Â Instead, we shook out the reef, and put in several jibes downwind. Â By the leeward mark we had neither gained nor lost ground on the boats ahead of us. Â Big Yellow fell well behind.
The next leg was magic for us. Â With slightly less wind, and the reef out of the main, we pointed even higher. Â RaceQs tells us that we sailed 10% less distance, and pointed 7degrees higher. Â As we approached the windward mark we had almost caught up to Battlewagon, having to dip them when on a port tack. Â Game on! Â Four hands got the spinnaker ready, Squirrel took on two jobs, and we rounded and hoisted the big blue chute. Â The sound of the wake was fantastic as we began to close in the distance. Â One neat jibe late on the leg and we flew to the finish on a hot point of sail. Â It looked as if we could sweep in just before the competition, but the pin end of the line was favoured, and Battlewagon got us by a boat-length.
If only I’d had a clean start!
But kudos to the Thursday crew for being the only boat in our fleet to fly a spinnaker, and doing that right after our excitement last week. Â The vibe after was fantastic, and soon Chris called us over to Battlewagon to chew the fat on a gorgeous warm summer evening.
Similar conditions to last Thursday, maybe a little less windy. Â Tightened uppers & mids and maxed out the backstay. Â Now the new #3 looks like this:
Still lots of sag, and the sail is still quite deep, but we were pointing higher than ever.
We began with a sandwich, and ended with Ceviche. Â Yes, folks, whenever The Cunning Ham is on snack duty, you don’t want to miss out. Â And no, he did not provide sandwiches for apres-sail — the sandwich was on me, at the start of the race!
It was a gorgeous night to be out on the water.  Bright sunny sky, warm, and a nice breeze at the start that tapered gradually.  We were able to keep PERSPECTIVE fully powered up, and average 4.5 knots of boat speed, peaking at 7.0 knots both upwind and downwind.  There were a few lulls where we really had to focus to keep up our boat-speed, but we were able to employ our new learning from GHYRA to keep the boat moving by sailing a bit lower during the lulls.  In fact, at one point we were going nearly four knots in less than six knots of apparent wind — we were making our own wind, and going faster than the true wind!
And great to have Bert on board. Â Bert is my neighbour in the marina, and this was his first race. Â You’ve never have guessed it, and he trimmed the mainsail with aplomb. Â Come again, Bert (just bring a blue shirt next time :-))
Here’s how it went:
At the start, I got caught un-prepared.  We steered toward the boat in some traffic and I focused on Remarkable, who appeared to be on the layline.  I dipped below their stern and came up on their leeward side, only to realize that Top Gun was lurking behind them, sailing very high and very slow.  (I gotta figure out how they do that — a very useful trick at the start).  So there we were in a sandwich with Top Gun pinching us into the committee boat.  What to do?  Remarkable got across Top Gun’s bow and had a great start, but we were caught barging.  There was no time to turn away — the committee boat was right there — so we carried on with our barge and the folks on Top Gun (grumpily) gave us room.  I didn’t hear the word protest, but knew we were in the wrong, so we put in a turn as soon as we were clear of traffic and the committee boat.  The 360 cost us about 45 seconds, enough to be well astern of the J35s with no hope of catching Remarkable or Top Gun.  What to do?  Focus on Battlewagon, of course!
Once we were back on course, we built up speed and began to catch up with the fleet — or at least it appeared that way to us! Â Encouraged, we prepared for a jibe-set on the spinnaker, since the wind was coming a bit from the south. Â This was the right call for the conditions strategically, but tactically it may have been better to bear away and jibe soon after the mark. Â All the rejigging of lines up on the pointy end took extra time, and the wind did rotate back further east and wane significantly during the run. Â Remarkable chose to do a bear away set and then a jibe, sailing hotter angles, which really helped them when the wind died down.
