When you have a home port, you feel a certain ease of arrival when you return, but Saturday morning it felt slightly surreal to show up at a familiar location and feel slightly out of place. There were many new faces and boats set up by the water. Even our permanent ring of buoys had been rearranged. Strange sails were on the water. You could even hear unfamiliar accents. For a few seconds, it felt like I was the visitor.
Like the others, I started unloading and getting my boat together, I visited my local buddies and some familiar visiting competitors from past regattas. I also chatted with many new folks I had met at the fantastic BBQ dinner the night before. There was a pretty energetic wind pumping across the lake and discussion of B-rigs was a hot topic, as it was not a matter of if, but when. The second most popular topic was the possibility of rain on Sunday. Everyone knows the purchase of a sailboat makes you an instant meteorological mastermind!
The hail of “SKIPPER’S MEETING!” rang out and we gathered around our PRO Martin Bowers to get our marching orders for the day. There was a lot to absorb for the new folks that may not have sailed under a promotion/relegation scoring system and Steve Landeau helped clarify details on how the two fleets would operate. Martin explained the course, answered questions, and sent us off to start final preparations for the day’s racing.
The morning’s racing that followed was mildly controlled chaos depending on your choice of rig and a bit of luck. The cycle of wind was just long enough to give you confidence it was going to calm down or never stop blowing, so there were some unexpected surprises for many folks as early races were a mix of overpowered A-rigs or B-rigs wishing for more wind. Feeling great about your A-rig choice at the two-minute mark turned to dread as you watched the lake turn dark with strong winds that should hit the start line at the same time as your boat!
As we approached mid-morning into lunch, B-rigs were definitely in the majority as the winds increased. The weather was expected to hold strong after lunch, but it began to lighten and the A-rigs returned and we went from gusty to shifty. Our windward marks may need a wash down with holy water after all the curses heaped on them Saturday. South veering winds spilling over the distant tree line were turning hopes into headers all afternoon.
By the end of the day the scores showed the power of experience, as the top 3 were in their own league. Many down below in A fleet could not muster the consistency needed to break away and the point spread was very narrow between them. There were a few poor souls that rode the bubble all day, passing from one fleet to the other, never getting a chance to catch their breath. More than a few B fleet guys were happy just to pull out intact boats as they crossed the finish line for the last time that day. It had not been an easy day on the water, but at least it was never dull!
The answer to the question of Sunday’s weather loomed ahead and forecasts were of little help, except to show we should bring a raincoat and expect to wear it at some point. If half the fleet prays for unpredictable conditions to shake up the rankings and half prays for calm weather to keep them steady, who would prevail? I am sure no one was watching the skies than Martin. He had pushed us hard Saturday, just in case the worst happened and sailing had to be abandoned due to heavy weather Sunday.
Sunday morning’s arrival had a different feel than before. The strange sights from the day before were now familiar. Those new sail numbers seen yesterday on the water were easily identified and I knew at a glance who was warming up for the day. Today at the water’s edge, the accents of French-Canadian, New Zealand, Barbados, UK, Yankees, and East Carolina redneck meant friends, not foreigners. The energy was a bit dampened from the day before, but the positive vibe was still there. There was some light rain coming and going, but thankfully no thunder and lightning, which would have stopped the racing. The wind had not arrived when we showed up, but just as the appointed time approached, you could see a boat out to windward picking up steam. Could it be heeling? You could see the grins appearing as soon as each skipper felt the breeze themselves. It may be wet, but at least the boats will be moving!
I’m going to catch me a big one !!
Martin was eager to get us going in case conditions deteriorated, so the skipper’s meeting was brief. Everyone not sailing was
watching the first race to get hints and ideas on what was going to work in light air. So it went, proceeding with caution around the course as the breeze started to build and rains came and went in the counterpoint rhythm to your decision to remove your transmitter cover or rain gear. It was good to see that there was a glow of sunshine in the distance, but would it make it to us? It was becoming a case of “shiver me timbers” indeed, as the wet sucked away your core heat, the building breeze accelerated it, and the hiding sun provided no warmth to recharge. I found myself standing in the creek for extended periods when launching and retrieving my boat simply because the water was warmer than me.
About mid-morning, it seemed as the rain was finished toying with us, only to be replaced with shifts. The course began needing frequent adjustments and finding a reliable groove to follow was a challenge. I am not sure when I last sailed a direct out and back course at TMYC, as it doesn’t happen often. The swings were getting wide and the course had to be set to completely different banks of marks to windward at times, not just shifting up or down a single mark.
For a short time, Martin had to whistle for races to be abandoned because the first windward mark could be reached without tacking. Personally, I managed one of the best starts of my life, sailing up the course windward of the entire fleet, and crossing the upwind mark with a head of steam and a bit of a lead to work with. Unfortunately, I had not touched my rudder once! It had been a fairly quiet morning on the course, because it takes more focus to get around in the light air. For the first time, there was some good-natured laughter and joking on the water about the conditions. Martin had to follow the rules to maintain a fair race course, but around the third time this had happened, you hear folks going *COUGH* Tack! *COUGH* and more laughter.
