A Bit of a Yot

On Tuesday I fancied a bit of a yot
As the weather just lately had been awfully hot.
So off to Bristol with my Laser I went.
An hour or two of solo practice was my intent.

I launched at around half past three
Aiming for a good old bash and then back home in time for tea.
First of all I cruised around the Point of Poppasquash
Where, so I have heard, live folk who are terribly posh.

Just round the point there was a trimaran on a mooring
And on the beach nearby a Sunfish - not too alluring.
A dude on the beach gave me a wave
But I didn't get too close - there might be rocks - and I wasn't feeling brave.

So I sailed back into the harbor mouth
Where the wind was more in the west than the south.
I worked on some of my faults in sailing the boat.
I think that in previous posts about them I've wrote.

I practiced rounding a windward mark buoy
Because my technique at this move is messed up and screwy.
And then I worked on my leeward mark rounding
At which my incompetence is totally astounding.

After a while of this kind of stuff
I decided that I had done enough
So towards the beach I headed back
Feeling a bit hungry and ready for a snack.

But then what do you think I did see?
A very joyful sight I'm sure you'd agree.
A bunch of other Lasers were coming out
For a bit of practice too without any doubt.

I'd heard about this group before
These Laser sailors leaving the shore.
On every Tuesday evening they go for a sail.
I expect some guy organizes it by email.

So I joined in with their practice races.
Most of the sailors were familiar faces.
Up and down the wind we raced.
Round and round the buoys we chased.

After an hour or so of this fun
I felt that the wind was almost done.
So back to the beach on my Laser I did glide
Before the wind had totally died.

And then I drove back to my house
Where waiting for me was my beautiful spouse.
Burgers and a beer was Tillerwoman's dinner plan.
I really am a very lucky man.

Caption Contest

So much has changed in the game of Lasering since this photo was taken at the 1980 Worlds.

The picture is just crying out for a caption. Go for it.

Syllogism

A usually beats B
B usually beats C
A always beats C.

A is That Guy
B is me
C is The Other Guy.

Last weekend
B didn't sail the same regatta as A and C
C beat A.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?



This is messing with my head.

If I can't rely on the local Laser pecking order, then what is sacred? There is no foundation to my life.

What does this all mean? Where does it leave me?

And Now For Something Completely Different

This guy has been sending me emails for a couple of weeks now.

The messages are about how they are having informal Laser racing on Saturday afternoons at the lake club where I raced a few weeks ago. Short course fleet racing. As many races as they can fit in between 3 and 5. Keep it friendly. Not too serious. No keeping score. All about having fun and building the Laser fleet. Every Monday I receive an email telling me about how much fun they had the previous weekend. And every Friday in comes another email with a note about how the weather forecast for Saturday is perfect for sailing and encouraging me to join them.

Hmmm.

Actually two hmmms.

Hmmm #1. If only someone had bothered to market our district regatta the other weekend in a similar way then maybe we would have had more than seven boats show up.

Hmmm #2. This format reminds me of something we used to do at Hunterdon Sailing Club in New Jersey. In the middle of the summer there was a "proper" Wednesday evening Sunfish series with a race committee, and scores, and trophies (and even the occasional protest meeting). But the season stopped at the end of August because once the evenings became shorter in September it was impractical for those poor souls who have to work for a living to arrive at the lake early enough to fit in much racing before sunset.

So some bright spark started the GUST series. GUST stood for Geriatric or Under-employed Starboard Tackers. A bunch of us retired layabouts would race through September and into October on Wednesday afternoons from about 4 until sunset. Rabbit starts. No race committee (or even a safety boat). No keeping score. Just a friendly group of old geezers having fun.

Where was I? Where am I? Oh yes. Saturday afternoon.

So anyway last Saturday I drove over to my son's house in the morning to play with my grandchildren. "My grandchildren." I like saying that. I've only been a multiple grandfather for two weeks but it's a good feeling.

At the grand old age of almost two weeks Aidan really only has do three things: drink milk, sleep, and poop. The kid is incredibly talented at all three, and even did one of them while sitting on my knee.


Emily was excited to see me and we spent the morning playing doctors (involving giving extensive "check-ups" to every doll and furry animal toy in her vast menagerie using her new toy medical chest) and having fun with a hose pipe and her paddling pool in the back yard. Did I mention that this kid loves the water?



After drying off and having lunch, I headed down to the lake which is not far from my son's house. Of course, having won the regatta there three weeks ago, I had to put up with some good-natured ribbing about whether I had to come to show them all up. As it turned out, this was far from the case.