Nonetheless, we reeled in Battlewagon who did not fly a spinnaker, and when the wind died down, we headed up to pick up speed and put in a neat jibe to get ourselves back to the leeward mark. Â Dousing was fun with a lot of traffic crossing us, but we found a clear lane and the kite came down without a hitch. I didn’t realize we had an audience on shore until I heard Skootch’s characteristic whistle and spotted them once we were heading back upwind.
On the way to the finish line, there were two holes (big lulls really) that we had to power through.  In the first one, we eased the genoa, shifted the cars a bit forward, eased both halyards a touch, twisted the mainsail, aimed a little lower and gained about half a knot of boatspeed while the wind drooped. That felt really good!  In the second hole, we shifted as much crew weight as we could to leeward and forward until we pushed through and the wind began to fill again.  Another little victory!
Third place was really uncontested as Top Gun and Remarkable were well ahead and Battlewagon was well astern. Â After the line we tacked over to the committee boat to say hi to Lazy Sheet who was taking photos and video from the committee boat. Â Great to see our buddy out on the water!
And afterwards, our resident gourmand Neil broke out the Sol with fresh lemon and Ceviche with chopped coriander. Â Were we in Mexico? Â All we needed was a Mariachi band! Â Lazy Sheet came to hang out with us, and it was like good old times.
I noticed Calvin do something brilliant on Thursday night, and asked him to write it down so we can all learn. Â What did he do? Â He had the spinnaker pole rigged before we hit the layline so that he could get it on the mast and on the guy within seconds of tacking onto the layline. Â If we can all get the hang of this, it will be a strategic advantage — we will be able to hoist quickly at the windward mark no matter how short a layline we select, which means that we can sail where there is better wind. Â Often, when the wind is from the west, we want to avoid the Burlington shore at marks 1, 3, 4. Â This is the magic we need!
Here’s a video clip showing the impact of Calvin’s innovation: Â watch how quickly the pole is ready!
And here is how he made it happen (instructions, in Squirrel’s own hand):
 Gold/Brown – Jib/genoa sail. (I drew this for #3 jib, but it’s exactly the same for the #1, just further aft.)
 Blue – Jib sheets
 Aqua – Spinnaker sheets (current configuration is sheets used as guys, and it doesn’t really matter until after the hoist)
 Grey – Spinnaker halyard
 Green – Pole down (I know, not the technical term, but much clearer)
 Red – Pole up (ditto)
 Purple – Pre-fed spinnaker (ran out of blues)
 Black – hull and spinnaker pole (pre lay-line its under the jib sail)
Given the position of the jib, wind is coming over the port rail <Pre lay-line>, and over starboard rail <On Lay-line>; which is the typical setup (can’t remember ever coming at the windward mark another way)
<Pre Lay-line>
Spinnaker bag on the rail, clipped in, then pushed under the bottom lifeline so that the bag is on  it’s side and halfway over the toerail. Red tag aft, green tag forward. Spinnaker sheets shackled to the clews, velcro out of the clew rings and reattached to the bag so they don’t tangle in the sheets. Spinnaker halyard clipped to head ring. Head velcro strap out of the head ring and out of the webbing loop on the bag, attached back to itself. At this point the bag is held closed only by the bag top velcro edging. De-velcro the forward 1/4 of the velcro edging, this will help pre-feed later. Spinnaker halyard needs to be quite loose, enough slack that it can wrap around the jib without affecting the shape. In the diagram <on lay-line> you can see how the halyard wraps around the jib. Obviously with the #1 genoa sail you will nee much more slack. Once you have enough slack, have Pit lock the spinnaker halyard and whip the spinnaker halyard behind the spreaders. Yes, it looks messy having the spinnaker halyard flop about near the mainsail, but it keeps the spinnaker halyard from interfering with the jib when tacking.
