Merry Christmas to all.
The big spinnaker pulling towards home, 12.7 knots
We just finished the Banderas Bay Blast and we had a Blast! We won!
The crew was excellent, the boat hung together, and the third day we hit a speed record, best since 1987, 12.7 knots on a wild beam reach in 20+ knots of breeze and we didn't break anything in the few round ups we had, the pot of coffee didn't even spill off the stove.
Day one and two weren't bad either.
Second Place on Day 1
After the race we had some bubbly to celebrate our Victory.
Since the Blast we did a Wednesday night Beer Can race, got second place (it was chaos at times) and now the crew have departed and we’re taking a break for the holidays.
Fred with Renee and Rhonda, Great crew and great helpers
This post is all about photos.
Click here to see the whole story including some fun videos;
La Paz, anchored in front of Abaroa’s Don Jose Marina with a dead motor. No working starter so no motor.
The starter burned out on the way here from La Cruz when a crack developed on the engine’s water system and salt water drenched the starter. Got out the spare. Oh No! the spare starter needs repair. I was going to do that last year but when Judy went into the hospital and then passed away, my mind went blank and a lot of things got away, like fixing the starter.
So here we (Rene and I) were in Baja with no motor. Still had 67 miles to go to La Paz though, so we had no choice but to set sail without a motor.
Those 67 mile were rough. Lots of wind and waves and tacking, and spray and sail changes, (I got drenched at least three times) but we sailed fast and we got to La Paz and anchored in front of Abaroa’s.
Now I had to fix the starter and a lot of other things, like the crack oin the cooling system, like the water maker, and a few others, but I got to work and by now Wings is in good nick.
We also sailed in the Banderas Bay Regatta and got second place, but not without a lot of drama. The worst was a serious collision we had with another boat, it was their fault! They tacked onto port right in from of us and I
had about 5 seconds to avoid them but a seco0nd move on their part, another wrong move, made avoidance impossible. BOOM! Fiberglass flying everywhere and bent metal on the bow. The other boat was badly damaged and they had to retire from the race. I decided Wings was OK to continue and we wound up finishing in second place for the regatta. There was a protest meeting and Wings was completely exonerated.
It was fun at the awards party but the damage on Wings put a pall over it all for me.
I still had my plan to sail to the Sea of Cortez for three months, each month with a new crew member on board to help me. The first leg was to La Paz with Rene but we had a lot of work to do to get ready and only four days to do it. Many of my wonderful race crew helped and by March 28 we were ready.
So then there was the sail to La Paz which I mentioned above.
On April 5 Rene flew back to La Cruz and the next day Sarah joined. She is great too and I’ll write more about our trip together later.
Meanwhile I am getting on with life. Not always as I wanted it to but we have no choice, do we?
jldigital mediaLeading
(Thank you John Pounder for the loan of your image, I'll buy it from you when we are back together.)
In our preparations for the Banderas Bay Regatta we practiced
hard and prepared hard. We pushed the boat, we pushed the crew, and now I was pushing
the yacht club, and they were pushing back. It was about the racing class we
wanted to be in and it was too much; they weren’t having it.
“Fred, would you just shut up!”
That was the yacht club commodore talking. He’d had enough.
I decided to chill out a bit. I agreed to stay in the class where they wanted us and that was that.
Then came the racing.
This year we had some crew issues. We were constantly trying
to recruit new crew to replace people who had boats of their own and wanted to
go cruising. To make it worse the other skippers who were planning to
compete in Banderas Bay Regatta were also scrambling for crew. It seemed like every
good sailor was taken.
We did manage to put together a crew, a good one, and we
practiced and practiced, including racing in the Beer Can Races. We also
managed to address all the boat issues we’d experienced on the lead up to BBR.By race day we were ready.
This year’s Banderas Bay Regatta was exceptional. There was
wind, plenty of it, and the races were long, longer than usual. We had
exhausting days on the water but we never let up on the boat or ourselves in
these long windy races.
That practice and preparation paid off. On day one we placed
second. It was our friends on Edwina who came in from behind and beat us by a
minute and 11 seconds. It was clear that they were going to be tough but we
were not giving up.
Then came the second race. I urged the crew, “OK folks, here we go. We
can win this one if we all, every one of us, really concentrate. And Shawn, my
man, it’s up to you to keep that genoa perfectly trimmed the whole way. That’s
what will win this race.”
They did it.We won
the second race.
Shawn was the star. A new guy on the boat, but a power
house. He stayed focused on the jib like no one I’ve seen. He never lost his
concentration. We beat Edwina by 18 seconds.
The fleet was having problems though. Two boats withdrew,
and then in the third race Edwina blew out a sail and they were struggling.We got another first.
On day three it was windy, over twenty knots. The race committee
decided to run two races. When they announced the second race I groaned, “Geez,
another one?” We were tired.
But we stuck with it. “OK folks, one more.”
Again, we pushed everything to the limit. When we got to the
top mark and the wind was howling we never hesitated to set the spinnaker. At
the bottom marks we sheeted the in sails rock hard. Sometimes it took two men
to winch in the jib. And we hiked hard. Stefan urged us, “All the way out, get
your cheeks over the side.”
On the last windward leg as we were pounding upwind, Richard
said to me, “This is a tough boat Fred, all this punishment and it’s still
taking it.”
“It’s a tough crew too, Richard.”
We were flying on the downwind leg. I looked down at Jim who
was grinding the spin sheet.He was
grinning like a kid.
We won again.
So, it was a great regatta; three first places and one
second place. We were jubilant.
Everybody contributed. On the foredeck Denny and Eddie were
fantastic always getting set up for the next rounding even as the boat tried to
throw them off. Rene grumbled about not having enough winches to do everything
at once, but she managed it. The trimmers and grinders, Shawn, Luis and Stefan,
put everything into it and never quit. Shawn, for his stellar jib trimming, was
awarded the MVP (Most Valuable Player), and got to keep the first-place trophy.
In the midst of all the chaos, Judy, Rena, Gloria and Dennis, at various times,
went below and packed wet spinnakers faster than I’ve seen.
Jim Brainard joined for this regatta and, in addition to
trimming and occasional grinding, was a great coach and tactical assistant.
Richard, as he always is, was a rock on main and tactics,
plus assistingGloria on runners. Richard said
later that that last day’s races were the best ever.
Gloria handled the running back stays, normally a two-person
job, and Judy, my wonderful Judy, was navigator par excellence. She kept our
starts perfectly timed, our laylines exact, and kept us pointed to the marks. She has taken real ownership of the on-deck
navigation computer and no one has come close to what she can do with that
machine. Plus Judy went forward to assist Rene, helped with the spinnaker
take-downs, and went below to repack them.
Even I did a good job; the whole crew kept me focused on my driving
by nagging continuously if I didn’t keep the steering perfect.
Oh, one more crew addition: Eddie brought his dog Charley.
Charlie stayed below while we were racing but he was part of the
team.
It was definitely a team effort, three days, four races, and
10 people with total concentration. I
love them all.
We were looking forward to some peace and quiet in February. After all, the racing schedule was reduced and there was not much else on the agenda.
