August 25, 2007, the LOSHRS 100 Mile race was to be the premiere race of the year for Jetset, a J/24 and a pivotal race for her intrepid crew. Back in the spring when PCYC offered to let us race Jetset for the season we immediately signed up for LOSHRS and the LO300. For Marc (my son) and me, weeknight racing is just a training program for our first passion, short-handed racing. Unfortunately, when word got out among the J/24 fleet that we wanted to participate in short handed long distance racing, a whisper campaign began in an effort to save us from ourselves, as we clearly had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. Just like the big-boat campaigns, Jetset's biggest challenge was going to be getting to the start line.
In spite of compelling arguments to support the combined abilities of boat and crew, the LO300 safety committee turned down our application to participate in the double-handed white sail division. It seems the sinking of a J/24 during the North American championships in Rochester last year gave the LO300 safety committee the heebie-jeebies so instead, they encouraged us to participate in the LOSHR series. It was the opinion of the committee that we would not have the stamina to sail safely in a 150-mile race. A 100-mile race on the other hand would be do-able. Go figure.
Leading up to the 100 Miler Jetset and crew were enjoying a great season of racing. Compared to sailing 'Requin' (my Hughes Columbia 8.7), Jetset was a rocket. Everything I now know about sailing a spinnaker was learned this year on Jetset and also as the new foredeck crew on ‘Folichon' on Wednesday nights. Marc's summer training included mast crew on ‘Shorthanded’ a J35 on Wednesdays and a full season of Laser sailing in the PCYC junior racing program. Each week we were getting a little better and a little more confident. We were going through a huge learning curve and having a great time. Nonetheless, as race day drew nearer I was getting increasingly nervous. Last year in the same race on Requin, I was seasick for most of the race and only managed to get as far as Burlington before high waves, low winds and churning innards forced me to back out of the race. For me the biggest challenges to overcome in long distance racing are seasickness and the inability to sleep. To prevent seasickness this year we tried Scopolamine patches for the Youngstown race and they worked very well. The only side effect was a dry mouth, which made us drink more, which ain't a bad thing. As far as sleep was concerned, I knew I would just have to suck it up and get used to cat napping.
The race started well (and right on time) at 10:15 am. Jetset was in the last start as a double-handed spinnaker boat and is by far the smallest boat in the fleet. This doesn't really matter on a J/24 as they can hold their own against much larger boats in the right conditions. It was a spinnaker start and the fleet looked great heading in a pack toward the Gibraltar mark. According to the GPS, we averaged 6 knots, taking 1hour and 16 minutes to round the mark and begin heading toward Burlington.
Unlike the first leg, the leg to Burlington was to be the great challenge of the race. Starting with full main and jib, the winds slowly began to build in advance of an approaching squall. With only two of us on board, it was difficult to keep Jetset off her ear and headsail changes occurred regularly. Marc was at the helm and I was kept busy performing the duties of the fore-chimp, hanking sails off and on as we reduced from the #1 to the #2 to the #3. Without the benefit of a double-foil track there was no way to perform a quick headsail change and in hind site we realized that we might have been better off reefing the main as we would not have found ourselves spending so much time sailing with only 1 sail which cost us valuable time. The further we headed west, the darker the sky became and too late we realized it was time to get into our rain gear and hunker down for a blow. By this time (around 4pm) the winds had lightened somewhat and the #1 was flying again. Had we started our preparations sooner we might have weathered the next 20 minutes better.
We were barely into our rain gear when we saw the water ahead of us turn into a blanket of bouncing ball bearings and charge toward us with alarming speed. Instantly the wind speed doubled and I yelled at Marc that I was dropping the jib. I had bought a storm jib earlier in the year and this was certainly the time to use it. If I had put it on first and worried about our rain gear later, we would have been fine and been able to sail through the squall at speed. Unfortunately, we still had the #1 up. The main also needed to be reefed and in these winds it was no small task. The headsail had to be pulled down, as it would not drop once the halyard was released. Of course this had to be done while waves of water were pouring over the deck with me bouncing into the air hanging onto the bow pulpit as we crashed into each wave. To make matters worse, my damn safety harness strap was always getting snagged on shrouds or other deck hardware and yanking me back like a mad dog on the end of his leash just as I was about to grab a sail or line or something. In spite of this at no point were we worried about our safety, we were only worried about the time we were loosing floundering around with flapping sails trying to get back into racing form. And to rub salt in the bad-planning wound, the raingear was useless. By the time we got the main reefed and the headsail down, I was soaked to the skin. Mother Nature must have had a real chuckle when after all that effort, as I was pulling up the storm sail, the clouds parted, the sun came out and the winds subsided. So, down with the storm sail and up with the #3, then the #2 and the #1. Jeeezzus, that was a lot of sail changes! We rounded Burlington at 6:30pm. (average speed - 5 knots.)
