Category: Race Reports

We’ve all been to a picnic, and participated in the three legged race.  Even the best teams stumble and lurch along.  PERSPECTIVE was no exception tonight as both the wind and the race committee surprised us with a very exciting race of just three legs.

The wind was mischievous tonight.  Forecasts suggested the wind would subside to a drifter of 4 knots, so we tuned the boat soft.  Before the start, we had the #1 ready, but we were reading 16 knots of wind plus gusts.  We seriously considered the #2, but then we saw the course:  a short beat, a reach a run and a beat.  We opted to stick with the #1, thinking that we might be overpowered on the short beat, but we’d be happy with the bigger headsail on the reach…and then if the wind died as expected, we’d have the right headsail ready.

But the wind had other ideas: it veered toward the north, the gusts kept coming and the wind did not subside.

We stayed with the #1, and Les got the foredeck ready for a jibe-set at the second mark.  And by now, it was clear that the boat end of the line was strongly favoured.

The start was great fun.  We positioned ourselves near the boat, jibed around to kill time and tore off for the line just above the layline.  Timing looked perfect, but Sandpiper was also well-timed and on the lay-line to leeward.  We dumped wind from main and jib to let them slip ahead and started right on their stern at the boat end of the line.  Battlewagon was over early, a bit down the line.  They had to restart.  Although we suffered a bit from Sandpiper’s bad air, we rode every gust up to sail a line above them, and fetched the windward mark without trouble.  Sandpiper pinched their way around it, and the rest of the fleet had to tack.  Leg #1 was a thrill!

Leg #2 was a weird one.  While Sandpiper focused on hoisting, we kept our spinnaker in its bag, sailed above them and stole their wind.  They slipped behind us and then began to overtake to windward.  Top Gun (no spinnaker) was climbing to their windward side.  Game on — as leeward boat we had rights, and pushed Sandpiper up until their spinnaker was flapping madly; Top Gun, too, had to head up to avoid.  But once we fell off to the proper course, they were both able to roll over us, and the rest of the fleet was gaining from astern.  The wind slackened — hoisting was the answer, but we were rigged for the wrong side. So, we decided to try something a bit creative.  First stumble.  Sorry Les, this was not a good idea.  I said “Hey, let’s just clip the pole behind the bag and hoist the spinnaker where it is.”  The lads complied, the hoist was okay, but the spinnaker was now between the forestay and the main on the windward side of the jib — the totally wrong spot.  Les carefully worked it around to the correct side, during which maneuver he was completely wrapped up in fabric fearing for the moment when it filled.  Would he be launched?  Answer, no, it all worked out okay.  Was this the right choice?  Answer also no.  Next time, we’ll take the extra time to shift the bag to the correct side before hoisting.

We gathered speed and soon were at the turning mark.  A jibe mark!  Fun!  We haven’t had many of these before.  Jibe went well and suddenly we were on a very hot spinnaker run.  Next stumble:  the halyard wasn’t all the way up.  Fixed.  Woowie were we booking! Apparent wind angle was about 60 degrees, boat speed was in the high sevens, and the gusts were doing their very best to broach us.  For the first half of leg #3 we held it well, and overtook Sandpiper (who sailed much lower with their kite), gained on Top Gun (who doused early), and pulled well away from the rest of the fleet.  But we spilled out twice as the gusts rounded us up, and then we doused.

Maybe we didn’t need to douse.

Maybe if we kept it up we would have been able to finish ahead of Sandpiper.

Maybe if we knew that the committee boat had changed the finish line, we would have aimed toward the boat.

Maybe…

But, on this three legged race, we opted to douse.  This was our third stumble of the evening.  Now, a hot douse is tough in the best of times.  This was not the best of times.  This was a learning experience….a teaching moment…the kind of douse that makes your foredeck crew rather vocal (and rightly so). The learnings are below and worth reviewing.  The impact on the race?  Well, by the time we were nicely tucked away and sailing correctly to finish, Sandpiper (who doused earlier — and cleaner — than us) got across our bow and finished about where they started:  12 seconds ahead of us!

So it was about as chaotic as a three legged race at a picnic with more excitement than we bargained for.  Leg #1 was a peach.  Leg #2 was snakes and ladders.  Leg #3 was super mario cart.  Thank goodness no one got hurt and nothing was broken.  The after sail tonight was a special mix of debriefing the douse, a few other pointers, and then laughing off the tension with great team spirit.