But the Wednesday Beer Can Races continued. We had wind, wind, and more wind. On the windiest days we had breeze into the 20’s and it didn’t seem to stop. Pushing the boat hard in that wind on those short courses was exhausting. We wore out our sail trimmers, actually experienced loss of control at times, blew out a spinnaker and, to top it off, we had engine and other boat problems.
The boat problems included broken blocks, broken battens, bent stanchions, plugged fuel lines, blown out exhaust mixing elbow, of course a totally blown spinnaker and minor issues. I was fixing things every Thursday.
As for control problems, in the strong gusts of wind the boat became unruly as the wind took over and I had to fight to keep the boat under control. Our crew had to scramble to stay on the boat and at their jobs. That included me.
In one strong puff I lost my grip on the deck and slid dangerously close to the edge of the boat while hanging on to the tiller! Of course, my death grip on the tiller while I fell caused the boat to round right up into the wind AND RIGHT TOWARDS THE SIDE OF ANOTHER BOAT GOING THE OPPOSITE WAY! It was a T-Bone between two boats going 6 knots in opposite directions about to happen. All I could do was pull the tiller farther which caused the boat to do a sudden tack and put us out of danger. Whew! Dodged that bullet. The crew on the winches never even noticed my pratfall; they just frantically completed the tack and wondered why I didn’t call for it ahead of time.
But we got through those tough races and afterwards thought they were fun. One thing about it: it turned out that they were good practice for the windy Banderas Bay Regatta which came later (we’ll write more on that soon.)
Also in February, spontaneous social activities kept us entertained and busy.
Beach parties were organized and we attended some of them. Dinners out, dancing in the moonlight. Yeah!
We had an opportunity to actually sail on other boats, including John and Lynn’s 54 foot EDWINA and Peter & Eileen’s APPLESEEDS, and spent time on various other boats with friends we’ve become close to in Mexico.
In all, February, instead of being quiet, was a very busy month, but a good one for the Wingers.
Richard turned to me with a smile on his face, “It wasn’t much fun sitting there for an hour with no wind but it sure was nice when the wind filled in and we won!”
“Yep.”
We’d just come in first on the first day of the Banderas Bay Blast, the kick-off race of the season but it wasn’t easy.
Oh yeah, we got a good start but all the smaller or slower boats had already gone before our start was called. So we started behind.
But we were fast and we immediately started passing them. That was fun.
Then the wind died.
I mean zero wind.
Everyone stopped including the one boat still ahead of us, a Gulfstar 50, and several fast boats who were close behind. Whoever got the wind first would win.
We tried our lightest spinnaker. So did the Gulfstar. So did a couple of boats behind. Our the ancient ½ oz kite sort of filled. Same with the boats behind, their kites filled slightly, looking like deflated balloons, but nobody moved.
Boats started to withdraw. There was a parade of boat motoring past, headed for home.
“It often is flat calm like this for a while then the wind springs up all of a sudden.” I tried to cheer up the crew, and maybe I was reminding the wind gods that we were still out here.
But it worked!
The wind came in; we all got it at the same time and we were off.
It was a northerly and that meant it was a beat to the finish; our strong point.
We pulled out from the boats behind and closed in on the Gulfstar. They tried to cover us.
Finally, we broke out of their wind shadow and passed them from leeward, pointing on them and sailing faster. Soon they were directly behind us.
That was day one of a three day regatta, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
After Saturday’s race the following two days looked to be repeats. We would start behind all the boats (except a few which were deemed to be faster than us, but weren’t; they started behind.) and then try to pick them off one by one.
On Sunday we did just that. We sailed well and were first by a mile, literally. We’ve sailed that course before and this wasn’t a record but it was close. We finished in one hour and 41 minutes. The best we’ve done was 1 hour and 31 minutes. Comparing the tracks for that day in 2019 and this race we could see what cost us the extra 10 minutes. It was a little less wind and much less of a right hand shift. The Gulfstar was second.
On Monday the Gulfstar stayed ahead all the way to the finish but we won our class and won overall and that sewed up the regatta: First in class and first overall.
After that we’ve been racing Beer Can Races and doing well, so the season is off to a good start.
I give a lot of credit to the crew and a lot to Judy who has taken over the navigation role and she is doing great. Judy needed to move off of running backstays and while she didn’t want the navigator job it was the right move for her and she stepped up. It's more work for her because she still has to do her old role of being crew boss. She's a busy lady but she's handling it well.
April 28, 2021-Racing Ends with a Bang and a Fizzle
It was a wild beer can race, lots of wind, but we rounded
the weather mark well ahead and were in first place. Now we were having trouble
with the gybe. I stood on the aft deck with the tiller in my hand and I watched
impatiently as the foredeck crew struggled to get the kite around.
The conditions were gusty and the gusts came from every
direction; not weak gusts either, they were in the 20’s.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the leech of the main take
an odd shiver.
I yelled, “Gybing!”
The main was caught aback and commenced a sickening swing
across the boat, like a scythe, with the full force of the wind behind it.
It came like a car crash.
People ducked, but some of them not enough: Judy, up by the
mast, was caught on the hip and knocked aside. She grabbed the shrouds and hung
on. The boom went over Richard but the main sheet hit him on the shoulder and
threw him onto his face on the side deck, right over Mike who was in the cockpit grinding. Geronimo, the tallest man on the boat, bent at the waist and was
missed, thank God.
I didn’t see any of this, I myself ducked; I just heard the
huge “BANG!” as everything hit the stops on the far side of the boat. I looked
up and would not have been surprised to see some breakage but in that instant everything
seemed OK. I breathed a sigh of relief and focused my attention on the front of
the boat, the sails and the trim and on the status of the foredeck and the
spinnaker. I hadn’t seen the human carnage at my feet, before my very eyes. I
shouted, “Sheet in!” and turned the boat. I was going after the competition who
had gybed instantly and slipped by while we were having our problems.
But things weren’t fine. Now I saw blood on the deck. There
seemed to be blood everywhere. I pondered for a second about who was hurt, then
I saw Richard’s Covid mask, it was bloody, blood was dripping from it. Other
people were struggling to get to their feet. I looked around, people were in
shock.
“Ok folks, we’re going in, get the spinnaker down”
I picked up the radio. “Race Committee, Race Committee, this
is Wings, we have an injury, we are retiring.”
The winds in April
are good. We’d tried to extend our racing this year because the winds are so
good in April.
At this moment it didn’t seem like it was that much fun; my
friends were injured and bleeding.
The next week we came back for another try but the injuries
kept some people home. Others had other reasons, maybe after a long season they
just didn’t feel like pushing it any more. Whatever, we really didn’t have a
crew. Eight people were gone.
I said we’d go with whomever we had and just take it easy,
after all, Judy and I can do this by ourselves if we have to, I said.
Wrong again.
Lynne and Rene came, and Mike and Judy, our neighbors came,
so we went out, two old men and four old women, and I love them all, but it
wasn’t enough. We had no mainsail trimmer, no foredeck, no grinder, and no
navigator. I would do those jobs, all of them, Judy could steer.
And it was another windy day.
We got the sails up, but in 21 knots the big racing sails,
even with the J3 Jib, made the boat into a handful. Judy said, “I can’t do
this.”
What she meant was, this is dangerous and we shouldn’t do
it.
Just then Race Committee called on the radio, “Wings, Wings, you guys
OK, can you get back for the start?”
