What you need to learn in addition to learning how to sail a boat.
It’s coming.
More and more states are phasing in stricter and stricter requirements in order to operate anything that floats and locomotes. New York is bordered by states that keep it simple: if it floats, and you’re on it, you need a safe boating certificate. (Maybe not an inflatable pool toy tethered to a real boat, but you get it.) New York is getting closer to its neighbors in this regard.
The net/net for New York: if the boat has a motor, you need the certificate. If you’re sailing and the boat has no motor, you’re off the hook. For now.
First kid on my block: perhaps not, but this one is mine. Example of a Safe Boating Certificate.
Safe boating certificates are not “licenses” in the sense that most people think. In the US, licenses on the water are for professionals carrying passengers for hire. Safe boating certificates (hereinafter “sbc’s”) are for everyone else. And, like professional licenses, they don’t require proving that you know how to handle a boat and can drive it safely. They cover a lot of other stuff, much of it very important, but the only way to learn how to actually operate a motorboat or sailboat is to get lessons and practice.
IN THAT PIC: who knows how that boat wound up there. But we know what it is: a J/24, one of the most widely used boats for beginner sailing instruction in the US. And, one of the worst. Good riddance.
I never had an sbc. I figured that it’s time to see what “civilians” have to know in order to get certified. So, I signed up for BOAT US’ free online safe boating course that’s Federal but with individual state additions (namely NY for me). I did the course, took the quizzes along the way, and then sat for the final exam. I got two questions wrong in one of the quizzes (meaning I passed that one with the minimum score), and got 100 on the final. So, in addition to my license, I have my sbc.
What were my takeaways?
There are errors in the material, which reminds me to remind you: just because you read something in a book, or see it on an exam, doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed to be correct.
Leaving aside the fact that no one has to prove they can competently operate a boat, the course and exam covers a lot of important stuff everyone should know.
SBC’s are good things. The intent is noble and the government isn’t skimming.
IN THAT PIC: an error. The upstream/downstream rule they state is not universal. it’s for the Great Lakes, “Western Rivers” (as strictly defined), and certain other waterways as designated by the Secretary. Those are almost exclusively certain river areas. Examples of rivers not covered by this rule: East and Hudson Rivers!
Some content is ridiculously obvious and easy. Other stuff isn’t as obvious. I did the whole thing pretty quickly, but I’m a professional and also a good test taker. How long does it take? I didn’t time it. Having said that, each page you must view is up on screen for a minimum of 21 seconds and a max of however long you’d like it to be there. You can’t skip ahead even if you’re done reading. Maybe this is to cut down on people skipping stuff they think they know but really don’t. Who knows.
IN THAT PIC: an error. They contradict themselves on whether an engine must be simply on (idle) or in gear to turn a sailboat into a motorboat. Elsehwere in the course material, they explicitly state that if the engine is simply on, the sailboat becomes a motorboat. That’s only when it’s in gear. The idea is that if only sails are propelling the boat, it’s subject to the wind alone. If an engine is actually propelling the boat, regardless of how slightly, or how much sail is in play, the boat is power driven. ASA had this wrong in their textbooks forever; recently fixed it. I got an interpretation from the US Coast Guard as well. Turns out I’m right…
For New York, the only free online course and exam is through BOAT US. It’s a boating and boating safety advocacy and membership organization. I have them for towing insurance. The course is free. You might or might not need to pay a small fee for ID cards or an anchor symbol on your drivers license depending on your situation and preferences, but it’s chicken feed.
Here’s a link for the course (and, of course, them):
IN THAT PIC: the final insult. Save yourself the agony of trying to read that shit. Just look at the diagram. They label the arrow as “prop walk.” Right idea; wrong “right.” The vast majority of propellers turn clockwise in forward gear and are called “right hand props.” What do they do in reverse? Just that. Reverse directions. They turn LEFT! This diagram leads to the boat swinging further away from the dock, with the bow liable to hit it eventually. Ass backwards.
It’s probably a not-a-knot, and when you learn how to sail with us, you learn how not to tie them! Or, just take our upcoming Knot-Tying Clinic.
In that pic: screen capture of an ASA post on Insta. See our comment at the bottom!
Knots are curious creatures. Sometimes they actually look like creatures; hermit crabs come to mind with some “stopper” knots. Often, they’re elegant. A few good knots can go a long way; some people know a f-ton of knots but aren’t so savvy on application.
We had one guy join us for our Start Bareboating course (ASA 104, Bareboat Cruising) around 10 years ago. He was a very nice guy; decent sailor; professional technical photographer. And, he loved knots. Knew multiples more than anyone I know did (including me). Why?
“I’m an insomniac. When I can’t sleep, I get out my knot book and learn a few more.”
That was all well and good, but he got a little green under the hood out on the Sound one day and I think we had to come in early. I know he didn’t show up the next day. Sad.
Anywho…
KNOT TYING CLINIC: click that link to visit that page on our site and see if you wanna join us on Sunday March 2 for a few hours.
I learned most of my limited repertoire of boating/sailing knots a very long time ago. So, I don’t remember how I learned them. I also learned some fishing knots way back when. I do remember revisiting fishing knots in my 20’s when I got back in that activity after a bit of an absence. At some point, I bought a book on fishing knots. Way more than anyone would need, of course, but still… options. One stood out, which I believe I also found in an article. The Uni Knot! One and done. It really works for so many applications it’s the only knot I use for fishing.
But, for sailing, one can’t rely exclusively on any single knot. To get ASA 101 Keelboat certification one is supposed to learn 6 knots. Their descriptions are covered on the written test. Schools are supposed to observe that students can tie them. I’m far less interested in how many knots a sailor can tie than I am whether they can rig the boat, get underway safely, avoid other boats, and sail back to and stop at the mooring without an engine. The rest of the knots can come later. But, they are important – especially if poorly tied and something gets away.
IN THAT CLIP: Dock Knot Patrol! Click pic to play the clip.
On our Sailing Vacay destination trips, in the Caribbean and Mediterranean, our cruising charter yachts come equipped with dinghies for getting around once anchored or moored. We had one get away from us.
Twice. (Ugh)
1st time: someone apparently took it upon themself to re-tie the dinghy after I’d secured it very well with a proper cleat hitch. We were on a 40-footer towing a 9’ dink. This was our second day out, and we were en route to the island of Paxos off the Ionian coast of Greece. We were more than half way along with a lot of fairly open water astern and not much ahead. You know, islands… I looked back for whatever reason; possibly to check my fishing line. I was likely trolling off the back of the boat to see if we were lucky enough to catch fresh for din din.
No dink!
Called down for the binos. Someone kindly brought them up and i looked back and couldn’t see a dink. But, eventually I spotted it drifting. We lost some time backtracking and returning, and this was valuable time to get situated at an unfamiliar anchorage before dusk to not only enjoy the evening but to get anchored or moored safely before dark. Didn’t figure out who did it, but someone did. (I was confident it was one of two people; those same two people left our trip the next day to the relief of all others. Happens. Rarely, but it happens. This was the final straw on accepting people from Meetup to come on our trips; that ship sailed. Actually, that ship sank.)
IN THAT PIC: A comprehensive book on all things knots. “Every practical knot…” Link to this book below.
Fast forward a few years; back in the BVI, our winter stomping grounds. It was windy and gusty and we were sailing with a quartering sea from Jost Van Dyke to Norman Island, by way of Thatch Cut. Thatch are two islands off the west end of Tortola. One passes between the extreme west end of Tortola, which is a mini-peninsula with a bluff – very scenic. That cuts across the mouth of Sopers Hole, a very protected bay on Tortola, and past the Thatches. Once beyond Tortola, you’re in the channel between it and St. John, and onward to other islands (in our case, Norman).