A regatta is also a battle of attrition and fatigue as physical and mental issues arise over the long sailing days. Saturday it was mostly wind-related damage and Sunday there were multiple issues with wet radios in the morning and dead batteries in the final race. Technical issues were causing some unplanned shifts in the final standings. Also, the mental and physical fatigue of travel and racing started to kick in Sunday and some skippers were fading as we headed towards our 2:00 finish time. Protests were becoming a bit more vigorous as folks were making rushed decisions and finding themselves in bad places. Many of those decisions affected the racing of others and resulted in marks being missed or boats being hooked tight to them. The windward mark was getting plenty of revenge for all the abuse heaped upon it the day before! Even being a few feet from the finish line was no sure thing, as victims of hubris or wind shifts sat still in irons with the finish line just out of reach, watching points slip away as others sailed past.
The only folks seemingly unaffected by the drama on the course were the pack leaders. Tony, Steve, and Gary held an unassailable lead, only all
owing 2 other folks to squeeze in a fortunate win all weekend. There was a huge amount of experience stacked up at the top of the rankings and these guys owned the regatta from start to finish while the rest of us fought tooth
and nail for the leftovers. At the same time, they were still available for help with questions from any one that asked and volunteered advice and help when they saw the need.
—
I have to step backwards in my tale for a minute, because I can give no better example than my own experience Saturday morning. Minutes before racing started, when they should have been attending their own boats and without needing to be asked, Tony and Steve were on their hands and knees saving me from my own idiocy as the 3 of us were frantically drawing numbers on my new B-rig sails that I had set up, but completely forgotten to write my sail numbers on! There aren’t many that would have done the same and to have the strongest contenders at the regatta pulling my butt out of the fire was the most powerful example of Corinthian spirit I have seen. I ran for the start line and after barely getting my boat in the water on time, looked back to see Tony on his knees still scratching away at my sails. It was strange to feel ashamed and also blessed by an act of random kindness at the same time.
Now, I have to stack that favor up alongside the other kindnesses and advice those two have offered me at the regattas we have attended together. A “Thank You!” can never pay it back to equal effect, only by paying it forward can I hope to satisfy that kind of debt. When I was at my lowest, they were at their best. Those fellas have permission to give me a hard time about this for as long as we sail together and are allowed to damage my charge card mercilessly the next time we walk into a bar!
—
As the last races passed, folks made their best, last-ditch efforts to reach upward or shed those nipping at their heels. Whether you viewed it as a chance to earn a few crucial points or one last chance to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, we all made our last stands. No matter how much fun or frustration you have had, there is always a small relief to cross the finish line one last time. Despite being cooked in the sun and tossed around by wind and waves, your boat, brain, and body have survived. You may even be showing off that broad patch of spinnaker tape across your holed hull, as proud evidence of the battles you survived.
Finally, a bit weathered and weary, we gathered around Martin once more for an informal closing ceremony. I don’t think there is much surprise about the first three positions by now, or how the rest of us did, since the scores were posted yesterday. Tony had bested all of us, winning the Championship for the 2nd year in a row. He gave a short and gracious acceptance speech of thanks to well-deserved applause.
We also thanked Martin for his service as PRO. Martin competed last year, but bowed out and stepped up as PRO in order to make our regatta happen this year. He kept us sailing and ran a very fair regatta with a grasp neither too tight or loose, applied as needed. I don’t think many can fully appreciate the amount of work he put in for weeks, even months before the regatta. Martin has been a fantastic addition to TMYC and has helped push our entire club to new heights.
In Martin’s closing remarks, he acknowledged all those that supported his efforts to help us to have so much fun. He was smart enough to put together a steadfast team of scorekeepers made up from the wives of participants. You would think it would be hard enough to keep one fella in line, but keeping 20+ of us managed is a feat that only took a few sharp women to manage!
He also thanked TMYC members who had helped behind the scenes. Martin also had some very nice words for the staff of Lake Crabtree Park. Drew Cade and his team have been very supportive of TMYC and they understand that we are more than just a few guys showing up for Saturday fun. Over time, we have become a feature of the park, attracting visitors that come just to watch the sailboats passing quietly across Lake Crabtree. Both organizations are stronger for the support and respect we give each other.
At last, the time had come to not say “Goodbye”, but “See you next year!’ to our visiting skippers. Handshakes and fist bumps passed all around. TMYC members were already making plans for next Saturday’s racing. Cars were packed. Tents were folded. Marks retrieved or reset. The scoring table was cleared of layers of items in search of a flat spot to rest. As the last car pulled away, the site was left clean and empty as we found it with no trace of the weekend’s activity except footprints. A clean slate, full of promise for the next event.
Lake Crabtree quietly awaits our return.
Thanks folks,
Will Newton
DF95 #142