We had plenty of good food that had been prepared before we left and the whole trip was a very nice one. The only fly in the ointment, was a situation that had developed long before and that I had never been able to find the answer to.
A situation that had developed long before . . .
‘Skipper’ as he was affectionately known by family and friends was very good at seamanship, less so on . . . well, I’m going to leave that to a future post.
My situation that had developed long before (one of many) has to do with the inspiration for this blog. I’ve sailed since I was 5. My brother, 2 years older had also sailed since he was 5. My father, was good at woodworking, but had little interest in boats and sailing. He endeavored to keep his family together and happy. Long story short, he built my brother and I El Toro sailboats so that we could take to the water ourselves, and perhaps be steered away from the rather poor influence of my grandfather’s, well . . . drinking?
Drinking was just one of a long list of potential influences that my grandfather’s rather complicated life might inflict on us. It probably had the greatest impact, but that is yet another story.
Skipping ahead, my brother took to owning boats; I took to crewing on them. There are many, many stories along that path.
So I found myself on the foredeck last night and Bradley at the helm. I, however, was the ‘skipper of record’. And there was a fly in my ointment, one on the surface that I could see. There was another deeper down below the surface.
We’d just turned down for the run back to the harbor, the sea conditions moderate, wind just a 'moderate breeze'. Just below a ‘fresh breeze’ on the Beaufort Scale. As I approached the bow, the wind was a ‘fresh breeze’, but at the bow, a little less. Approaching the mast, it was much less. A 'gentle breeze' (I must confess, I like gentle things).
Had I been the crew, it would have been someone else’s decision to raise the chute. Had I ‘just’ been the helmsman, or cockpit crew, it would have been the same. Had we been racing, there would have been no doubt – “Get the thing up smartly!” Would have been the order – I’m being polite here, on many boats a lot of profanity would have been on the wind.
For what seems my whole life, it’s been some one else’s call, and that’s been just fine with me.
But Anne’s gentle push (into the deep end) with that hat, I AM CAPTAIN JOHN.
It is my call, and my responsibility. No matter that the crew all pitched in and shared in the cost of the charter. The responsibility is mine alone. Anne and I had a long talk about it today. For me this is not fun, it violates that #1 rule of mine – have fun.
If we get the chute up with no problems, that’s F U N !!!!
But there is a death roll out there with my name on it.
Bradley, Meghan #1, (M1) they are up for it. Elena is getting there (did a fine job on the helm upwind), but Meghan #2, her boy friend George, Fred and Vicky? - they are tourists. As Captain, I’ve got a very heavy responsibility – especially with tourists.
Broaching is one danger, a Death Roll is another, shrimping isn’t so much a danger as potentially expensive. Losing the rig? Let’s not even think about that.
As to shrimping, that's is what happens when the spinnaker winds up in the water behind the boat. I saw a couple of my childhood friends go shrimping last month near Yellow Bluff in the HDA YRA races. I won't mention their names . . .
I judge the distance to the pier, where we are, what tack, the conditions upwind in the slot, there are so many variables. It’s my call and I make it. We are going to raise the chute!
I’ve elected to keep the jib furled during the raise. It’s a gutsy call, but I like to see what condition the chute is in as it goes up. I’m jumping the halyard for that reason. I know Bradley can handle the helm, and we won’t even worry about the sheet until the sail is ‘made’ – all the way to the top (it’s a mast head rig).
We (I) don’t get there. M1 is getting the slack out, she’s doing fine keeping up, but I’m distracted. About 60% of the way up, the sail starts to fill. If I had a good, experienced trimmer, he (or she) could deal with it, but I don’t so I’m screwed. I call for Bradley to turn down to cause the chute to pull all the way out of the bag (we are launching from the rail). It takes some of the load off of the halyard, and I can get it up to about 85%. We leap over another wave, and with a little luck we are at 90%.
We can crank it up with the winch from there. I just hope Bradley doesn’t broach before I can get on the sheet.
We’ve got the second reef in the main, so there is less chance of that.
I sheet in, M1 is getting from 90% to 100% inch by inch, and off we go.
Woo Hoooooo!
Every one is where I put them, George is on the mainsheet, I’m to leeward of Bradley at the helm. M1 is on the halyard winch, M2 on the windward deck. Fred and Vicky are on the cockpit benches, up against the cabin, just like I told them. Elena, I don’t recall where she was, just that she was safe.