We had a family aboard; self-described affable Type A’s including two or three lawyers. Couple; their adult daughter; sister/aunt. They were indeed affable; but the husband was also sometimes arrogant and defensive boarding on belligerent. We had not sailed with them before. (Starting to see a pattern?)
For the second time on the trip, this time during our windy leg from Jost to Norman, the husband started getting into it with me out of the blue. This time it was to protest how a task that was also an educational segment went wrong. The task was to figure out the reefing system on the boat for future use (assigned days before). Then, the application: that morning, before we left the anchorage. They struggled to figure it out but eventually did with little or no guidance from me.
But, hubby was angry about it. He didn’t like two things: one, how I went about teaching it; two, which he didn’t admit, how he struggled with it. He could be self-critical but was quicker to blame others for his own failures. This wasn’t a test; it was a learning experience, and therefore a success! But he didn’t see it that way.
I tried to keep it smooth and let him know that there were a number of ways I could have assigned that task or taught the procedure. I chose one. If he and/or others didn’t like the choice/method, that’s fine – I wouldn’t use that again and would do something that fit in better with their learning preferences. But, he wouldn’t leave it alone. He got angrier and louder.
He weren’t no hermit…
IN THAT PIC: a stevedore knot, my preferred “stopper.” In this case, it would serve to stop that hermit-crab claw-like thing from sliding off the end of the rope. Anyone know what this is? If you reply to this post with the correct answer, you’ll get $50 off any course (not the $25 knot clinic; sorry).
I kept my voice down after at one point starting to raise mine to be heard over his. I explained that he had to calm down and keep his voice down – happy to discuss and debate, but not going to be yelling. When he still wouldn’t calm down, despite some of the family telling him to shut up, I said something like this:
”Look, here’s what’s going to happen. If you keep yelling, I’m going to just get this boat through the trip and eventually back to the charter base. I’m not going to teach anything. You’re not going to get the certification you are here for. I’m just going to shut up and get the boat from A to B to C. And that’s going to be the end of it.”
”Ray, SHUT UP!”
-entire fam in unison
That time, he did. We got through to Sopers Hole and I suggested we stop for docking practice and maybe some ice cream or something. Sounded great to all. Ray eventually was joking around instead of fighting with me. He dialed it back including when we got ashore, when I half expected him to start up again.
I was walking along the dock with my friend John who was on the trip with his wife Lydia. We were on route to the store and John said, “where’s the dinghy?”
I looked around and saw none. Silence.
Gone. Last time I saw it was when it was surfing behind us on the swells that were developing en route to Tortola. I was checking that it wasn’t going to ride up on the transom of the yacht, and that it wasn’t yanking hard on the painter (tow line). As it looked fine, I didn’t adjust it.
But, that was then, and this was now. I called the charter company to advise and ask if they had any ability to look, and I started hailing on the VHF to see if any vessels in that area had seen it or might keep an eye out for it.
Gone. They brought us another dinghy in a short period of time, and we were on our way. Of course, I forfeited the security deposit for the lost dinghy. That was some expensive ice cream! Probably would have seen the dinghy get loose if it weren’t for Ray. I see everything; it is known. This time I didn’t. That was the first nail in the coffin for people joining us on our destination trips if we haven’t sailed with them before in a course setting. Another trip two years ago was the final nail that closed the coffin for good; the only strange we allow on the boat is when friends or family join people we’ve already sailed with, and then only if we do the due diligence to make sure they’re a good fit and really understand what they’re getting involved with and what the “real estate” is like on a small charter yacht (versus an ocean liner).
IN THAT PIC: some kind of fuckery involving rope and a cleat. Needs a proper cleat hitch. The Qualified Captain, one of our favorite Insta accounts, often posts insane examples of how people tie shit up. Worth a follow.
The knot that failed both times? Cleat hitch. Main reason? Probably the material. Dinghies are usually tied off with a type of plastic line that floats called polypropylene. It’s not just a bitch to tie right; it’s a war-time whore. It must be overly wrapped in many ways with locking hitches in between, and then I usually tie the end to something else. I check. Often.
The cleat hitch is one of the least understood knots out there in my (potentially dubious) opinion. There are standard caveats about how to tie it that I can prove wrong to you in the knot clinic. They miss one important point about how to start the cleat hitch that sets it up for success or failure (meaning either it will slip, which is unlikely despite the experiences described above, or it will be hard to untie when critically necessary).
”Marlinspike seamanship!” It’s a fascinating if misogynistic-sounding world. Maybe some of you will come tie one on with us at the clinic. If not, read up, practice, and apply on the water and at the dock and have fun with it.
KNOT TYING CLINIC: click that link to visit that page on our site and see if you wanna join.
Just want that book? Multiples of scores of more knots than the clinic for just under twice the price. But, diagrams don’t explain how to handle the rope and close knots properly, which is a large drawback. For under $100, you should probably do both! Here’s the book link on Amazon…
A former “sea lawyer” goes back to school to revisit the rules for how to sail a boat on a race course.
A very long time ago, I got my hands on the USYRU Appeals Book. It was a short/wide 3-ring binder. In it was the “case law” for the rules of sailboat racing.
I don’t remember how I got it. But, I remember where I opened and started reading it: in a Burger King somewhere in Midtown-East. That makes me wonder if I picked it up at the New York Yacht Club in the 40’s, where the YRALIS had a small “front desk” thing going on.
Anywho, I remember getting grub and going to the downstairs seating area. I ate, and went through the right-of-way section. I started highlighting those appeals that mattered: the ones that dealt with the less obvious “what ifs” of sailboat racing. For all the good it might do…
In that pic: copy of the rule book, two editions ago. It came in the mail as part of my US Sailing membership although I wasn’t racing at the time.
Did I become a “sea lawyer?” No. Not in the generally understood sense of the term. That would mean I was always getting into it with other racers, yelling, threatening, protesting, etc, etc. That wasn’t me. I just wanted to understand the rules and be able to race within them. Sure, that meant having the occasional tactical advantage, and sometimes enforcing it by speaking up on the race course, but always better to avoid tiff and just sail the race.
The idea was to steer clear of trouble, not look for it.
The basics of the racing rules are, basically, like those that apply to everyone else. One is a common sense rule: don’t hit shit from behind. That leaves two other basic rules:
A boat with the wind coming over its starboard (right) side has right of way over the opposite (wind coming over port side). When “steam” (power) driven vessels emerged, the equivalent was that when crossing, the one on the right had right of way. Then, cars came along and, well… same.
When two boats both have the wind coming over the same side, the leeward (downwind) boat has right of way.
But, racing is more complicated. We deliberately cram ourselves into tight quarters and turns, often at speed, and have to deal with the mess when we converge. So, the details are tricky.
In that pic: tight mark rounding at the Finn Masters Worlds, Torbole, Italia (sailing on Lago di Garda), 2016. The Finn was the Olympic singlehanded dinghy for many Olympiads. Had a great run. Despite it being dropped, with the Laser remaining for lighter sailors, the Finn is resilient and sees large numbers of boats at regattas – for “masters” as well as the younger set. It’s a heavyweight brute, and arguably the hardest boat to sail in the world. Berit Hainoja, photo.
The appeals help sort out some of these situations for racers. It starts with a protest, when one boat calls out another over an alleged foul on the race course. If the protested boat doesn’t agree and do penalty turns, there’s a protest hearing after the day’s racing. If the loser of the appeal isn’t satisfied, they can appeal it. The race committee for the event organizes an appeals committee..
If THAT doesn’t go their way, and they want to keep it real, they can further appeal it. Ultimately, for America, US Sailing (formerly United States Yacht Racing Union, and before that, North American Yacht Racing Union) is the Supreme Court of sailboat racing. World Sailing is the global Supreme Court.
