CTAS 3: Starting Sequence

Cycling Through a Storm

Previously, in Cycling Through a Storm
CTAS 1: Cycling Through a Storm
CTAS 2: A House, a Boy, a Girl, a Car, A Dock, A Boat, a Hug

Vic had failed to bring his foul-weather gear along on this foul, rainy day. The rest of the crew wore foulies. Lark’s were bright yellow. The others wore red or blue—not the most visible, but the most affordable. From his backpack Vic pulled a T-shirt with a line-art image of Corvus on the front breast. After peeling his wet cycling jersey off, the semi-dry T-shirt felt nice. He had a long gulp of beer, then took his starboard position in the cockpit.

Powerboats plowed by, and Corvus rocked forward through their wakes.

“Fishing league tonight,” Wally observed.

“Do fish even bite, right after a storm?” Lark asked.

Wally shrugged.

“Depends on the fisherman,” Stewie said.

“St. Croix Sailing Club, St. Croix Sailing Club, this is the committee boat.”

Stewie grabbed the hand-held radio, pressed it close to his ear.

“There will be one race tonight,” Bones, the principal race officer, announced, “The course will be a windward-leeward 4.0 for all divisions with an extra mark for Division One. There will be one start for all divisions and the warning signal will be … in five minutes.”

Stewie always repeated the basics that came across the radio, though he knew everyone could hear them.

“Just one start?” Lark asked.

“Because of the delay.”

Lark nodded.

“Let’s get the jib up,” Stewie said.

“Big’n or little?” Vic asked.

“155’s on the deck.”

“Big’n,” Vic relayed to Lark.

“Wind’s come up a bit,” Wally said. “Do we want the smaller one?” As tactician, Wally’s position was in the companionway, standing on the floor below deck with his shoulders just above the deck area behind the mast and in front of the cockpit. This afforded him a good view in all directions and when necessary he could lend a hand to the others, or just keep out of the way.

They all scanned the river, appraising the wind.

“Whitecaps are barely turning over,” Lark said. “They were rolling pretty good before.”

“Let’s keep the 155 for now,” Stewie said.

“Aye-aye,” Wally smiled. Nobody really says Aye-aye on racing boats anymore. Wally, the oldest guy on the boat, sometimes used old-time sailor lingo in a self-effacing way, like to say aye-aye, or Ahoy, matey to greet another sailor, and—one of his favorites—Helms alee! instead of Coming about, when he happened to be at the helm.

They passed near the committee boat’s stern to read the signboard where Bones posted the course and headings, then ran perpendicular to the starting line for a sight on the windward mark, about a mile upwind.

“Pin end is favored,” Lark announced from the bow.

Stewie nodded. “Ready on timers?”

“Ready,” Gust said, his hand at the instrument panel mounted on the cockpit wall.

They all looked to the committee boat just as the horn sounded the warning signal and the starting sequence flag shot up.

“Got it,” Gust said.

“Falling off,” Stewie announced. The boat swung downwind, reaching toward the committee boat again.

The starting sequence was five minutes—five minutes for all boats to shuffle and jockey for advantage until the starting flag went up and the horn signaled the moment when sailboats were at last permitted across the starting line. A sailing race may be lost or won minutes before it begins.

“Roger’s 155 is up,” Lark said. Roger skippered a boat of the same design as Corvus. Both boats had good skippers and crew, so Corvus and Blow raced neck-and-neck.

“The wind’s shifting around,” Wally said. “The other end of the line might be favored.”

Stewie looked down the starting line. “Committee boat’s stern is a little inside the line now, so, yeah.”

“Committee boat side is favored!” Lark called back from the bow.

Wally gave Lark a thumbs-up.

Most of the boats in the fleet jockeyed around near the committee boat.

“Three minutes!” Wally announced

Stewie aimed the boat at the pin end of the line while Vic eased his jib sheet, keeping wind in the sail. Half a minute beyond the pin, Stewie called a jibe, swung Corvus downwind again. Gust and Vic adjusted their lines and ducked the boom as it swung across the cockpit. Lark yelled but her words were lost in the wind and whoosh of sails. She pointed with her whole arm, ahead to port.

“What’s there?” Wally asked.

“Fishing boat squatting right on the line!”

“Not moving?” Stewie asked.

Vic repeated the question, relaying it for Lark to hear.

“I think he’s anchored,” Lark called back.

“Bones must have set up on the guy’s fishing hole,” Wally said.

“Doesn’t he have to get out of there?” Gust asked.

Stewie shrugged.

Gust looked to Wally. “Well?”

“Not if he doesn’t want to,” Wally said.

