“If anything’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen out there!” Capt’n Ron

First, you have to know that the ‘out haul’ is a line that pulls the foot (bottom) of the sail back along the boom. The wind will collapse the sail and make it a useless rag flapping wildly in the wind if the out haul is not properly set or breaks entirely.

Second, you need to know that Captain Ron’s axiom ‘if anything’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen out there’ is absolutely sailing gospel truth. Equipment problems occur when the dynamics of the wind, water, and wear-with-all of the sailors are mixed together in the constant change of sailing the vessel.

Finally, ‘it was a dark and stormy night’.

Lifeline and crew 1. Disaster 0.

My sister missed her fourth of five sailing classes in Alum Creek Sailing Association’s spring introductory course. Mary arranged to come to the lake on a Wednesday night to make up the time. Wednesday’s are good nights for beginners to come down because Wednesday evening is our club’s racing night. Mostly friendly, we usually put more than a dozen (last year two dozen) boats out on the water in three classes for a tour of the southern part of Alum Creek Lake over two-to-three hours, depending on the wind, of course. There are generally plenty of open seats for a new sailor to join a racing crew or ride along with the race committee or ride along with a leisure sailing crew for the evening.   Mary was coming down for this atmosphere.

The weather was ‘iffy’ as storms were coming through all day. She and I talked on the phone at 12:30 and again at 3:30. Weather radar and reports showed the storm line and bulk of activity should be through by 6:00pm and clear off for the night while the wind remained steady at 10 mph through late evening. She lives two hours out from the lake and we wanted to make sure it would be a good night for her to get some really good experience. I thought it would be a great sail, and I told her so, though cautioned it might still be wet depending on the storm track.

I had to drive an hour down from work, shuffle quickly at home to change and gather some dinner and water for the race. My concern was that once the storms went through we would lose the wind in spite of the predictions and then Mary and I would be on the water in a hot, steamy, sweltering evening. I wanted the sandwiches because my stomach was already growling and the water because I would go through three bottles normally me. When I arrived at the docks, Mary was already aboard and getting comfortable and the other boats were mostly gone. We got under way with a thick cloud layer and liquorish colored cumulous hanging like fog and racing in all different directions below the layer.

The wind on the lake was easterly and steady as we motored out of the channel. We were going to have a good ride tonight. The other boats, seven of them tonight, were across the lake and heading back toward the outer markers. The Race Committee was squawking over the radio that the wind had shifted and they were repositioning the start. By the time they set up, the wind had shifted again, and was coming down from the north. They held the second start line and all the boats began the pre-race dance back and forth behind that line. The general fleet would go off first, all those not in one class of like boats and sailing on jibs and mainsails only (JAM). Second this night would be the Catalina 22 fleet, of which there were three of us. Well, two and Lifeline, as I didn’t register for the spring series. Our time and position wouldn’t count toward anything. The racing start does present a good opportunity to practice and recognize Rules of the Road and requires a lot of tacking so being a part of it is a good exercise for a new sailor. We would start with the Class. The spinnaker capable boats would sail the last start. There were two this evening. They would come up behind us quickly in a normal race. I would have to watch and maneuver accordingly.

The horns began announcing the starts, blaring across the lake even with the wind rising in its own howl. The out-of-the-north direction would have us running with the wind on the first leg, typically opposite of what we would normally do, but no matter to sailors, we sail the course given. What it did for Lifeline was giving us our best point-of-sail first and we kept within a hundred yards of the leaders. Tonight, looking at this and then at the speed indicator reading 4 mph, I knew the wind behind us was strong. Watching the boats in the JAM fleet make the first turn confirmed the assessment. They heeled over strongly as they rounded the mark.