One appeal in particular always stood out for me. It dealt with mark roundings. Most sailboat racing involves crossing a specified starting line, turning around specified marks, and crossing a finish line (often the same as the start). When boats meet at those marks, the rules get tricky.
Without worrying about all those rounding rules, we’ll just talk about one principle: room at the mark, or “mark room.” Sometimes, one boat has to give room to another to round the mark, or go first. Everyone who races is at least vaguely aware of how that works.
When a good chunk of the fleet arrives at a mark roughly at the same time, it’s chaotic. Boats that are denied room at the mark have to keep clear. There might be nowhere to go! Sometimes, however, a boat that’s ahead and doesn’t have to give room makes a bad rounding or turn. That can leave room that wasn’t intended. What’s a boat to do?
If you’re coming in from behind, you can take advantage of “room given in error” (formerly, room “freely” given). So, if you get to the right place at the wrong time, but another boat struggles and swings wide, it’s fine to swoop into the gap and round the mark inside of the other boat and wind up ahead.
In my racing experience, going back to the 1980’s, this concept goes beyond being misunderstood. Most people never heard of it. It was the case then; it’s still the case now.
In that pic: BUSC, 2024 – the inaugural Brooklyn Urban Sunfish Championship, hosted by Sebago Canoe Club in Canarsie. I had to miss that one due to teaching commitments. Here, all but two of the boats shown are sailing downwind. Two have rounded a mark that must be out of the pic, and are heading back upwind. The Race Committee boat is anchored mid photo. When it’s not a required turning mark, boats passing it can treat it as an obstruction and potentially get room from competitors to do so. Not so when it’s a starting or finish mark, which it is for every race. Photog unkown.
Back when I was frostbiting in Dyer Dhow dinghies, this came up once. Bud MacIntyre (might be misspelling his name) was a nice guy in the fleet. He was ahead of me as we approached a jibe mark, which is when sailing diagonally downwind, a boat has to execute a “jibe” turn to get around the mark and on course towards the next one further downwind. The course change was typically 60-90 degrees. Jibing means crossing through the wind ass-backwards, when the winds is from behind the boat, and the sails cross over.
I was behind and slightly to the mark side of Bud. I didn’t qualify for “room at the mark.” But, Bud was a big boy. Barely fit in that little boat. He got tangled up and swung wide of the mark, slowly and painfully. He knew I was there and said “don’t go in.” Several times, I think. I don’t remember if I said anything, much less what it was.
(I do know what I’d say now: “Try and stop me!”)
Anywho, Bud swung way wide and gave me more than wee room. I took it and went inside of him at the mark. There was no contact, and he couldn’t shut me out much less round the mark well. He couldn’t have hit me if he tried. (If he could, and did, I’d have to do penalty turns or risk being protested and disqualified.) Of course, he protested. There was a hearing. He said I didn’t have room at the mark but went in anyway. I said he swung way wide and left a ton of room, and couldn’t defend the hole by hitting me if he’d tried, and that I was entitled by the appeal (case law) to take advantage of room freely given.
Despite the facts not being in question, and the appeal ruling being clear, they disqualified me – even though there wasn’t any contact. For that low-level of Sunday afternoon frostbite racing, that was silly. But, it’s what’s done, and why it’s best to avoid protests and hearings if at all possible. The people who decide it are on the spot, and usually not up to the task -which is a thankless one, really, when everyone is out playing together and then some have to referee a squabble. No good comes of it.
In that pic: that clump of red isn’t a bloody hanky – it’s a bleedin’ protest flag! This sailor is protesting another boat (or more). The flag must be hoisted or otherwise brandished as soon as practically possible. Upon finish, or as soon as possible thereafter, this sailor would have fully informed the race committee of the protest (which boat/boats he’s protesting). Finn Masters Worlds again (Berit Hainoja, photo).
Fast forward many decades. A client and friend of the school, who took some cruising classes with us and joined the Club, was racing a boat in the Virgin Islands. There’s a series where one can charter a boat and participate. He was protested and disqualified in a race, and asked me what I thought.
The details were different, but the concept was the same: room was given and he took advantage of it. When his competitor lost ground to him based on losing the boat-to-boat duel, said competitor got pissy and protested. Loser.
Unfortunately, he became a winner (at least compared to my buddy) because he won the protest. My buddy got a DSQ. He asked me to look it all over and give my thoughts. I did; and that required revisiting the racing rules.
The rules have changed a lot since I was regularly active in racing. They were simplified; oversimplified, if you ask me. (BTW: check out the YouTube channel “Oversimplified” for quick, cartoon-art videos that whittle down historical events to bite sized chunks. Super entertaining.)
It’s much easier if something is added; WAY harder to deal with simplification or subtraction. So, there was that: get acclimated to the new rules. Truth: I’d been racing again, starting in ‘23, and had NOT learned the rule changes. So, I figured that until I did, I’d avoid trouble. If in doubt, turn away from the other boat. I really should have re-learned the rules properly before I got on the race course, but it was super friendly club racing and I could get away with it.
So, I re-learned the rules more or less. Then, I re-visited my buddy’s situation. My original conclusion had been that he was in the right: he’d taken advantage of room given in error/freely. I also found a new rule that went even more in our direction: when a right of way boat alters course, they must initially allow room for the other boat to keep clear. This is more limiting on the right-of-way boat, and should also have helped his case, which was…
In that pic: diagram that Alex drew for the appeal he lodged after being disqualified from a race. He’s #7, far right in diagram.
He was sailing toward the starting line, specifically the anchored committee boat. Ahead of him was the competitor in question. (This was a fleet race; no other boats were close or relevant to this sequence so they’re not shown.) Let’s call them boat A (asshole) and boat B (buddy). Boat A hovered head to wind (pointing directly at the wind) motionless or nearly so. He was blocking the route Boat B would take, to pass directly downwind/behind the committee boat and then head up toward the wind to cross the line and start.
(nb: in the diagram above, “A” is #8 and “B” is #7.)
Something would have to give: Boat A would have to turn away from the wind at some point and actually sail if he were to cross the line and proceed toward the first mark. But, if he didn’t do so before Boat B arrived, B would have to dip below/behind A and hope to make up the lost ground with better speed. (When approaching a starting mark, the windward boat almost never has rights to room at the mark.)
Boat A, predictably, headed away from the wind to accelerate and cross the starting line. That left a lot of room for Boat B to sail in between him and the RC boat. He did. They both crossed the starting line (between RC boat and a mark way to the left, forming the starting line). Some seconds went by. Then, Boat A decided to alter course by heading up toward both the wind and Boat B. Boat B headed up too, as A was entitled to do that – but up to a point:
Can’t go beyond “head to wind,” or you’re “tacking,” and lose all rights to a boat “on a tack;” or, at least that’s what it used to be…
Under new rules, must initially allow the give-way boat room to keep clear. A did; B had time to keep clear at first, and did so, but stopped short of crossing head to wind. Had B done that, he would also be forced into the committee boat or its anchor. Therefore, A wasn’t entitled to force B past that point.
Room freely given was almost not even relevant, but would force a competent race committee to ignore that complaint from boat A, which is what it protested about: A claimed B was “barging,” or trying to force its way in between boat A and the starting mark (which it’s not allowed to do). Barging isn’t a rule and isn’t mentioned in the rules, but it’s the common name for the situation. Rule that out, and one can then focus on the rules at hand (limits on altering course).
Boat A went beyond “head to wind,” and Boat B didn’t. A hit B lightly; no real damage. But, contact means both boats must retire (quit), or one must do penalty turns, or either/both must protest. If there’s contact, at least one must be disqualified after the hearing. (No contact? No requirement for a boat to be tossed from the race, although that’s the way it usually goes.)
