Redemption Among The Zephyrs

11 mei 2017 - Living near a busy highway or tram tracks you somehow manage to filter out the noise and sleep peacefully. Same on a sailboat, where routine sounds fade to the background – water rushing along the hull, .......

wind whistling through the rigging, the tick-tick-tick of the winch and various creaks and groans as the boat heels in a breeze. Even when deeply asleep off-watch below, an abnormal noise will prompt any shorthanded sailor to rise with a start and reach for their boots, ready to come above to help.

In the wee hours of Saturday morning I sat bolt upright, the sound of a gentle breeze having given way to absolute silence. No lapping of water against the hull, not a trace of breeze. Living with light wind anxiety disorder (LWAD) has become a heavy burden.

During the week before a race my co-skipper and I excitedly trade text messages like schoolboys, particularly if we might enjoy big wind and mean seas. While other crews tense and clench up as the forecast deteriorates, one of our mundane work meetings will be interrupted by a text message -- “It’s going to blow like snot!!!!! ;-)”.

For every advantage there is a disadvantage, and we’ve struggled, swore and suffered in light wind on Maverick. The old girl breaks loose in a moderate breeze, but like her crew she sulks and stubbornly holds back in very light air. With our sailmaker John Parker and OneSails we’ve crafted a sailplan that works well in nearly all conditions, though giving up some light wind performance for a slightly better rating. For most races this have proven a fair bargain, and in particular for the Ijspegel Winter series, but this year we lay becalmed in the finale and watched our podium position drift away. At the prize giving Chris Revelman (from the deserved series winner Junique) at first consoled, but then added a hard truth – “You are only as good as your last race, so I hope you have a chance to race soon”. Sailboat racing is a wonderfully complete sport, hard work in fresh air on ever-changing but ever beautiful water, but also testing focus and adaptability. Like any sport a taste of success makes the losses ever more bitter, and a series of light wind losses burned in the back of our throat.

Over 100 doublehanded boats converged on Lelystad Haven on Friday evening, carried on a fresh breeze and hopes and dreams for the traditional season opener, the 50 Mijls. The forecast called for fine late spring weather but virtually no wind during the race. We repeatedly checked among three different wind models looking for a chance of wind, each as unsettlingly calm as the other, and faced the real possibility the race would be cancelled. I met up with Gerben Bos by his lovely new J-122 Jetstream -- a quicker and much younger 'cousin' of Maverick. Ever the optimist he noted “No wind forecast, but that means it can only get better!”.

I awoke with a start at 4 am Saturday, the silence was unnerving – not even snoring from Raymond Roesink in the forepeak cabin. A few fitful hours later we quietly readied Maverick, resigned to the conditions yet finding faint hope as a few knot breeze rippled the harbor and stirred flags and banners. We headed out to the start area, hoisted our light wind jib, enviously eyed the boats with large overlapping genoas, and steeled ourselves for a disappointing start to a new season.

Until relatively recently only a few doublehanders braved 40 foot or larger boats, with their big loads and hefty consequences when things go wrong. As the breeze climbed above the 5 knots needed to start, 14 big boats impressively crossed behind the line, boasting among them a rich and successful doublehanded history. We positioned ourselves to start on the committee boat end of the line, gently trimmed the sails and steered gradually higher in the final seconds, and managed a few knots speed as we crossed the line in clear air.

We slipped quietly along, edging ahead of the boats near us, and approached the first mark near the lead -- just behind the national doublehanded champion Ajeto but ahead of the other big J-boats -- Jetstream, Batfish, and a sister J-120, Jipper. The following mark lay several miles upwind, and in a steady 5-8 knot breeze we tried to stay in clear air as we overtook a few of the J-109 class that started before us. Bart Desaunois and Gewoon Nick on Batfish stalked us on their larger and faster J-133 -- a familiar situation over the years and we managed a greeting and resigned wave as they overtook us, trailed closely by Jetstream.

A mile from the next mark the wind slowly dropped, along with our spirits. We saw Batfish and Jetstream well ahead and nearly stalled, and decided to tack away and hope for better wind to the south. Jipper caught up and drifted past, benefitting from a large overlapping genoa. They gave us time on handicap but we would need to stay close.