Next set the pole lines. This is very easy to get a tangle with, so triple check everything. We set the spinnaker pole ‘fingers up’, as seen in the bottom of the diagram. In this configuration, the spinnaker pole hoist lines (thin spectra attached to both end of the pole, with a ring in the middle) will have a black piece of electrical tape wrapped around the pole up hoist line. This is very important to get right: Before getting the pole up/down lines, trace the hoist lines along the spinnaker pole from one end to the other. Pull the pole down hoist line out onto the deck (towards port side) and ensure it goes from one end of the pole to the other without wrapping on anything. It should be outside the forward deck spinnaker pole cleat (black plastic). Then do the same with the pole up hoist line (black tape) except that it should stay behind the jib sail. It is necessary to work behind the jib sail to do the pole up, but it is possible to trace the line without letting go of it, thus ensuring it is clear. Following the diagram: grab the pole-up line off the mast, take a bit of slack, pass behind the jib sail, above everything on deck, inside the lifelines (important not to thread through the lifelines) and underneath the jib sail to your other hand. Holding the pole up with one hand, trace the pole up hoist line with the other hand, bringing it under the jib sail and visually check that it has the black tape. Clip in the pole-up line and ask Pit to take in some of the slack. It should be pulled  back underneath the jib sail and clear above the lifelines, but not taut. Take the pole down line off the mast and get a a lot of slack, enough to make it to the forward end of the pole. Remember this line has a block on it, so 1′ of slack in the Pit = 6″ of distance on the foredeck. Following the diagram: pass the pole down line behind the jib sail above the jib sheets (Important), between the jib sail and the lifelines, underneath the jib sail and attach to the pole down hoist line ring that was pulled clear. Once pulled under the jib sail, it is very difficult to get more slack. Do not take in the slack, it will be needed for maneuvering later. Yell aft that you are ready to tack. If you don’t yell, they won’t hear.
<during tack>
Typically the movement is from the high side, to middle, then up the new high side as the tack is completed. For quickly setting the pole, you need to move in half the time. Move to the low side so that as soon as the jib sheet is let out, you can access the aft end of the pole. Watch your ankles and shins for the jib sheets, very easy to get rope burn or caught&pulled.
As the boat comes onto the lay-line unclip the spinnaker pole from the base of the stanchion and lift the pole end toward the mast. Do not bother with the forward spinnaker pole clip. If you time it right, the spinnaker pole can follow the jib sail across.
<On Lay-line>
The end of the spinnaker pole has a sloped catch. This means that the pull cord does not need to be pulled to put the line in. Holding the spinnaker pole about midway, push the catch against the mast ring in a back&up motion, listen for the sound of the catch closing. Lift the to starboard and up about 12-18″ off the deck. The twist motion of setting the aft end of the pole in the mast ring usually will pop it out of the forward pole clip. While holding the pole in that position (see diagram for <on lay-line> you can reach the spinnaker guy (aqua line on the starboard bow) and clip it into the end of the pole. Then call pit to pull on the pole up line.Note that you will need to set it about 12″ higher than would be level because the pole up line stretches. Then call for the pole down line to be tightened (you will notice the pole drop a bit). Check if the aft Crew are ready for pre-feed. Pull on the spinnaker guy until the clew shackle is right up against the end of the spinnaker pole (see diagram in purple), this may be difficult depending on the pressure on the jib sail and how deep the spinnaker was packed into the bag. Remove the rest of the velcro from the top of the spinnaker bag and head to the mast to prepare to hoist the spinnaker.
Before the race on Thursday, Four Hands snapped this shot of our #3 jib in about 18 knots of wind with the rig tight. the backstay near max, and the mainsail reefed. Â Notice how deep the sail is (look at the shape of the blue stripes), and how much it forces the forestay to sag. Â This deep sail generates a lot of power, but doesn’t point as high as we would like. Â Besides, in this wind, we are spilling power from the mainsail to keep the boat from heeling too much and rounding up. This also causes us to not point as high as we would like.
(Do you see the water droplets flying across the frame? Â There was a lot of spray up there — four hands was drenched after taking this shot!)