I looked around at the crew, my friends and neighbors.
They’d do anything for us.
But Judy was right and she’d made the decision.
“Race committee, race committee, this is Wings. We’re too
short handed and we can’t handle these conditions. We’re retiring.”
When we got back to the dock we began to fold up the racing
sails.
The crew was unusually jubilant after the 2020 Banderas Bay
Blast.
I mean, how often do they hang around for an hour after the
race draped over the boom drinking Irish Whisky and laughing about how good it
was?
And it was good: not only did we get first place finishes in
both of the two days (three, if you count the Mita and Back Challenge which we
also won the week before) but on this race we put time on all of the boats,
even the fastest of them. Some would call it a horizon job.
But it was not just the winning. This crew is working hard
and doing well and they feel it. Sailing on this boat requires team effort. Ten
jobs, ten people, and they all must work together. When they do the boat just
clicks. That is what makes sailing great. Of course winning is the best fun, but
having good team work feels good whether we win or not. When you do both, it is
really satisfying.
Then there is the experience level of this team. This year
when several of our regular Canadian crew couldn’t come to Mexico we found
ourselves short.
We put out the call,
“Wings is looking for crew.”
People started walking down the dock, “I hear you’re looking
for crew?”
“Yeah, we are, come on aboard.”
And in that way Judy and I picked up five more experienced
sailors to add to our strong core of Richard, Lynne, Rena, Kelly and Terry.
Several of the new people (scroll down) have solid racing experience. We’ve done well in past
years with people we’ve trained from scratch, but now we’ve got more people who
know what they are doing and, more than that, they aren’t afraid to speak up
about how we can improve. Sometimes those suggestions come out a little sharply
but we love it.
Let’s talk about the Banderas Bay Blast. There are lots of
races here each year but the Banderas Bay Blast is our favorite one and the one
in which we typically do the best. We’ve been sailing it every December since
2015. Usually it is a triangle race here in La Cruz on day one, then a sail to
Punta Mita on day two, a stay over, and a sail back to Nuevo Vallarta on day
three. This year we did all three legs in two days. If you add the Mita and
Back Challenge we also did this year, that is 18 individual races. We won 10,
got 6 seconds, and 2 thirds. I guess it is a pretty good record and we’re proud
of it. This year, with the increased competition and the huge margin of
victory, we feel especially good about it.
We’ve also gotten faster over the years. Our times, all
carefully logged, have simply gotten better and better. The longest it’s taken us
was 1 hour and 48 minutes (other than 2017 when the wind died and it took 5
hours) and now we are down to 1 hour and 33 minutes.
What about next year? Somebody may come out and beat us. That
will be OK. If they do it because we screwed up, then we’ll have a lesson and
hopefully we can learn from it. If we sail well and still lose, we’ll have the
satisfaction of knowing that we did the best we could.
And anyhow, it’s all sailboat racing, and it’s all good.
Today we notified the racing crew that there will be no more races this season. The Corona virus concerns have resulted in the cancellation of the remaining races, including the Banderas Bay Regatta, the big one, the one we focus on all year. We also cancelled our crew party, and that hurts because it was our chance to personally thank each crew member for a great season, but now is not the time for an afternoon of hugs and sharing of food.
I love the racing here on Banderas Bay. The sailing and racing is so excellent that every day when I look out on the bay and see the perfect conditions I wish I was out there. But the thing to remember is that we have already had a wonderful life of sailing and racing. Even if we never sail again, we must be thankful for what we have already been given, our life on the sea.
And the sea is perpetual. These winds have been here for eons and I expect there will be many more days of great wind on this beautiful bay. Some day we will lay ourselves down and never sail again, but hopefully that will not be soon. I certainly want and expect a few more years worth for us too, God willing. So...there is always next year.
I wrote this note to our crew: (the last part is for Jasmine, our Mexican jib trimmer)
Dear Friends and Crew Members,
I am sitting here on Wings listening to the wind howl and a moment ago I watched as the Mexorc racing fleet sailed past. My heart aches that we are not out there, as it always does when a beautiful sailing day goes unused.
And with the cancellation of the regatta I know we’ll have to wait for the next racing season for another chance.
You have been a good crew and you all worked very hard training with the regatta in mind. Judy and I love you all as if you were our family. We’ll miss you for the next many months.
But the experiences we had and the skills we learned were not a waste. They cannot be taken from us. And the friendships we have made will last forever.
And we are lucky that we are not experiencing the more serious effects of the corona virus that many others have around the world.
And…
There is always next year.
The party scheduled for next Sunday is also canceled.
Here is a famous quotation from Jospeh Conrad, Ah, The Sea:
Ah! The good old time—the good old time. Youth and the sea. Glamour and the sea! The good, strong sea, the salt, bitter sea, that could whisper to you and roar at you and knock your breath out of you. ” He drank again. “By all that’s wonderful, it is the sea, I believe, the sea itself—or is it youth alone? Who can tell? But you here—you all had something out of life: money, love—whatever one gets on shore—and, tell me, wasn’t that the best time, that time when we were young at sea; young and had nothing, on the sea that gives nothing, except hard knocks—and sometimes a chance to feel your strength—that only—what you all regret?” And we all nodded at him: the man of finance, the man of accounts, the man of law, we all nodded at him over the polished table that like a still sheet of brown water reflected our faces, lined, wrinkled; our faces marked by toil, by deceptions, by success, by love; our weary eyes looking still, looking always, looking anxiously for something out of life, that while it is expected is already gone—has passed unseen, in a sigh, in a flash—together with the youth, with the strength, with the romance of illusions.
PS for Yas,
Estimados amigos y miembros de la tripulación:
Estoy sentado aquí en Wings escuchando el aullido del viento y hace un momento vi cómo pasaba la flota de carreras de Mexorc. Me duele el corazón de que no estamos ahí afuera, como siempre cuando un hermoso día de navegación no se usa.
Y con la cancelación de la regata, sé que tendremos que esperar la próxima temporada de carreras para tener otra oportunidad.
Han sido un buen equipo y todos trabajaron muy duro entrenando con la regata en mente. Judy y yo los amamos a todos como si fueran nuestra familia. Te extrañaremos durante los próximos meses.
Pero las experiencias que tuvimos y las habilidades que aprendimos no fueron un desperdicio. No pueden ser quitados de nosotros. Y las amistades que hemos hecho durarán para siempre.
Y tenemos la suerte de no experimentar los efectos más graves del virus corona que muchos otros tienen en todo el mundo.
Y…
Siempre hay el año que viene.
La fiesta programada para el próximo domingo también se cancela.
There are a lot of activities here in La Cruz in January and February but for us racing is at the top of the list. So when I stood at the trophy case of Vallarta yacht Club reading the names of the past winners of the Vallarta Cup and seeing Wings’ fourth place this year it was a bit of a shock, especially considering our first overall three times in the previous four years. We’ve been sailing hard this year and having fun doing it, and in the opening regatta of the year, as we wrote previously, we were first, dominatingly so, but this time the results weren’t there.
How do we explain that fourth place?
The truth is that we are sailing against a small group of really good sailors who all want to win as bad as we do. This year everyone has been sailing well and they deserve to win.
And this year we had some problems.
