photo of Uproar, Fall Series 2005
“Two minutes to the gun!” Ian exclaimed. It was a wet and foggy morning, much like any other fall day in the Pacific Northwest. The creaking and groaning of gear and ropes were offset by the cries of seagulls, as they echoed through the otherwise eerily silent scene. The smell of salt water hung in the air, as anticipation built in everyone. I had been looking forward to this event for some time and could think of nothing more exhilarating to do on a Saturday such as this.
There were four of us on Uproar, a small racing sailboat. At 26 feet, it was a fun and nimble boat and we were all ready to go. The forecast called for a building breeze out of the Northwest, and clearing skies were predicted. Other than Uproar, about 40 other sailboats were all around us, all in a flurry of activity, under full sail. At just under two minutes until the start of H Class that we were in, we had our hands full. Most of the last minute adjustments had been made before, so our main objective was to jockey for a good starting position. We maneuvered back and forth along the starting line, ducking boats with right of way, and making sure any boat we had rights over cleared us.
“Fifteen seconds”, Ian whispers, as he leads us into the final turn. This should bring us up to the starting line on starboard tack, giving us rights over port tackers. At a half a boat length from the line, we hear the loud boom of the shotgun on the committee boat behind us and the race is officially under way.
As we settle in for the upwind leg, heading up Budd Inlet towards Boston Harbor, I am able to briefly relax from the excitement of the start. My job on the boat, going upwind, is to trim the large mainsail. Additionally, as I sit next to Ian, the owner and skipper of Uproar, I help him keep a look out for favorable weather conditions, boats and obstructions in the water. We also discuss upcoming tactics together. Constantly, I look up to the mainsail and wind vane at the top of the mast. I make minute adjustments as the wind shifts or Ian alters course, to make the large foil as efficient as possible. Tim, the third member of our crew, trims the jib. A very friendly businessman on land, he loves sailing as much as any of us on board, when we are out on the water with the wind in our faces. We work closely together, easing the sails out and trimming them back in without the need for a lot of conversation. The clicking of winches and the groaning of the sheets as they slip through the blocks under high tension is the only testament to our labors.
Already the winds have started building, blowing away some of the fog hanging around. The sun is attempting to break through the remaining layers of clouds and I allow myself a few moments to look around and take in the scene. I can see the lighthouse from Boston Harbor up ahead, a small crowd of sightseers gathering at its base, watching the fleet of ships approach. All the boats in our class are still pretty much together; I can see Bodacious just up ahead, and Gadzooks is behind us to our left along with most of the others. As the sun starts to sparkle on the water, it is easy to forget the stress of everyday life and enjoy the moment, the boat gently rolling on the small waves.
I’m torn back to reality when I hear Ian’s stern reminder: “Get back on the boat, David!” Yes, he is right, daydreaming does not win races. While Ian is always serious on the boat, he can be a lot of fun back at the clubhouse, discussing the day’s events. He recently retired, so you can find him out on his boat even more now. Growing up in the Olympia area and a lifetime of sailing in the local Puget Sound waters have left him with an intimate knowledge of the tide and wind conditions not many can claim. He is a very critical skipper and demands that we give 100 percent all the time, but will praise his crew and encourage us when the need arises. No matter how you look at it, he is a superb guy to learn from.
As Boston Harbor disappears behind us, we are able to turn east down Dana Passage. All of the islands shift and bend the wind around more westerly, so we prepare to hoist our spinnaker. Flying the kite, as the spinnaker is often called, is a whole new ball game. It is the large, balloon shaped sail flown out in front of the boat, really much like a giant kite. Often, it is quite colorful and very easy to distinguish from the other types of sails. Because of its massive sail area, it dramatically increases boat speed when you fly it in decent winds. When not in use, the spinnaker is stored below deck in a small basket, as it is made of very thin, high strength nylon fabric and packs down to a compact size. Changing the sails requires that a lot of things happen in a certain order, as quickly as possible.
As soon as Ian gives the command to launch the kite, we fly into action. While George, the last member of our crew in the housetop position extends the spinnaker pole, I confirm that the spinnaker sheets are ready, without the danger of entanglement. As Ian turns the boat downwind, I ease the mainsail way out to catch the wind behind us. Tim furls the jib, a process that rolls the sail up around the forestay. I give the nod to George, and he starts pulling on the halyard, hoisting the spinnaker into the air. With a satisfying whoomp, the sail fills with wind. Trimming the spinnaker is a full time job. In order to get the most amount of speed out of it, you actually have to keep it right on the verge of collapsing. It only takes a brief lapse of attention for it to fold in on itself and collapse, resulting in dramatic loss of speed, as well as some not so kind words from our favorite skipper.
