It’s Saturday morning and the alarm is going off at 6:30. Usually the alarm going off isn’t a welcome sound, but unlike the rest of the week, I’m excited to get this day started. It’s the second Saturday of the month and that means it’s race day. It’ the one day each month that we get to pit man against man, boat against boat. This race isn’t the high-speed race one usually thinks about, this is a sailboat race. The boat and the crew need to be finely tuned, but tactics and the skipper’s relationship with Mother Nature determine the outcome.
As I know it’s going to be a long day in the sun, I get dressed in my light cotton pants and long sleeved shirt. I’ve let my crew sleep in until 7, but now it’s time for him to get ready to go. He is my son and has the same passion for race day I do. As he is getting ready, I cook up eggs and turkey bacon and put bread in the toaster. The smell of breakfast fills the kitchen and Nicholas and I sit down at the table to plan strategy. It’s a great time for both of us because no one else is up. This is an activity that only he and I share. After we eat and have planned how we will win, we get the gear ready. The fundamentals of race day are 2 life jackets, sun screen, plenty of water, snacks, wasp spray and the VHF radio. The luxuries are left home to lighten the boat. We gather ourselves and head out the door. Though we have checked numerous weather forecasts, this is our first taste of the weather. We are watching the trees and feeling the air. The excitement grows and we can see it’s going to be a fantastic day.
30 minutes later we arrive at the marina and we are both smiling from ear to ear. From where we park the car we can see the race course and a cool breeze is churning the water to a level just below white caps. We excitedly grab the gear bag from the trunk and head to the slip. This is when we get our first glimpse of Naikun. She is a 1977 Catalina 22. Unlike most Cat 22’s, she has a fixed keel. This means there is a three-and-a-half-foot fin of cast iron hanging below her hull. Having a permanently affixed, 500 pounds of iron hanging below a boat does two things. First, it makes it very hard to put on a trailer and move (a story for another day), and secondly, and more important, it makes her very stable and fast. Nicholas and I toss the bag on the deck and step aboard. From here we have a lot to get done. We unlock the cabin and remove the hatches. Being East Texas, we are usually greeted by any number of wasps, hence the afore mentioned wasp spray. Once we have come to an agreement with the wasps, we set about doing a pre-race inspection. We check the standing rigging (lines and wires that don’t move) for and loose and broken areas. Once we are satisfied, we move on to the running rigging. These are the lines and parts that are in regular use while under sail. If any adjustments or repairs are needed, we can take care of it now instead of while competing. The boat is now race ready. There is only one more thing to do, however, it’s time to start the 1977 auxiliary motor. As you might imagine, this can be a challenge in itself. Alas, however, the old-outboard-motor gods are smiling on us, and she starts. With a puff of smoke and the smell the gasoline we are ready to untie and start heading out into open water. Nicholas unties the bow lines. I untie the stern. With propeller engaged we slowly move forward. We are on our way.
As we move slowly out of the marina under power, Nicholas and I are busy positioning the essentials to within easy reach. We review the sequence we are going to use to transition from power to sail. This is never the same, due to the wind. Wind direction and speed are the key factors in this change of power and the transition must be smooth or chaos can ensue. Once we are clear of the marina and safely away from shore, the raising of the sails begins. This will start by pointing Naikun directly into the wind. Nicholas then pulls the jib sheet (Sheet is a sailing term for rope.) As the jib unfurls it begins flapping loudly in the wind. As soon as the jib is fully unfurled we turn slightly against the wind. As the sail fills the flapping stops and the boat leans in the opposite direction of the wind. Nicholas secures the jib and takes the helm (rudder). I lean over the rail and turn off the motor. With the motor off and the jib full, a silence fills the air. We are now sailing. Though we are under sail, we are not done. After taking a breather and enjoying the calm, it’s time to raise the main sail. Again, I take the helm and point into the wind. Nicholas begins hoisting the main as fast as he can. Once the sail reaches the top of the mast, he ties off the line and again we turn away from the wind. The boat leans hard to the leeward (away from the wind). Over the next few moments, we are both making adjustments to the jib, main, and rudder. We now set a course for the starting markers for the race.