What did we review about the douse? (especially applicable for a hot douse)

1. As soon as the person in the hole has the sheet, bowman should holler DOUSE!
2. Blow the guy — don’t ease it, get it off the winch completely (no wraps) and let it run.  Just make sure it runs free
3. Blow the sheet — don’t ease it, get it off the winch completely (no wraps) and let it run.  Just make sure it runs free
4. Pay out the halyard — faster on on windy nights.

And how did we relieve the tension?  (Hint: note the terminology in item #2 above.  Probably not the theme of our crew party at the end of the year.)

I’m in a state of euphoric disbelief as I pen this race report.  But something transpired that was both unexpected, and even unsought this evening.  And it was GOOD!

Our mission was simple tonight — a match race with Battlewagon to secure second place in the Thursday Spring Series.  We were one point ahead going into the race, but needed the win to avoid conceding on a tie break.  Simple enough to state, but not something to count on.  We were focused.

From the wind forecasts, I had a theory:  the wind at the start was a sea breeze that was weakly formed and would die early because the gradient was almost parallel to the shore.  We should watch for the sea breeze to die and be replaced by weak gradient wind from the NE.  This proved to be almost prophetic:  when the sea breeze died, it was replaced by a breeze from the north.

The start was solid.  Ken-too-san at the helm (yes, we imported him from Japan), Skootch on the main, Squirrel on the foresail, Lazy Sheet in the pit, Twisted debuting at the mast and Lifeline on the bow.

But we struggled upwind.  During our apres-sail it became apparent: we still had our shrouds tuned for the conditions we experienced on Tuesday  (yee-haw conditions requiring the #3 and producing water over the rail).  Tonight however, we were sailing in the dying breaths of a reluctant sea breeze.  Sure enough, it was light, soft, dying and backing significantly as the evening progressed.  And we were too tight.

Note to crew:  at the dock we should be always assessing if our shrouds are at the right tension.

Even though we had been charting the wind direction, and vigilant for a shift, our upwind progress set us last in our fleet to round the windward mark.  But I enjoyed another chance to focus on tactics, and we jibed away from the Burlington shore ASAP to head toward better wind on the south side of the bay.  This maneuver made all the difference.  Even though Top Gun and Battlewagon rounded well ahead of us, they each carried their course further toward the Burlington shore before jibing.  They fell into a hole from which it was hard to climb.  Suddenly we had leaped from last place to forth.

On the downwind, we were all in a state of flow, fully engaged in what was happening all around us.  We shifted weight forward (including mine), and followed closely the prospects of the boats ahead.  This helped us to recognize the moment when the wind shift was upon us.  Whereas Sandpiper and Legacy (ahead of us) doused their spinnakers, we merely jibed and carried our momentum beyond them.  Suddenly (aside from Sabotage, already sipping martinis at the club bar), we were ahead of the fleet.

What?

Where was Top Gun?

Astern?

Really?

Are you serious?

Yep!

OK, time to calm down and focus on finishing the race in a dying breeze.  Not so simple as it seems, because, basically, the boats behind keep catching up in distance and the boats ahead are impossible to pass.  With our weight forward, and careful consideration of every adjustment of course, we did indeed cross the line second in our fleet (behind Doug in his Viper).  The teamwork and communication was just perfect as we took our time to consider every option before committing.

There was a great sense of gratification on board as we knew we had sailed an excellent race, especially the downwind leg.  We had certainly accomplished our goal with at least Legacy between us and Battlewagon.  But, from a depth of unconscious calculation, I began to wonder if,  possibly, perhaps, it might be conceivable, if we had (rather) done just enough to perhaps…..

YES WE DID!

Congratulations PERSPECTIVE Thursday crew for the gold flag, Spring Series Thursday!!!!!!

WELL WON!!!!

This is why we love to sail!  Tonight all the elements came together in fluid teamwork to produce an exhilarating race, blowing away any cares that were stewing in the back of our minds. Did I mention that it was windy?

And the result was exactly what we needed to clinch 2nd spot for Tuesday Spring Series.

Our success began at the dock as we hardened the shrouds for the expected wind, and bent the new #3 to the forestay.  I think we’ll call this new weapon “Black Magic“.  (You’ll see why in a minute).  Once that was done, a short pause, until Dinghy basically sprinted from his car on board and we set off.  His class in Toronto had run over, and he missed the intended train. Away we went to meet the whitecaps driven by the SW wind.  We opted to hoist the mainsail with a reef, but after a few tacks, confidence was up and we shook out the reef.