The Catalina fleet approached the mark. ‘Second Wind’ was in front as usual. ‘Teak-keel-ah’ was a bit closer than Lifeline and made her turn. I followed the wind a bit longer on the run down the lake, putting Lifeline another fifty-yards off the buoy.   Mary and I talked through the required actions for making the turn; we would bring the boom across the boat in a jibe and keep the jib on the starboard side.   I began hauling on the mainsheet to bring the boom in closer for the maneuver and we started our turn around ‘A’ mark.

Ironically, I was discussing with Mary the importance of paying close attention to the wind when on a ‘run’ point of sail. We had the boom, and consequently the mainsail, out to one side (port) of the boat and the jib on the other side. Running wing-on-wing like this exposes the most ‘canvas’ to the wind for the strongest push on the hull. It also can be precarious if the wind shifts quickly and gets behind the mainsail. This can force the boom over in an uncontrolled manner and equipment can break. We were attentive to the fact that the wind we were riding was a steady down draft out of the clouds producing the rain that was following us down the lake, and following more quickly than that same wind would push us, of course. We donned our rain gear early on in anticipation and closed up the companion way to minimize the rain into the cabin. The maneuver around the buoy was text book. That’s when it happened.

Lifeline rounded ‘A’ mark buoy and we trimmed up the sails. The wind drove us hard over and I eased out the mainsheet to spill some wind and let Lifeline right herself a bit. The rain began pelting us too, and it stung a bit. But the boat wasn’t making way as I expected her to. What is that red line below the boom? It’s the out haul! It’s loose. Then I saw the block (the pulley) that normally holds the out haul in place dangling from the bottom of the loop of line. I didn’t have an out haul any longer and the mainsail was beginning to collapse along the boom.

I shouted over the wind and rain to Mary to go below and find on the port side seats a length of blue line I knew I had in my small stuff stash. She pulled the companion way boards out and went below, but was unable to find the line. I was turning the boat into the wind to luff the sails. I was thinking I would gather the boom in, tie off the clew (back corner of the sail) and secure it back to the end of the boom. Then we would simply fall off the wind and keep sailing.

What happened was the wind and rain grabbed Lifeline’s bow and forced us over the opposite direction. The boat was headed back toward the buoy while I had my head in the companionway directing Mary to the line we needed. I felt the boat heave, looked up, and steered away from the buoy. Mary handed me the line. She found exactly what we needed. Then she did exactly what a new sailor should dutifully do. Mary grabbed the jib sheet and trimmed the jib to gain way on the boat. Except in these conditions, the jib was pulling and the main was not pulling so well.

The boat did what is should do with the forces of wind, rain, and jib only applied to it. The boat turned toward the dam only two hundred yards away. “Let go!” I shouted at Mary. She eased the sheet out. The sail was still full. “Let go!” I shouted again. She eased the sheet out more. “No!” I shouted again, “let it go!” Finally she released the post jib sheet completely and the jib luffed, slapping and smacking itself loudly in the wind like a forest fire crackling through dry timbers.

With the jib luffed I could make some way with the main and the boat steadied out parallel to the dam and toward the beach several hundred yards away.

Now, do you remember there were boats behind us? Yes, of course, the first time I get Lifeline to a mark ahead of the spinnaker fleet and around before they arrive behind us and now I’m heading back into their course of sail. I could only hope they saw Lifeline was in distress and forgive the ‘intrusion’. I managed to keep some way with the main and hold the course toward the beach. We cleared Lifeline away from ‘A’ mark and the spinnaker boats. Once they were aft of our beam I forgot about them and turned my attention toward the out haul repair.

Now, there is a commercial for a popular male enhancement drug airing on television these days, where the block for his main sheet breaks and he calmly goes below, acquires a life vest nylon strap, takes the boom in his hand and ties the block back in place. Then he continues to sail off into the sunset, completely in control of his ‘vessel’. Yeah, that’s all bull-shit. Don’t believe it.