I’m going to have the sail re-cut to a flatter shape and we’ll take another picture in similar conditions to see what the difference is. Â I expect that we’ll see less depth, less forestay sag, and we’ll be able to get back all the power lost by keeping the mainsail fuller. Â The result should be a much higher pointing ability, no significant reduction in speed, and much less distance sailed to the windward mark. Â And that should help us compete with the J35s on windy nights. Â Let’s see!
Well, I think you know by the title who won that battle! Yes, today, nature decided to teach the confident lads of the Thursday crew a few lessons, which culminated in our spinnaker laying in the water and the boat stopped on the second downwind leg. Â Some people learn from other’s mistakes. Â Us? Â We gotta make ’em ourselves! Â So, we will learn: Â we will learn how to avoid a death roll; we will learn how to sense a broach developing and counter it early; we will learn how to break 10 knots of boat speed!
But we didn’t do too badly: Â no one got hurt, nothing got broken. Â Oh, well, one thing got broken tonight: Â OUR SEASON’s SPEED RECORD!!!!!
It was a very blustery day with 25 knots on our nose in the lulls before the start, so we set up with the #3 jib and a reefed main. Â Even with that big reduction in sail area, we had water over the rail, big gusts to manage and an average upwind boat-speed of 6.4 knots. Â We could feel the wind strength fading down to something slightly below a roar, so we shook out the reef after the first windward mark. Â In the final analysis, this is the fastest race we have done (even faster than Tuesday):
Leg 1 (upwind): Â average 6.4 knots, max 7.7 knots
Leg 2 (downwind): average 7.5 knots, max 9.5 knots
Leg 3 (upwind): average 6.4 knots, max 7.7 knots
Leg 4 (downwind): average 7.5 knots, MAX 9.9 knots!
Leg 5 (upwind): average 6.3 knots, max 7.7 knots
and our average for the whole race was 6.4 knots. Â Just a hair faster than Tuesday, mostly because the wind didn’t drop nearly as much.
But the story tonight is not about speed. Â It is about nature’s power, and what can go wrong in high wind with a symmetrical spinnaker. Â We had the infamous death roll beginning on the boat twice. Â The first time, we were near enough the leeward mark that we doused — four hands got that chute down lickety split! Â The second time, we had barely begun to react when the the boat began to round up into a broach. Â Everyone responded so quickly, blowing sheets and halyard that we got the boat under control and then hauled in the spinnaker (sopping wet) without incident. Â Great crew, and aweome reactions — you’ve got to watch that video clip.
Are we daunted? Â Absolutely not! Â This is a great chance to learn how to avoid these high wind spinnaker challenges, and how to recognize them developing early enough that we can react to keep things settled down. Â A quick chat with the old salts back at the dock had advice with great words like “barberhauler”, “tweaker”, and “vang”. Â In plain English, I think that means it’s time to drill a few more holes in the deck so we can install another padeye at the chubbiest part of the boat, shift the guy turning block forward, and add an extra line to force the spinnaker sheet to stay low, instead of riding sky high.
(I can hear Gadget and Squirrel rummaging through their tool boxes already — have I mentioned we have an awesome crew?)
Oh, hey, I almost forgot to mention WE GOT THE GUN!!!
(Do I have to admit that we were the only ones in our fleet brave/dumb enough to sail tonight? :-))
Yes, this was our fastest race ever. Â And it was a long one. Â How fast? Â How long?
Top speed was right after we hoisted the spinnaker the first time (before the wind began to drop): 9.6 knots! Â Here’s a breakdown by each leg:
Leg 1 upwind: 6.3 knots average, 7.9 knots max
Leg 2 downwind: 7.4 knots average, 9.6 knots max
Leg 3 upwind: 6.0 knots average, 7.6 knots max
Leg 4 downwind: 5.9 knots average, 8.0 knots max
Leg 5 upwind: 5.6 knots average, 7.0 knots max
And the first two upwind legs were done with the small jib — that’s how much the wind was blowing. Â And yup, we changed the foresail during Leg 4!