For one thing we’ve had some personnel issues. Four people are out for the year due to injuries, three shoulder injuries, a back injury, and another with arm injuries. None of these have occurred on the boat (it seems that walking around in Mexico is more dangerous than sailing on Wings) but we’ve had to find replacements nevertheless. Also we’ve had people take off to go cruising on their own boats, so we needed more replacements. And some of the replacements have not worked out. The net is that there has a lot of been crew turnover.
As for ourselves, Judy and I have remained committed to our workout regimen and think we are pretty fit, but even we have found that our old bodies are showing signs of stress. This week Judy has started treatment for a shoulder injury herself.
Our constantly rotating crew is doing their best and they are pretty good; a few are real stars but some boat handling problems have occurred which cost us time and these can be traced partially to inexperienced crew.
A complicating factor is that our tactics and helming have suffered while we try to deal with on-the-job training of the crew. It is hard to stay focused on tactics while you are trying to watch what 10 other people are doing.
Putting it all together, facing tough competition, rebuilding our crew, and less than stellar tactics…it’s not surprising that we are behind the curve this year.
Still, in competition there will always be winners and losers. The good thing is that we love to get out on the water and always try to do our best.
Despite our racing performance sailing has been good with good winds and good friends aboard and otherwise life in La Cruz has been pretty nice too as it always is this time of year. The weather is glorious, the music scene in La Cruz is booming with great new bands and live music playing somewhere every night, usually at more than one place. Sometimes we have to force ourselves to cut back and not go out every night. Local activities have also been fun. If our sailboat racing has been less than stellar, the La Cruz Kids Club has been able to put on a terrific regatta with toy boats built out of scraps and trash. wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Boat work, car work: We’ve been making progress against our project lists and keeping up with occasional mechanical problems. Keeping our old Chrysler in good shape has required some investment. A total front end rebuild has helped with the speed bump issues, and we have some other fixes completed and more upcoming. The boat, of course always provides repair opportunities. At the moment we have two water tanks out and new ones being built. The good news on both the car and the boat is that the repairs cost less here in Mexico then they have elsewhere. We’re happy that we feel that we can keep our vehicles in good nick.
With a “Blast” in December our racing season got underway.
On day one of the Banderas Bay Blast, after a pretty decent start (seen below) we sailed well on the first beat and controlled the small but competitive performance class. We rounded the windward mark first only to watch Olas Lindas sail past on a tear and extend their lead to the finish. We could do nothing to stop them, but we retained second place. It was not unforeseen; it’s happened before in this event, and as usual, it left the next two races to determine the overall score.
Day two, however, was our day; the long beat to Punta Mita is our favorite race of the year and the conditions were perfect this year, once again. The fleet set off one by one, slowest boats first. Over 30 minutes after the first boat got underway we started in pursuit of them, and, staying close to shore and out of the tide, we quickly began to overtake.
Over and over we tacked into the shore, twelve times, while our competitors stayed out. Each time, as we approached the rocks the tensions on board Wings became high. I called for the crew to be ready but I held the course steady; straight toward land. The depth gauge ticking down, 25, 20, 19…
Judy finally made the call, “Let’s get out of here, Fred!”
“TACKING.”
The boat turned suddenly, away from the shore, and we sheeted the sails in on starboard tack, heading out. The depth was 15 feet.
Other boats know this strategy too and we watched behind us to make sure none of them got inside of us, but how could they? We’d completed the tack as close as it was safe to go.
At the halfway point we were in the lead and then the big right hand wind shift began to show. Over the next half hour the wind rotated from 240 degrees to 330 degrees and it increased to over 19 knots. We were inside the shift which provided further gains.
We were being lifted towards the shore now on starboard tack and in fact we had to turn away from a couple of the rocky points. We were flying with the big genoa but becoming overpowered. It took a careful hand on the helm to stay in control but I didn’t want to lose the time it would take to change sails. I feathered up when the nearness to the shore permitted, and, nervous about the depth, closely watched the depth finder. The boat speed increased, we grew closer, and luckily we hit nothing.
We finished the 8.6 mile beat and the race at 2:35:14PM. 1 hour, 35 minutes, and 18 seconds. It was our best time ever for this race, 13 minutes better than last year, and two minutes faster than the previous best time, in 2016. And nothing on the boat was broken.
Obviously we were pleased.
Day three saw different conditions. This 12 mile downwind race started off fast with up to 25 knots of breeze and we set the spinnaker and flew at over 9 knots, pole to the headstay and barely in control.
At the mid-point of the race the wind died entirely.
The fleet stopped.
We scanned the ocean. Except for two catamarans which had gone far to the south, no one was moving.
Behind us two of our competitors coasted to a stop within yards of us. I could hear them talking.
Then I felt the slightest breath of air and somehow the sail filled. We moved ahead a little. The boats behind didn’t catch it.
More air came and we gained some speed. It seemed like only a few minutes but it must have been half an hour or more before I again looked behind us. There was nobody in sight. No one! A door had slammed shut.
The two cats were now just ahead and we worked hard to catch them, but to no avail.
We finished third, a minute or two behind the catamarans, but it was enough to win the regatta: a second place, first place and third.
Racing season is just kicking off here in Mexico; the temps are coming down from barely tolerable to wonderful and the air-conditioner is about to be stowed. We've taken the solar panels and the last load of cruising equipment to the storage locker, loaded the racing sails and bent on the carbon main. The big Bruce anchors and the chain are in the dockbox. The diver has cleaned the bottom again and tomorrow he'll wax the topsides (but that's just for looks).
One by one the crew have drifted back into town and stopped by to check in, and they each inspected the results of our summer's work. I have to say it's generally nods of approval I see as they stand on the dock and stroke their chins scanning the new hardware, running rigging, and fresh deck paint.
We've tested everything that can be tested, even the new navigator has been doing his navigation exercises with the tablet computer. Now we just need to get out of the berth and shake out the cobwebs.
Weds we'll put on supplies of beer and water and see if this ole' girl can still go.
The last two Wednesdays we've pretty much been racing against Olas Lindas and no one else. The other boats have either stayed away or are a lot slower so we don't see them after the start.
But racing against Linda and Patrick Sweet and Mike Danielson on Olas Lindas has been fun. Close starts, good tactics, and photo finishes.
This week we had gotten behind, as we often somehow do, and had to play catch up on the beat to the finish. There was a big wind hole ahead and Olas Lindas was in it stuck a quarter of a mile from the finish. We were another quarter of a mile behind that. Then we spotted some breeze coming off the shore. I hailed Mike on the radio, "Is this the finish? Can we cross anywhere?"
"Yes, the whole line. You still have a chance Fred." I didn't think he believed it but I was determined to try.
We tacked towards the shore in search of that wind. It was there, right on the beach. We had to go close, 15 of water. Caught the wind, great! But need to tack out NOW!
We tacked out. I looked over to where Olas was slowly ghosting towards the finish. We still had some time.
Go out just a little ways then tack back in. At fifteen feet (and about 100 feet from the shore) we caught another puff, but were forced to tack out again.
This is tense: going in looking for wind but when you find it you're almost ashore
Now the breakwater drew near. The water should be deep there but the rocks looked deadly. I decided to chance it.
"I want to go close here", I said.
"There are no rocks", said Richard, "other than the rocks of the breakwater itself."
