On Wednesday of last week I took my new Laser sail out for another gentle breaking in-session. Mainly reaching around in medium winds, no excessive tightening of the sail controls, much along the lines of how I treated her on the First Date. At the end I concluded she was ready for use in a real regatta at the weekend.
Why is this necessary? I don't have a clue.
I asked another sailor about this topic of new sail care the previous weekend and he quoted no less an authority then Ed Adams as saying that such gentle treatment of a new sail extended its useful racing life by at least 50%. But my friend couldn't explain what this method actually does physically to the sail to boost its longevity.
Anyone know the answer? Why can't you just go and take out a new Laser sail in 25 knots? What harm would it actually do to the shape of the sail? What is actually happening to the sail fabric in the traditional breaking-in method? And do sailors of other classes care for their new sails the same way? Or is it just the crappy fabric used in Laser sails that needs this kid-glove treatment?
In desperation I turned to The Google and uncovered basically the same question posted in the archives of the Laser email list, from the good old days of the Laser on-line community when larger-than-life characters like drLaser and LaserBabee roamed the land. The question was in fact posted by the legendary LaserBabee in 1999...
I have a new sail I intend to start using in a few weeks. A couple years ago there was a letter from Dan Neri of North Sails posted on the list that explained all about the proper method for breaking in a new Laser sail. All I remember is the part about reaching back and forth for a couple hours in moderate winds.
Does anybody have a copy of the letter or does anybody know why reaching back and forth for two or three hours would help my new sail??
There were no replies to the post.
So here is an opportunity for all you expert sailors, armchair sailmakers, sailing geeks, and folk who just like to spout on topics on which you know little and understand less. What is the physics of all this "breaking in" of Laser sails? What does it actually do to the fibers in the sail? Or is it all some urban legend like the port tiller rule?
I mentioned casually in my last post that I skipped the regatta dinner on Saturday night at the US Laser Masters National Champs to go home and see Cutest Granddaughter in the World and plant subliminal subversive messages in her two-year-old head that will make her demand her own sailboat from her father for her seventh birthday.
This turned out to be not so great an idea. Not the bit about whispered messages on the delights of sailing to Emily as she was dropping off to sleep. The bit about not hanging out at the sailing club on Saturday evening. Because I missed a somewhat important change to the sailing instructions that was posted at the club some time on Saturday evening when I wasn't there.
I left home at 9:20 am on Sunday morning to arrive at the club at 10:00 am, leaving me plenty of time to rig, dress, eat an early lunch, launch around 11:00 am, sail out to the course, and tune up a bit for a noon first warning signal as per the SIs. The original SIs.
But when I arrived at New Bedford Yacht Club at 10:00 am all the other Laser old geezers had their sails up, were changing into their sailing gear, and were preparing to launch. "Hmmm. Why is everyone so eager this morning?" I thought. A quick question to the first sailor I saw confirmed my worst fears. The race committee had changed the first start to 11:00 am instead of noon, had posted a change to the SIs to that effect the previous evening, and had presumably announced it at the dinner too.
Shit. This reminded me of a similar situation at the Masters Worlds at Hyannis a few years back when Tillerwoman and I had arrived at Hyannis YC at our usual time in the morning to find no Lasers in the parking lot and 400 dollies on the beach. The whole fleet had left without me for a start that was three hours earlier than normal, I think. I just hadn't bothered to swing by the yacht club the previous evening and check for any changes to the SIs. On that occasion no harm was done because, after rigging hurriedly and sailing half-way to Martha's Vineyard in the fog, I met the whole fleet coming back to the beach because the RC had abandoned racing due to an incoming storm.
Since then I've been pretty good at checking the official noticeboard every evening after dinner, even if I'm not dining at the regatta site. But not this time.
So I broke all personal records for rigging the Laser, cladding myself in neoprene and Goretex, bolting down a Clif Bar, drinking a bottle or two of water, and sailing out to the start line. I made it.