Kiwi was at the helm. so of course we had a good start, choosing clear air at the pin end.  And tonight was the first chance I had to focus as tactician, and pass a keen eye on our sail trim throughout the race.  I really loved the role, finding little opportunities to eke out a bit more performance, sometimes boat speed, sometimes pointing, and keeping an eye out on the competition and other boats on the course.  It’s amazing what you can see when you are at the stern of the boat, and not staring at tell-tales!

Back to the race: Black Magic struck immediately, as Sandpiper gained on us from windward, but couldn’t hold our line.  By out-pointing them, they ended up in our bad air, fell astern and footed off beneath us.  So often that has been us, in the backwind of one competitor or another, and here we were for the first time on the winning side of the exchange.  It also helped to have a complete set of big lads hiking hard to keep the keel gripping the water under the hull.

But our friends on Sandpiper are not easily deterred.  By sailing low and fast while we sailed high and slow it was an even contest, and each time we crossed, we exchanged positions, with the port tack boat dipping the starboard tack boat.  When it mattered most, though, they were able to eke their way around the windward mark just ahead of us.  Game on!

The lads put in a clean hoist, filled the kite and got right abreast our rivals.  Kiwi drove us onward, while we changed the headsail to the #2 for the final beat.  The wind had begun to slacken a bit.  There was a hint of an opportunity to push both Pandora and Sandpiper up as we converged with leeward boat rights, but Pandora’s wind shadow proved too much of a deterrent.  Eventually, they jibed before us, and we opted to take some leverage, before putting in our own clean jibe.  This proved to be a game-changer, since our approach to the leeward mark was a bit hotter and faster than Sandpiper’s.  Although they had the inside lane, we pulled clear ahead just before the three boat-length circle, held our douse until the last possible moment, and rounded ahead.  Even better, a smaller boat from an earlier fleet had overlap on Sandpiper, so our friends had to give them mark room.  By the time they were around and clear, we were well ahead.  It’s amazing how a boat-length can turn into an entire minute!

Now our job was to cover Sandpiper, and with the slightly lighter wind, and my favorite headsail (#2), we had the perfect combination of power and pointing to do just that.  Special shout out to Dingy for masterful and attentive mainsail trim throughout the whole race — glad we waited for you at the dock! The net result was a finish a minute ahead.  Yes, Top Gun took first, but this was the result we needed to secure second place in the Spring Series.

The feeling on board was irreplaceable.  Everyone was in the zone the whole race, the teamwork was incredible and the result was so gratifying.  After putting everything away, our toast had the gusto that comes rarely in life and is so addictive.  Let’s do this again!

This is the year for trying some new experiences.  The Susan Hood was a big one, and coming up in July is the Lake Ontario 300, four times as long as the Susan Hood, and I expect it will feel four times as warm too.

In addition, I’ve registered for the Lake Ontario Short Handed Racing Series (LOSHRS) a set of six different races for double-handed sailing (skipper and one crew).  Race #1 was a short one (14 Nautical Miles), and I was joined by Jan Varkevisser (whom we know from Coyote).  Jan took the helm and I ran around pulling on ropes. It was great fun.

The contrast from the Susan Hood was night and day (pun intended).  Jan and I enjoyed solid wind on the beam, great boat speed, bright sunny skies and — with the wind coming off the land — much warmer temperatures.  It was as if we were sailing on a different lake.  And nowhere was the distinction more evident than in the same stretch of water where we had been parked within sight of the finish line the day before.  Saturday afternoon: no wind.  Sunday afternoon: 25 knots!  That made flaking the mainsail a bit tricky with just two of us on board 🙂

The race itself was a very simple drag race.  Jan put in an excellent start at the pin (upwind) end of the line.  We were in the sixth start, so we had clear line of sight to the direction to sail, and time to get ourselves in position.  Our fleet had some faster boats in it (Shock Therapy, rated -11, and Suspect, rated -3), but Lively, a J109 has nearly the same handicap, so we had a good yardstick of how we were doing relative to the fleet.

The wind was pretty steady, but it did rise and fall by a few knots and shifted forward & aft a bit.  Before the start, and twice on the outbound leg, I got the spinnaker ready for hoist (even got the pole ready once), but just when we would have hoisted, the wind grew and shifted forward.  We wouldn’t have been able to hold our line.  Only one boat near us hoisted an asymmetrical spinnaker.  It helped them go faster, but even they couldn’t hold the line to the rounding mark.

We had two set-backs that affected our results.  The first was a challenge in overtaking a slower boat from an earlier start.  This cost us a good 50m.  And the second came after the rounding.  The air was flukey, and by the time we got powered up in a groove, we had slipped to leeward of our fleet.  For us this meant a tack at the finish line to finish on port.  The extra distance sailed set us back further on our fleet.