We tacked again, and we had breeze. We were moving. Quickly. I looked over towards Olas, they were ever closer to the finish line, but at the other end of it, and moving slowly. It would be close.
In 15 feet of water we made one final tack towards the pin then I punched it up and crossed.
TIE! No onw could actually tell who won.
The previous week we caught up with Olas Lindas when they had a problem with their spinnaker. We crossed the line 10 feet ahead.
Every week it is like that.
So now we get ready for Banderas Bay Regatta. That is the last race of the year, three days, and then racing season is over.
We hope to be able to duke it out with Olas Lindas three more times and have close finishes then too.
On the first race there was a moment, sudden realization, on the first part of the first beat, when I felt joy and satisfaction; when I realized we were fast. Definitely fast.
We had climbed out from underneath the Express 37 even before they were called back for being OCS and we had clear air and a lane. We had already started to put our bow out in front of the other boats and I felt it was time to make a move. The right looked to pay so I said, ‘I want to go to the right.’
Richard answered, ‘OK, we can tack when you want.’
‘I’m going…ready about.’
‘Ready.’
The crew scrambled and we tacked, and one by one the other boats followed.
The moment came after we tacked:
As we settled in on the long port tack, I got into a rhythm with the boat and the waves. I felt myself begin to rock back and forth with the motion of the boat as I worked the tiller. I glued my eyes to the tell-tales and I spoke to the crew,
‘Hike the boat.’
Twelve people moved farther out. The speedo showed 7 knots.
The water streamed past the hull and the wind was blowing through the rig, otherwise there was no sound. In the flawless blue sky the sunlight glared with a brilliance and the tell-tales on the jib danced, and the boat speed climbed to 7.47 knots. Very good.
Richard looked around.
‘We’ve got wheels on Bright Star.’ he said. The white boat was nearest and we all measured our speed against them. I took a glance. They were jogging along on our hip but I could see they were sagging down to our line and we were definitely faster. And Bright Star was faster than everyone else.
A year’s preparation had paid off. All the work and the pain, the successes along the way and the defeats, the setbacks…they were all worth it to feel the way I felt at that moment as we worked our way out in front. This was a good feeling, a very good feeling.
So Banderas Bay Regatta was underway and we were doing well.
Of course the faster boats eventually broke free but we held on and stayed close and finished close enough to win, a convincing win; minutes, not seconds.
I informed the crew. There was jubilation. Judy broke out champagne. A bit early I thought, after all it was only the first race, but it was OK. I let the crew enjoy the win.
I felt some confidence about the regatta; this was not a close race. If we could do this our prospects were good for the next two races.
Day two was tougher. Not the competition, the conditions. It blew like stink.
The course took us over to La Cruz, our old stomping ground, and the breeze was up: over 20 knots. We had the big carbon genoa on for the reach across and we stayed with it for the beat. Maybe the J-4 would have been better but the beat was short and we were ahead so I kept up the 1 not wanting to risk a change. The boat was on edge however, maybe over the edge. We were carrying too much sail. The main was flat and waving uselessly and still I needed it eased further to relieve the pressure on the helm. I called, ‘Traveler down’ and Richard pushed it down with his foot. The helm eased but the main flogged worse.
I told Richard, ‘Crank a little more runner on.’
It was already past the mark but he brought it in another inch and the main took on some shape and settled down. That was better.
The next leg was a tight, windy, reach back to Nuevo Vallarta and we set the A1 kite, like the boats ahead. The wind was too much and everyone was rounding up. The powerful sail we set began to round us up too, then it collapsed and refilled with a shocking bang. A few more times this happened then it blew with a bang louder than the rest and the boat suddenly stood up. I looked and the spinnaker was high in the sky off the side of the boat with no tack on it. That part was hanging in shreds on the bow.
‘Get the jib back up.’ It went up immediately as the blown kite was gathered in. We lost a little time, but not much.
After that we had a good run and a clean finish. We checked the times: it was closer, it had to be, but we had another win and we drank champagne again. We knew we were in good shape to win the regatta, we just had to hang in there.
The third race was more of the same. Lots of sun and wind. This time we only got a fair start, behind Bright Star but still ahead of the others, and good enough. We got clear of Bright Star who went left but as we felt the wind would go right we tacked and it paid off and we rounded the top mark first for the third time in a row.
The A1 had been hurriedly repaired overnight and we put it up. It blew again almost immediately.
Now we felt it was time to be conservative. With two wins we could ease off a bit. We had another kite but we held off and didn’t use it. We watched to see if Bright Star would make a move from behind but they didn’t threaten.
On the final run the Class A boats ahead had troubles with their spinnakers and we held off on ours. Maybe we were gun shy; maybe we just knew it didn’t matter.
This time Sirocco was ahead by enough time to beat us, though by only six seconds, but enough. So we were at least second. We watched Bright Star and all the others come in behind us, watching our clocks. We had our time on all of them so we had second place and that was enough to win the regatta.
It was a happy crew on board Wings as we sailed back to our marina.
So that was it. The race was in the bag. We’d won. We worked hard for this win, a year hard. There was money spent, plenty of it, and some long hours in boat prep, and, to be honest, maybe some hard feelings done, particularly about the ratings and class breaks on which I’d had more than a few blunt words with the race organizers and our competitors. And in crew selection. I’d made some changes, brought in some new people, changed some roles. But it all worked. And in the end, I have to say, it was worth it. Just that feeling on the first beat when I realized how fast we were made it all worth it.
I don’t know about next year, maybe we’ll never achieve this level again. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but this year, we did it.
Great Crew:
Paul Bailey and Carol Dabub, fordeck, steady, competent, always ready.
Kelly Mantis, Mast man, a tower of strength.
Carol (Bling) Dand and Robin Hirsh, Halyards, and all those ropes in the pit all got let in and out as they were needed. Great job.
Rod Dand, Dennis Mazzie, and Jimmy Roser, sail trim and grinding. These guys were awesome, grinding in the huge carbon genoa over and over and they managed the spinnakers and the lines like pros. Jimmy did his job and somehow managed to be instantly on top of every problem in time to keep it from being a problem.
Richard Hodge, Main and tactics, and runners and hydraulics, quiet and solid and called the start and every layline.
John Ryan, Navigator, coped with an extraordinarily difficult tactical computer and managed to keep it all together, called the lines, timed the starts, knew the rules and this year we never went to a wrong mark. Thanks John.
Judy and Lynne Britton, Runners, but more than that, watched the whole boat like a pair of hawks and prevented countless errors. Lynne joined Robin and repacked the kites.
A special word to John Ryan for tireless fight with the navigation computer, for his contribution, the MVP award.
And to Jimmy, for being everywhere when we needed him.
Most of all Judy, our foundation, our watchdog, our mom.
I love all of you.
Our sailing on Wednesdays has been ‘anything goes and everything unexpected happens.’ We tell the story in four parts.
Part 1, Random Wind I went to visit Mike on Tuesday and he asked me if I could set the race mark for Wednesday’s Beer Can Race. Not my favorite job but I said ‘OK, just get it down to my boat by 2:00PM.’
So that is how we became the Race Committee for the Beer Can Race.