I couldn’t get Lifeline to point into the wind and luff the main sail. When I let the boom sheet out the boat fell off toward the dam. The wind had her bow and wasn’t going to let us turn her. I had to pull the boom in over the boat hull, tie off the back corner of the sail, keep the tiller steering us toward the beach, while the wind heeled us over against the sail I was trying to repair. I tied a knot in the end of the line first, put the tiller between my knees to hold course, slipped the line through a ring on the back of the boom, and let the knot catch on the ring. Then I fed the line through the clew (the back corner) of the main and pulled as tight as I could, and tied it off with two half hitches. This knot is a slip knot and would tighten on the sail as the wind pulled on it.

Now, I called to Mary and had her trim the jib. She managed just fine and we had Lifeline back under control. We came about through the wind. My glasses were covered in water and I could only see as through a light fog. Mary was now the eyes-on-the-water for this crew. The rain continued as we rounded ‘A’ mark once again and headed up wind. We were closing on two of the boats, or so we thought. We were pretty excited until we realized they were packing in sails and heading back to the marina. The weather was too much for them to manage. Wisely, they were taking the safe action for their comfort level. If Mary hadn’t been with me, I’d have been doing the same. But together we corrected our problem and sailed on.

The rain abated and the wind held relatively steady. We beat upwind toward the ‘B’ marker buoy having to tack over twice to make the required port side rounding. Once over past ‘B’ we took a steady course toward the State marina on the west bank and ‘C’ mark. Rounding ‘C’ put the wind at our back again, and we set the wing-on-wing configuration we started the race with. All the other boats were finished and the line of the fleet was heading into the channel. The committee boat was still sitting at anchor.

“Race Committee, this is Lifeline.” Wait thirty seconds. “Race Committee, this is Lifeline. You don’t have to wait for us; we’re not registered for the race.” “Lifeline, “they came back, “what’s your sail number?” “Lifeline sail number is 4909, and I am not registered for the spring series.” “Thank you, Lifeline.” Still, the wind was such that we sailed past the orange painted barrel used for the start/finish mark as they were pulling up the anchor for their boat. I thought it would be a good sense of accomplishment for my crew, as hard as she worked. But, as those of you who read regularly already know, it did my ego good as well.

I asked Mary if she was ok and if she was up for more. With the rain gone and the wind holding, conditions were good for maneuvering. Getting a hearty ‘ok’ from her, we worked through ‘heaving to’, a configuration that lets the boat ride parallel to the wind and drift with the wind at the same time and gives the crew respite from the work of sailing, especially in heavy winds. I probably should have gone straight in with the rest of the fleet given the out haul issue, but it had held through the storm and the finish for the race, giving me some confidence in continuing the sail.

Completing the heave to maneuver several times, we pointed Lifeline into the channel. The wind being from the north/north east made me wonder how far into the channel we could sail. In our inlet one never knows how the wind will swirl between the trees and fingers of the marina. And, getting into Lifeline’s slip? That requires a two-hundred-seventy degree turn. But the wind was kind to us in the marina. Swirling, dying, reviving, and then steady as we passed various points along the shore, we worked past the docks. The wind gave one last gust to us and the requisite push we needed to make a one-hundred-eighty degree turn needed to get to the slip, and we drifted right up to the dock to smiling faces of slight admiration for having sailed in. Dock lines came over and we tied up, chatting happily with our shipmates as they passed by with congratulations to Mary for her presence and efforts as we stowed Lifeline for the night.

We found the pin and the U-bolt for the out haul in the cockpit. I was grateful. Seems they didn’t pop out over the water after all. Must have been the ring cotter that snapped and let go when we made the turn at ‘A’. I have spares of those to remake the proper fitting on the mainsail.

Thanks, Lifeline, for a great ride!