My buddy in Boat B was DSQ’d as I wrote. Based on my opinion, he decided to appeal. But, he wasn’t able to get a written copy of the Race Committee’s decision and the appeal committee decided against him largely on that basis. (Reasonable, although unreasonable and odd that the RC didn’t supply the decision. Maybe they didn’t want to deal and/or be seen as correcting their own mistake, as RC and Appeals Committee might have overlapped.)
After I’d given him my initial opinion, I also asked for that of key members at Sebago Canoe Club where I race dinghies. Some of them race a lot, and travel to regattas both in the US and abroad. One guy (the most traveled) got back to me. He thought that Boat B was “barging” and didn’t have rights – which is exactly what everyone always thinks, and what the Race Committee thought as well.
I read the rules. I found the appeals. One source of help for that was Dave Perry. Look him up; he was a top racer back in his day and has been considered the pre-eminent rules expert for a long time. He’s the guy for US Sailing as far as rules are concerned. My Da and I saw him give a talk on racing back in the late ‘80’s somewhere in Connecticut, probably hosted by North U (North Sails’ educational arm). Nice guy. Well, I emailed US Sailing about the appeals; trying to find them in general and this one in particular. Dave and another fellow both got back to me.
Dave and I share a few things in common: we’re male members of the species, we’ve both lived in Connecticut, and we both raced Lasers and Solings. We’re both good at the rules (me in the past, and playing catch-up now; Dave always). The main difference is in the success level. According to North U:
While at Yale (1973-77) he was captain of the National Championship Team in 1975, and was voted All-American in 1975 and 1977. Other racing accomplishments include: 1st, 1978 Tasar North Americans; 5th, 1979 Laser Worlds; 1st, 1982, 2006, 2008, 2011 and 2015 U.S. Match Racing Championship (POW); 1st, 1983 and 1984 Congressional Cup; and 1st, 1994, 1999 and 2003 Ideal 18 North American Championship.
Dave also campaigned a Soling at the top tier, vying for but falling short of an Olympic berth.
Me? Largely learned to sail on Solings; raced them at the lowest, weakest level that existed; crewed for someone at a Soling East Coast championships once (zero tactical responsibility on my part and zero fucks given by the skipper for my opinion on anything); raced Lasers with some success at the District level (NYC/Long Island). Got back into Lasers two years ago; everyone considers me “fast.” Haven’t sailed a proper race in one yet since resuming (did so with Sunfish and Vanguard 15’s and, again, “fast,” and occasional moments of brilliance balanced by blunders and mediocrity in a low level fleet).
Dave spent some time getting acquainted with and helping me via email; I very much appreciated that. He put me onto the appeal I needed as well. It’s not the one I remember, but maybe I don’t remember it well. They do delete some and add others, so it’s possible the old one is simply gone and replaced by a “better” one. The concept is exactly the same, and it is in fact settled “case law.”
The net/net: here are the two appeals that apply to this particular race start.
First: Case 146 from World Sailing’s Case Book (Appeals). This one establishes that once a leeward boat (downwind, or to downwind side) lets a windward boat (opposite) in between itself and a starting mark, it can’t whine about it later. It also can’t force the windward boat into that mark. Normally, leeward has rights over windward, and can alter course toward it and make windward move. This is one of the exceptions those rights. The Case goes on to explain that “barging” isn’t a rule or discussed in the rules, and is only an issue when a windward boat forces its way in between a leeward boat and a mark. No force? No foul…
And now, the US Sailing Appeal on room given in error… Appeal #5, all the way from 1950!
Appeal #5 is where it’s at. One of the older appeals; still as unknown today as it was back in my day. It’s the concept of room freely given (now room given in error). One takes a risk trying to take advantage of it, but if an “attacking” boat assesses the course well, and the boat being attacked – and not required to give room – is unable to do anything about it, for any reason, it’s fine to take that room. Common sense, IMHO. Yet, all anyone can think of is “barging.”
B-Buddy (real name Alex) decided that it was a very interesting learning experience and let it lay. He really didn’t have much choice. On the race course, one can usually make this choice: get into it with competitors, or just avoid rule confrontations. Sail faster and smarter, and enjoy playing by trying to win a sailboat race. Stay out of the courtroom. Leave that to the “sea lawyers.“
”Some of my best friends are lawyers.” In fact, my two best friends ever are lawyers. I’ve lost touch with one sadly (he moved to Asia). The other is right here and we still argue about whether his wife and he saw a large barracuda, or a small shark, on one of our Virgin Island trips. He knows all the lawyer/shark jokes.
Here’s one, told by the one I lost touch with. short version (want the long version? Post a comment in reply to this, and I’ll post the whole joke for ya!).
Why do sharks never attack any lawyers they find from shipwrecks?
If you race a boat often enough, that number never fades away even if you forget how to sail a boat well.
Pro athletes are often synonymous with their jersey numbers. Most big fans of major league players probably know their faves’ numbers. Those numbers are often retired with the players themselves.
In that pic: a typical tight start in a Laser race. Every sailor there knows their number cold. These guys are sailing the standard, full-size rig: 76 square feet of sail. The author used to sail this size rig when he was around 120 pounds soaking wet. Got away with it as it was district level racing in a light-wind region. A better body weight would be 160-170 pounds; heavier isn’t usually a problem. There’s also the Radial rig, with a smaller bottom mast section and somewhat smaller sail, with a radial cut rather than parallel panels. Screen-grab from a race video on YouTube posted by RYA (Royal Yachting Association) during interview with a British team sailor. Didn’t see video credit.
Not the same for sailing; even though there’s a little bit of team racing out there, and a few true rock-star sailors, it’s the boat – not the sailor – that is identified on the course. For most racing, it’s the sail number. It can be random, or it can be the number of the boat that came out of the mold (hull #1 would say just “1” on the sail, or maybe “001”). It’s used to identify boats for scoring or penalty purposes.
I’ll never forget my sail numbers. I raced two boats actively enough for enough time that I have them. Sadly, I can’t find photos of my father or in the boats detailed below, but they might be hiding in one last storage area. Anywho…
#228: my Dyer Dhow
In that pic: no, not me in my own boat. Photo from back in the day from Dyer’s site. But, Imagine a tween or teen in her/his first boat. Just boat, sail, and excited young sailor. That’s the idea. Back when I frostbit, the sailors spanned all ages from under 17 to well over 70.
My first dinghy (and the first time I ever sailed one) was my Dyer. Funny story about how I got it:
Sometimes Dad had strange ideas about what made for a good birthday gift. That might have been due to forgetting my birthday – never knew for sure. One year, he said that he was giving me one of the sailing school boats. (He owned and operated a major sailing school and that was my introduction to the industry.) Great! I was too young to realize what it did and did not mean.
Years later, I got interested in racing, and then read an article in Yacht Racing & Cruising (now just Sailing World). It was in their how-to series, “From the Experts.” Here, champions in their respective boat classes dished on how to deliver. They shared their secrets on how to get the best performance out of the boat. I forget the author’s name. This got me interested in frostbiting, or racing boats in the winter months here in the northeast.
I asked my folks if they’d get me a Dyer so I could do this. No.
I somehow remembered about my sailboat gift: hadn’t thought of it for years. I leveraged it. My boat, but..? How many classes did your school teach on it? How much rental income was there from it? I did some gymnastic arithmetic that was at least roughly based on reality. I can up with a bill: you gave me this boat, then used it for profit. Here’s what you owe me.