When we got out of the marina we found the wind blowing straight offshore, direction 330 degrees. Setting the mark in its normal place, 2 miles up the shoreline, would result in another one of the boring reach, reach, races we get here too often in February, and with plenty of the wind holes that frustrate everyone.
I decided to change things up. I headed Wings off downwind straight away from the beach towards the deep water offshore.
I got on the radio.
‘Atttention all Beer Can Racers. This is Fred on Wings, your committee boat for today. We are going downwind to set a start line about a mile away from the marina. Please follow Wings to the new starting area.’
I thought it would be a great race: Upwind start, sail directly into the building NW breeze, round a channel marker near the marina, and turn downwind towards the start mark. Twice around would be four miles, just right for a beer can race.
Only the wind did not cooperate.
Once we got down there and set the start mark the wind totally switched around and blew from 130 degrees, making my upwind start into a downwind start.
Well time was passing and everyone had already trekked down to my fancy new starting area so we just said, ‘Screw it, we’ll have a downwind start.’
Only the wind changed again, twice more.
First it went to 180 degrees, then died entirely, and then filled in from 330 again. All in about 15 minutes.
This happened as we were all trying to sail the course. Finally, on the second downwind leg to the turning mark near the marina it came back out of the NW. On Wings we had the assym kite up, working downwind in a dying breeze. I saw the dark, wind-blown, water coming offshore again, right into our faces.
‘Drop the kite, right now, get a jib up…’ Then BAM! We had wind on the nose.
‘Paul, repack that kite, we’ll need it in a couple of minutes as soon as we round.’
We got around the mark, Paul frantically repacked the kite and got it on deck.
Now we were going downwind towards the finish, about half a mile away, and in second place. I saw that Double Take, the first place boat, didn’t have the breeze yet and there was hope for us. We finished the hook-up and re hoisted the kite.
BAM! Again, just as the sail filled, before anyone was actually settled into their positions, the wind hit us like a ton of bricks, twenty or more knots from behind, and we took off like a bat out of hell, swerving and rolling and trying to keep the boat upright and under that sail.
It was wild, briefly, and we surged across the finish line, unfortunately only in second place. Then the wind stopped again, and we had to wait 30 minutes or more for the other boats to finish. As Race Committee we were supposed to be on station to record all the finishers, so we stayed around.
It was almost dark when we finally picked up the mark and went back to the marina. I lost track of how many wind shifts we had that day, but they came randomly from almost every direction, and quite rapidly.
The day before the Beer Can race Mike Danielson at PV Sailing again asked me if Wings could be the committee boat and to do race committee duties for the race. At least he didn’t expect me to set the mark since it was not holding air and we’d use a ‘virtual mark’ which was just a set of GPS coordinates that everyone had to go around.
Ok, we can do that, but on this Beer Can Wednesday that just added to the complications for us. We were already short four people, our Canadian contingent, who for a variety of reasons were going to miss the race. Now we had to run the race as well as sail our own boat. Well, OK, let’s go do it.
With our substitute crew on board we headed out to the race course only to find more complication: twenty knots of wind. Now, twenty knots isn’t too much wind, and we just went through a twenty knot puff last week, but it does put a premium on boat handling. Excellent boat handling without our top sailors would be unlikely. The day would be ripe for a foul-up. It gave me a case of nervous stomach. That seems to be the norm these days. I don’t know why.
In that breeze it was definitely number three weather and I called for the old Kevlar J3. Paired with the Aramid main, our mid-sized main, it would be the right call except for one problem, that old Kevlar sail didn’t have much life left in it, as we’d soon find out.
We got on the radio, organized all the other boats, and got the race off. Then we set out behind everyone else for the imaginary top mark. The boat actually felt good with the breeze up, and even with the new crew our tacks were excellent. We felt fast and we were soon passing the fleet.
I decided I would take it easy on the downwind leg. I had planned on some more practice with the symmetrical spinnaker but with new crew I knew using the asymmetrical spinnaker would be less risky.
So I called, ‘Set up the asymmetrical spinnaker.’
At the top mark we bore away, jibed onto port and hoisted the A1 asymmetrical, but not before we noticed some small tears in the Kevlar J3 jib as it came down. I made a mental note to check it out when we got back to the dock.
Now we were going downwind and flying, but the downwind leg was not without drama of its own. On our port jibe we were heading towards the shore off Point Blanco. The wind was shifting left and that pushed us ever further towards shore and the off lying rocks. I turned more downwind, away from the rocks, but it wasn’t enough. Now it was clear we needed to jibe but as much downwind as we were sailing now it was difficult to do the jibe. Time ran out, we had to go now!
‘Ready to jibe!’
We cast off the spin sheet and I turned the boat to the right. The kite collapsed into the fore triangle. The foredeck hands tried to get the sail around the front of the boat. It was slow to come and wanted to fold inside. Paul and Carol on the foredeck were struggling and I heard Paul urging the sail to come around,
‘Come on baby, come on’, he said.
I pushed the boat up a bit, back to the left, closer to the rocks, to get a little more air flow and with our speed and with the current we swept towards the jagged pinnacles. I asked Richard, ‘Are we OK here?’ He didn’t answer.
The sail popped around and filled on the new jibe and Richard threw the main over. I turned the boat away from the rocks.
Richard turned towards me, ‘You know, Fred, I don’t even swim that close to those rocks.’
‘Now you tell me.’
But we finished, and finished first. We dropped the kite and waited for the other boats to come down to the finish line, giving each boat a “horn” on the radio as they went through. Everyone agreed it was a fun day, but I knew it was also a lucky day.
Back at the dock however we took a close look at the Kevlar J3 Jib. It was a total blow out. It was ripped in dozens of places. The cloth was just weak everywhere and could not take the stress. I was surprised it held together for the whole beat.
The next night, after everyone left the clubhouse, Judy and I, with the help of two good friends, took the sail in and laid it out on the floor. Time for some major repairs. It took 5 hours and almost all of my spare Kevlar sail cloth but we patched it back together the best we could. Well, we won’t have much use for spare Kevlar once this sail is gone, and that won’t be very long from now, so I didn’t mind using the cloth. But it was hopeless. I figure we will be lucky if we can put that J3 jib up even one more time without a complete destruction.
It was a blow-out.
Part 3: Buy, Sell, Or Trade Heard on the VHF radio net:
‘This is Fred on Wings. Wings is looking for two Barient winches, size 27 or 28. Our new main is too big and it takes two people to grind it in with our existing size 23 winches. Either we have to get a bigger mainsail trimmer or bigger winches. Since I am rather fond of Richard I’d like to keep him so we need new winches. It’s an all Barient boat so we’ll stay with Barient. Yeah, we know those winches are obsolete but so is everything else on our boat, including us.’
‘Contact Wings’
Part Four: Twenty Five Knot Winds for a Beer Can Race We had a busy day Wednesday: Workout in the morning, a stop at the Mexorc race center, and racing in La Cruz in the afternoon, plus a few more items on the itinerary meaning we really pushed ourselves all day. In the gym, with Judy and I side by side on rowing machines, both of us going all out, I hit my best time ever and that’s going back 15 years but afterwards my body was jittery from the effort and I could feel it the rest of the day. Then we visited the Mexorc site. Mexorc is the big scene this week and we stopped by to check the results and take photos, but we didn’t hang around long. Time was short to get back to La Cruz and get the boat ready for the Wednesday Beer Can racing.