We placed 5th in our fleet, beating Shock Therapy on PHRF.

Just before the finish, a new stronger breeze kicked in and we sailed close hauled in 25 knots of wind with the #1 genoa up.  Keeping everything flat and feathering the jib, we were not overpowered, but it was a slow mode of sailing.  After the finish, there was an hour to go back to PCYC, so we furled the jib to protect it and enjoyed screaming along under mainsail alone.

Thanks Jan, for a great sail!  Next LOSHRS race are June 15 & 16.  Two chances to climb the leader board.

Chapter one: we were cold

Oh, the Susan Hood!  We were warned.  It would be cold.  Of course it would be cold.  We brought clothes.  We were ready.  I mean, how cold can it be?

(Note to self:  bring twice as many clothes next time!)

Seriously, I was double-socked, double-gloved, three pairs of pants, five layers on top and still seriously cold. Seriously.

(Note to crew:  buy every hot-pocket you can next winter and bring them next time)

The root causes of all this cold were manifold:

1. The water was 7C
2. We were sitting less than one meter above this water
3. We were sitting
4. There was wind
5. There was no sun
6. It was night
7. There was foggy, dampy kinda clammy air
8. The water was 7C
9. We were sitting less than one meter above this water
10. We were sitting

You know when you go skiing and the chair lift stops in a breezy part?  Imagine going skiing, but spending the entire day and night on the ski lift, stuck in that same breezy spot.  That’s the Susan Hood!!

This is us before the cold seeped into our bones.

Chapter Two:  We had a barrel of laughs

All that talk about cold makes it sound as if we were suffering humourlessly through our 21 hour wrestling match with mother nature.  Not so!  Of course there were moments when the cold tried our patience, but most of the time, we combated the temperature with warm hearts, tall tales and the kind of camaraderie that you only get when half a dozen fools decide to sail 75 nautical miles overnight 30 cm above water colder than a gin & tonic.

We would have sang songs, but it was hard to play guitar with two pairs of gloves on!

And that G&T?  Not a drop in sight.

Chapter Three: The start

We were not the only group on this Quixotic quest.  Oh no, there were 97 boats at the start line!  In the late light of a “Spring” day, on calm water with a moist sky, all these craft ghosting along was a thing of beauty.  Just imagine, 97 chair lifts stuck in the breezy part!  Each with its own set of lunatics having a barrel of laughs!

Here’s a glimpse at just a portion of the boats readying for the start.

Chapter Four:  Night

A great part of the appeal of this adventure is the chance to sail at night, out on the lake.  It’s hard to describe how beautiful it was.  First the sunset behind us, and the softening edges as twilight began.  Around this time, midway across the lake the wind grew faint, all the boats slowed, and the world turned pastel and sepia.  I found it haunting and unforgettable.

An hour later it was dark, and a new beauty emerged.  We couldn’t see our sails or the sails of the other boats.  Just their navigation lights and our instruments.  Like green & white beads on a string, our competitors to leeward stretched out in a line toward Niagara.  And above, here and there among the partially clouded sky, stars twinkled at us as if they knew just how cold we were.

Surprisingly, even though we couldn’t see our sails or tell-tales, that didn’t make it hard to steer or trim the boat.  Our instruments told us we were performing well — usually around 90% efficiency, which is hard to beat in broad daylight.  Occasionally, we’d feel the boat speed sagging, and use a flashlight to check the sail trim, but for the most part we just carried on and steered to the compass heading.  Steering to the compass was difficult.  I found myself off course by ten degrees from time to time.  David seemed to have a more steady hand.

Another hour and we were approaching the Niagara shore, whose presence was made known to us first by a very welcome increase in temperature as the wind that reached us passed over only a few miles of water.  The second sign of the Niagara shoreline came from a growing and surprising amount of light from the cities and towns on the peninsula.

Cheered by the slightly warmer breeze, we began hunting for a particular red flashing light still a few hours away.  We had taken note of some decoy lights that might trick us — at least all the ones on the nautical chart.  But we had not anticipated that there are dozens of red lights on land, and there is no way to tell when water ends and land begins.  Eventually, Gil spotted our light and we held a course toward it, tracking our progress on the iPad.  As we approached, our light did not seem to grow, and then we spotted the real light, much nearer, but 30 degrees off our course.  It was there all the time, hiding in plane sight among myriad other lights (and behind our genoa).  No problem, a small adjustment of course and we were around our mark.