He knew he’d been had. Mom didn’t intervene, which meant she agreed with me. Next week, he bought me a new Dyer Dhow. I remember going to Sobstad Sailmakers in Mamaroneck (a solid regional sailmaker at the time, perhaps national, with good racing pedigree). They had the deal to make all the sails for Mamaroneck Frostbiting Association’s Dyer Dhow fleet. Truly one-design; all sails were identical. You could opt for an aluminum mast instead of the standard wood one. You could “Harkenize” your boat: use all Harken turning blocks instead of whatever shit Dyer installed. That, and your choice of rope material for the mainsheet and outhaul, maybe halyard, and hiking stick. None of that made any significant difference. You had to sail the boat better than your competitors.
In that pic: tight times – mini match race during a fleet race, Mamaroneck Frostbite. I had a bow dodger (spray canvas) on my boat as did, and do, most sailors. Never opted for the metal mast; I like how the wood bends more. Must have been windy/gusty that day – they’re using the smaller “storm sail.” The race committee makes the call for the day; it’s not optional.
Anyway, I was #228, and I named the boat Dyer Straits. (I was a Dire-hard Mark Knopfler fan.) I remembered the number due to the sheer number of times I looked at it and heard it through a bull horn on the race courses. (“228, you’re over early.” “228, we have your finish.” (DFL, or dead fucking last…) “228, nice race!” (I did win some).
Dad was not about to be undone. He drove me to the frostbiting. Eventually he borrowed my boat from time to time. He might have sailed a race or two by swapping out with me at the committee boat on some days. But, of course, he eventually got his own.
#501: Apocalypse Dhow!
He probably wore Levis’ 501 jeans as well. Big on denim and a Willie Nelson looking bandana.
A year or three later, I wound up trying a Laser in the Virgin Islands. They had them for rent at Bitter End Yacht Club in Virgin Gorda. I’d never sailed one. But, I knew how to. Why? Another “From the Experts” article: Laser, by Olympic Finn contender and one of the top Laser sailors at the time, Carl Buchan (whose Dad, Billl, was a champion in the Star keelboat class). I knew how to throw the boat around with my body by torquing at the hips with torso as lever. I knew how to hike out, and get the boat up on a plane quickly by handling the sheet properly to pump the sail. I knew were the daggerboard should be. I capsized once… but flipped the boat back up easily as I’d read about it.
I sailed the boat back to the beach up on a plane, skimmed way up past the shoreline, pulling up the dagger board just before I grounded. Hopped off and gave it back to dad.
Dad secretly bought a new one for me soon afterward. But, mom didn’t think I deserved it, and told him to not give it to me. He couldn’t hide the boat, nor could he satisfactorily explain why I couldn’t use it. (I didn’t know at first about mom’s interference.) So, eventually, he let me try it. Then, more often. Somehow he sort of stopped using it so I just kept doing it, and boom – it was my boat.
#101670, no name.
Yup: at the time, they’d make over 100,000 Lasers. That was in the early 1980’s; now that the boat has been active in the Olympics for a long time, I shudder to think what the hull count has gotten up to. But, I’ll always remember 101670.
My boat was stolen 5 or 6 years later. That was that. I filed a police report, and still almost remember the name of the female officer who took the complaint as I had an instant crush on her (Jimenez or Rodriguez; probably former as I new a Rodriguez or two from HS & college so might have them crossed up). But the sail number remains!
I started sailing and racing Lasers again two years ago at Sebago Canoe Club in Canarsie (sailing dinghies abound in addition to paddle craft). I added Sunfish and a Vanguard 15 (which is like a big Laser with a jib.) Maybe I’ll take a club sail with minimal or no numbers on it and resurrect mine. I’ll be easy to ID when called over early or rounding a mark the wrong way.
Old habits die hard…
In that pic: I’ve posted it before, and will prolly post again. Me helming a Vanguard 15 with a client/friend crewing. It was Paolo’s first time ever in a sailing dinghy. He went from scared shitless to shit-eatin grinnin! Behind is Jon, also a client/friend, in a Sunfish. Sebago Cup (distance race in Jamaica Bay), September ‘23. Chris Bickford, photo.
We have a unique ownership opportunity for anyone who wants to learn how to sail and maintain a small racer/cruiser sailboat. It’s a Tartan Ten.
Our host facility for the last few seasons, Miramar Yacht Club in Sheepshead Bay, has a small fleet of boats that members who don’t own their own can pay an upcharge to use. One of them is a Tartan Ten. We’ve been using it the last two season for Basic Cruising courses.
Here’s a VIDEO CLIP of her from a course! (Still grab below is static, sorry for WordPress glitch. Use that text link.)
In that clip: happy campers in Start Cruising (ASA 103, Basic Coastal Cruising). Labor Day Weekend, 2024.
The Club has decided it’s not a good fit for their fleet; they prefer to focus on smaller daysailers, especially the Ensign class that’s so popular here (over 20 in their fleet alone!). The Tartan is ten meters, with an inboard engine. They can’t haul it out on the premises, unlike the smaller boaters, which makes it more complicated and expensive to maintain in comparison. So, it has to go.
The boat is free! Of course, free usually costs something. In this case, the mooring will probably cost something to buy, and the boat does need some work and money put into it. Having said that, it’s useable as is, with good sails, and repowered recently with a new diesel engine (the biggest ticket item to check off the list). The Sailing Center had very fun and productive times on board for Basic Coastal Cruising and the occasional spontaneous joy ride.
The real value for a potential new owner is the community. Anyone who takes over ownership, and also keeps it where it is, enjoys the resources of both the Club and the School for advice, help with maintenance, people to sail with, and potential cost savings.
Miramar members really enjoy helping each other out with maintenance and repairs. Example: one of the Bridge officers, Dexter, upgraded from an O’Day 23 (now owned by a new member who took a private lesson from the School to get acquainted with her). He wound up with a Moody 34. The well-known name turned out to be prescient; the engine started giving him grief and one day he was towed back in. He decided to repower. He bought a brand new Beta diesel (excellent re-powering brand). He removed the old engine and installed the new one, adjusted everything, and the mood changed! This was all done in-house with members of the Club.
Steve from the school (yours truly) sees everything. “It is known.” He frequently spots things that become out of whack on boats in the anchorage. Whether the boat is just low in the water from rain or a leak, or a sail is starting to come loose, or a halyard disconnected, or a mooring line in bad shape, Steve will probably see it before anyone else. That applies to the Tartan as well, especially if there’s a partnership with school.
The school has often partnered with private boat owners, offering lower ownership costs and oversight on the boat in exchange for limited use of it. We can offer lower insurance costs for the boat, as we have a commercial multi-boat policy. We can insure your boat for both of us for much less than you could on your own. And, the school is always available for advice on maintenance and repairs (as are many members at Miramar).
You don’t need to remove your boat in the winter. While many people do, you can leave it on the mooring all winter. This is a huge cost savings; winter storage is large chunk of ownership costs, and it shortens your season somewhat. (Of course, most owners will need or want to haul their boat on occasion, but at Miramar, it can be the exception rather than the rule.)
So, what about the boat?
The Tartan Ten was conceived as a large one-design racing class. Very distinctive with high freeboard and a flat top, the design survived the decades, and is still popular. Like the Ensign we teach beginners on, it made it into the American Sailboat Hall of Fame. (It’s now defunct, but it was meaningful and relevant while it existed, with inductees chosen by the editors of a group of prominent sailing periodicals.)
Here’s a link to our Fleet page for extra reference, with a stock shot of a Tartan Ten and a blueprint image of the design.
How does it move? How does it handle?
It’s fast as fuck – straight up. It’s also super maneuverable; foot per foot/pound per pound, it’s the second most maneuverable keelboat we’ve ever been on. (The Pearson 31 with standard keel was the only one more so, and it was arguably too maneuverable, getting squirrelly in tight turns under power.)