The courses were short. One lap windward-leeward lasting not much more than five minutes. We must have done about ten races. Success depended on the start and the mark roundings. It was more like practice drills than real racing but it was a hell of a lot of fun. I won one race and was second a few times but was also nearer the back of the fleet a few times too.

It struck me that one of the beauties of sailboat racing is that it's really so many different games rolled into one. Even sailing the same boat all the time, the Laser, the skills demanded are so different from week to week.

At the lake regatta, in light patchy winds, the keys to success were the ability to see the big picture as to what the wind was doing on the lake and having the skills to keep the boat moving in the very light stuff.

Last week at Barrington, at least once the breeze was up, you needed to be able to spot the shifts, hike hard upwind, and play the waves downwind.

But on Saturday, on such short courses, it was all about the close boat-to-boat stuff, battling it out at the start line, being aggressive, and having quick reactions and good boat-handling at the mark roundings. Man these guys were good at that stuff.

It made me realize that this is a group of skills that I need to work on. I've become lazy at the boat-to-boat stuff, unconsciously (but incorrectly) thinking that if I can find a clear lane and sail fast in big-course races, all will be well. Maybe I need to spend a few more Saturday afternoons at the lake...

Just before I left the lake, the guy who had been sending the emails thanked me for coming and pointed out that I ought to spend Saturday morning with my grandchildren and then sail with the fleet at the lake in the afternoon more often.

Hmmm, I like the sound of that...


Then home to the beautiful Tillerwoman who had made fish and chips and mushy peas for dinner. I am a very lucky man.

Blind Squirrel

It is the third race of the second day of the district Laser championships. The sea breeze has kicked in with a vengeance and the race committee has signaled a windward-leeward two-lap course.

The Strategy. I figure I want the right side of the course for two reasons. First of all, when the sea breeze came in yesterday a couple of sailors made huge gains on the last beat of the last race by hitting the right corner. Secondly I think that if I start at the right end of the line and tack to port immediately I will have a clear lane.

The Start. I line up for a start at the right end of the line (actually a flag buoy because, unusually, the race committee has the line to starboard of the committee boat.) One of those A-list guys (also known as Laser Sailing Gods or LSGs) has the same idea. Of course he times it better than me and I cross the line a little after him but right next to the buoy. I immediately tack out to the right side of the course.

The Beat. After a while I look over my shoulder and see all the rest of the fleet still heading left in a group. Two thoughts...

• Do they know something I don't?
  
  
• At least some of them are going to be getting gassed and squeezed out by the others and even the ones in the front row are probably going to be doing extra tacks as they criss-cross up the course in a crowd. I figure that this will cost more than the few feet I gave up at the start.
  

I ignore my doubts about the strategy and focus on going fast fast fast out to Cornersville Population 1.

The Shift. I don't have a compass but am concentrating on where I am heading on the distant shoreline. Praying, praying, praying for a nice header. Then it comes. About 10 degrees or so, and with a separation from the rest of the fleet of several hundred yards by now, that is a significant gain. I keep going for a few seconds to make sure the shift is real, and then tack. I'm a few boatlengths below the starboard tack layline and am looking good compared to the other boats. I continue sailing fast in clear air towards the mark.

The Cross. After a few minutes I cross the LSG by several boatlengths. He shouts something like, "Well done." I shout back, "Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while."

The Rounding. I round the windward mark in first place. Woo hoo. Mid-fleet mediocrity, C-list sailor Tillerman rounds first in the District Champs.

Now I can die happy.

I know, I know, I know. Now you can all rain on my parade in the comments by telling me that

• I got lucky with the shift.
  
  
• I should have made a better start.
  
  
• Banging the corner is rarely a sound strategy.
  
  
• The fleet leaders were probably staying close to each other because of the points situation in the regatta. They let me take a flier because I was no threat to them.

And one of you is going to ask me what happened next in the race and why I didn't win it.

I don't care. I found my nut.

Better Living Through Chemistry

The first day of the Laser district championship on Saturday was an awesome day of sailing. We did six races in all with a variety of courses. We had light winds and strong winds. I had good races and bad. I beat every sailor in the fleet at least once, except for the guy who eventually won the regatta.

At the end of the day, after almost seven hours on the water including about five hours of racing, I was tired. I was dog tired. I was aching. It seemed like every muscle in my body ached. It had been a brutally hot day with temperatures in the 90's, and humid too. I was dripping with sweat as I derigged and packed up the boat.