And on that final approach, boats ahead that had rounded passed in front of us like the Black Pearl from Pirates of the Caribbean:  silent with just the barest hint of sails silhouetted by the distant glow of civilization.  A red & white necklace stretching along.  It was 1am and all was well.

Chapter Five: Sleep

None of us got enough.  Most got a couple hours, David didn’t get any.  Even though we planned a watch system, we didn’t really follow it.  Eventually, one or two at a time, we each went below decks to warm up, rest and maybe snooze a bit.  We were excited and stimulated by the experience, and still in a frame of mind to sail the boat as well as possible.  We had been warned not to try to be heroes, but I found it difficult to relinquish control on deck even though the wind was modest and the crew had things well in hand.  But eventually, even that sense of responsibility gave way to the need for some shut eye and down I went.

Sleep came quickly.  The gentle rocking of the waves and the lullaby sound of the wavelets overcame the discomfort of a thin mattress on a slope.

But from down below in the dead of night, the sound of the boat tacking is like a freight train running through your head!

Sleep came deeply.  It wasn’t the wind that woke me, it was the lack of it that crept into my subconscious and nudged me to take a look above decks.

Chapter Six: Squalls

Sure enough, that calm was the eerie calm before a squall hits.  This one had no rain, but a sudden surge of wind that threatened to overpower the boat.  By the time I popped my head out of the hatch it was on us, and Les and I furled the jib (me helping from the companionway ladder).  It wasn’t so strong, and it didn’t last long, so we unfurled the jib once I was suited up and on deck.  Another one hit us, softer this time and then the sky ahead showed the edge of cloud cover and more peaceful steady (and stronger) wind.

Chapter Seven: Navigation in the night

Oops, we made a boo boo.

Away from shore in fresh breeze, a quick check of the navigation app on the iPad gave us a bearing to the next waypoint of 331 degrees.  None of us stopped to consider this direction.  We altered course, trimmed the sails and enjoyed the solid wind and great sense of progress that comes from nice boat speed.

An hour and a half later, another check of our position, this time using the chart, and we realized that we were not heading toward Burlington, but were already half way back to Port Credit!

Somehow, the app had advanced to the next waypoint or gotten stuck directing us to PCYC.  You can see our track (dark dashed line) on the image below.  Clearly we sailed a lot of extra distance in a not-so-helpful direction!

Now a comment about psychology.  While we were heading the clearly wrong direction, another boat crossed our path nearby heading in a very different direction with their spinnaker flying.  We noticed they were flying a quite deep angle, and discussed amongst ourselves how surprising it was that they didn’t change course closer to ours, take a hotter angle and therefore a lot of speed in the ‘right’ direction.  We talked about their bad decisions, never once reconsidering that perhaps they were going the right direction.  And of course, they were!

Chapter Eight: Spinnaker at Night

One of the particular thrills of our errant course was the chance to set the spinnaker at night and sail fast on the open lake.  By the time we did this, the darkest part of night had passed, and we hoisted in the predawn charcoal gray sky that leant everything a monochromatic hue.  Flying along around 7 knots, we were being towed by a greyscale two-tone spinnaker, first in the wrong direction but then after a jibe and some shifty wind onto a great straight line to the Burlington Spider.  This is an image that returns to me every time I blink.

Chapter Nine:  The first of three holes

In the vernacular, a ‘hole’ is an area of light wind where progress slows to a painful pace.  In the worst of these, the wind dies altogether.

As we approached the spider the wind began to slacken.  The navigation software predicted 22 minutes to reach the spider.  We sailed on.  After about 20 minutes, we asked Lazy Sheet how long until the spider.  The answer?  22 minutes.  The wind slowed some more and so did our progress.  Another long interval passed, and the same question was asked.  How long until the spider?  22 minutes!  I started to ponder the mathematical joke where you progress half the remaining distance to your destination in each interval of time.  How long does it take to get there?  Forever!

The only good thing about this slackening breeze was the chance to make coffee.  Gil brewed up a pot of fresh Joe on Bert’s magnificent gimbaled campstove contraption.  That morning, I would have put a value on that stove at “A THOUSAND BUCKS!”

But thankfully our progress to the spider did not take forever.  A couple of jibes in the light wind to sail hotter angles, a slightly fresher breeze returning, and we were finally dousing at the spider, turning back upwind toward Port Credit (the correct destination this time). It was 8am, and all was well.

Chapter Ten:  Renewed Purpose

Of course the wrong turn in the night was a bit hard to accept, and the light wind approach the spider compounded our sense that we had fallen behind our fleet.  Rationally, we could imagine a scenario where all of them had fallen into a big hole off the shore somewhere (Grimsby?) while we were trucking along at 7 knots, but we only gave that a 10% probability.  Most likely, our fleet was well ahead.

