Red Can

I went out for a bit of a yot in my Laser on Bristol Harbor on Tuesday evening with a fellow I know from the Newport frostbite fleet. A 15 knot breeze from the south was kicking up some chop. My companion suggested doing a few loops around "the red can" for an hour or so and then calling it a night. Sounded like a good plan to me.

"Wait a minute. Red can? What red can? Do you mean the red/green buoy in the middle of the harbor, the one we sometimes use as a windward mark in our Tuesday races?"

"No. There's a red can way out beyond that."

"OK."

So we sailed out of the mooring field, lined up, and set off upwind. I was hiking hard and trying to work the boat through the waves and to concentrate on my new technique of holding the sheet loosely to avoid the dreaded finger cramps. Seems like I was on starboard tack for a long while. We reached the red/green buoy and I kept going upwind. I scanned the horizon for a "red can". Couldn't see anything but my sunglasses were covered in spray and my eyesight isn't so good any more anyway. I tacked on to port and crossed my buddy by a good amount and that felt good. I kept going upwind past Hog Island towards Mount Hope Bridge. Still couldn't see any "red can". I don't recall seeing a red buoy on this stretch of water so I kept sailing upwind and hiking hard and working the boat through the waves and not holding the sheet too tight... Tacked back on to starboard and scanned the horizon and still couldn't see a "red can". Looked at my watch. We had been sailing upwind for 30 minutes. Pretty good workout in this breeze. Scanned the horizon. Wait, there is a red buoy, way, way, up there in the distance just where we would turn for the bridge. Hmmm. Is that the one he means?

I looked at the sky. Uh oh. It was a lot darker in the north and west then when we started. Looked like a storm coming in. I waited for my fellow sailor to catch up. He agreed, it was time to turn back. We rode all the little waves back down the harbor and heard the thunder getting closer and closer. I tried to remember if there were any places to bail out and go ashore with a couple of Lasers if the storm hit us before we reached our launching point. But we were going pretty well and arrived back at the beach safely.

"I thought you were going to round the red-green buoy," he said.

"I thought we were going for the red can," I said.

Duh! I guess my hearing must be as bad as my eyesight.

We packed up our boats. We could see the storm approaching. Several passers-by congratulated us on the wisdom of coming ashore when we did.

"Thanks for coming out tonight. Sorry we didn't get a longer sail," I said.

"That's OK. At least this way we both get to go home to our wives," he said.

True. It's better than the alternative.

I still don't know where that "red can" was. I don't really know buoys well. Aren't nuns red and cans green anyway?

Lake Sailing Roulette

After our adventure on Massapoag Lake last Saturday, my son and I joined the Massapoag Yacht Club Laser fleet for their regular Sunday fleet racing. I must say they are a great bunch of sailors. I must also say that the experience reminded me that lake sailing is like no other kind of sailing in its ability to surprise, frustrate and delight the sailor with its (apparently) random changes and fluctuations of wind direction and strength that are constantly shuffling the fleet, punishing the wise, and occasionally rewarding the unworthy (i.e. me.)

The wind started in the north. Yarg of Apparent Wind and I launched early enough to sail up to the windward mark and check out the breeze. He told me later that he thought the breeze was stronger on the left. I was pretty sure I detected a wind curve that favored the left side of the course. I worked the left side of the course. I was looking good. Then everyone on the right passed me and I never caught up. After two years with no Laser sailing, Litoralis surprised us all by rounding the windward mark in first place and hanging on to take a third at the finish. I finished sixth of eight boats. Ugly!

The wind went east. The race committee moved the whole course and called for a three lap windward leeward course (because we were now racing across the short axis of the lake.) On the first lap Yarg was last. On the second lap he was second. It was that kind of race. I generally played the right side of the course to take advantage of some shifty puffs coming out of a cove on that side. Or maybe I just got lucky. Anyway I finished third.

The wind went further right. We started a race and then, by mutual agreement, abandoned it when it was apparent that the first "beat" was a reach. The race committee set a new windward mark. Litoralis and I blasted off the pin end of the line sailing for more pressure on the left. It was a good plan but poorly executed on my part as I tacked too late and overstood the layline. I arrived at the first mark in sixth place. The first "reach" was now a very tight fetch. Somehow I managed to sail high and work up out of the bad air of boats in front of me. But just before the mark there was a big header and I still had to do a couple of tacks to lay the mark. But I did round in third. The second "reach" was now a run. My closest competitors played luffing games and I slid by them to arrive at the leeward mark clear ahead (thanks mainly to my double secret downwind vang setting.) The next "beat" was a close fetch. The "run" to the finish was a reach. So there was little opportunity for other boats to pass me. I extended my lead to win the final race of the weekend. Woo hoo!