Captain Ron review on IMBD.com (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103924/)

Captain Ron on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KROce5gc0Y

 

Two students, Ten Knots

Water sports at Alum Creek State Park
photo credit Megan Musselman, Columbus OH

Summer Sundays bring the learners to our sailing marina.  When the mission of the Association is ” To Promote the Sport of Sailing”, sailing education has to be foremost.  It is for Alum Creek Sailing Association…er…well…  ok, it’s a secondary effort, but the first of the secondary efforts.  Captain Morgan has the first say…ah…well…at the local watering hole, after sailing, of course (just in case someone ‘official’ is reading).  Anyway, I digress quickly… too quickly.

Adult learn to sail brought us nine new sailors this spring and I had two of them aboard Lifeline for the forth week of class.  Mother’s Day and Memorial Day weekend stretched our class out and this made the sixth week since we’d met.  That meant more time for studying the books between classes and these two swabs (Captain Ron says we all start out as swabs) had been hitting the books.  They were well versed with their vocabulary and understood directions in ‘the lingo’.  Port, starboard, windward, l’ward, tack, and points-of-sail all were understood quickly, though pushing the tiller to l’ward was something that needed some polishing up.

We beat our way upwind and since the wind was SSE we were generally headed toward the south end of the lake coming out of our inlet (getting confused yet?  ‘up’ is ‘down’ and ‘out’ is ‘in’). The tacks, or directions we headed the boat were toward the boat ramps across the lake and back toward the beach, alternating direction to work our way to the wind.  Each in turn, the students took the tiller to practice.  We were getting a good ride in the increasingly steady breeze.

The breeze made practicing what we had been discussing for week easy to accomplish.  Both of the swabs were able to swing Lifeline up to a floating buoy and stop within a boat hook’s reach (one never wants to actually ‘capture’ a navigation buoy).  Falling off the buoy for the last time we beat out into the middle of the lake for another exercise, as most of the power boats and jet skis were running along the shore lines.

“Crew overboard,” shout/throw/point (STP, yes the oil treatment commercials makes this one a bit easy to associate actions with).  Out went the red floatation cushion (so it could be seen on the water.  I demonstrated the figure eight method taught by USSailing.  If I had done so well two year ago I would have passed my instructor’s certification.  Twice we worked Lifeline around the cushion and twice we came right to it.  Then it was their turn and four times running we were right along side.  Then the quick turn, in turn, and still we were right on top of the mark with each effort.  Until the last…Try as they may we could not get close enough to hook the cushion when we wanted to pick it up.  I took the helm and still it was two more attempts before we were close enough.  But we hooked it.  All together we were more times successful than ‘knot’.

One note I emphasized.  The most common error in a crew overboard recovery attempt is to head directly to the swimmer.  Nearly every new helmsman will do this.  ‘Don’t’, I cautioned them, “you’ll miss every time.  Approach the swimmer on a close reach, at an angle, and just like stopping at the buoy, luff the sails and pull right up to them, stopping when they are along side.”

But even a more common error, especially this time of year, is every skipper and crew failing to practice this maneuver.  Drilling isn’t just for students.  Knowing how to recover a lost crewman is key to boating safety and the boat’s coordination.  Every skipper needs to know how his/her boat will handle in such an emergency.  The actions should be rote.

We finished our sail heading for the sun as it was hovering over our inlet.  We let the wind blow us in until the trees shadowed it from the sails, then rev’d up the motor and furled sails as we approached the slip.  Three hours, ten knots of wind toward the end, and two well exercised swabs made for one terrific day on the water.

 

Morning Sail

I could see the cat’s paws out there on the water as I motored out from the docks.  It looked like a typical southerly breeze was blowing across the water.  There were glassy streaks along both shores of Alum Creek Lake but the middle was ruffled like a little girl’s Easter dress.  My timing seemed very appropriate.

We’d been sitting up on a hill in our sailing association’s pavilion just watching the 5′ x 8′ cotton national ensign for signs of a good, stiff breeze for the second day of our Spring regatta, the May Cup.  Meanwhile, the smaller plastic flags and the leaves on the trees were rustling steadily.  There was wind somewhere.  I wanted to find it.  I had additional plans for the weekend and I wanted to sail while I could.  I couldn’t stand the waiting any more.  I got up, went down to the dock where Lifeline was waiting for me, pulled the cord on the outboard, loosed the lines, and shoved on out of slip B2.  The Commodore was busy with the race committee volunteers, trying to get the chase boat running.

