For those who participated in the Vashon Island Race December 4, it was a rare day on the water with a strong northerly of 15-25 without the numbing cold usually associated with this wind direction. Instead, it was beautifully clear with Mt. Baker standing proud and crisp to the north looking up Colvos, and temperatures close to 40. On the Viper 640 Dragonfly it was a great day of some peak sailing experiences that I’ve used the same word to describe multiple times now, epic.
At 21 feet and 750 pounds, we were the smallest boat participating, but at least we weren’t alone. There was another Viper out too, Kris Overbee from Tacoma with his son Grant. That they completed this race with only two on board is noteworthy given the conditions, with more than one withdrawal and one dismasting.
I was fortunate to have Mike Visser and AJ Paulsen with me, but not fortunate in my attempts to get the boat ready and in the water quickly enough to be to our start on time. I guess I’m still getting used to the whole trailerable boat thing and I need to be more generous in my time allowances for boat prep.
As it was, we were around 10 minutes late to our start and still rigging the boat as we crossed the line. I had Mike drive while I got things tidied up, like putting in the bolts that hold the keel in place. Once settled, I just had Mike stay on the helm and drive and trim the main since the driver sits at the widest part of the boat, and that’s where the widest rear end should reside when the wind’s up. Also, my arms are about half the diameter of his, and in that wind strength, I would probably need both of them to trim the main. We quickly got into a groove with the boat fully depowered, and before long, we overhauled the other Viper, which was sorely missing a third crewman in the blustery conditions.
The waves weren’t too bad in Colvos Passage, and though we were working hard at sailing the boat, hiking and actively trimming main and jib through the puffs and waves, we had our flyweight craft going surprisingly well upwind in the up to two-foot waves. About halfway up the passage we were able to sight another member of our class, the Melges 24, and close the gap a bit and stay in touch in the tough upwind conditions.
The real test of this leg came at the northern end of Colvos where the current and a slight increase in wind velocity produced some bigger, squarer waves of around three feet in height, relatively close together, that we pierced time after time with bathloads of water cascading over, into and out of the boat. We managed to avoid another boat at the weather mark that lost control trying to pinch up and make the mark, and as soon as we cleared that obstruction, bore off onto a jib reach.
The ride had been wet the last bit, but this was by far the wettest part of the race. Before, it was like somebody was throwing buckets of water over the boat. Now it was like there was a fire hose directed from the water’s surface blasting up and past the gunnels of the boat so hard it hurt your rear end to attempt to hike out. After bearing off a bit more, we were able to achieve a bit more comfortable ride. Normally we’d be right on to hoisting the spinnaker, but instead we took a little breather and helped ourselves to a snort of Sailor Jerry’s Rum. We were going pretty fast jib reaching anyway, probably around 12 knots plus right after the mark rounding. It wasn’t long before the wind abated slightly and we got around to hoisting, and thankfully it went up cleanly.
This is where the epic part begins. It wasn’t long before we were all giggling and grinning maniacally at the sleigh ride that we found ourselves on. The increased boat speed and lift produced with the spinnaker up had more of the boat out of the water now, and the spray moved aft making for a much dryer and more comfortable ride. With permagrins in place, we quickly began overhauling boats ahead. The next in our fleet we passed was Still Gladiator, the Cheetah 30, about halfway down Vashon. I had difficulty believing it at first since that boat can really light it up downwind, but I found out after finishing they didn’t hoist until just about when we caught up to them, plus they were over to the east out of the higher wind velocity we found close to Vashon. After dusting them off, we rounded Pt. Robinson.
This is where the really epic part begins. Before, we were sailing moderate angles and surfing down waves. Pt. Robinson acted as a breakwater in this wind direction, eliminating the rollers we’d been surfing. We rounded a bit wide, concerned about a decrease in the wind velocity if we rumblined it to TYC. The Melges 24 had gone for the rumbline course and eventually took down their spinnaker, unable to hold it without wiping out. We instead sailed lower, basically as high as we could without losing control, and blasted past the Melges in no time. Basically pointing at Brown’s Point, I’m confident we were going around 18 knots. At least half the boat was out of the water. The sprit had turned into almost a J shape with the tip pointing above the horizon. The pull from the spinnaker was so great that I couldn’t pull it in unless it collapsed partly. Instead, I struggled to keep from easing it out inadvertently. As it was, we were able to lay Brown’s Point, and shortly after that doused and had a mild jib reach to the finish having gone from about a mile behind the Melges 24 at Pt. Robinson to a quarter mile or more in front at the finish. We finished second in class to the Sierra 26 and 24th overall.
As I write this on Tuesday December 7th, my legs are still a bit sore on the underside where the edge of the boat left its impression from hiking for four and a half hours, my fingers are still slightly swollen from gripping jib and spinnaker sheets, and I have two raw spots on the back of my hands from having the sheets wrapped around them, despite having gloves on that covered my hands entirely. I also still have the smile left over from Saturday’s Vashon Island race.
Rafe Beswick, Dragonfly
Vashon Island Race photos by Jan Anderson