I honestly have to say that I was a tad nervous when we got out to the race course that afternoon. For the third week in a row it was windy. The wind was over 22 knots true as soon as we got out of the marina and at times it was blowing a steady 25. My plan had been to get some spinnaker practice in on the downwind leg that day but in that breeze I was doubtful that we could do it without a disaster. Even getting the sails up was going to be tense; our new main is huge.
On top of this we were acting as Race Committee again; another distraction.
But we hoisted the main without a problem and John got on the radio and announced the course and start times for the five boats which came out, and we got ready for our own start. With at least 22 knots of wind I knew the J4 was the right jib, called for it, and it too went up smoothly. So far so good.
John Ryan, our navigator, ran the clock and the radio for all these races while I steered the boat and got us across the line without hitting anybody.
I should not have worried, everything went well. The boat handled perfectly with the full main and the J4 and other than a couple of niggles we had no real problems. The niggles involved the new main and included the fact that with just the main up, before we got the jib on, I could barely steer. The big roach of the main controlled the boat. I found that we had to ease the sail out a quite bit and keep our speed up. Once we got too close to the wind and got slow we couldn’t bear away and get going again without the motor. That was good to know if a bit disconcerting. We also discovered that sheeting the big main all the way in was going to take two people. Richard just couldn’t turn the winch handle by himself. With me sitting right next to him it was easy for me to put my hand on the handle with his and together we could do it. I’m going to look for a pair of bigger winches. And yeah, and we have to tack fast with this sail to avoid a lot of flogging of the leach against the backstay where it overlaps. There is a price to pay with this big new sail.
We had a perfect start and settled in for the beat. The conservative approach was to take longer boards and fewer than usual tacks as we beat up the shoreline towards Punta Mita and that is what we did. The boat was fast and pointing really well. We quickly overhauled the boats ahead. I saw the breeze lessening a little I announced to the crew, ‘If the wind goes below 20 we’ll set the kite, and it looks like it is doing that, so let’s get it ready.’ The S3 bag tumbled on deck and the foredeck crew ducked spray as they hooked up the sail. This was real sailing.
We tacked to starboard for the final approach and the wind was only 19.7 knots, so the spinnaker was a “go”.
‘Get the pole up’.
We rounded the mark.
‘Hoist!’
The big sail went up fast and filled. The boat surged but handled perfectly on the broad reach with speeds showing of 8-9 knots. We were flying. Halfway to the finish line in La Cruz I called for a jibe and talked the cockpit crew through the maneuver. The jibe went very well. The crew is getting practiced at this stuff. We were all pretty pleased.
The wind speed came back up as we approached La Cruz but the boat remained in control. I turned downwind to see how that would feel and called for the pole to come back. Going dead downwind in the resurgent breeze we hit 9.7 knots with the boat starting to roll, but not outlandishly. Controlling it with steering was not difficult. Over nine knots on this boat is exciting and the crew was thrilled with the speeds we were seeing. I was having fun.
We dropped the kite at the finish and sailed into the anchored fleet, then came around under main and waited for the other boats to finish. We sailed into the marina.
It was just a beer can race but it was a good sail.
We headed out for some socializing without putting the boat away so that night, four hours later, after a party and dinner out, we got home to a trashed boat, bushed, there were sails all over the cabin and a spinnaker to pack. We got through all that and crawled into bed, not saying much but both of us going over the day in our heads.
The racing season is now on and we’ve been going hard at it since the 12th of December when we began racing every Wednesday. Also there was the "Blast", a three-day regatta one weekend in December. By January we were up to racing twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays. This level of participation made the racing intense.
That intensity peaked on January 20 for the third race of the Vallarta Cup. We hadn’t won either of the first two races in that series and we wanted this one. We didn’t know if we could actually win based on the first two races where we sailed well but fell slightly short, but we knew we were going to try.
To win any competitive sailboat race you have to first get the boat handling down. There has to be a lot of close coordination and team work. Ten people working together like a machine. We’ve learned time and time again that when racing against top competitors there can be no boat handling mistakes, no foul-ups; nothing that can cost us even a few seconds. The other boats are ready to seize on any error we might make, as we are of theirs. For this, we practice. And practice. We treated Wednesdays as practice sessions and sailed hard in them and after each race we held debriefings to improve our boat handling. We prepared ourselves for the hard work and extreme mental focus it would take to win race three.
There is also the boat-speed requirement. Even if our boat handling is perfect we still need to sail the boat through the water as fast as is possible. That calls for perfect steering and perfect sail trimming. This is my job. I am the helmsman. I steer the boat and call the sail trim adjustments. Others on the boat, Judy or Richard, can relieve me for periods, but mostly it is my job as helmsman. In this role the demand for focus and attention is relentless. For a race like this it means three hours of intense concentration.
And on top of this there are the tactical decisions. Boat handling and speed isn’t enough; we need tactics too. We have to go the right way, position ourselves to catch the best wind shift, to counter our opponents’ tactics with our own, keep our air clean, and avoid traffic and congestion. These are the tactical decisions we must make, they are another layer on top of boat handling and boat speed. These decisions are required constantly. If you lose your situational awareness of the overall fleet and don’t make the critical move at exactly the right time, seconds or minutes can be lost. A lot of this tactical decision making also falls on me.
It shouldn’t. I’m not good at it and anyhow I should be keeping my focus on helming, but right or wrong it does. I have tactical help from Judy, Richard and John, but they all too often defer to me. Whether it is lack of self-confidence or lack of experience, or maybe my own opinions are just too strong for them to feel comfortable opposing. Whatever the reason they too often keep their tactical thoughts to themselves. I make a call, no one objects, and we do it, right or wrong. So I have to get it right.
All of this takes, for me, a lot of mental energy. I am determined to get to the level needed, to guide the crew through the maneuvers, to keep my attention on the steering, and to make good tactical calls. I need to do all these things for the whole race; for three hours.
To be at the level needed I put myself into a zone.
It happens before the start.
In the last minute before the start of the race, on the final approach to the start line, my mind and body seems to go somewhere else, into a zone. I am still there on the boat, but I’m not. I don’t feel aware of the deck on which I am sitting, of my hand on the helm, of the people around me. There is no thinking, Just intense focus. My intensity connects me with the boat, the sails, the wind. I stare at the tell tales, but I see the wind. My hand moves the tiller, but my mind is moving the boat. My crew talks to me, but they are just disembodied voices.
“Do you see the mark, Fred?”
“No, I can’t look for it. You watch it and guide me.” My answers are brief; my mind stays on the task.
Then I do have a glance around at the other boats, at the wind, where the mark is. I make a tactical call. We do it. As we turn the boat my line of sight to the sail tethers me to an orbit on the back of the boat. My feet find their own way around the back of the boat. Even while I move to the other side the connection with the sail and the wind is not lost.
Now a mark rounding is coming up. Some part of my mind splits off to maintain my steering while with another part I talk to the crew and describe the upcoming maneuver. The crew nods, or answer, or ask for a clarification. My focus shifts for the briefest time, I speak back to them, then I am again blocking out everything but my mental and physical control of the boat.
I have to keep that up for the whole race. Then, at the finish, I can throw down the tiller and walk away.