As I mentioned in the previous post, we BROACH, recover, broach again. We are talking George through his responsibilities on the mainsheet; he’s not going to be a tourist much longer.
And then the B R O A C H. George gets it, and the main goes out, but the boom hits the water, the deck is about as vertical as it gets, and I ease the Spinnaker Sheet.
We recover and take stock.
“Ah, we don’t want to do that on Starboard tack with the pier (what’s left of it) to windward”
We are going to have to jibe. It’s clearly a ‘fresh’ breeze.
I decide to reposition the crew, George needs more room. I ask Vicky to stand inside the companionway and hang on, with Fred on the cockpit bench at the companion way. I’m going to leave Bradley on the helm, and George on the mainsheet. I get George to understand that he needs to be well forward as the boom comes across. I’m going to blow the spinnaker sheet, pass behind Bradley and sheet in on the ‘lazy’ to get the spinnaker across.
Everybody gets that this is were the . . . well, you can use just about any ‘Xpression’ you want.
It’s anticlimactic, goes off pretty sweet, and the reaction of the crew (George is no longer a tourist) is a sight. They are amazed, relieved, and when their hearts are back where they are supposed to be, they are elated (that takes about 88 long seconds – I timed it).
Sweet
I’m starting to have fun, so I take the helm, we’ve got nothing to windward, so I start to relax . . . except, the sea conditions are now ripe. And we’ve got the second reef in the main.
I’ve been on many a race boat. I’ve seen the rock and roll hit parade of the St. Francis Big Boat Series, from the (fore) deck of a Big Boat. But I haven’t been on the helm, and I’ve never been THE CAPTAIN or the ‘Skipper’. I’ve seen Death Rolls, even one up close. They definitely violate my Rule #1 (the FUN rule).
Elena mentioned to me later that she was nervous on the upwind leg at the helm. Well, Elena, I was nervous at the helm on the downwind leg. There was a boat behind us as darkness closed in. A blue hull and green chute, it must have been Energy, or JGPC. A glance was all I got. Bruce Powell’s #1 rule is to LOOK GOOD! There are so many ways to violate that.
A death roll is one.
I SO wanted to be a crew, and watch the boat behind us. Are they rocking and rolling? Am I good enough? Place my faith in some other captain.
We rock, we roll, we rocket towards the Berkeley Shoal. We DO NOT Death Roll. Whew. I kind of wish we had battery power so the instruments could tell us how fast we were going. Depth would be nice too, it’s low tide, below 2 ft, and well, I had enough to think about.
I decide to do a ‘Mexican Take Down’ – get the jib out, jibe, and drop the chute to the deck inside the jib on the other tack. I kinda wish I had a race crew with me. Geoff Love, Will Matievich, I’d be having FUN. I’ve got a crew that believes in me (imagine that) and some tourists. One of which is below. Why is that? We check to see if Vicky is OK, and Fred (in the companionway) assures us she is. It’s rather dark down there without power.
If I knew I had an engine (it won’t start without a battery), I’d jibe the chute and carry it in, but I don’t, so take down is what we do. It goes well, not exactly race swift, it doesn’t want to collapse into the jib, but we get it down without incident.
Well, I’ve finally found the answer to the situation I’ve been headed for. I’m not the ‘skipper’ my grandfather was, but I won’t question whether I can call myself
Captain John
I judge the distance to the pier, where we are, what tack, the conditions upwind in the slot, there are so many variables. It’s my call and I make it. We are going to raise the chute!
I’ve elected to keep the jib furled during the raise. It’s a gutsy call, but I like to see what condition the chute is in as it goes up. I’m jumping the halyard for that reason. I know Bradley can handle the helm, and we won’t even worry about the sheet until the sail is ‘made’ – all the way to the top (it’s a mast head rig).
We (I) don’t get there. M1 is getting the slack out, she’s doing fine keeping up, but I’m distracted. About 60% of the way up, the sail starts to fill. If I had a good, experienced trimmer, he (or she) could deal with it, but I don’t so I’m screwed. I call for Bradley to turn down to cause the chute to pull all the way out of the bag (we are launching from the rail). It takes some of the load off of the halyard, and I can get it up to about 85%. We leap over another wave, and with a little luck we are at 90%.
We can crank it up with the winch from there. I just hope Bradley doesn’t broach before I can get on the sheet.
We’ve got the second reef in the main, so there is less chance of that.
I sheet in, M1 is getting from 90% to 100% inch by inch, and off we go.
Woo Hoooooo!