But our energy shifted when we rounded the spider for several reasons, not least of which was another boat just behind us.  We thought we read J109 on the hull, and that would mean that we were ahead of at least someone in our fleet.  Game on!

We rounded ahead of them, felt the fresh (cold) air of the upwind breeze, a keen eye on the sail trim, all the lads hiking hard, a breakfast of licorice and M&Ms, and a sound track of classic rock framed the perfect kickstart to our day.  And sure enough, with over six knots of boat speed and this renewed sense of competitive purpose, we were wide awake with the joy of sailing.

Gil took the helm and we gradually pulled well ahead of our newfound rival.

(and we gradually realized it was a J105, a slower machine from a different fleet that started after us.)

Chapter Eleven: A test of resolve

In a display of classic pathetic fallacy, right around the time we realized that we had indeed given up a lot of time to our fleet, the breeze began to shut down again.  This time we were between Oakville and the Clarkson pier, with less than ten miles to go.  The stronger breeze had built up a modest swell so that even though there were a few knots of wind, we could make very little progress on port tack (heading into the waves).  On starboard, we could do okay, so we held that tack close into shore.  Every time we tried to come away from land, the same fate would befall us, and we would tack once again toward shore.

Eventually, we just stopped moving.

By now we had quenched all the enthusiasm rediscovered at the spider: we were cold, we were tired and we were starting to wonder why we were doing this.

Gil preempted any thoughts of quitting with something like “Anyone even thinks about starting the engine, I’m cutting the battery cables!”

The sails flapped terribly in the swell so we furled the jib, hardened the main, and I leaned back and closed my eyes, saying something to the effect of “relax boys, have a rest.  The wind will come back eventually.”  Now, I’m no prophet, but this time I was right.

Chapter Twelve: We could have walked faster

Through some mechanism I cannot perfectly recall, I transitioned from napping at the helm to asleep down below.  When I woke up, there was a consistent light breeze.  Les was at the helm, Dinghy was obsessed with overtaking a new rival (Renaissance), and we were making forward progress toward the finish line.  About 4 knots of boat speed, or 8km/hr, tacking upwind, so net progress just over 5km/hr.  Yes we were moving infinitely faster than we had been, but it was more tortoise than hare.

We had eyes on the finish line, watching two boats ahead as they approached the end of their journeys.  And we watched them stop completely.

Chapter Twelve:  Four Hands takes a nap on the foredeck

You guessed it.  We approached, and then slowed and slowed.  Lazy Sheet and Four hands went to the foredeck to shift our weight forward, to help preserve the momentum we had.  We tacked while we still had way on us.  Renaissance tried hoisting a code zero but ended up facing the wrong way, and we overtook them at a speed of 0.02 knots.  And then?  Nothing.

The distance to the finish line is debatable.  Was it 200m?  500m? somewhere in between?  The point is that after twenty hours on board, and nearly 75 nautical miles traveled we were now stopped completely within site of the finish line.    The whispers of moving air came from every which direction and there was no hope of moving.  Give’r was the name of the boat ahead of us, and together we bobbed going nowhere.

If there was any silver lining to be had in this park-up, at least it was warmer!

Somehow in the middle of all this drama, Les closed his eyes and went to a much happier place.  Was it an hour?  More?  I don’t know.  Time seemed to dilate. Time seemed to stand still.  The boat certainly seemed to stand still.

Finally, eventually, the whispers of wind consolidated to a consistent direction and we hoisted the spinnaker (waking Les from his reverie) to travel the last 100m or so across the line.

SUCCESS!

Epilogue

And so ran the Quixotic odyssey of six adventurers on the frigid inland sea.  In near silence we put the gear away, stowed the sails, docked the ship and unloaded our personal effects and brought them to the car.  Just as we entered the car, thunder rolled nearby.  As the doors closed, raindrops fell.  As we exited the parking lot, the sky opened with a rich deluge.

We had finished just in time.  For although we had been cold for 21 hours, we had been dry.  We can be thankful for that!

David summed it up as we walked to the car:  “Well that was quite a learning experience.”

Now before any rumours start about what Les and Dave may or may not have been doing during tonight’s race, I need to clarify that a whoopee splice is a technical term for an adjustable rope splice that Calvin implemented when securing the Jackstays on PERSPECTIVE.  And Jackstays are lines that we will use during the Susan Hood to attach ourselves securely to the boat.  Calvin made some beautiful bright orange jackstays and clipping points for our race on Friday night.  And the whoopee splices are ingenious.  Except that some aspect of the spinnaker pole was somehow caught up in the jackstay, and Les had to sort out a new puzzle in real time during our hoist tonight.  And Dave?  Well, he provided moral support and the beer after the race, so we’re really glad he was there!