On that Saturday we did this and it all worked well for us.
We had a plan for the start but in the last few seconds the plan all fell apart and I had to improvise. By then my head was already in the zone and we were on my mental autopilot. Olas Lindas tried to take us up above the committee boat but I stalled and let them through. They were early and ran down the line and so we had a hole to leeward to accelerate into. There was no planning no logic, no reasoning, just doing, and somehow it came right and we won the start. We had boats underneath us but our air was clear and we were fast and sailing high and they could not tack and we drove them off to the left. When they were committed to that side we tacked and went up the right side, where we found more pressure.
We led at the top mark by two minutes.
Olas Lindas is faster than we are and we knew they would pass us but our plan was to hold them off as long as possible, and then stay close. If we did that, we could win.
And they did get by but they never really got away. We dogged them all the way on the long reaches. We stayed close at the second windward mark.
There was a tense moment for me, a long tense moment…several moments.
The decision on how to round the mark at the start of the first run made me nervous. Jibe set or bear away? To call it wrong would cost valuable minutes. I called for a jibe set, based on the wind direction I was seeing when we were still 15 minutes out. Then the wind gradually shifted, making the decision to jibe less definitive.
The nervousness I felt on those long minutes as we approached the mark was unusual. I don’t feel that way during a race. Once I get on the race course my nerves go away, I’m in my zone. But this time was different. We had a great race going at that point but I knew a lot was riding on the next leg. Call it wrong and we could throw it all away.
I stuck with my call; even with the wind shift I figured the jibe set was twenty degrees favored. But if the wind shifted more, well, anything could happen.
The Olas rounded. They did a jibe set and took off on a broad reach directly for the downwind mark. That confirmed my decision.Excellent! What a relief.
We ourselves rounded and completed the jibe set and took off powering down that next leg. Dick called that Olas had us by only two minutes. I knew they needed around eight minutes to beat us. Perfect, there was only 4.5 miles to go. We just had to follow them to the finish, not screw up, and we had them.
We went into conservative mode. Don’t push for that last second of advantage, don’t make any mistakes. Another windward leg, another jibe set, and coast to the finish; that’s all we had to do.
We won, by a good margin. We crossed 3:38 behind Olas Lindas, I knew we beat them. Bright Star was also back too far to be in the game but what about Mony? They were running forth but they could still win. We watched them come down to the finish. Their sails looked soft; light wind, good.
Dick called out their time: Nineteen minutes and five seconds. Yes, we had them.
Our hard work and extreme mental focus held up. We were jubilant.
I was exhausted.
“John, take the helm please.”
By the end of the race I am completely knackered. I give John the helm and wander around. I go below. I look at the computer screen and I see our track and I start to recap the race in my mind. On deck the crew is shooting Craken Rum and celebrating, but me. Well, I’m done. I put in the times of the other boats just to check and see that we have them by minutes to spare.
Slowly I come back to this world. I go up, I take a shot of rum myself, but funnily, I can’t savor it. My mind is still elsewhere.
In fact, I’ve lost the time for three hours, I don’t remember anything but the images which remain in my brain of tell-tales, of sail trim, of the race.
Each week, each race, we have to be ready to go through it again. It doesn’t always go was well as it did this Saturday.
The next Saturday for example, the fourth race, could have been the same as the third. A win in the fourth race would have sewed up the series for us, but it didn’t. We blew it. Or I blew it.
In fact we were doing exceptionally well. We had a better performance going right until the last run to the finish. We were ahead of everyone except, as usual, Olas Lindas, but we were even closer to them than before. Again, it was just hold on to win.
But I made the wrong tactical call. Like the previous week the wind had shifted south. The final run would be right-hand favored. Again I called for a jibe set.
Olas rounded and did a bear away. They looked right. My call was wrong. We were only seconds from the mark, too late to change the set-up.
Richard said, “It’s not a jibe set!”
“Too late, we can’t change now. We’ll jibe back as soon as we can.”
I could have, should have, held off on the jibe. I should have just borne away and held off on hoisting the chute until we could get it switched over. We were close to Olas, we had the time. But I didn’t see that option in the instant of time when we still could do it.
After the mark we jibed and swerved off on the wrong angle. The crew did it perfectly but I’d called it perfectly wrong. It cost us about 3 minutes and 17 seconds. Enough to lose the race. My zone wasn’t good enough. My calculation on the wind angle was wrong. Maybe I was too tired. Maybe the cold I was coming down with dulled my senses.
Whatever, we held up under pressure for almost three hours then lost it in the last three minutes, the three minutes that counted.
Fred & Judy, SV Wings, La Cruz Hunacaxtle
PS:
We have a few more Wednesday races this year, then the big final in late March: Banderas Bay Regatta. After the Vallarta Cup Series, described above, was finished we’re taking a deep breath and we’ll re-set our focus on the BBR. It will be more tough racing, but we’ll prepare all over again, and go at it just as hard as we did this time.
The new mainsail finally arrived, after two months of flying air cargo around the world to the wrong destinations. It came Friday February 2. We put it on the boat, used it once on the Wednesday night race, and we’re happy. The race was a disaster but the sail looked great. Perhaps this will help us in BBR
I am a sailor, born of a nautical tradition passed to me by my father and my Grandfather Alfred. I’ve spent most of life on my passion which is the sea and the vessels which go upon them. I have had many such vessels and now I live on and sail on the sloop WINGS.
which I acquired in 1986 with my wife Judy
who shared my passion. For ten years we lived on Wings in Seattle and sailed, including racing. Then we left the Pacific Northwest and voyaged across the world, across the seven seas, to faraway places, and made them our own.
For thirty-eight years I have lived and loved this life. I still live on Wings, in Mexico, and sail and race often. Judy passed away in June, 2023 and I miss her but you can still join us and sail the seas as we did for all those glorious years. Fred Roswold, SV Wings, Mexico
The big spinnaker pulling towards home, 12.7 knots
We just finished the Banderas Bay Blast and we had a Blast! We won!
The crew was excellent, the boat hung together, and the third day we hit a speed record, best since 1987, 12.7 knots on a wild beam reach in 20+ knots of breeze and we didn't break anything in the few round ups we had, the pot of coffee didn't even spill off the stove.
Day one and two weren't bad either.
Second Place on Day 1
After the race we had some bubbly to celebrate our Victory.
Since the Blast we did a Wednesday night Beer Can race, got second place (it was chaos at times) and now the crew have departed and we’re taking a break for the holidays.
Fred with Renee and Rhonda, Great crew and great helpers
This post is all about photos.
Click here to see the whole story including some fun videos;
Anchored in La Paz
Wings in Boat Yard
Wings Crew
Temporary Repairs
Fred & Rene Sailibg
Rene in Colors
Sarah
Leading
Awards
Wings and Jazzy II
Beach Party
Wings in Racing Trim
Judy in the Dr's Office
Judy and Kelly on the roof-top bar
Water Tanks
Starting on Port Tack
Party on Wings
Happy Owners
Clear Ahead
Reaching in light wind, weight to leeward
Repairing the damage
John Ryan center and from left, Paul, Dennis, and Carol
Racing upwind on Bandera Bay
Finishing under kite
Carbon MXL Main from China Sail Factory.jpg)