And the whole race as 1:44 long.  We spent about 40 minutes blasting downwind with a great big gurgle, spreading a smooth wake far astern.  And we spent over an hour fighting gusts upwind, with Big Dave keeping the boat flat as possible — I think he was trying to get PERSPECTIVE to play like the laser he has at the cottage!  This was definitely the longest high wind race we’ve ever had, but we barely noticed the time go by, as we gobbled up boats on every leg.
And it was one of the hottest nights on the water too. Â 30C feels like 40C, but the high wind helped, especially upwind.
Here’s how it went:
With the season half over, it was time to shuffle positions, so everyone (except me) was in a new spot. Â With Lazy Sheet recuperating and Kiwi away, we recruited Squirrel from Thursday to help out on the foredeck, and Big Dave (yes, he needs a better nickname) on the main. Â Nonsuch took the foresail trim, and The Cunning Ham debuted in the pit. Â It’s a bit insane to switch things up like that in such high wind, but I am a bit touched and we had people paired up well: Â Squirrel coaching Gadget on the foredeck, Nonsuch coaching Neil in pit and me helping Dave get the feel of when (and how) to power through the gusts. Â The result? Â Flawless! Â Gusts, hoists, jibe and douses were managed with aplomb, and without a hitch. Â Throw in a foresail change on the downwind, and you can see confidence is high. Â (Still I suspect Neil is hunting around for a secret decoder ring that translates all those strange names into something memorable — perhaps he and Afterguy can start a group therapy club!)
At the outset, with the new #3 jib — the one that doesn’t point very high and needs to be re-cut — we knew that we would have to sail our own race, and not get caught up trying to point as high as the J35s. Â Instead, we went for boat speed and clean air, trusting we would make up ground on the downwind. Â Nonsuch asked if we would fly the spinnaker in the high wind — “Of course we will”, said the skipper, sounding far more confident than he was :-).
So with that gameplan in mind we timed our start well, and sought out the biggest slot of wind we could find and tacked our way up to the windward mark. Â As expected, we fell behind three J35s (Top Gun, Remarkable and Battlewagon) as they out-pointed us by a good margin while packing on more sail area. Â Never mind: we sailed our own race.
At the windward mark, we took a moment to ensure the pole was secure and the jib was away before hoisting, and then powered up with a lurch. Â Seriously, I thought about naming this post after the Adam’s family, because Lurch was definitely with us when the kite filled. Â I never knew that there was a risk of whiplash on a sailboat, but the way the wind grabbed that giant blue sail and through us forward was unforgettable. Â We went from six knots to over nine instantaneously. Â AGAIN! AGAIN!
This downwind run was dreamy. Â Fast, and straight to the leeward mark: over two nautical miles in a fast straight line. Â Douse. Â Round. Power up. Tack back to the windy slot. Â Yeehaw!
This time upwind we caught a great lift that carried us all the way to the layline — another two nautical miles on one curvy gusty lifty knocky line.  And what to our wondering surprise did appear?  An antique wooden cutter -igged two-master poking along between us and the mark, threatening to force us to deviate from our path (and put in more tacks???).  Thankfully, they made enough progress for us to dip below without blowing our chance at making the mark.
Hoist number two, and away we flew.  But three things were different now:  Battlewagon was astern, the lift that helped us upwind, hurt us downwind and the wind slackened.  So we made two adjustments:  sailed a higher course and planned for a jibe; and change the headsail (great suggestion, Gadget! Inspired by video of Kiwi!).  So, down came the #3.  Jibe.  Connect #1.  Hurry up boys, we’re running out of time! Re-route the jib sheets.  Haul up the halyard.  Oops, there goes the windward mark.  All well, stay calm. Douse.  Turn. Fly!
It was amazing to see all the hustle up front to change over the sails. Â Of course, we were disorganized. Of course it took longer than expected. Â As a result, we sailed about a minute beyond the leeward mark, and took another minute to claw back the extra distance. Â But I wasn’t worried since by then we had extended our lead over Battlewagon. Â But once we were heading upwind, we couldn’t find them anywhere. Had they caught up and snuck in behind us while we doused? Â Scan the horizon. Â Nothing. Â Strange!