But none of this happened at the beginning, so I have to rewind the tape.  We’ll come back to the whoopee part a bit later on.

It was a chilly night.  I mean StarPort in long johns and windbreaker overalls kind of chilly.  Long-fingered gloves even.  Two guys in toques.  That kind of cold.  But it was dry and there was wind, so we were happy.

Before the start we could see that Starboard tack and boat end were clearly favoured, but we opted to implement the port-tack approach, choose a slot, tack onto port and go for clear air down the line.  It worked like a charm and we had a beautifully timed start with clear air, even well ahead of Top Gun.  Good boat speed and pointing and we held our line for quite a while.  Eventually we needed to work our way back to the rhumb line and then it became clear that the boats with a strong boat-end start (especially Battlewagon) had an advantage on us.  We crossed clear ahead of Sandpiper and Raison d’Etre (aka “raisin eater”).  Next cross we were close, but Sandpiper had to dip us.  Final cross and we judged the layline well, but by then the others had gotten inside us and we were last to round, but only Top Gun had slipped well away.

And now the whoopee!

Four hands is getting ready to set the pole and notices something amiss — the lines on the pole are somehow caught up in the Jackstay.

He queries for ideas.

I respond “you’ll have to undo the whoopee splice!”

He hears “undo the ??? splice” and calls back

“OK”

I’m thinking “Boy, Les is really up on his knots”

He’s thinking “What do I do?”

Meanwhile, we hoist without the pole.  After a bit of wrestling and fuss we get the kite filled (trick:  hold the mainsail at centreline until the spinnaker fills, then slowly turn and ease the main while the lads gingerly adjust guy and sheet).  During this time, Les does something magical and the lines are free up there (caught in a bit of tape???).  We jibe and then set the pole on port.  Jibing is easy when sailing without the spinnaker pole!  This is a good trick to practice for jibe-sets!

And the wonder of this whole story is that during all of this we managed to overtake Battlewagon and Sandpiper who had done bear away sets that took them on worse angles.  Raison d’Etre did not hoist their spinnaker and I have to applaud their sportsmanship because they steered a course so as not to interfere with those of us hoisting.  Well done Morgan, Sir!

Now we enjoyed what PERSPECTIVE does best, sailing hot angles in moderate to light wind and making ground on the fleet.  We carried all the way to the Hamilton wall, put in a patient and effective jibe and then enjoyed a nice line to the leeward mark.  By the time we doused and rounded, we were on Top Gun’s heals!

The last upwind stretch was crucial — we all remembered being in a similar position last week, but letting Battlewagon slip by us at the end.  That was not going to happen again!  Still, though we weren’t pointing as well as we ought, and Sandpiper (well astern) was enjoying a much higher line.  This was quickly rectified by Afterguy’s adjustment of the genoa and we claimed a solid second place finish.

Spirits were high as we motored back to port

We’ve all heard the fisherman stories about the one that got away.  Tonight was a classic.  After one of our best starts ever and a great downwind leg where we passed three boats, a second place finish slipped from our grasp as the wind died and Battlewagon had enough momentum to drift by us before the finish.  It was the one that got away!

As we arrived at the dock we were greeted by warm sunshine and a promising breeze from the east.  Checking with the Windy app, showed that this was not the gradient breeze, but a sea breeze that had built during the afternoon as the sun warmed the land,  That meant we expected it to die down and be replaced with a gradient breeze from the N.  Well, the first part of that prediction was correct, but as the wind died, nothing came in to replace it!

This meant that the highlights of the evening were near the beginning.  During the pre-start, Lazy sheet reminded me to shadow Top Gun so we could lean how they approach the start.  As a result, we were heading to the line just astern and to windward of them.  They were a tiny bit early and swerved to kill time.  We avoided getting pushed over and started with speed right on time, abeam of them to windward.  What a treat!

But wait, that’s not all:  we held our lane with them abeam to leeward for almost ten minutes!  We’ve never lasted this long with them in a drag race, and were pointing just as high.  Then, ever so slowly, they edged just forward a meter and we began to get trapped in their backwind.  Within a minute we were sorely headed and they crossed our bow.  Despite a solid upwind, we rounded fifth at the windward mark, though not far behind anyone in particular.