Nonetheless, everything works great and we make good time down Dana Passage. Soon we will be able to turn southeast towards the Nisqually Delta. As a matter of fact, we have made some great gains over the fleet. We are well out in front, with Bodacious bringing up second place. In order to sail the best course for the green can, a large green buoy that marks the half way point of our race, we have to dowse the spinnaker. While Tim rolls out the jib, I get into position to physically pull the sail into the boat, and do so as George releases the spinnaker to me.
The winds have built to a steady 14-16 knots; it looks like it is going to be a fun trip back to the finish. We carry good boat speed all they way through and make it to the green can in no time at all. After a brief discussion, we decide that we should be able to fly the spinnaker on the way back to Dana Passage, the wind direction having somewhat worked in our favor. As we round the buoy, we are ready. Pole out, furl jib and hoist; it all happens like clockwork.
With the increased wind speed and our steeper angle in relation to the wind, trimming the spinnaker turns out to be pretty hard work, but I love every moment of it. I catch a brief glimpse of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, in the distance. I feel grateful to be out here on the Puget Sound, instead of sitting in traffic on the Narrows Bridge, looking down at the swirling waters.
“Look over there, at Sydney Anna!” Tim yells, pointing ahead of us, to the right. As I am working the sheets, I steal a quick look in the indicated direction. Sure enough, Sydney Anna, a boat in the fleet ahead of us, is sailing under spinnaker on a similar course to us, but something doesn’t seem quite right. A second look confirms my suspicions. They are way heeled over, much more so then they should be while flying the spinnaker. I don’t have any time to figure out their problems, as things are becoming quite strenuous right here on Uproar. The winds seem to be increasing even more as well as shifting back towards the north, somewhat of a predicament for us. By now, the pressure on the spinnaker sheet is so great that I am standing in the cockpit, rope partially wrapped around my hip and leaning into it with all my strength. As the winds are hitting us more from the side than behind, due to the wind shift, it is forcing me to trim the kite farther and farther back, quickly turning it into a massive jib. We have a tremendous amount of boat speed, but, like Sydney Anna, we are starting to lean way over. Helplessly, I watch the lip of the spinnaker begin to fold in, starting to collapse. I’m pulling with all my might, but there is nothing I can do. As soon as it collapses, the tension on the rope eases, letting me pull in some line, just in time for the spinnaker to fill again with a loud pop, jerking the whole boat. This sets up a repetitive pattern of collapses and violent jerks.
“I can’t hold it anymore!” I yell to Ian. We both know, that any one of these violent cycles could tear the spinnaker apart, destroying an expensive sail, as well as putting any one of us in danger. As quickly as we can, we attempt to dowse the flailing spinnaker. Right away, I find myself in a desperate struggle. While I am attempting to pull the sail on board, it seems just as intent on pulling me over board. Tim quickly recognizes the danger and helps me pull it in, while George slowly eases the halyard to us.
With everything settled down, sailing under jib and mainsail again, we head back up Dana Passage. A look back at Sydney Anna shows that they were not so lucky. They obviously faced similar problems and were unable to take down their spinnaker properly. It is now fully immersed in the water, acting like a giant sea anchor and giving them all kinds of problems.
Hoping everyone on board is ok, we continue up through the heavy chop whipped up by the wind. I am glad to be sitting near the rear of the boat, as the bow hitting the large waves send cascades of spray and water back on us. George, a big guy, is the perfect water shield. We make it back to Boston Harbor very quickly. Turning south towards Olympia, we tack our way back and forth across Budd Inlet. We are still leading our class, but I have been keeping a wary eye on Bodacious behind us. Their boat is quite a bit longer then ours, giving them a distinct advantage in these conditions. There is a complicated rating system that adjusts for all this. We can sail faster downwind under spinnaker, but they have the upwind advantage, especially in rough seas like these, because their longer hull length keeps the bow from plunging into the waves like ours. Bottom line, they are gaining on us and I do not like it one bit.
Looking back, we hung on as best as we could. Tim had switched to cross sheeting, a method using two of the winches in order to trim the jib from the high side of the boat, as we were quite heeled over in the conditions, and any weight on the high side helped to level us out. Unfortunately, this turned out to be our downfall. In the heat of the moment, Tim made a crucial error in setting up the somewhat complicated cross sheeting system. On one of our final tacks the sheets got jammed and forced us to make a emergency tack back, to sort out our problem. Wasting valuable time, this error allowed both Bodacious and Gadzooks to get by us.
After almost five hours of racing, the top three boats finished within 10 seconds. Much to our disappointment, that left us, with long faces, in third place. While it is easy to look back and wonder where we could have saved a few seconds here and there, the truth was, we had all given it our very best. To this day, the McAllister Creek race remains a fond memory. We sailed because we loved it and nobody could take away the incredible experience of an amazing day of racing on the Puget Sound.
David Laederach