69/62, mostly cloudy, NE10-15 w/gusts to 20...until the start. Then light and variable. For like 6 hours. Trying to make progress south in semi-controlled fashion while avoiding ships and tugs with barges. And each other. Then - wind! About 7-12 knots, but from the south and so we beat. Then the rain. Still dodging ships and tugs with barges - where do all these guys come from at 1am? Then, at 2am, the torrential rain. I'm on watch and my glasses are rain-spattered and the droplets reflect the light from the chartplotter, making it hard to see, but better than no glasses. When I tack, the rainwater collected in the shelf foot of the mainsail dumps in the cockpit like a tidal wave. The first time it startles me - rogue wave?! - but then I realize what happened and get on with it. I can't really see the jib sheets so I count the wraps with my fingers so I know I've got 3 on before I put the sheet in the self-tailer. In the darkness, I'm watching the lights of a ship proceeding south, judging when I need to tack away so as not to concern the pilot. It also shows on our AIS/chartplotter, which is helpful, but not every vessel has AIS. Near the end of my watch, the rain hammers down at tropical strength and all the lights around me - Patuxent NAS, the skyline of Solomons, the CNG terminal, the ship - are shrouded completely. I actually lose my way a bit, confused and disoriented with no reference except for the nav screen and the Windex lit by Grace's tricolor light. When Dobbs comes up for his watch (believe it or not, we can both sleep when off watch in conditions like this), I suggest we withdraw from the race. Fresh on, he asks to continue ahead for a while, to gauge it himself. I agree and go below. About 20 minutes later, still in driving rain, he seconds the decision to withdraw and brings the boat around to head back toward Solomons. Little did we know (because I hadn't checked e-mail through all of this), the race course had been shortened to Cove Point, north of Solomons - we'd already finished! We made it in to Solomons around 4am, and to anchor and a meal of wine and pretzels before bed at 5am, which is when we learned about the race being shortened. Good news. We try hard to avoid a DNF, but nature ultimately dictates what we should and shouldn't do.
We consider it a privelege to participate in this race. The competitors, both as individuals and collectively as crews, are enthusiastic and skilled. We encourage each other to be better sailors and better people. Optimism abounds. Looking at a dreadful forecast, not one boat said, "Heck no"; we all said, "I'll try my best." With this group, everyone goes home a winner. Huzzah!