As we have made our way to the starting line, we have practiced tacking and jibing (turns), and we are in sync with each other. As we approach the starting markers, we are now sailing amongst the other racers. Waves are exchanged and there is friendly chatter on the radio. Five minutes before the race starts the official countdown. Everyone is putting on their game faces and getting positioned for the start. At the one minute point, we all start moving to starting line. This can win or lose a race so everyone is highly focused. If we cross the line before the starting horn, we must turn around and start again. If we are too far from the start, we may never make up the time. On this day, we start the race in the middle of the pack. The first mark is directly to the windward which requires multiple tacks to get to it. The wind has now picked up and white caps are breaking over the bow. Naikun is hiked (leaning) over so that water is coming over the side and we are literally standing on the side of the cockpit. We are determined to win, so we agree we will not loosen the sails. We have great confidence in each other, and Naikun, so little hesitation goes into this decision. We both know when it’s time to concede to the wind. After numerous tacks and a few soakings, we round the first mark. As practiced, it went flawlessly and we were off to the second mark. This is an easy leg of the race as the wind is from the side and we can loosen the sails and still make good time. We take this opportunity to have some water and talk about the first leg and laugh about how wet we got. This leg lasts about fifteen minutes and as we approach the second mark, our talk turns to more strategy. How are we going to approach and make the turn, and how are we going to handle the third leg. As we came closer to the second mark, we realized we were slightly off course. We were able to adjust our course, but at the cost of valuable time. The third leg of the course is the strangest. This leg is before the wind, meaning you are sailing in the same direction as the wind. It’s strange because, though you are moving quite fast, there is no feeling of movement. The boat is traveling at the same speed as the wind. A danger in this leg arises because the jib and main sail are fully extended on opposite sides of the boat. Any shift in direction from the wind or the boat can cause the sails to change from one side to another. There is a risk of getting hit, or even worse, snapping the mast. Once adjustments are made on this leg, it’s time for snacks. We learned from previous races that snacks must be in waterproof packaging (Lesson: Soggy Taco Casa is nasty). After a hot, and rather dull, 30 minutes, we rounded the third mark. The race is two laps, so the 4th mark is the same as the first, meaning we were now back to taking on water and standing on the side deck. The wind is now blowing harder than the first lap so Nick and I decide we had better back things off. We agree that if we set a course near land, we can make one less tack and make up lost time. We are both making constant adjustments and tension is building as we are now within 100 feet of a private dock. We wait until the last moment and make our turn. The turn isn’t going as it should. I look up and see there is a line about half way up the mast that has caught on the standing rigging. The mainsail isn’t filling. Nick goes onto the foredeck and is trying to untangle lines while I’m trying to gain enough control to keep off the rapidly approaching dock. There is no more time. I tell Nick to drop and I spin the boat 270 degrees. We narrowly miss the dock by only a few feet and the maneuver frees the tangles line. Unfortunately, we are now off course and have lost several more minutes. Once we are safely clear of land we decide to finish the race. We get back on track, tighten down the sails and start pushing towards the next mark. Yet again tragedy arises, the locking cleat that holds some of the standing rigging had had enough. With a loud pop, it let go. We managed to secure the line, but we had to admit Mother Nature had just beaten us. We were out of the race. We just needed to get back to the marina.
Getting back to port was no easy task. The wind was now blowing at around fifteen knots and we had to get across the lake. In as much as we were no longer racing and the boat was injured, we decided to reef (lower and tie off) the sails part way. Nicholas and I spent the next 45 minutes rationalizing our forfeiture. We knew we were doing the best thing, but it still pained us to have to admit defeat. Soon we were close enough to the marina to get the auxiliary motor started and prepare to completely lower the sails. The motor started right up for us and I pointed into the wind. Nicholas released the main halyard and the mainsail dropped into its cradle. He moved quickly to the jib halyard and secured the jib. For the next few minutes we sat quietly, listening to the drone of the motor as we entered the marina. As we approached Naikun’s slip, Nicholas went to the bow and prepared to grad the tethers. I’ll spare you the details of backing into the slip, but all went well and we were safely docked.
They say the difference between sailing and motorboating is; you take a motorboat to get to a destination. On a sailboat, you are already there. This day couldn’t make that point any plainer. Despite the challenges, Nicholas and I made memories that will last for generations. I have these same memories of sailing with my father. Up until his passing, we would laugh about various sailing mishaps and victories. I’m sure Nicholas will have similar amusing stories of our sailing adventures, while making new ones with his children. Naikun has been put to bed now, Nicholas is already asleep and I’m ready to go lay down and quietly reflect on the day’s events. Let me leave you with this thought, despite the outcome, does anyone really lose a sailboat race? I think not.