The first race started in a light wind that became stronger as the race progressed. I was not pointing well in the light or strong winds. That guy beat me. What's new?
Then followed a long demonstration of how hard it is to find a spot in Buzzards Bay where a race committee boat can make an anchor stick in the bottom of Buzzards Bay. They motored around. They dropped anchors. They hauled up anchors. And repeated ad infinitum. They motored around to somewhere else and repeated the process. Then they motored back to near where they were the first time and tried some more. Fascinating stuff. Eventually the anchor stuck in the bottom of Buzzards Bay. Hooray.
The black flag was flying for the first attempt to start Race 2. General recall. But no sail numbers were posted. Can some rules expert explain this to me please? Rule 30.3 clearly says...
If a black flag has been displayed, no part of a boat’s hull, crew or equipment shall be in the triangle formed by the ends of the starting line and the first mark during the minute before her starting signal. If a boat breaks this rule and is identified, she shall be disqualified without a hearing, even if the race is restarted, resailed or rescheduled, but not if it is postponed or abandoned before the starting signal. If a general recall is signalled or the race is abandoned after the starting signal, the race committee shall display her sail number before the next warning signal for that race, and if the race is restarted or resailed she shall not sail in it.
My emphasis in bold. Surely if the race committee signals a general recall they must have been able to identify some of the boats over the line in the last minute before the start? At least one, even if she was hiding all the others? And the rule says that for any such boat "she shall be disqualified" and that "the race committee shall display her number".
What am I not seeing here?
Anyway, we eventually started the race. Still not pointing well. It was gusting over 20 knots by the end of the race. Woo hoo. The race committee chose not to start a tenth race for the regatta and we sailed in.
That guy beat me again but I did beat the guy immediately above me in the grandmaster placings in both races so that was good.
A good weekend of racing and seeing old buddies and learning experiences. Can probably milk the event for at least three more blog posts on such erudite topics as...
- Why the hell do I do it?
- A better way to assess progress than obsessing over that guy.
- Twenty seven possible reasons why I am not pointing as high as the other sailors and much over-analysis as to what to do about it.
On the second day of the US Laser Masters in New Bedford last weekend the winds were more challenging for the race committee with some big shifts before the third and final race causing one start to be abandoned, much moving of marks, general recalls, and other non-productive activity. But we did fit in three races in spite of all the waiting around.
As per my discussion in (and the very helpful comments to) What Would Ben Do? I was trying to be aggressive and to break my old conservative, play-it-safe habits...
- I was daring and bold on the start line; but sometimes I was out-dared and out-bolded by the boats around me.
- I boldly delayed my entry into the starboard tack parade at the windward mark, and daringly tacked under starboard boats near the mark. When it worked, it worked. Then there was the time I couldn't lay the mark and had to gybe around. Needless to say this lost me a few places.
- I was bold and daring in fighting for the inside position at the leeward marks and, perhaps because I was usually trying to out-bold and out-dare some of the fleet tailenders, I usually succeeded.
So what did I achieve for all my aggressing and bolding and daring?
- My one good finish was not quite as good as my best race on Friday.
- My two bad finishes were not quite as bad as my worst race on Friday.
- That guy beat me twice and was now ahead of me in the standings.
Hmmm. Maybe there's some other problem with my sailing?
I skipped the Saturday night regatta dinner at the yacht club and went home as my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter were still at my house.
My two-year-old granddaughter Emily must have missed me because I was the center of her attention all evening. "I want to do something with you Grandad," she was saying before I was barely in the door. Hmmm. I needed to rinse my sailing clothes. Emily likes to play with hosepipes. So I let her spray water all over my sailing gear (and occasionally me) and she was deliriously happy.
I was even chosen to be the one to put her to bed and tell her bedtime stories. So I told her about when her father was a little boy and how he and his brother used to ride on my Laser sitting in front of the mast. And how we went camping in France with the Laser and the boys sailed on a lake with me. And how when her father was seven I bought him a green, wooden Optimist whose name was Dirty Duck and how he used to sail that all by himself.