Such is lake sailing. Leaves you frustrated... but wanting more.

Rutland

Many, many years ago I used to be Laser fleet captain at Rutland Sailing Club in the UK. Without a doubt, Rutland Water is the best inland sailing locale at which I have ever sailed and Rutland Sailing Club has the best facilities of any of the sailing clubs of which I have been a member before or since.

When I see a picture like this (actually of the recent Laser Midlands and Eastern Grand Prix at Rutland) I feel strong pangs of nostalgia for the old days, and I still sometimes wonder why I allowed my ambition to progress in my career to tempt me to move away from this very special place. I think I would have been perfectly happy to spend the last 23 years sailing these waters in fleets like this.

Blogger Rescue

Apparent Wind was there. Center of Effort was there. Even the blogger formerly known as Litoralis was there. And, of course, Proper Course, was there. It was like a Laser sailing bloggers' reunion.

What was this auspicious occasion? Not some grand regatta at a swanky yacht club? No. Just Saturday afternoon informal Laser racing and practice at Lake Massapoag in Massachusetts, also once known on this blog as Lake Whippersnapper.

Regular readers of this blog will know that Litoralis is my son. And he hadn't been Laser sailing since that infamous day two years ago in Portsmouth when some Bastards! stole our dolly wheels while we were out sailing. In fact he hasn't even got around to replacing those dolly wheels yet. I've missed not sailing with him but I do understand. He has a demanding career and a growing family and, at this stage in his life, it's more important for him to be a good husband and a good father than to be sneaking off every weekend to go sailing with me.

I've tried to tempt him to join me. And last weekend my three-pronged strategy finally succeeded. The three prongs were...

1. Make it easy for him. Massapoag Lake is close to my son's home so he only needed to be away from his family for an afternoon, not a whole day.
   
   
2. Solve his dolly wheel problem. The guys at Massapoag told me they would lend him a dolly.
   
   
3. Emotional blackmail. When my son's wife asked me what I wanted for my birthday this month, I shamelessly played the "sad old grandfather" card and said (in a sad quaking voice) that all I really wanted for my birthday was for my son to come sailing with me again, gulp, sob, gulp, sob.

It worked. So on Saturday afternoon we joined the group at Massapoag for a spot of Lasering. There were lots of short races. Some college kid from the lake won most of the races, although I was a close second to him in some of the races. My son was hanging in there, not doing too badly considering his two year sabbatical from Laser sailing.

It was towards the end of the afternoon that I noticed that there was a water-ski boat, with a man and woman on board, hanging out about three-quarters of the way up the course and the skier appeared to be taking a rest in the water. I was slightly annoyed that they were just sitting there in the middle of our course but mentally planned how to sail the beat to avoid going anywhere near them. I suspect most of the sailors were doing the same.

I was out near the starboard tack layline when I saw my son's boat capsize out of the corner of my eye. Ha ha. Must have been trying an extreme roll tack and muffed it, I thought. I rounded the windward mark and started going downwind. My son's boat was still capsized, not too far from the water-ski boat. Hmmm, that's strange. I couldn't see his head in the water near his boat either. That's worrying. Then I heard some shouting and screaming from the water-ski boat and saw my son in the water next to that boat. Everyone stopped racing and sailed over to the water-ski boat.

What had happened was that as my son raced near the water-skier in the water he realized that she was in some distress and that the man from the water-ski boat was actually in the water with her now, and was trying to support her and keep her head above water. My son asked if he needed any assistance and then capsized his boat and swam over to help him support the water-skier who had apparently injured herself in a fall while skiing.

Litoralis's worst fear was that she had some kind of spinal injury and felt that they should help her float in the water until paramedics could be summoned to the scene. But the woman insisted on climbing into the motor boat under her own steam and then, once on board, she started screaming because of intense pains in her chest. Our race committee guy had now motored over to the scene and immediately called on his phone for an ambulance to come to Massapoag Yacht Club. The water-ski boat ferried the patient the short distance to the yacht club and we all sailed in too. One of the Laser sailors, a doctor himself, persuaded the water-skiers not to move the injured woman any more and to wait for the paramedics. The ambulance arrived within a few minutes and the paramedics transferred the water-skier to a stretcher and took her away to hospital. Our doctor friend's initial diagnosis was that he thought she had suffered some kind of chest injury in the fall but that there were probably no serious internal injuries.

Obviously sailing was over for the day so we packed up and went back to my son's house. I told his two elder children Emily (5) and Aidan (3) about how their Daddy had rescued the water-skier, as Owen (1) listened and made happy noises. I may have exaggerated the significance of Daddy's role in the rescue slightly. Now Litoralis is even more of a hero in his kids' eyes than he was already. And quite rightly so.