One of the youngest guys in the fleet said he was tired. "Ha. Enjoy it while you can. It doesn't get any easier as you get older," the grumpy old codger (me) replied.

The oldest guy in the fleet said he was tired. "So you should be at your age," I rudely told him. Seriously, if a guy ten years older than me had told me that he wasn't exhausted after a day like that I think I would have given up Laser sailing.

I dragged myself home. I sat in a cool dark room and groaned a lot. My back ached. My legs ached. My shoulders ached. What to do?

Is it a margarita day? No. I don't have the energy to find the blender.

How about a nice cool beer? No. Would have to go down to the basement to get it. Way too much effort.

How about a glass of wine over dinner with the beautiful Tillerwoman? No, that would make me sleepy and I need to stay awake at least a couple more hours.

Geeze I'm hurting. Why do I do this crazy sport?

The only solution was not beer, not wine, not even a margarita...I swallowed 1300 mg of acetaminophen, drank gallons of water, soaked in the hot tub, and went early to bed. Tomorrow is another day (of Laser sailing).

Where the Hell Are You?

I sailed our Laser District Championship this weekend. The winds each day started light and built up to 15-20 knots by the afternoon, the race committee work was excellent, and the competition was fierce but friendly. What could be better?

The only problem was that only 7 boats showed up for the event. Seven! Our district has the largest membership in North America with around 200 members. We would normally expect at least 20 boats at an event like this, ideally more.

So what's going on? From what I hear, regatta attendance is down in other classes too. What are the reasons? Why aren't people coming out to race like they used to? Help me please. Let me know what possible reasons you would not turn out for the major local event for the class you sail. Here are some explanations I can think of...

• I would come if it were a one-day event. Two-day events take up the whole weekend and I have other commitments.
  
  
• I heard Tillerman would be there and I didn't want him to humiliate me in his blog.
  
  
• The same three guys win all the regattas round here, so what's the point?
  
  
• I'm not good enough to sail in a district championship.
  
  
• There are too many regattas. I can't do them all.
  
  
• I was sailing on my Daddy's yacht this weekend.
  
  
• I had a bad experience last time I sailed there.
  
  
• I'm too good to sail in a district championship.
  
  
• I don't want to be the only woman there.
  
  
• I was sailing my Force 5 this weekend.
  
  
• It's too far and gas is too expensive.
  
  
• I didn't like the weather forecast.
  
  
• The entry fees are too high.
  
  
• The fleet is all young kids.
  
  
• The fleet is all old guys.
  
  
• I had to mow the lawn.
  
  
• There's no free beer.
  
  
• There isn't a party.
  
  
• I didn't hear about it.
  
  
• All of the above.
  
  
• None of the above.
  

Just to be clear, I'd like to hear from racing sailors in any class anywhere, not just Laser sailors in New England. Seriously, what are the reasons you wouldn't sail in the major local event for your class?

Heyitwasgreat Writing Project Wrap-up

One more entry for this month's group writing project Heyitwasgreat from Dr J, a fellow Laser Master sailor, who says he was inspired to start his blog Favored End by reading Proper Course. Oh geeze, I always feel a little guilty when my muddled ramblings here inspire someone to do something they may not otherwise have done. Oh well.

Dr J's article is It was a dark and windy night and is about a spectacular light show sailing in the Gulf Stream.

Other entries in the project were...

Christy wrote a story about a magical beer can race Hooray for Team LaVita.

Sunday was great for Manfred Schreiber who sailed his Bull 7000 in the annual club regatta and came first on corrected time in the 36 boat fleet.

Captain JP told us a story about sailing the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers and of a moment on the first night when It was magic.

Steve Manson shared some of his philosophy about why we race and the meaning of competition in Sailing Flow.

David Anderson told us all about his Megabyte adventures at the High Sierra Regatta and admitted that Heyitwasgreat Noreallyitwas even though he was beaten by a Laser.

Derek Jackson wrote about a day when he was racing his Sunfish "in the zone" and concluded that the reason was that It's Got To Be The McLube. By the way congratulations to Derek who last week finished in second place at the Sunfish North American Championship sailed on Lake Erie, and was also elected President of the US Sunfish Class Association. Quite a week!

Thanks to everyone who contributed to the project. Now what subject shall we choose for August? Hmmm.