It’s Alum Creek Lake, and local sailors know how the air can swirl and sneak away; once there, soon gone.  What would it be for us this morning, I wondered.  I motored out past the last channel markers and the breeze was steady on my face from starboard.  I idled the outboard and turned into the wind.  Up went the main, up came the jib, and ‘fu-wump’! the sails filled.  I fell off to port and beat toward the New Galena ramp on the east side of the lake.

A roar of an outboard behind me and the Commodore and one volunteer brought the chase boat out onto to the water behind me.  They saw the wind and called out to me.  I shouted I was making 3 knots by my speed sensor.  The Commodore shouted they would be right out.  Over the radio he let the other crews and the rest of the Race Committee know to get ready and get under way as they headed back in to get the marker buoys for the course.

I kept beating across the water.  There were some power boats out, but those nearest me were breasted together and seemed only to be drifting.  The only roar of disturbance I had was that of the radio-controlled aircraft flying south of the dam.  They sounded more like an annoying bumble bee than a roar.  The wind might cover up the buzz if it picked up.  I kept the starboard tack until I was past the other two boats then came about.

Now the sun was behind me and the shadow of Lifeline was on the water ahead of me.  The sails filled on the opposite side of the boat and I was heading for the beach.  The wind was holding steady.  High above me, several thousand feet, there was a long and wispy line of clouds stretching from just a bit west of us, toward the east, then turning south until it was out of sight.  It wasn’t a thick layer of cottony water, nor just a streak of white, but a foggy mix of milk and cotton that gave a ring of rainbow out about the ever rising sun.  It was notably cooler than when I’d come out two quarters of an hour earlier.  Not much, but notable.

I was approaching the beach and also noticed I didn’t have any company with sail cloth yet.  I called to the others over the VHF to see if they were still coming, just so I’d know which way to turn when I reached the swimming area.  Pulling my head back out of the cabin (where the radio resides) I saw the first of the other sailboats coming out of the channel, and I heard their reply.  I jibed the boat and began running downwind.

Running with the wind makes it seem like the wind is lessened in force.  Going the same direction at any speed and the apparent wind drops off to the difference between the combined vectors.  Math lesson aside now, it got hot quickly, and Lifeline didn’t seem to surge forward as usual.  The jib went limp and I had to push the boom out to catch what I thought was a sufficient blow to get me up the lake in a couple minutes.

Did I say it got hot?  By the time I had sails trimmed for the down wind run the other boats, including the committee boat, were out on the water at the end of the channel.  The committee boat was setting up the start line and finish line.  Some of the sails looked like curtains, some were shaped like the air foils they needed to be to create a draft.  I did say it was hot, right?

The sun was passing over the milky wisps of that cloud column.  My shins started to feel hot.  I went below to grab the Coppertone and smear it on (OK, Coppertone with an SPF of ‘4’ isn’t going to keep the burn off, but it keeps the burn ‘soft’ and I like the coconut aroma.  It reminds me of Florida).  The only reason my mainsail stayed bowed in its necessary shape was because I have full battens to hold it in that shape.  My jib was still a curtain and the boats up by the start line all were flying curtains.  I had a wake, but it seemed that was only from what momentum I had after the last course change.

Yes, in the end, about an hour later and when I finally got over (didn’t ‘sail’ over, just ‘got’ over) to the rest of the fleet, the Race Officer called the race off for lack of wind.  A hearty shout of ‘aye’s went out from the crews and we started our outboards up, stowed sails, and motored back into the docks.  We left the lake to the fisherman, jet skis, and beach swimmers this day.