And then, as we approached the finish line, we saw them sailing downwind without a mainsail. Â Something had gone wrong. Â Something bad. Â Something expensive. Â Yes, of course we want to finish a race with them behind us, but not because something had gone wrong. Â Back at the dock, we learned that they had been caught by a gust when passing below another boat (Chimo II). Â The gust rounded them up (no laser sailor on their mainsheet!), and they were about to collide badly with Chimo II when the skipper put in an emergency tack to avoid them (follow the gust through the wind). Â But this caught the crew off guard, the running backstay was still firm (I’m glad we don’t have those), and the mainsail caught on it and tore. Â I didn’t see the rip, but I gather it was a big one. Â YIKES.
So, I hope we see our friends on Thursday, with a fresh Battle scar on Battewagon. Â (And I hope I see them behind us).
What a surprise! Â The day started as sultry as they come: Â morning drizzle, humidity like a greenhouse, a hot sun beating through the veil of clouds. Â The rain had stopped, but the deck of PERSPECTIVE was wet when we arrived. Â By the time the gear was stowed below and the sail covers were off, my shirt was as wet as a shammy at an all day car wash. Â Floating around at the start line looked like this, and the wise sailors swam under the oppressive tropical sun.
Race was delayed thirty minutes to let the wind fill in a bit.  And then a wondrous miracle began.  A tickle of a breeze filled in slowly to six, even eight knots of steady air from the north-east!  Calvin and I didn’t trust the breeze to hold, so we took a page out of our notebook from Tuesday, and sailed low and fast.  We escaped the clumps of bad air at the start line to build boat speed, and chose a course closer to the shoreline than everyone else, who headed straight toward Bronte Harbour (almost due north).  We didn’t venture far west before turning up, gradually taking five degrees at a time in an arc that was about half a kilometer west of the rhumb line at its extreme.  I liked the insurance this would give us against some holes appearing in the middle of the course, but we were exposed to a knock if the wind chose to back.
The miracle is that there were no holes in the lake, and the wind veered a bit to give us (and everyone else) a lift.  This made for a very short race — only 90 minutes!  We were all surprised, especially given the conditions at the starting line.  But no one was more surprised than the race committee.  When they called on the radio to find out what our ETA was, we let them know the first boat would be there in twenty minutes.  They had to drop their lunch and hurry out in the boat to set the finish line.
In the final stretch, as we converged with our fleet, we were even with Stigaro, behind Big Yellow and Bobby McGee. Â We had sailed further, but faster — just not fast enough to pull ahead. Â The last twenty minutes were interesting as we saw Big Yellow fall into a hole near the pin end of the finish line, and it cost them a lot of time (and the race) as they tacked in light air to pinch across the line. Â Seeing this happen, we tacked while still in good air 200m away. Â Bobby McGee and Stigaro managed to limp across the line at the pin end without tacking, and we closed the gap at the boat end, finishing a few seconds behind Stigaro.
So, we played a strategy that didn’t pay off: sailing a longer course as a hedge against probable holes in the lake that didn’t appear, and tacking to avoid a hole at the pin end that filled in just strongly enough for our competitors. Â Would I make those choices again? Â Absolutely!
What about the sailing you ask? Â Marvelous! Â Absolutely marvelous! Â The wind was so steady, and the lift happened so gradually that Squirrel and I were able to adjust trim one centimeter at a time to squeeze out improvements in boat speed in increments of 0.1 knots. Â We were moving like cats at the start, weight on the low side and forward — Calving watching the tell-tales, and calling information to me where I could reach all the lines. Â By mid-point we were both on the high side, and we were making the competition nervous with our boat speed. Â They heaved a sigh of relief once they could see we would converge among them, and not ahead. Â Next time!
Had to miss this leg. Â Off to Boston for a presentation to the Board. Â Went well. Â That ought to keep the PERSPECTIVE improvement fund solvent for another season. Â (wink)