The wind varied over 1-4 knots and shifted unpredictably, and after missing a few shifts we managed to tack a few times on the right side of the shift. Progress to the mark was painfully slow and several boats from lower and later starting classes sailed among the big boys. We said nothing, frustrated and impatient but still keeping close to the class leaders.

We could make out a light rippling on our side of the course, not exactly the cavalry arriving but some respite from the now-oppressive calm. A light breeze filled in and shifted to just behind our beam, and we scrambled to hoist our A0 reaching spinnaker. We pulled smartly ahead and managed several knots boat speed, passing Jipper as they readied their spinnaker. Trimming and steering ever so lightly we were soon over 5 knots speed, heading to the mark and quickly closing the gap to Jetstream and Batfish.

We held the A0 as late as we could and dropped it cleanly next to the mark. Ajeto lay a few minutes ahead, followed by Batfish and Jetstream, among a few of the J109s and other interlopers. Jipper sailed 100 meters behind, with the large Pogo 12.50 Knubbel hanging in surprisingly well in the light conditions.

Soon after tacking one of the Heiner Talent J-109s crossed just ahead, and the Heiner kids quickly tacked to put us in their foul wind. A proper move when challenging another boat in their class, but contrary to traditional practice among mixed classes. Given their youth and enthusiasm we did not react at the time, though after the race Raymond offered the helmsperson a gentle and paternal explanation of cross-class courtesies.

In some ways light air sailing is more mentally taxing than man-handling Mav through the rough stuff, calling for focus, fine steering, and sensitive trim. Our Ispegels pro Erik van Vuuren noted we sailed admirably high but gave away speed in the Ijspegel finale, and in the shifty whispers of breeze we fell off a few degrees further, concentrating on holding speed at the expense of a few degrees pointing. It reminded me of the old Virginia saying – “Pigs get fat but hogs get slaughtered” – and taking what we could we closed slightly on Ajeto far ahead and kept closer to Batfish and Jetstream.

The afternoon wore on and the 100-something doublehanded boats spread across the Markermeer, an array of white, grey, yellow and black sails moving slowly in patches of breeze. The Race Committee wisely decided to shorten the race, and at the next mark we were instructed to pass between a buoy and rubber tender, before heading to a finish line inside Lelystad harbor. Nearing the penultimate mark we slowed again in a lull and watched helplessly as Batfish and Jetstream moved easily on a band of wind through the mark. We lost precious minutes and tacked twice to clear the gate, trailing the well sailed Firestorm from the J-109 class.

We noted Knubbel heading past the gate and directly toward the harbor, and decided to hail the duo on the VHF. As a German boat the Dutch instructions may not have been clear, and soon after our call they headed back toward the gate. Jipper followed us through the gate, setting up the five big J-boats to secure Class 1 line honors.

With a broad reach to the harbor entrance we again hoisted our A0, while Batfish and Jetstream continued well ahead on upwind sails. Wim van Slooten's Firestorm also hoisted a gennaker and engaged in a passing dual with another J-109, and as they were distracted we drove below them and worked hard to eek out a few tenths more speed. Our gap to Batfish and Jetstream narrowed, and we overtook the latter while they struggled late to set their gennaker.

Passsing the breakwater we furled and carefully dropped the A0 and trimmed for an upwind finish. Having sailed a summer series years ago we were on familiar water, and held our line until close to the inner breakwater. Firestorm lay outside and asked to tack, and we offered they were welcome as long as they passed behind us. In this case closing further on Batfish and Ajeto understandably took precedence over case cross-class courtesy, with pleasantries exchanged between the two long-familiar boats.

The wind rose slightly in the final minutes and Mav crossed the finish with a little pace, trailing Ajeto and Batfish but ahead of the remaining Class 1 fleet. A rubber boat raced up to take a finish photo and hand over cold beers, an enduring 50 Mijl tradition. While the little boats would dominate the overall standings in this slow light-wind race, we anticipated a strong finish in our class.

We are not the most demonstrative boat but the two big guys grinned broadly and wordlessly exchanged a spirited high-five. After dropping sails Raymond brought me an alcohol-free beer from below. Crisp and cold, it washed the bitter taste of the last Ijspegel away, and we toasted a fine start to the new season.Robin Verhoef and John van der Starre on Ajeto again signaled they are the boat to beat this year with their class win, but our 2nd place class trophy perhaps meant more to us -- we finally knocked an overgrown light-wind monkey off our backs.