Not Believing the Weather Forecast

The forecast in the picture above has been fairly typical of what SailFlow has predicted for the winds at least one day each week recently. Light winds, changing direction all around the compass, probably no more than 3 or 4 knots during the time we are likely to be sailing. Ugh!

The forecast for the Saturday of the Newport Regatta was much like that. I thought about not going. But I went. I had a good time.

The forecast for the Saturday of the Lipton Cup was much like that. I thought about not going. But I went. I had a good time.

I think I've cured myself from my "paralysis by analysis", my tendency to read too much into weather forecasts, specifically my belief that if the forecast predicts light fluky winds then it will be impossible to sail... or at least impossible to have fun sailing. Two years ago this bad attitude of mine was one of the reasons I almost gave up sailing. Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster that I've cured myself of that one.

Last Tuesday was another case in point. Shitty light wind weather forecast. But I went to Bristol anyway. I sailed for an hour by myself in about 5 or 6 knots. I had a good time. The wind died. I waited around. Another Laser sailor came out to join me. The wind picked up to maybe 3-5 knots. We raced three short windward-leeward races. We had a good time.

I asked my companion if he wanted to do another race. He said no, he would rather use what wind was left to sail back to the beach. It was a good decision.

I'm glad I've stopped believing the weather forecast, or at least in letting a light wind forecast from stopping me going sailing.

Tonight on the other hand SailFlow is promising 14 knots from the south at 5pm. Woo hoo!

No wait. I don't believe it.

Not Playing the Red Sox

"It's like coming to play in a neighborhood pick-up baseball game only to find that some of the players are members of the Red Sox." So said NewportPatch in describing the experience of sailing in the Newport frostbite fleet - Frigid Frostbiters Sail Newport. I wrote a post on a similar theme myself at Strangers in which I wrote about the sailing hotshots whose transoms I saw disappearing into the distance every week.

What's true of frostbiting in Newport is also true, to some extent, of sailing in some of the major Laser regattas around here in the summer. The depth of talent at the top of the fleet is remarkable. I sometimes forget, as I thrash around the course in the bottom half of the fleet at these regattas, that the sailors at the top of the fleet have sailing achievements to their credit that I will never be able to match.

It's good to sail against great sailors some times. But some times it's also fun to go and race with regular folk, local club sailors who aren't all-Americans or World Champions or America's Cup professionals. Some times it's good not to play the Red Sox

That's what I found at the Lipton Cup Regatta at Squantum Yacht Club in Quincy on the weekend of July 16/17. There was a bunch of Laser sailors from local fleets who don't travel to regattas much, and a few kids (complete with Mommy Boat) from a local junior sailing program. The top seven or eight sailors were pretty much all of the same standard, i.e. Tillerman standard not Red Sox standard. It made for a laid-back, fun event where any one of us at any time might take the lead, and I think the nine races were won by seven different people.

On Saturday the winds started very light from the sea, under five knots I would guess. I've written before at Beast of Burden how very heavy sailors (more specifically this very heavy sailor) can sometimes do well in these conditions. In the first race I got a good start, poked out in clear air ahead of the fleet and had a healthy lead at the windward mark and held on to score the win. Woo hoo!

In the second race one of the kids went off like a rocket and things looked ugly on the downwind leg as everyone was trying to win the left side of the course for that valuable inside overlap at the leeward mark. As the wind died even more, I was somehow able to coast away from the bunch and have a lead of several boat lengths at the mark (probably due that magic go fast setting for my vang downwind that I had secretly copied off the boat of a certain Masters World Champion at a regatta last year.) Second win to the Tillerman. Woo hoo again!

Then things went pear shaped. I was sheeting in for another amazing super-wonderful start in the third race when something went bang, my traveler went loose, and I looked back to see that one of the screws holding my port traveler fairlead had sheered off, leaving the stump of the screw flush with the deck. What should I do? Go back to shore and attempt a repair? Did I even have the tools or a replacement screw to effect such a repair on the beach? The fairlead had twisted around and was holding on by one screw and the winds were still light so I carried on racing. Even though my results for the final three races on Saturday didn't match my wins in the first two, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that at the end of the day I was only two points out of the lead, tied on points with three other sailors for second place (and winning that tie for second on account of my two wins.) I hung out at the club for a while and consumed a couple of beers (of course) before heading over to my son's house for the night.

On Sunday morning I repaired my boat and we headed out for more racing in a stronger breeze, coming off the shore this time. It took me several races to notice that the best strategy was to head left for the beach, where you would find a nice shift to lift you into the mark. Duh! It's definitely one of my faults that I don't observe which side the race leaders are coming from and process that information for future races. (Maybe now I've written it down I will not be so bad at this?) So my results for the first few races were pretty mediocre.