“Shouldn’t Bones stop the race?”

Stewie shrugged. “If he’s anchored, he’s got rights over the rest of us.”

“So we have to go around him?”

“He’s an obstacle,” Wally said. “Have to give him room.”

“Coming about!” Stewie pushed the tiller to swing the boat windward. Gust released his sheet and Vic hauled on his. Corvus cruised across the field toward the opposite end of the line once more.

“Good thing one end of the line is clearly favored,” Wally said, pointing to the far end of the starting line. “Everyone will line up near the committee boat, so there shouldn’t be any problems.”

All the skippers pushed their boats and crews, seeking advantage in the starting field. Each worked to time their approach, jockeying to be on a starboard tack, ahead of the fleet, and nearest the committee boat in the moments before the starting flag raised and the horn sounded.

“Whoa!” Gust yelled. “Look at Joystick!”

Joystick, a boat from the second division that was smaller and more maneuverable than Corvus, was rounding up—that’s what happens sometimes when a boat is overpowered in strong wind and gets pushed down enough that the rudder is lifted above the water, usually between tall waves, and loses helm. This forces the boat to slip and scallop hard into the wind, heeling over even more steeply, its deck almost perpendicular to the water.

“He’s breached,” Lark said.

“He’s not the only one,” Vic said. Several boats still nearer the far end of the line were heeling steeply and some were getting rounded up, all struggling to adjust in fresh wind.

“Sail change?” Lark shouted back at Stewie.

“Wally?” Stewie asked.

“How much helm are you feeling?” Wally asked.

“Get the 130!” Stewie shouted. “Ease! Ease!”

Lark bounded to the bow, caught the forestay to keep her balance, then hauled on the jib to pull it down. Wally dropped below deck to fetch a bright yellow sail bag with the medium-sized 130 sail. Vic helped Wally hoist the bag above and dragged it forward to Lark. Even without a jib flying, Corvus was heeling close to 45 degrees. Vic steadied himself against the side stays to make his way forward and back again with the downed jib gathered in his arms like a rumply exercise ball.

“Ready about!” Stewie yelled while Vic dropped the 155 sail onto the companionway hatch for Wally to stow below.

Vic firmed the main sail and whipped the lazy jib sheet round its winch. “Ready here.”

“Ready,” Gust said, staring ahead.

“Ready on the jib?”

“Ready!” Lark yelled, one hand ahead of her feet, scrambling back to the mast and grabbing the jib halyard. Her yell was carried mostly away in the wind.

“Raise!”

Lark braced her feet near the mast and leaned back with most of her body weight to shoot the jib up its track on the forestay. Gust reeled the loose end of the halyard through the deck-mounted clutch as fast as Lark was hauling it down. Gust spun the halyard around a winch and forced it taught with a handle until the line squeaked firm in the clutch.

Wally was correct in his prediction about all the boats grouping together at that end of the line and, because the fisherman didn’t budge from his spot near the middle, no sailboat was near him at the start. “Ten seconds,” he called for Stewie to hear. Corvus and Blow were leading the fleet on their approach to the committee boat and starting line.

Wham! A gust nearly forced Corvus to round up.

“Should we have the 100?” Gust yelled above the wind.

“We have to go with this for now,” Stewie yelled. “Heating ‘er up. Let’s get some speed, bring ‘em in, I need ‘em close-hauled!”

Gust cranked his winch to trim the jib tight, and Vic leaned back on the high side of the cockpit, watching the main sail.

“Close-hauled,” Gust called to Stewie.

“High side if you can!” Stewie called back.

They were maybe a boat length ahead of Blow, but Blow wasn’t directly behind and was coming in on a fast reach from starboard, making a run at wedging between Corvus and the committee boat.

“He might make it,” Wally said. “If he can keep control with that big sail!”

Vic kept his focus above, keeping the main shaped like an airfoil, allowing just a hint of a bubble to form behind the mast, an echo of wind rebounding from the jib. Gust’s eyes were trained on the jib, keeping it taught at close-hauled.

“Gonna be close,” Wally called just loud enough for Stewie to hear, and then, “Nope!”

“Leeward!” Stewie hailed loudly for Roger to hear at Blow’s helm, asserting Corvus’s right of way.

Vic stole a look, watched Roger push the tiller hard to dip Blow downwind just enough to avoid hitting the committee boat while the starting horn blared, and then heave on the tiller again to slip in behind Corvus, his bowsprit inches from their stern. Blow’s sails flapped loud, flogging as the boat rounded up, its crew shouting among themselves while they scrambled to keep control, keep pace with Roger’s maneuvers.

Next: CTAS 4 - Yacht Race