Every one is where I put them, George is on the mainsheet, I’m to leeward of Bradley at the helm. M1 is on the halyard winch, M2 on the windward deck. Fred and Vicky are on the cockpit benches, up against the cabin, just like I told them. Elena, I don’t recall where she was, just that she was safe.
As I mentioned in the previous post, we BROACH, recover, broach again. We are talking George through his responsibilities on the mainsheet; he’s not going to be a tourist much longer.
And then the B R O A C H. George gets it, and the main goes out, but the boom hits the water, the deck is about as vertical as it gets, and I ease the Spinnaker Sheet.
We recover and take stock.
“Ah, we don’t want to do that on Starboard tack with the pier (what’s left of it) to windward”
We are going to have to jibe. It’s clearly a ‘fresh’ breeze.
I decide to reposition the crew, George needs more room. I ask Vicky to stand inside the companionway and hang on, with Fred on the cockpit bench at the companion way. I’m going to leave Bradley on the helm, and George on the mainsheet. I get George to understand that he needs to be well forward as the boom comes across. I’m going to blow the spinnaker sheet, pass behind Bradley and sheet in on the ‘lazy’ to get the spinnaker across.
Everybody gets that this is were the . . . well, you can use just about any ‘Xpression’ you want.
It’s anticlimactic, goes off pretty sweet, and the reaction of the crew (George is no longer a tourist) is a sight. They are amazed, relieved, and when their hearts are back where they are supposed to be, they are elated (that takes about 88 long seconds – I timed it).
Sweet
I’m starting to have fun, so I take the helm, we’ve got nothing to windward, so I start to relax . . . except, the sea conditions are now ripe. And we’ve got the second reef in the main.
I’ve been on many a race boat. I’ve seen the rock and roll hit parade of the St. Francis Big Boat Series, from the (fore) deck of a Big Boat. But I haven’t been on the helm, and I’ve never been THE CAPTAIN or the ‘Skipper’. I’ve seen Death Rolls, even one up close. They definitely violate my Rule #1 (the FUN rule).
Elena mentioned to me later that she was nervous on the upwind leg at the helm. Well, Elena, I was nervous at the helm on the downwind leg. There was a boat behind us as darkness closed in. A blue hull and green chute, it must have been Energy, or JGPC. A glance was all I got. Bruce Powell’s #1 rule is to LOOK GOOD! There are so many ways to violate that.
A death roll is one.
I SO wanted to be a crew, and watch the boat behind us. Are they rocking and rolling? Am I good enough? Place my faith in some other captain.
We rock, we roll, we rocket towards the Berkeley Shoal. We DO NOT Death Roll. Whew. I kind of wish we had battery power so the instruments could tell us how fast we were going. Depth would be nice too, it’s low tide, below 2 ft, and well, I had enough to think about.
I decide to do a ‘Mexican Take Down’ – get the jib out, jibe, and drop the chute to the deck inside the jib on the other tack. I kinda wish I had a race crew with me. Geoff Love, Will Matievich, I’d be having FUN. I’ve got a crew that believes in me (imagine that) and some tourists. One of which is below. Why is that? We check to see if Vicky is OK, and Fred (in the companionway) assures us she is. It’s rather dark down there without power.
If I knew I had an engine (it won’t start without a battery), I’d jibe the chute and carry it in, but I don’t, so take down is what we do. It goes well, not exactly race swift, it doesn’t want to collapse into the jib, but we get it down without incident.
Well, I’ve finally found the answer to the situation I’ve been headed for. I’m not the ‘skipper’ my grandfather was, but I won’t question whether I can call myself
Captain John
P.S. Thanks to Richard Jepsen at OCSC. When we got in, he casually asks:
"Did you fly the Chute?"
"Yeah, sure did"
"Goood"
(Cool ! I'm a Captain now! the death roll with my name on it is still out there, but that's another story)
For yet another story check out this Express 27 story.
For those who made it this far, check out these photos from "Carnage at the Weather Mark, Race 1-2007 Express 27 Nationals, Tiburon YC deedsphotos"
This is what happens when the boom hits the water:
And when the rocking and rolling goes just a little too far:
In the immortal words of George Pedrick: "oops"
I knew I should have worn my wet suit.
This is what a death roll looks like from the comfort of another boat.
A great site is Charlie Bergstedt's blog: - Sailing on S.F. Bay in his Thursday, September 11 post he caught some great shots of the Rolex Big Boat Series, including a sequence of LIFT IT, going shrimping at the bottom of the post.
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