Her last words before she drifted off to sleep were, "Maybe one day I can have a dirty duck?"
The first day of the US Laser Masters National Championships was held on Buzzards Bay last Friday. We sailed four races in around 10-12 knots at the start of the day building to 15-20 knots by the end of the afternoon. The cream of American old geezer Laser sailors was there... and me. The sun shone, the race committee work was superb, and I had an excuse to clock up my 41st day of sailing this year.
In the first race I pulled off a squirrel start at the committee boat, a little late but good enough to be able to find a clear lane heading right. They always say head right on Buzzards Bay, don't they? A couple of the top guys were with me so I was confident in my decision in spite of the other fifty seven sailors heading left. Anyway we banged the right corner, and I rounded the first mark in the usual mayhem of sixty boats all trying to occupy the space available for ten. Nothing terrible happened in the rest of the race and I was crossing tacks with that guy all round the track. I finished in the mid 30s but a couple of places behind that guy. 0 and 1.
In the second race a lot of terrible things happened...
In retrospect it probably wasn't a great decision to line up on the start line between two of the best sailors in the fleet because, as I should have predicted, after the start I was squeezed out the back like the proverbial lemon pip. Isn't there a proverb about lemon pips? No? Oh well, you know what I mean. Needless to say I was already way down the fleet.
Then, in spite of my recent improvements in mainsheet management, I discovered after rounding the first windward mark in a respectable (for me) position that my sheet had tied itself into a triple buntline carrick bend double surgeon's clinch knot and I was unable to bear away. I actually had to luff up to undo the mess and after untying aforementioned knot I was still faced with a double fisherman's alpine butterfly rolling hitch in the bloody rope. Needless to say I lost a few places.
Then, coming in to the leeward mark, I was really smart and actually did what the book says, and attempted to slow down so that I could round right on the transom of the inside boat of a pack of boats approaching the mark. Unfortunately the skippers of the boats inside me had read the same book and were also slowing down. Among much pushing of booms, oversheeting, and unintentional double gybes, a whole mass of boats rounded in a slow pinwheel instead of the usual fast pinwheel, with me on the outside of course. Hmmm. The book didn't cover this situation. Needless to say I lost a few more places, and finished in the 40s.
That guy beat me again. 0 and 2.
In the third race I remembered the discussion about being aggressive in What Would Ben Do? and made an aggressive start in the front row at the favored end of the line. I was looking good but unfortunately I was not aggressive enough at the windward mark and had to duck a lot of starboard tackers on the layline. I saw the guy who I can only describe as the Ben Ainslie of Laser Great Grandmasters overtake me by waiting longer before entering the starboard tack parade, tacking under some starboard tackers near the mark, and (even after doing his 360) gaining some good distance on me. Hmmm. There's a learning experience for you.
The other learning experience was when due to inattention on the run I dug the bow into a back of a wave and watched it go down, down, down into the deeps. I really thought I might break the mast or the mast-step as the bow plowed towards the ocean depths and the pressure in the rig kept building. Eventually the bow surfaced again but not before the cockpit was full of water. Slow, slow, slow, but I did finish in the low 30s.
And I did beat that guy. 1 and 2.
By now I was pretty tired and was seriously wondering whether to call it a day. However I thought I would at least do the start of the fourth race for practice and then decide whether to continue. I had my best start of the day and so chose to keep going. However, I was definitely pleased when the RC shortened the course after a 3-leg WLW course instead of the 5-leg races we had been doing all day. Even the young kids under 45 said they were happy about that call too. Turned out that it was my best race of the day, with a finish in the mid-20s.
And I did beat that guy again. 2 and 2.
Then home for lamb chops and salad with Tillerwoman, Cutest Granddaughter in the World, Tiller-Son#1, and Tiller-Daughter-in-Law who had all come to see us for the weekend. I checked the results for the races on the web and saw that I was leading that guy by a few points. Woo hoo.