It’s a true joy to sail, steer and turn. And, it has a tiller! Wheels are the norm at this size, but this was designed for finesse and racing, and back when many designs of this size still had tillers.
In this clip: some of my friends from Sebago (where I race dinghies). I took them out for a November sail, 2023. We poked our nose out past Breezy Point so we could say were in the Atlantic. Then, lunch. They went on to do some dinghy sailing that afternoon! Busy women. See the clip!
What’s it like inside? It had the nickname Spartan Tartan back in the day, but when I first got in one two years ago (this very one), I thought they’d oversold that nickname a bit. True, it has no private individual cabins with doors, etc, but there are five different places in the boat people could potentially lay out and sleep (berths) with the forward V berth being a double.
Overall condition? Rough around the edges, but safe and functional. It needs cleaning, and some repairs. Some people might want to do a few upgrades. The boat doesn’t leak, which is huge. The rate of water accumulating in the bilge is so slow it’s almost indiscernible. (Almost all boats eventually wind up taking water; this one’s so slow it’s irrelevant.)
This boat is highly appropriate for day sailing and occasional overnighting. It could be set up for longer cruises, but at that point, most sailors would probably be better served looking for a different design. However, if you’re into performance and speed, and don’t mind needing to reef earlier and missing out on more creature comforts, it could be the call for you.
As this was going to press, so to speak, the Club sent out an eblast to the general membership offering the boat for free. Of course, that was right after I reached out and confirmed that they still owned the boat and let them know I’d send something out to the School community about it. So, while I don’t think there’s going to be a stampede to the docks for a tour, “it’s on.”
Anyone interested in the boat should feel free to contact me directly about it. I can answer questions and arrange a visit to the boat, including a ride under power at minimum and, if weather works, a sail!
Missed the boat this season? You can book NOW to learn how to sail a boat next spring or summer.
We’ve posted the 2025 learn-to-sail schedules, and earlier than we ever have. Why? Demand exceeds our supply, and the early-season schedules fill up early. How early? Now. Fall of and early winter (think January) see all the early choices taken for the coming season. So, if you can book now, or simply prefer to plan well in advance, now’s the time.
In that pic: practice makes perfect! Post-course practice sail, Start Sailing (ASA 101/102), October ‘24. They’re out under my supervision; I’m in our Carolina skiff chillaxin and coaching. Both boats have radios. They did their 3-day course and I’ve now cut the proverbial cord. Rockaway Inlet, with wide-open Raritan Bay in the background and Breezy Point out of sight to the left, which is the only thing separating them from the Atlantic. And whales.
For the past few years, we’ve posted what I call a “skeleton” schedule in the fall for the upcoming season. This means a basic assortment of schedules without cramming too much in. We flesh it out as the season approaches, and then progresses, based mostly on demand and instructor availability. Anything we’re contemplating last-minute is strictly based on forecasts and any gut intuition on how the weather will play out. So, even if we have an instructor available to set up a custom schedule at the last minute, if the weather looks like a losing proposition, we hold off.
Weather & whether… that’s always the question. And, that’s why we structure our scheduling with some gaps to deal with the occasional makegood required when we lose too much time to weather. Everyone’s different, but a certain minimum number of days and hours works well across the board. Most schools schedule only 2 days for learn to sail courses, and have 4 students in the boat. That’s never going to work. Most students in those programs are NOT ready to skipper the boat – they’ve only gotten a solid introduction to the sport. They almost always need more time.
Our learn to sail course, Start Sailing, is typically 3 full days with each day spent mostly sailing. There’s very little shoreside theory – just enough to explain how the sailing skills we’re about to practice work. So, day one has a session of about 45’ to an hour. Day 2? Less. Day 3? Usually none! Each day typically has two breaks: lunch, and a mid-sail break in the afternoon for extra stopping practice at the mooring and also for bathrooms and a mental time out. Sometimes there’s a third break, most often on days with all sailing and zero theory.
“I don’t have your brains if I have your bladders.”
– wise clinician at a snowboard instructor clinic years ago when asking if candidates (including this author) were good, needed a break, etc, to entice anyone to speak up and ask for one.
A few times each season, we have some variations on that 3-day theme:
2-day accelerated schedule for people with significant prior experience. This can be a refresher, or to earn the new ASA 102. It’s also good for people who did a 2-day program at other schools and have suffered ever since.
A weeknights schedule at the height of daylight savings. This is 4, sometimes 5, shorter sessions starting in the mid to late afternoon (as early as all students can arrive, but never later than 5pm).
We have some 2-day options scheduled already for 2025. The weeknights schedules are only added based on demand. You can ask us about that now, or in the spring. We can create one now, with the caveat being weather: you’d need to have flexibility to reschedule one or more sessions last minute based on that weather.
In that pic: The Dead Sea? No. It’s an unusually calm afternoon on nearby Jamaica Bay. Every area, even if generally windy, has some calmer sessions. See the dark band in the background, just below the island? That’s wind. We were racing Sunfish dinghies from Sebago Canoe Club and the wind went from shifty but do-able to light and variable. Isis is sprawled out conserving energy until the Race Committee decides what’s up. Me? I left. Figured I’d had a fun day with 4 races so far including one bullet and one near miss (1st and 2nd place) and it was a long sail back. Late October, 2024.
Also, we assign only three students to each boat, unless it’s a private group of four signing up together (and they’re told that the gen-pop maximum is 3 for perspective). With 3, everyone progresses quicker. With groups of 4, we sometimes need to add an additional half day or so to round things out.
If you can’t plan this early, don’t fret. We do add additional schedules as the season progresses. Also, while there’s an advantage in starting early because you have more season to sail after learning, some of the best sailing is in the middle to late summer. That’s because of the “sea-breeze” phenomenon. What’s that?
It’s when coastal areas get wind from the ocean in the afternoon. Details vary from place to place, and patterns have changed over many decades, but it’s like this…
Every day, as the sun gets higher, it heats up land masses more and more. Eventually, the land’s ability to absorb more radiation maxes out, and the heat rises as the sun keeps beating down on the land. When the hot air rises, something must take its place. Cooler air, which tends to drop instead of rise, comes in from the ocean.
It happens very suddenly and quickly; in a few minutes, one can see the dark band of wind on the water moving from the direction of the ocean toward your boat. It’s not like a line squall and thunderstorm – not THAT abrupt. But, it does roll in quickly. And, it’s often strong: upper teens to low 20-knot range is common. Fun! Cool breeze on a hot day – what’s not to love? Wind is good for sailing. The opposite? Not so much.
While a solid sea breeze can be a little much for some beginners, it’s predictable and stable. Once it kicks in, it’s fairly steady in strength and direction. That makes it easy to adjust to it. Big breeze? Small sails. If we were using a full mainsail before the sea breeze arrived, we usually “reef” it at that point. Reefing is making a sail temporarily smaller so it doesn’t lever the boat over, or heel it, too much. Some heeling is good. We deal with the heel by using smaller sails.
In that pic: dealing with the heeling. Small jib up front; reefed mainsail partially visible (the baggy part in the upper left corner). Sitting on the high side; getting a little spray. Breezy Point visible in the background. Boat is heading east in Rockaway Inlet, just outside of Sheepshead Bay. October 2024; private course for a couple from City Island (where we used to have the school).