But I did get some wind, and what a gentle ride Lifeline gave me on this morning sail.

Some Wind, Please

Sailing in the local races this fall has been a continuing lesson in light-wind sailing.  This week’s race was no different.  The National Weather Service told us we’d have North-Northeast winds at six miles per hour, but on the surface of Alum Creek’s lake we couldn’t locate that much anywhere.  When the motors were stopped on the sailboats participating it took all the skill of the skippers and crews to keep any and all momentum on the hulls.  And since turning the boats burns off most of any energy the hull has, trimming the sails to draw what little moving air there might be across the sails to draft the boats upwind.

The start was such that I took Lifeline away from the committee boat on purpose.  That kept me well away from the rest of the Catalina fleet, and my sails full of air.  An anomaly on the start though put me below the mark and instead of moving parallel with the fleet I was obliged to change course and move across the lake.  They were moving forward, I was moving ‘sideways’ and my start put me behind.  If you saw any of the early races in the America’s Cup, or are a patron of my web log, you know that making up time doesn’t happen very often.

Turns out, this time it all worked in my favor, …somewhat.

You see, the Catalina 22’s are, by design, the slower boats in our fleet.  The hull length at the water line is shorter than most of the other boats.  The masts are lower, and booms shorter, so we have less sail area to catch the wind than do the other boats.  This week we were starting first, and that meant at some point any or all of the other boats would catch up to us.  If the skippers were sailing for tactical speed, they would sail upwind of us and shadow any wind from our sails with their own.  It only lasts for a minute or two normally and has come to be accepted by the fleet skippers.  Today would be no exception.

Did I mention the wind was light?  Even though I had moved across the lake I gained a little better lay-line (what we call our best/desired point of sail toward a target) on the upwind marker buoy.  By the time I had come back over to fleet coarse toward the mark, the other Catalina’s had tacked over and were making for the line I was already on.  In the mean time, the faster boats had started and taken the same route I had taken.  They were passing me now, with more distance between us than normal.  I didn’t slow much when they went by.

None-the-less, they passed me by and were catching my competition.  I realized I was still below the marker buoy and tacked over again to make my way further upwind.  This put my back to the fleet  When I came back over to fleet course again I was on a good lay-line and above most of the rest of the fleet.  But what I noticed was few boats had rounded the mark.  The wind had dies off and boats were pointed in all different directions.  Some skippers were able to keep their momentum moving forward.  Others had gambled and tried to reach another swirl of air off to port or starboard.  Few were moving and fewer had rounded the mark, including the ‘faster’ boats.  It was all relative tonight.

By the time I was approaching the mark I had passed my first competitor and was approaching the second.  Penguin II and I seemed to be trading places all year and the ladies were working all their skills to catch some air in their sails.  They were stuck in a large lull on the lake only a couple boat lengths away from the mark.  I had to cross that same lull.  I was in a good breeze and could see some cat’s paws across the lull near the shore.  I checked the whole rig and tightened my jib just a little,… just a ‘touch’.  It was enough.  I coasted through the three boat lengths of the lull and found the breeze on the other side strong enough to turn Lifeline, head down to the mark, and round it, and make back toward the middle of the lake.  The middle usually has some moving air…usually.  I was counting on it tonight as the sun had already set and seeing the water was becoming more and more difficult.

Teak-Keel-Ah, 2^nd Wind, and most of the rest of the fleet was still out in front of me.  I would only catch one more in the next hour.  One other boat would drop out, such was the lack of excitement from nature’s breath tonight.  But most would stay in the race.  Laughter was heard across the water as jokes and stories were told and memories recalled and new ones made.  Me, each time I thought of quitting I remembered Oracle’s trials of the last two.  “Stick with it, wait for the time to elapse” I told myself.  “A sailor is at home when s/he’s on the deck and already where s/he wants to be.”  I stayed my course as darkness surrounded us all.