Update: Thanks to Carol Anne for pointing out that I ought also to include the stories that inspired the subject of this project.

The sailor who came up with the title was odocker who left this comment on a post of mine...

I had nearly the same day recently, except that it had nothing to do with racing or regattas.

No nemesis, no victories, no shrewd reading of the shifts. The only fleet we left behind was the local flight of whitecaps.

We'd been motoring through gobs of leftover chop on a windless Monterey Bay. Two hours from Santa Cruz, the famous afternoon winds came up. And up, and up, and up.

The sails came out, and we began to move. And move, and move, and move.

Spray blasted us, but it was the kind you don't care about. Perfect breeze, perfect sky, perfect destination, perfect seafood dinner awaiting us ashore.

Back at the office the next week, I told people, "heyitwasgreat", when they asked how the trip went.

For the non-sailors, there was no way to describe the magic of that simple reach into a new harbor or the satisfaction of slaying the sea monsters and delivering Mrs. Skeptic safely there.

It had been one of Those Days.

The comment was triggered by my post about one of my rare regatta wins, Just One of Those Days.

And Carol Anne suggested Heyitwasgreat would be a good subject for this month's project and also gave us a great example herself with her three posts about a peak experience with Team Zorro, parts One, Two and Three.

Soft Shell Crabs on Friday

One of my favorite meals on my occasional jaunt from New Jersey to sail somewhere on the Chesapeake was soft shell crabs. They are blue crabs caught just after molting (before the new shell has had time to harden) and are cooked after cutting out the gills, face and guts, and eaten whole. They are usually battered and fried, and can be eaten as a main course or in a sandwich.

Now that we live in Rhode Island it's unlikely I will be traveling very often to regattas in Maryland, home of the best soft-shell crabs in the country.

But wait...

According to this article at Science Daily, "A detailed analysis of data from nearly 50 years of weekly fish-trawl surveys in Narragansett Bay and adjacent Rhode Island Sound has revealed a long-term shift in species composition, which scientists attribute primarily to the effects of global warming."

The study's overall prediction is that, "Narragansett Bay is soon going to resemble estuaries to the south of us -- Delaware Bay, Chesapeake Bay -- so we'll experience what they are experiencing now. It will continue to get warmer and attract more southern species, such as blue crabs. Species that couldn't complete their life cycle here before may be able to do that now."

Wooooo hoooo. So one day Rhode Island will be like Maryland. And soft shell crabs will be the Rhode Island crustacean of choice. Who said global warming was a bad thing?

My Life on the C-List

You may be familiar with comedienne Kathy Griffin's reality TV show My Life on the D-List in which she makes fun of Hollywood A-List celebrities such as Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts, while doing everything she can to make more publicity for herself. Apparently there actually is a ranking of Hollywood actors and directors, the Ulmer Scale, that measures the "bankability" of about 1800 film industry luminaries. Part of the joke of the Kathy Griffin show is that there really is no D-list; the ranked movie actors are all A's, B's or C's.

It struck me a few days ago that I tend to rank the sailors I race against in a similar way. On the New England Laser circuit there is a small group of sailors who win all the regattas. Of course this is the A-list. Then at every regatta there is a bunch of sailors who always make up the tail-end of the fleet, the ones that are just starting out in the Laser, or who don't know how to rig it properly, or are way too light to sail the boat flat in a breeze. These are the D-listers.

In between we have the B's and the C's. The B's are usually in the top half of the fleet and may occasionally be among the leaders in a race. But they rarely make the podium. The C-list sailors are respectable experienced sailors but they don't usually break the top half of the fleet in the final rankings.

If you've been following along with this blog you will have guessed that I consider myself a member of the C-list, whereas my nemesis a.k.a "that guy" is definitely on the B-list.

Of course it all depends on context. When I used to race my Sunfish on the SANJL circuit in New Jersey I was on the B-list. And at the lake regatta a couple of weeks ago, I was on the A-list, along with about five other sailors with a definite chance to win the day. Whereas last Saturday at Newport I was definitely sailing like a D-lister.

I was wondering whether this is a healthy way to think about racing performance. Instead of focusing on just beating "that guy" maybe I should be thinking about what I need to do to raise my game to the level where I can consider myself part of the B-list on the district circuit.

What do you think? Am I nuts, or do you too consciously or sub-consciously rank other sailors and yourself in this way? Is it better to rank your performance against a list of other sailors rather than just one individual?

Hmmm. Perhaps I should change the name of this blog to My Life on the C-List?