The wind built steadily throughout the day and was blowing dogs off chains by the time of the final race. Somebody told me afterwards that it was measured at 28-30 knots. I find that hard to believe but it was certainly "tighten all the controls and hike as hard as you can" weather on the Tillerfort scale. It was definitely a help in these conditions (a) to be a heavy bastard and (b) to be able to keep the long pointy thing aiming at the sky downwind. As a result of these two skills acquired from (a) a lifetime of beer drinking and (b) being too lazy to have to deal with all that swimming around and climbing on the daggerboard nonsense, I managed to score a second in the final race, only being beaten by some ringer who claimed he hadn't been in a Laser for thirty years but whom I later discovered (thank you Mr. Google) was recently a national sailing champion in some other class in some European country.

I didn't win the regatta. And I think the published results are wrong. A few days later, one of the other sailors and I managed to convince each other based on our "perfect" memory for every sailor's finish in every race that he won the regatta and I was third.

But it doesn't really matter. It was a helluva lot of fun for a change NOT to be playing the Red Sox.

Tie-Breaker

Two sailors had the following scores in a seven race series with one throwout allowed.


Sailor A    4   4   3   4   2   2   2
Sailor B    2   2   2   2   8  16   1


After the throwout each sailor had 17 points.

Which sailor had the most consistent series? Which sailor had the worst individual races? Which sailor won the tiebreaker under the current Racing Rules of Sailing?

This is not some theoretical exercise. These are real results from a regatta sailed this week.

STARBOARD!

Photo of sailing action at Cabarete shamelessly stolen

 without permission from Mj Barshi's Facebook page.

Knots

I don't know my knots.

No, not knots as in knots you tie. I know knots in that sense.

But I don't know knots as in wind speed. People are always asking me things like, "What do you think it was blowing today, 14? 17?" I have no idea. Top sailors always write on their blogs about how they were racing in 5-7 knots that freshened to 8-11 with gusts to 16. I wish I could do that. Sometimes I just make up numbers to make this seem more like a sailing blog which is written by someone who knows his knots. I do not. Knots are a mystery to me.

I think of wind speed in terms of how I have to sail my Laser upwind. A Tillerfort Wind Scale might be something like...

1. Crouch in the cockpit
2. Sit on the side deck
3. Butt over the side.
4. Straight leg hiking
5. Tighten all the controls and hike as hard as I can
6. OMG I think I'm going to lose it
7. Lost it

These might roughly correspond to Beaufort wind forces 1 to 7 but I wouldn't guarantee it. And, of course, the Tillerfort scale is specific to an elderly, rather unfit, somewhat overweight, bozo sailor. A different sailor of a different weight would move through that scale at different real wind velocities from me. My son (who weighs a bit more than me) will be sitting on the side deck when I am hiking flat out.

Tuesday evening last week in Bristol it was blowing Force 4 on the Tillerfort Scale and we had six sailors out for some informal windward-leeward racing. I seem to recall that I won the first two races. No idea how. Must have got lucky. But after that brief moment of glory, I was generally finishing towards the back of the fleet. One reason was that I was definitely not going so fast upwind as some of my fellow racers.

Now granted, two of the fleet are among the best Masters sailors in the world and they had spent the weekend tuning up for Tuesday night by sailing in the Canadian Masters. I watched them and tried to work out what I was doing differently from them. After a while I began to suspect that they were keeping the boat consistently flat better than I was. I kept trying to fiddle with my sail controls to find that elusive groove and every time I did that the boat heeled. Every time a little puff hit I was slower to respond than these two guys and the boat heeled. All that heeling and flattening can't be good for the flow of water over the foils and the air over the sail, can it?

Anyway that's my theory. Not an excuse, a theory. Something to work on when I'm sailing on my own, searching for the groove.

We sailed for a couple of hours but then the younger members of the fleet were getting tired with all that hiking in Tillerfort Force 4 so we went in and had some beers. Life is good.

Not Cool

I wrote last year about a terrible accident on Narragansett Bay in which two young women were killed during a midnight joyride in a powerboat. Now comes news that the young man who was driving the boat that night has been sentenced to 15 years after pleading no contest to reckless boating and boating under the influence, both with death resulting.

Yesterday I wrote a post in jest about Beer and Sailing, but drinking to excess before and during boating is no joke. Apparently the group of five young people involved in this tragedy drank before driving to the marina in Portsmouth to pick up the boat, they drank on the boat ride over to East Greenwich, and they drank again at a bar in East Greenwich. They then headed back to Portsmouth around 1 a.m. on a very dark night, and reached speeds of 39 mph with no GPS and no charts. The boat flipped over when it hit some rocks and landed upside down. Perhaps even more shocking, the young man at the wheel had been convicted two years before for a drunk-driving offence on the road!

Play safe out there kiddies. Boating while drunk is not cool.