Anyway, as well as supplying some flavor of what learning to sail can be like, this was to illustrate that we don’t have summer doldrums where we sail. Unlike the “Dead Sea” as sailors from our new are like to call Long Island Sound, we have wind most of the time down in Sheepshead Bay and surrounding areas. We’re directly across Rockaway Inlet from Breezy Point, which we see from the windows of our host facility, Miramar Yacht Club. It’s called Breezy Point for a reason. (It’s also called The Irish Riviera, but that’s for a potential future Rant…)
The net-net: book a schedule now if you can. You can always change it with some advance notice (4 weeks; sometimes less or even last minute if there’s demand for your original schedule). And, regardless of when you wind up learning with us, if weather gets in the way, we don’t just say “oh, well” like most other schools and certify you without you deserving it. We have you come back another time.
Here’s a link to our schedule/buy page to look at and, if you like pull the trigger on booking for spring or summer of ‘25…
I apparently figured out how to sail a Sunfish well enough, and had a similar last regatta of the season compared to last year’s send-off.
Just about a year ago, I’d missed the entire Fall Series of racing at Sebago Canoe Club, where I sail various racing dinghies either for sheer fun or for sport. So had everyone else; the series had basically not been run due to a string a terrible weather weekends. So, the last day of racing was the only day. I showed up. I wrote about that in a prior Blog Rant.
In that pic: yours truly, a year ago, sailing a Sunfish for the first time in a racing regatta. Sebago Fall Series, Jamaica Bay, Brooklyn.
This year, I missed all the days except the last, but at least this year, others got to sail and have a meaningful series. I almost didn’t show up so as not to interfere with anyone who’d “qualified” for the final standings. But, that’s not the etiquette. Everyone wants everyone to come out and sail. So I did.
Again, it was all Sunfish racing. I let the racers know in advance that I wanted to AVOID taking one of the better boats and leave them for anyone who had qualified (as I certainly wasn’t, showing up only once and doing no volunteer stint on Race Committee or anything). I was told to not worry about it.
So, I didn’t. I showed up, and a number of boats were already rigging up. I went up to one of the Club’s Sunfish, confirmed it was a Club boat and not private, said, “this looks good,” and rigged it up. I didn’t worry about which sail and foils I took (daggerboard and rudder). As long as I had all the parts, I was good to go. I would have to sail the boat well.
In that pic: Isis on the left, with Max and his newly acquired very young Sunfish. It was from the Sunfish World’s in Lago di Garda, Italia. When it came up for sale, I badly wanted it – but realized I just didn’t need it. Max is really enjoying it. And, as great as the boat is, it’s only the icing on the cake of his dominance of the Sunfish fleet at Sebago lately. He’s just sailing well.
We had light winds, but enough to sail, and sometimes enough to require hiking out to hold the boat down flat. (At least for a Hobbit like me at around 130 pounds soaking wet.) Enough at first, anyway. More on that later.
My plan was to focus intently on the start, get a good one, and be flexible to sail in relation to the wind without worrying about my competitors blocking my choice. Just as with the first race a year ago, I did a good job. Details were different. Last year, I was right on the line with no competition in my way. This time, several competitors were camped out on the line awaiting the final seconds to accelerate and cross it. At first, I was going to camp to the right of them, let them start to turn away from the wind to accelerate, and then jump in between them and the mark. Risky. They could block me out.
Instead, I just sailed fast below them, passed the pack, and rounded up to the line with full speed and crossed just at or after the horn. The pack I passed? Cluster-fucked. They had no speed and trouble keeping out of each others way. I rounded the top mark first, and was leading approaching the bottom. But, then there was Max.
Max is a great guy and one of the better sailors in the fleet. He was leading the fall series, and it didn’t hurt that he had his own boat that was in great shape. “It’s gotta be the boat” said no one ever here. It’s how you sail it. It doesn’t make much difference in speed. Max had a slight edge in speed compared to me, but if I got a better wind shift, or tacked across the wind more efficiently, that would more than offset the nicer boat.
Max was slowly catching up to me the whole way down to the bottom mark, and he was on the verge of getting an “inside overlap” as we got near the zone: the 3-boat length circle that was the deadline to be overlapped and get “mark room.” I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he was barely overlapped consistently for about 10 solid seconds as we approached what I thought we get the circle. I asked him if he thought he had it; he said yes.
It was for me to decide; any doubt would be in my favor. I thought he had it. “You got it. You round first.” He did, and that put him in first fair and square. I wasn’t able to edge him out on the last leg. Max won the first race and I came in second out of 6 boats on the line that day.
Next race? I won. I might have been second and then caught up to the boat in the lead; I can’t remember. But I won fair and square.
My boat speed was excellent. Only Max was faster, and only slightly. But, he was sailing better overall compared to me. No apparent mistakes; solid starts in every race. I was more all over the place, my yo-yo M.O.
But it was fun! Until it wasn’t. The wind got so light and flukey that no one could really figure it out. It was frustrating and we had delays in between the last few races while the Race Committee tried to sort it and make a sensible plan.
In that pic: less work to lay out than keep ones balance sitting and bobbing with the occasional powerboat wake. When it’s that calm, it’s not sailable.
At one point, the wind backed (shifted counter clockwise) from NNW to West. Good start: it was supposed to become SW and, while it was supposed to be light, it would probably pick up slightly at first before dying out. Later, in between the last two races, I saw it coming from the SW and let them know. Woo-hoo! But, it never really arrived. It petered out before it reached us.
Bad sign. Now, it was light and variable with no signs of pending improvement. I decided to bail while they waited. It was going to be a long enough ride in, and I was getting tired.
They did get one last race in, but it was super short in length. Then, they got towed in by the committee boat!
Not starting a race comes with a penalty in the scoring: you’re scored “fleet plus one.” That means you get last place plus one more point. It’s a low-point scoring system: lowest overall score for the day wins. 1st place? Only one point. Last today? 7. I scored 2, 1 4, 5, 7. if I’d sailed the last race and averaged my results for 3rd, I would have come in 3rd for the day. Had I gotten 1st or 2nd, I would have been 2nd for the day. No way I could have beaten out Max, with 3 bullets (first place). Of course, if I’d gotten 4th or lower, best I could have done was 3-way tie for 3rd and I might have been last anyway.
Sometimes, a regatta is won not by winning even a single race, but by sailing consistently “good enough” without any really bad scores. I need more of that to score better on any given day, especially as Sebago seems to prefer not to score with a throw-out (worst finish is deleted and others are averaged to produce final score.) But, I almost prefer the occasional clean victory in a single race which feels so conclusive, I don’t care if I wind up on the proverbial podium.
In that pic: Isis, solid sailor from Sebago, at last year’s Fall Series. She raced in the Sunfish North Americans this summer in snotty conditions on the Great South Bay.
Learning how to sail a boat usually winds down in summer, but fall is the best kept secret. This fall is surprisingly mild. Let’s get out!
In that pic: two recent graduates of our Start Sailing course (ASA 101, Basic Keelboat) enjoying near bare-arm barometer in the fall. October 2024.
So, what were those conundrums? The summer itself. It saw relatively light winds with a few key exceptions. We did get the afternoon sea breezes, but they were less frequent and not as strong. (Strong is a very relative, subjective thing. One sailor’s boredom is another’s Victory at Sea.) It was a good weather season; nothing spectacularly good or bad. It was very productive in general with a few early/mid summer glitches (excessive winds).
While our regular schedule posted for the 2024 season shows nothing left, we’re not done. We always hold some time in reserve for makegoods and practice sails. We have enough time – and good weather – to do some private lessons on top of that. Those can be for individuals or small groups.
Complete beginners who want to get a flavor of sailing before it’s all over can come on out. Already a sailor, but rusty, or have some goal in mind to get over the line with? Even better.
