Wilson Fitt
08-28-2002, 08:37 PM
This is a cautionary tale about the volatile mix adrenaline and testosterone aboard a sailboat. We were at the Mahone Bay Wooden Boat Festival again this year and entered the around the islands race for classic boats. It’s supposed to be a low key “gentleman’s race”, strictly for fun. Nice breeze, blue sky, fantastic scenery, a great day. Our main competition seemed to be a yawl about the same size as our Christina Grant (38’) but not as burdensome.
We were faster, but they could point a bit better, so with one thing and the other, we were approaching the last mark together, broad reaching on port tack. We were to leave the mark to port, hardening up for the final leg back to the finish line. We were taking him to windward, but he luffed us up fairly aggressively as we came toward the mark, both of us doing 7 knots or more. I had an overlap and started to shout for “room”. We were very close to each other, perhaps 10 feet or so separating the boats. He had right of way because I was overtaking.
At one point, it crossed my mind that this was a bit too much of a good thing and I should fall off behind him, but I was uncertain that I could slow the boat down enough to clear his backstay with our bowsprit before we got to the mark. And, of course, we were passing him with all of the excitement that that fires up.
Eventually, he had to bear off to get below the turning mark, allowing us to do the same. We had been squeezed up so high that the final few lengths to the mark were nearly downwind, our headsails not filling entirely. So he arrived first with us right on top of him, and then, to my utter astonishment, he rounded the mark hard right in front of us with the inevitable consequences, all seemingly in the blink of an eye.
We hit him square on just at the forward end of his cockpit. If he had higher freeboard our bowsprit would have been a battering ram with 27,000 lb of boat behind it and I’m sure that we would have sunk him. As it was, we rode up with our bobstay on his rail and a lot of the energy was absorbed in lifting our boat and pushing his down as he heeled to windward. Our bobstay took the brunt of the blow, chewing up his rail and stantions, fracturing the cockpit coaming and displacing a winch. Thankfully no-one was in the way, or major injury or death could easily have resulted.
We slid down backward, but the sails were still full and driving, so up we went again, this time shoving the bowsprit through the bottom of his main, hooking the CQR in it and making a mighty rip on the way back out again. Finally we got free and everyone staggered back to the anchorage. Our damage only amounted to a minor splinter out of the bottom of the bowsprit.
We were both more than a bit hot and bothered about this, although I’m pleased to say that no voices were raised at any time. We met with the race committee, such as it was, and had a discussion about the racing rules, whether the overlap still existed within two lengths of the mark, etc etc. Having had a bit of advice, I took the position that no rules had been declared in the race instructions, this was not a regatta sanctioned by the Canadian Yachting Association and so the applicable rules were the Collision Regulations. In any event, I figured that we weren’t racing dinghys and his manoeuvre was unseamanlike and had put us both in a dangerous position regardless of the rules. We all slept on it and the next morning the Committee expressed the opinion that the only applicable rules were the ColRegs, and he was in breach of Rule 17 which requires the stand on vessel to maintain its course and speed. He agreed amiably enough and for good will, I made a contribution to the cost of his sail repair. We shook hands and parted as new acquaintances if not friends yet.
Of course, either of us could have avoided this unfortunate meeting if we had taken cautious avoidance steps early in the game. However, we were both caught up in the excitement of the action, and temporarily shelved our common sense. This is the third time this summer that I have done something while racing that I would not consider while cruising (the other two were entering strange ports at night without radar, once in the fog). I consider myself to be a cautious man and a prudent sailor and navigator, sometimes excessively so. I have a lot of incident free miles under my belt, but it seems after this summer’s events that I need to recalibrate the prudence meter.
We were faster, but they could point a bit better, so with one thing and the other, we were approaching the last mark together, broad reaching on port tack. We were to leave the mark to port, hardening up for the final leg back to the finish line. We were taking him to windward, but he luffed us up fairly aggressively as we came toward the mark, both of us doing 7 knots or more. I had an overlap and started to shout for “room”. We were very close to each other, perhaps 10 feet or so separating the boats. He had right of way because I was overtaking.
At one point, it crossed my mind that this was a bit too much of a good thing and I should fall off behind him, but I was uncertain that I could slow the boat down enough to clear his backstay with our bowsprit before we got to the mark. And, of course, we were passing him with all of the excitement that that fires up.
Eventually, he had to bear off to get below the turning mark, allowing us to do the same. We had been squeezed up so high that the final few lengths to the mark were nearly downwind, our headsails not filling entirely. So he arrived first with us right on top of him, and then, to my utter astonishment, he rounded the mark hard right in front of us with the inevitable consequences, all seemingly in the blink of an eye.
We hit him square on just at the forward end of his cockpit. If he had higher freeboard our bowsprit would have been a battering ram with 27,000 lb of boat behind it and I’m sure that we would have sunk him. As it was, we rode up with our bobstay on his rail and a lot of the energy was absorbed in lifting our boat and pushing his down as he heeled to windward. Our bobstay took the brunt of the blow, chewing up his rail and stantions, fracturing the cockpit coaming and displacing a winch. Thankfully no-one was in the way, or major injury or death could easily have resulted.
We slid down backward, but the sails were still full and driving, so up we went again, this time shoving the bowsprit through the bottom of his main, hooking the CQR in it and making a mighty rip on the way back out again. Finally we got free and everyone staggered back to the anchorage. Our damage only amounted to a minor splinter out of the bottom of the bowsprit.
We were both more than a bit hot and bothered about this, although I’m pleased to say that no voices were raised at any time. We met with the race committee, such as it was, and had a discussion about the racing rules, whether the overlap still existed within two lengths of the mark, etc etc. Having had a bit of advice, I took the position that no rules had been declared in the race instructions, this was not a regatta sanctioned by the Canadian Yachting Association and so the applicable rules were the Collision Regulations. In any event, I figured that we weren’t racing dinghys and his manoeuvre was unseamanlike and had put us both in a dangerous position regardless of the rules. We all slept on it and the next morning the Committee expressed the opinion that the only applicable rules were the ColRegs, and he was in breach of Rule 17 which requires the stand on vessel to maintain its course and speed. He agreed amiably enough and for good will, I made a contribution to the cost of his sail repair. We shook hands and parted as new acquaintances if not friends yet.
Of course, either of us could have avoided this unfortunate meeting if we had taken cautious avoidance steps early in the game. However, we were both caught up in the excitement of the action, and temporarily shelved our common sense. This is the third time this summer that I have done something while racing that I would not consider while cruising (the other two were entering strange ports at night without radar, once in the fog). I consider myself to be a cautious man and a prudent sailor and navigator, sometimes excessively so. I have a lot of incident free miles under my belt, but it seems after this summer’s events that I need to recalibrate the prudence meter.