By now the wind was softer and we jibed back toward Hamilton shore on a hot angle searching for wind.  Our jibes showed some signs of a long winter on the land, but even so, our course carried us ahead of Sandpiper, Battlewagon and Raison d’etre.  Approaching the leeward mark, we were in a strong second place as the wind died to nearly nothing.  Our rounding was tight, grabbing the inside lane amongst a lot of slow traffic, and it looked really good for the boys in blue as the whole fleet slowly made its way to the finish.

But then the wind shut down completely and we drifted slowly along.  I tacked too often and we lost what momentum we had.  Meanwhile, Battlewagon found a whisper of something aloft and held a smooth line to windward of us, overtaking us just before the finish line.

So for PERSPECTIVE, it was the one that got away.  At least the Raptors won!

Tonight’s wind was like a reluctant child practicing piano.  A whole lot of not much with occasional moments of cooperation!

So the wind was light, but the crew was lively!  David, Lazy Sheet, Gadget and I were tuned in to all the nuances and ready to eke every bit of boat speed from our reluctant maestro.  The biggest moment was right at the start when we were at the boat end in a big hole.  Momentum carried us over the line at a decent time, and just ahead of Battlewagon and Sandpiper.  We footed off to preserve the tiniest bit of speed, and noticed there was better wind toward the Burlington shore, if ever we could get to it.  Ever so slowly, we gathered way and found progressively more conviction from the wind.  Top Gun had started near the pin end, away from the hole and had a good head start into the more favorable wind to the North.  Meanwhile Sandpiper and Battlewagon were mired in the hole at the start line, powerless to gain way.

And that made all the difference tonight.

From there we paid close attention to our trim to keep the boat moving well, and watched other boats to make good choices about where to tack.  Top Gun stayed well ahead, and the other two stayed well behind, with their own private contest brewing.  We intended to tack below the layline to avoid the starboard tack parade, but a nice little lift and stretch of decent pressure took us right to the mark, so we laid it perfectly by accident.

A clean hoist, a quick jibe onto a bit of a hot angle toward more favorable wind in the middle of the bay, and we gained on Top Gun who showed us where the holes were up ahead.  Even so, we fell into a few pockets of dead wind and despair — and one ten second puff of magnificent speed!  At one point I began to look over my shoulder — we were so far ahead, but moving so slowly anything was possible.  But then, the wind shifted forward a bit, and we were able to follow it to the finish line, even while boats to leeward of us had to drop their kites and come in close hauled to the finish.  Flukey!

So a great result on a very satisfying night.  We lingered late on board, despite the frosty temperatures, just savouring such a great start to the Thursday night season.

Mother nature delivered much more wind than the drifter we were bracing for, so the boys in blue had the chance to work through all the gears on opening night of 2019:

• Two hoists
• Shifty wind
• Port tack start at the pin end
• Progressive persistent shift on the second upwing — yep, nailed it!
• Smooth tacks
• Lightening douse

Tonight had it all!  And it didn’t take us long at all to get back our old form.  Now we are ready to start layering on all the things we learned over the winter series.  Bring it on!

How did it go?

We started third in a little clump with Sandpiper ahead and Top Gun to leeward.  The old debate about when to tack raged and boiled, but we held our course until we all got knocked, when we did indeed tack away.  The knock was short-lived, though, and by the next crossing, we had dropped a few boat-lengths and Battlewagon had overtaken us — they started closer to the boat end in clear air.  But there wasn’t much in it until we needed two extra tacks to round the windward mark.  Despite a great hoist and some good spinnaker work, we couldn’t close down on Sandpiper or Top Gun.  Battlewagon forgot to bring their spinnaker pole, so we pulled well away from them.

We held the spinnaker longer than our rivals and had a great douse.  Even so, we were a solid 5+ boat lengths behind Top Gun and Sandpiper by this time.  We opted to tack away rather than follow and went for better air toward Hamilton.  We had seen Bob Duggan heading out that way, so we took the hint that something good may come our way.  Indeed it did, for once we tacked back onto port, we began to get lifted to the windward mark.  As a result, we closed the gap on our rivals, but got hit by a terrible knock when approaching the windward mark.  Once we were around — another great hoist — we’d given up too much ground to reel in the leaders.

But the final spinnaker leg to the finish was a hot reach with over 7 knots of boat speed and plenty of power in the kite.

What a fantastic feeling!

Oh, one thing I did tonight was to steer with the inside tell-tale slightly lifted. Our boat speed didn’t suffer and we were pointing as high as Top Gun, even higher at some points.  First data point is positive 🙂