A little less than an hour later (we only had a mile to go) I started hearing horns from the committee boat.  Someone was finishing the course.  We had a race, now, and the rest of us would either finish in time or take a DNF.  My anxiety grew.  I already had too many DNF’s for the year.  The announcement over the radio about having only twelve minutes left to reach the line didn’t help any.  I could see the line and the Race Committee was shining their spot on my sail to see who I was.  “Lifeline! 4-9-0-9!” I shouted.  I finished.  My closest competitor was Teak-Keel-Ah twenty one minutes ahead.  2^nd Wind was just two minutes faster than her.  Penguin II and the ladies would finish as well, but Koinonia would ‘suffer’ all the effort for a DNF.  A thanks goes out to another Catalina crew who conducted the race committee tonight, Bon Aire.  (Not racing in the fall series.  SOMEONE got to GO to watch America’s Cup in person!)

Four weeks of racing and the Old Fox Regatta left on Alum Creek for the year.  Here’s hoping we get some wind before the year is out.

Related articles

• Back on Alum Creek (faithandflag.wordpress.com)
• When you hear the crickets, it’s time to tack (faithandflag.wordpress.com)
• Oracle stays alive as America’s Cup plods along (kansascity.com)
• Ellison’s Team USA in Record Comeback to Keep America’s Cup (bloomberg.com)

Back on Alum Creek

The weather report said ten mph through eight pm.  Clear skies.  The water was ruffled when I arrived but the ten mph was nearer five and falling off quickly.  All the classes made the start but after two hours on a simple windward-leeward course some boats still did not finish the race.  A late start put the fleet making the third mark at sunset and finishing in the dark.  It was a slow, quiet sail and voices could be heard in conversation across the water as we laughed and joked with each other.

Some excitement was generated with close quarters sailing between Teak-keel-ah and Lifeline.  At the start, with the wind around six mph, Koinania was in the mix as well.  She cut off both Teak-keel-ah and Lifeline to cross the start… second!  While the three of us were jockeying for position on the starboard tack, 2^nd Wind port tacked over the line.  We all lost sight of her transom as she rounded the mark on the first leg.  Koinania slipped up wind and Teak-keel-ah went down wind.  I put Lifeline between them.  Teak-keel-ah outpaced us and Koinania fell back.  Penguin II was coming on.  Teak-keel-ah rounded the mark as the wind was dying and Lifeline was a boat length behind.

On what was supposed to be a downwind leg we were both on a broad reach and I took Lifeline down -wind by the beam.  I wasn’t in a position or speed to move upwind and pass.  It was obvious when I was in the dirty wind of Teak-keel-ah’s sails.  My tell-tales, flying perfectly straight even in the light wind, began to flutter.  As expected, Lifeline would slow, Teak-keel-ah surge ahead, and Lifeline would pick up speed again.  We did this twice as I studied the air flow off his sails and into mine.  As we felt the wind pick up a bit, I decided to try to go upwind of him.

The boats were sailing rail-to-rail with Teak-keel-ah still up on Lifeline.  On the second or third surge, I pointed Lifeline up and crossed his transom with about two feet clearance. Predictably he forced me further upwind.  There was some surge to Lifeline so I pursued the course.  He kept forcing me up.  I tried a ‘faint’ of sorts. “Bruce, you’re going to have to make the mark still.”  He didn’t even flinch.  “I know,” he said and kept on pushing me away from the mark and upwind.

I dove down below him.  I didn’t clear his motor by more than two inches.  He turned back downwind.  I waited for him to commit, then surged back behind him with a bit more clearance this time.  The wind was picking up and he didn’t react quickly enough.  I was able to get along side him and take his wind.  Lifeline surged ahead and Teak-keel-ah fell back.  The mark was only a dozen yards off.  He was downwind and toward the mark.

