Janice and I arrived at the Point for the regatta Saturday morning ready to crew with Ed, our usual captain. When we got there, Shane had already arrived and was rigged and ready, but crewless. He invited us along as his crew. We checked with Ed, and he didn’t really need us (we’re not that valuable as crew anyway), so we joined Shane on his Neptune 24.

A rarity, the club had coffee and donuts. They also had Bloody Marys for $2.50. I wish they would at least do coffee on regular race days.

At the skippers meeting before the race, they changed the way they plot the course. Ordinarily, they set the course before anyone sets sail. This time, they waited until all the boats were in the water, sent out a committee boat, and held up a sign indicating the course. I’ve been on races where this has been done, and I’m told that it is standard practice, but not at our club. We were left completely confused. Shane was convinced that the course was one direction, but it turned out to be the opposite way. We learned this as the rest of the boats sailed off to the west as we sailed east. With almost no wind, it seemed to take forever to sail back to the starting line and tack back into the race. By the time we joined the race we were far behind the pack. As calm as the winds were, and as bad a start as we got, we actually started to close the gap. It took time, but we eventually started to feel like we were in the race.

As I said, it was more or less windless. The first leg of the race was upwind, which meant beating in slow motion for hours. Finally, we approached the mark. After one final tack, the wind died even more. We were a few hundred yards from the mark and practically sitting still. It was excruciating. The boats ahead of us, after passing the mark, were dropping their sails. We knew what that meant. They had decided to end the race at the first mark. They all started to raft up and party. It was killing us, just sitting there. There was a nice big Benneteau trying to make the mark as well. They weren’t moving at all. We managed to pass them, and were getting very close to the mark, when suddenly the Benneteau started to move and we stopped. It made no sense. We were all in the same wind, but they were moving and we weren’t. They should have been in our wind shadow! We sat helplessly while the big boat passed us and crossed the finish line. Later, someone told us that big boats could suck the wind away from small boats, even when the small boat is windward of the large one. It still doesn’t make sense to me.

After rafting up with the others and waiting for the last boats to finish, the committee decided to make the second leg of the race into a second race. We weren’t very excited about it, given the lack of wind, but we popped another beer and hoisted the sails, only to watch them slat as we sat trying to approach the very same mark, which now marked the starting line. As we sat there, trying to keep the boat at least aimed in the right direction, we saw a tugboat headed in our direction. The mark we approached was a channel marker, and the tug pilot wasn’t going to budge outside of his channel, even though it was an imaginary channel in the middle of the bay. He actually picked up speed as he approached the tangle of sailboats. We were sitting ducks in his path. There wasn’t enough wind to move us out of his way, and the sailors were reluctant to start their motors, not wanting to be disqualified from the race. As luck would have it, most boats were just out of his path, but he steamed faster and blew his whistle as he approached the one boat that was in “his” channel… our boat. He wasn’t going to alter course an inch. He sped toward us, blowing his whistle like a train on tracks. The guy was demented; he must have had some hatred for sailors or something. As the huge boat raced toward us, I still couldn’t help thinking that this wasn’t even the strangest thing that had happened to me this week. Shane jumped for his outboard, which always starts easily, and we just managed to get out of his way. Other sailors jumped for their cell phones and radios to report the jerk to the Coast Guard.

After this, we sat becalmed again trying to point the boat toward the starting line. We were all thinking the same thing. I said, “let’s drop the sails and go to the club. Everyone agreed. As we furled the sails, a voice from another boat called to us. “Please take me along”. We motored over to him. He was an elderly man, a lifelong sailor and founding member of the club. He knew how long the second race would take and wanted no part of it. We picked him up from the beautiful Island Packet on which he had been either a passenger or crew. I’m not sure. But on a windless day, his extra pair of hands wouldn’t be missed. His name was Walter, and it turned out that he was the wisest man there. The boat we removed him from was the last boat to make it back in the second race. It came in a few hundred yards behind the second to last boat, but it missed the mark! They were stubbornly determined to finish the race, so they tacked to circle back to the finish line. Having missed the mark by just a few feet, they took over an hour trying to get back to it. There wasn’t enough wind to overcome the outgoing tide. We stood on the balcony of the club watching the boat drift sideways as the sun set and night fell. They turned their lights on and kept trying until the committee boat called the race and picked up the buoy.

Back in the clubhouse, we had our annual meeting, in which I was not elected to the board, and we all ate steak and crawfish. They announced the race results. Hold on to your Levi’s… second place… Shane Wallace!!! And on his very first race. Not bad. Everyone told him that if he’d gotten a better start, he would have won for sure. They said they’ll have to adjust his PHRF.

Shane asked me to ride along with him to Houston next week to pick up his new trailer. Not a day on the water, but could be fun.

another hasty insight by Jeff on 11/12/2001