At Burlington, we could see how the fleet had spread out. Many boats were ahead of us so we knew we had a lot of catching up to do. This was to be our leg. The trip from Burlington to Niagara would be a spinnaker run the whole way. The winds were blowing 20 knots at least and the waves were high enough that Jetset began to surf. Wow! Neither of us had ever experienced this before and as Jetset hit 8 knots down a wave we let out a whoop of delight! Turns out, this was just the beginning. As the evening progressed, Marc spent more time looking behind us waiting for Jetset to go on plane, than he did watching where we were going. Each time Jetset would start to plane, you'd know it was coming because the rudder would start to hum, the back of the boat would start to lift and ironically, the boat felt easier to control. We would quickly turn our heads forward to the knot meter and yell out the numbers as our speed increased, 8 knots! 8.5! NINE!! TEN KNOTS!!! Whaahoo!!!! Our top speed of the leg ended up at 11.1 knots. There were ear-to-ear grins pasted on our faces the whole way from Burlington to Niagara (average speed - 6 knots).
As we approached the Niagara mark we were still under spinnaker in strong winds wondering (given our limited spinnaker experience) how we were going to douse the chute without going through a Keystone Cops manoeuvre. Worse yet, it was pitch black and difficult to orient ourselves with the rounding mark and the quickly converging nav lights of other approaching vessels. Luckily, the rounding and dousing went smoothly, and the last leg to PCYC was now ahead of us. At this point, neither of us had slept yet and Marc was getting pretty tired so I let him head below for a couple of hours. During this leg, Jetset was regularly in close company with other boats. It was frustrating to not be able to identify them in the dark, as it would have been great to know if any of the boats were in our fleet. At this pointing the race, the challenge was to remain focused. Try spending the night awake in a dark closet holding a tiller with no other reference than the dim glow of a lighted compass and the occasional fleeting appearance of a green or red light and you will get a sense of what the last 5 hours were like. Marc took over from me at around 1:30 am and I headed down below to try and get some sleep. Remarkably, (as the winds were still strong and the rail was in the water) I managed to get about 90 minutes of sleep by propping myself in a contorted half standing, half crouching heap on the high side quarter berth.
By the time I woke up we were less than 10 miles from the finish. Marc should have woken me earlier as the wind had dropped and the #1 should have been put up, but he was trying to be nice to the old man and anyway no sense in grumbling, just get on with the race. The #1 was hoisted and the winds continued to lighten. After all the excitement we had had to this point, the last 5 miles were excruciatingly frustrating. Red and green lights were everywhere. Some were moving and others weren't. Again, because it was so dark, you couldn't go looking for wind cause there was none to see but we tacked numerous times in the hope we would find some anyway. All these unnecessary tacks just slowed us down and (I am certain) cost us at the end. Nevertheless as we ghosted across the finish line at 5:23 am we felt a great sense of accomplishment and didn't really care what place we were in. This had been a great race.
As it turned out, we finished 4th in our division. After 19 hours and 100 miles, less than seven minutes separated us from the 2nd and 3rd place finishers. Earlier in the summer I had the great pleasure of sailing on Folichon as fore deck crew in the LO300, which we won in our division (and overall) for fully crewed spinnaker. Yet the victory at the LO300 paled by comparison to the pride I felt at finishing the 100 Miler with my son, sailing shorthanded on Jetset. Marc's sailing skill and the maturity he showed in the difficult situations we found ourselves in as well as the sheer joy of surfing down waves under full spinnaker was a pleasure for me to witness and share. I have never had more fun in my life.
And as for the LO300, bring it on, we're ready.
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