Passing Teak-keel-ah wasn’t to last.  He knew that as well as I.  By going upwind I gave him the inside turn on the second mark.  Pivoting about he was around and ahead of me.  The wind was more steady, though lighter than it had been.  Bruce and Joe took Teak-keel-ah toward the next mark.

I rounded Lifeline about.  Penguin II was coming to the second mark and crossing our bows.  She cleared and we were ‘racing’ upwind again.  But the wind wasn’t being as good to me as to him. I couldn’t seem to make Lifeline point in the lighter wind.  Teak-keel-ah made straight for the third mark and our courses diverged.  I thought  I might catch him again on the forth leg but he was riding the tail end of a wind line and I couldn’t get to it.  The gap opened and second place would be his tonight.  2^nd Wind took first, as usual.

Third and fourth place wouldn’t be decided until the last minutes of the race.  In the dark with the wind shifting and swirling, Penguin II and her three-lady crew closed the gap and was upwind of Lifeline.  Only the luck of where and when the breeze steadied out made any difference and Lifeline caught it first.  Trimming the sails, listening for the clicking of the tell-tails on the jib, the wind carried Lifeline forward and across the line first.  The ladies were only a half-boat length behind.  And both of us only two minutes from not making the completion time.

Peeling off and dropping the main sail I let Lifeline run down the lake under the stars.  The sun had set and a night breeze came up.  The power boats were gone and the fishermen not yet out.  The stars twinkled and brightened as we glided across the water.  It is good to be back ‘home’.

 

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Let’s nail this plank down for good

Sailing is supposed to be about more than riding the wind.  There is the character that one builds into the boat, and the character built into the owner by the boat.  All in all that’s a lot of ‘plank nailing’ and ‘chart plotting’.  And then there is the character shown of both by nature’s treatment of that team when on the water.  And last nights ‘race’ at Alum Creek I’m afraid showed some flaws in both.

I’m not a ‘light wind’ sailor, I’ve discovered.  I could not feel or find the wind last night when others were able to glide along on a whisper of air.  I felt like the keel weight 20,000 lbs instead of 2000 lbs as I sat there at the helm and watched them pick up speed, Lifeline seemingly at anchor.

But then, there was some solace.  Only one boat crossed the start line within five minutes of the horn.  Lifeline took nine minutes, which would legally be four minutes late and result in a ‘Did Not Start’, or DNS.  I eventually found some way to move her forward, but her heart wasn’t in this tonight and it seemed nothing I could do would coax her forward.

When a heavier wind (I jest, it made maybe 7 knots) found us we were half a mile behind.  I was pretty excited as we stayed out away from the trees to ride the full of what breeze there was.  We made up nearly the entire distance between us and the rest of the fleet!  We rounded the first mark and I was prepared for Lifeline to catch those others trailing when it seemed the anchor dropped again.  The two boats behind us closed in and shadowed us from the wind.  There was nothing to do.  I had made a tactical error and been effectively stopped.

Being between these other two boats meant if I turned either direction I would be unable to fill the sails with air, blocked by either one of their sets of canvas.  And neither gave way.  They would simply slid past Lifeline far enough to give us the wind, at which point Lifeline’s sails shadowed theirs.  They would slow, we would pass, and the whole routine came full circle.  It is a miserable way to ride.  Meanwhile, the rest of the fleet was out at the second mark in full air.  The gap from front to back widened.

Finally, rounding the second mark I gave a wide berth to the other two boats and in an unusual move I sailed more than fifty yards downwind of these two nemesis. We all three picked up the full wind the rest of the fleet had enjoyed and beat up toward the finish line.  Lifeline and I managed to close about half the distance, but still crossed the line well after the leaders…and the followers…and their followers.

We did not finish last, in either the class or the fleet.  But I know I finished last and let Lifeline down as well.  In my heart, the race and my pride were more important than having time on the water and enjoying what air nature would give us.  In my heart I finished last for the two of us.

It was a good lesson.  Let me hit that nail one more time and put this plank in place.  It was a good lesson.