Apparently Cutest Granddaughter in the World had been asking where I was. When told that I was sailing she had said, "Grandad is my best friend."
Life is good.
By popular demand of 25% of my regular readers
a running record of the commemorative images of days sailed
is now maintained at Numbers.
I sailed in the US Laser Masters National Championship at New Bedford Yacht Club this weekend. At the awards ceremony the commodore of NBYC gave a speech that was the best speech I have ever heard at such an event. At some of the Worlds I have attended the ceremonies can drag on for hours as every local dignitary and politician has to give a rambling speech about how glad he or she is to see us, which is even more excruciatingly long if it has to be translated into more than one language.
The commodores' speech was three sentences and went something like...
We love holding events like this.
It's the reason we exist.
Thanks for coming.
The guy received a huge round of applause. Brevity was appreciated by sixty Laser sailors weary after three hard days' racing and eager to hit the road for the long drive home.
I often wonder why folks who make speeches for a living don't realise that every important message can be summed in no more than three lines, and will be more memorable that way than in three thousand words. I am enthused by Barack Obama's speeches but I have to admit that all he is really saying is...
George Bush bad.
A vote for McCain is a vote for more Bush stuff.
Change is good.
And of course it's a standing joke that every sentence in Rudy Guiliani's speeches could be boiled down to "noun verb 911".
I'll probably find the energy in the next few days to ramble on in a few posts about the sailing this weekend and the many learning experiences. But for now please accept this summary...
Sailed in the Masters Nationals.
That guy beat me again.
What's new?
How important is it to be aggressive if you want to be a successful racing sailor?
A sailing magazine that I picked up in Australia started me thinking about this whole question of the role of aggression and boldness in racing. There was an article in the mag about Ben Ainslie, surely one of the accomplished sailboat racers of his generation... and likely by the time he has finished (he's only 31) to rank as one of the greatest racers of all time.
The essence of the article was that Ben is so good because he is not afraid to be aggressive in tight situations. If the pin end of the start line is favored he will fight to win the pin. If approaching the windward mark close to the port tack layline he will not hesitate to tack under and close to starboard tackers to squeeze between them and the buoy. If the left side of the run is favored he will immediately gybe on to port after rounding the windward mark even in heavy traffic.
Hmmm. I don't do those things. In fact most of the books I have read about sailing preach the exact opposite. Be conservative. Don't take big risks for small gains. Play the odds. If you like the left end of the start line, avoid the crowd at the pin and find a gap a bit further up the line. Don't jam your bow into a potential pile-up at the windward mark; instead duck a couple of starboard tackers and round in clear air above the mayhem of boats trying to luff around the buoy. Stay out of trouble. Sail clean.
I started wondering. What came first the chicken or the egg? Is Ben great because he goes for these risky, bold, aggressive moves? Or is he only able to pull off these moves because he has nerves of steel, superb boat-handling, razor-sharp reflexes, an uncanny ability to foresee developing multi-boat interactions... etc. etc.
More to the point, if an averagely talented mid-fleet sailor suddenly started to sail like Ben would their race results improve? Or would they be spending every evening of every regatta in the protest room? Speaking for myself, I suspect that if I changed my style tomorrow to always go for these daring maneuvers... win the pin in a tough fleet, approach a crowded windward mark on port tack and tack inside all the starboard tack boats... nine times out of ten I would screw up and end up doing 720's.
On the other hand, the top sailors do have the ability to succeed in these aggressive tactics. So how do the rest of us become more like them? Do we just do it? Start going for it every time, recognizing that we will make lots of mistakes (and maybe lots of enemies) at first, but over time we will develop the skills to be more successful? Or do we ease into it slowly by being bold when racing in small fleets in which we feel our abilities are as good or better than the opposition; and continue to sail a conservative game when playing against the big boys?