The 10-day forecast as of this writing sees some seasonally reasonable overnight lows (meaning a bit chilly). But, the daytime highs are unseasonably mild. While I’m excited for the upcoming snow sports season (Wolf Creek is open in CO already for earlybirds), I’ll take this pleasant fall sailing while we can get it. Who knows… I might even race in the Sebago Fall Series on a Sunfish. Time to dust off my wet suit…
In that pic: yours truly (Director & Dockmaster, Steve Card) leading the fleet in a Sunfish regatta. I’ve got the sporty blue/yellow sail, which turned out to be a ‘practice’ sail versus a racing cut. It was good enough to keep me in front of the fleet in that race, and have competitive speed throughout the day. Sebago Fall Series, October 2023.
The IMOCA’s have been in New York City for a minute after racing across from France. We got aboard the boat that won the last one, and they showed us a bit about how to sail these yachts.
They’ve been berthed and operating in several locations in NYC since their arrival, and our own home port, Miramar Yacht Club in Sheepshead Bay, did a lot of the hosting.
The Transat x Miramar. As well as being our home port, Miramar hosted the logistics and support teams for the Transat sailors who raced from France to New York.
What’s the Transat?
It’s a venerable distance race – across the North Atlantic, to be specific – that’s been going on for a long time. The current class of boat used is the IMOCA 60, an all-out monohull with foils. Yup; it gets up out of the water and routinely sails at speeds in the 30’s with top end documented performance breaking the 40-knot threshold.
Some of the fleet! Foreground: Maitre CoQ, who gave us a private tour one afternoon. This was at Moonbeam Gateway Marina, in Jamaica Bay, almost swimming distance from our digs at Sheepshead Bay. We drove a Zodiac RIB from the support team there and back.
This is one design racing at its toughest: single or double handed races across oceans and seas. And, it’s part of what qualifies sailors to compete in the Vendee Globe: the singlehanded, around-the-world race. The only thing tougher than this might be the Mini Transat, where they race 6.5 meter boats singlehanded. They’re not foiling, so the race takes longer. Singlehanded, on a 20-foot boat, with spinnaker when conditions permit. World’s. Toughest. Race.
Not to take anything away from the IMOCA’s, however, as the high speeds of foiling create other difficulties. These boats are a sight to behold, even when simply tied to the dock. We got a close up glimpse of them, plus a private tour aboard Maitre CoQ, last week. I’d never been that close to one before much less aboard.
Fun facts to know and tell:
The boats are on display/ parade / etc this weekend in NY Harbor, and apparently did an exhibition race on Friday (which we didn’t learn about in advance unfortunately). I had a class out on Friday; I thought I saw a few in the distance, but wasn’t sure, and what I saw was way below the upper Harbor anyway out in Ambrose Channel.
The Class Association has strict one design rules, so the boats are much more identical than different.
Sail inventory is limited to 8, and it can take an hour and a half to switch out a sail underway.
While there are berths on each side for the sailor to sleep in, it’s often best to sleep sitting up in the special spring attenuated chairs that alleviate much of the pounding. Ouch. Sleep is in very brief cat-naps a few times a day (for 9 days or more!).
Food: everything is brought aboard prepared in two medium sized bags, and heated up as needed over the engine compartment. The leftover packaging reduces to two small bags after the ocean crossing.
The diesel engine has only 40 hp, but has two alternators for its main purpose: charging batteries. The transmission is secured in neutral before the race with special ties. When the engine is in gear for parking or transporting in between races, it’s shifted with lines that are basically strings, and throttle is applied that way as well. Quite awkward!
There’s an escape corridor and hatch underneath the hull in case the boat goes over all the way (turning turtle) and doesn’t recover itself.
The boat we were on (didn’t see others up close) was largely Harkenized! (“If you know, you know.”)
Yes, Virginia, some winches DO turn counter-clockwise! Specialty item, for sure, but the large drums in the cockpit of the boat we visited spun both ways depending on where mounted.
The IMOCA’s start their race back to France next week!
For more about this exciting class, upcoming events, and some insights into some of the sailors themselves, see these links:
Learn to sail, ASA 101 + 102, began on March 16 and 17, the earliest we started teaching people how to sail a boat.
We didn’t plan it that way. Hard to plan at all with early-season weather. But, sailing happened this past weekend. We got a solid full day on Saturday, and half a day of sailing on Sunday before the light winds turned very quickly (as predicted) into Victory at Sea conditions, as we say. Students got a taste of strong, fast gusts and learned that while it can be stressful when learning, the boat didn’t care and the instructor had a few whoo-HOO moments!
Why then didn’t we plan it? The early shoulder season is tempting, but way too unpredictable and volatile. My father’s school always started in April. It was ‘spicy’ sometimes. When I started my own school decades later, I began courses in mid April. It worked… until it didn’t. Too many weather delays.
So, I switched it around. We would start with advanced courses in April, and learn to sail in early May. The first season I tried, it, we lost the first scheduled weekend of Bareboat Cruising to a storm. It was forecast to blow stink and chuck buckets on the first day, and simply be way to windy the second. I headed up to Vermont on Thursday night and was snowboarding a foot of powder the next morning at Killington instead. The predicted conditions down in the Sound prevailed. No one sailed.
IN THAT PIC: happy camper, as they all seem to be. Day One of the first course of the season.
The next season, we scheduled more conservatively. Nothing in April. Learn-to-sail began in early May. For Memorial Day Weekend, weather isn’t always perfect but it’s traditionally reliable for classes. So, we scheduled three of them: two boats of students for 101 / learn-to-sail, and one for Bareboat Cruising (3rd level, 104, and don’t get me started on that math but you may do so yourself in this Blog Rant).
How did that work out? The first two days were unsailable due to a nasty nor’easter, something we’d never experienced that late in the spring. We got one day in out of three. That set off complications with rescheduling, as the rest of the late spring/early summer was pretty shitty as well. Welcome to climate change!
So it goes…
Kurt Vonnegut
So, what made me think it was even a remotely good idea to start classes in MARCH!?
We’ve occasionally done a private lesson, usually for a group of 2 or 3 students coming together, in the ‘pre-season.’ It’s always a case by case, last-minute thing. In this case, we’d had a mild winter in the northeast. Nothing had changed. One couple, plus several different individuals, were interested in starting in March/April for various reasons. The couple is going on a private Virgin Islands (BVI) trip with us in late April, and another man needed to knock out his 101 if he were to join a relative doing a 103 course in May in another region.
Everyone understood there were no promises about when we’d complete the course if we started – only that we would complete it. Everyone was free last weekend. The weather looked reasonable, if not great, for beginning. All three had some exposure to sailing, and one was quite experienced and mostly bringing his wife up to speed with him so they could do 103 together with us in BVI.
And so, a schedule was born.
IN THAT PIC: Ensign sloops lined up waiting to splash at Miramar Yacht Club, our host facility. This is the boat we teach 101 & 102 on.
Both days were beautiful with partially cloudy skies and plenty of sun. It was cool out, getting chilly on Saturday afternoon, but that was due to a summer phenomenon: the afternoon sea breeze! Sunday was almost too light to sail at first, but by the time we got sorted and on the boat, it was enough to sail and practice meaningfully. As it was forecast to intensify rapidly at some point, we kept an eye on the updates and stayed close as it got closer to ‘oh, no!’ time. That happened when we were already just about in, and only had to negotiate a few moored boats en route to our own mooring.
They got to experience some strong, wicked-fast gusts that they would have had no business being out in without an instructor (and without the first day’s training). They had both, so they got to try it out. I had to sail the boat onto the mooring, but they got to fool around with steering and sail trim before that.
Two days with good sailing in March, even though one was only half, was a great start. Next weekend is out due to another nor’easter! Who knows what the following will bring, but there’s the first half of April and the weekdays in between it all to finish up. And then it’s off to the races. Or cruises. But the foundation will have been laid.
IN THAT PIC: copy-camper from same day (and family).