Just as an experiment I've been practicing the aggressive approach recently in SAILX (the tactical simulator formerly known as Tacticat). I'm not sure how true a simulation of real life it is in this respect but I'm coming to believe that trying to win the pin or tacking into the inside of a pack of starboard boats at the windward mark are not as high risk moves as I once thought. Even if you end up doing a 360 I figure you usually come out ahead of where you would have been by playing a more conservative game. (Did someone say Rule 31.2? Ah yes indeed. "If a boat has gained a significant advantage in the race or series by touching the mark she shall retire".)
So what do you think? How do you weigh up when to be daring and when to play it safe? How can a mid-fleet sailor develop a more aggressive style? What comes first... the mental attitude to be bold and daring, or the boat-handling skills to execute bold and daring moves? Chicken or egg?
Last Thursday I launched my Laser down the ramp at Colt State Park in Bristol for yet another solo practice thereby confirming once again the prejudice that some folk have about Laser sailors that we are all anti-social loner delusional nutjobs. We're not all like that. But I am.
Before I launched I noticed some mega-SUV drive up towing a slab of white fiberglass that must have been about three Lasers long. The mega-SUV was driven by one of those bulky guys about my age with longish white hair and a bushy beard that made him look vaguely nautical. Mentally I gave him a nickname that fitted the image he was trying to portray, Grizzled Old Salt. I figured that in real life he was probably a retired hedge fund manager from Boston out for a spot of yotting.
His companion was a woman about half his age, slim, long hair, attractive if you like that kind of thing, wearing the perfectly fitting designer jeans that are de rigeur for woman of that type. Did you know that scientific research has proved that it takes a woman on average 47 minutes to buy one pair of jeans; and it takes the average man 6 minutes?
Anyway I was trying to figure out the relationship between designer jeans lady and Grizzled Old Salt. Father-daughter? Instructor-student? Then I got it. GOS had retired from hedge fun managing with a chunk of dough and got himself a Trophy Wife and a Yot.
Anyway, I went off Lasering on my own. Upwind for a stretch in the north-westerly. Then playing the waves downwind. Then a loooooong port tack close-hauled leg way into the mouth of the Warren River. Up there the wind was coming across Barrington and was all chopped-up and nasty. Is this really where the Barrington frostbite Sunfish fleet sails? Ugh.
Then back to the ramp. The inverse of a port-tack close-hauled course is of course a starboard-tack broad reach course. Wooooo hooooo. Planing for a couple of miles. Coarse.
Back at the ramp after an hour or so of sailing I see that GOS and Trophy Wife have erected the mast on their yot and are now hogging the ramp. They are doing mysterious time-consuming tasks associated with readying a three Lasers long fiberglass slab for a wallow around the bay. They probably have to swing some lead down so the thing doesn't tip over at some point but what do I know about yots?
Never mind. I start practicing my tacks, twenty or thirty or so. Then my gybes, ditto in number. Some practice starts. Man I'm fast when there's no competition. After a while GOS and Trophy Wife eventually manage to pull away from the dock and free up the ramp.
I sail back to the ramp and give GOS a cheery wave as he motors out to the middle of the bay. As I pull my Laser up the ramp after about 90 minutes of superb sailing I feel sorry for them. I've been sailing; they've spent all that time preparing their yot to go yotting.
As I derig I see Trophy Wife in her expensive carefully chosen perfectly fitting designer jeans heading forward on the three Lasers long fiberglass slab, presumably to actually raise a sail or two at last...
Hooray for Lasers. And hooray for Tillerwoman. Who needs a yot and a trophy wife?
Andrew Sadler sent me today the twelfth entry for our Sailing Goals group writing project and tells me that his goals are basically to go sailing, get Em sailing, just keep sailing. I gather that Em is his nine-year-old daughter and assume that she is the rather fierce-looking young lady in the photo. Wouldn't want to try and steal a late inside overlap at a buoy on her! He writes in his post about watching Em train in her Optimist and muses about the circle of life.
