One of the beauties of long-distance racing is the amount of time you get to spend in close communion with your own thoughts. That experience recently helped crystalize an illuminating concept in my mind.
Shortly after moving to Chicago from the Washington, DC, area this past spring, I was fortunate enough to be connected (by a good friend from J/World Annapolis) with an awesome network of Chicago racers. This promptly led to an invitation for the Michigan City Night Race, aboard Kutty’s Ark, a classic 1973 Pearson 36 with an impressive, decades-long track record of performance on Lake Michigan.
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The author at the helm.[/caption]
Here’s how the race is described by the hosting Columbia YC: “The Michigan City Night Race is the oldest, continuous freshwater sailing race in the world. The 65-mile night race serves as good preparation for watches and night sailing during the Race to Mackinac.”
By the time we all sat down for breakfast back at the yacht club the following morning—drowsy, cold, and wet—I had spent the many overnight hours reflecting on my 20 years of racing and come to appreciate it more than ever; not only as an instant entrée to rapport and friendship with a new group of people, but also as a metaphor for countless aspects of life in general.
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The author in his new home port of Chicago.[/caption]
Advance planning and preparation: punchlists for boat, checklists for your bag. Pack light, but better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
Watching out for others, having their backs: when a crewmate with neither harness nor jackline teeters on the rail fixing the leech cord, it’s a reflex to reach out and grab him by the belt.
Mathematics: all the calculations on speed, course and heading, current and tide set and drift, apparent versus true wind, and heel angle.
Spatial abilities: understanding how the parts of the boat work together—for example, how easing the downhaul or foreguy is a necessary companion to bringing the pole back with the guy.
Paying it back: Passing along decades of knowledge, as others have done for you and schooling less-experienced sailors from simple dinghy basics to complex symmetrical spinnaker sailing.
Understanding and predicting the weather: all the radar and other apps out there can almost make you feel like a meteorologist. (I actually played one on TV for a couple of years...)
Being handy: a sailor may need to be a resourceful, creative Mr. Fix-It at any time, often under daunting conditions. I still can’t be sure whether I’ve done more repair jobs over the years at home or on boats. Just call me “MacGyver.”
Fitness: “We need that number one headsail up on the deck—now!” How fast can you grind that winch? Having athletic and agile crewmembers onboard can make the difference in competitiveness and safety.
Communication skills: accuracy and precision in terminology is critical. Effectively giving and following verbal orders will make or break a race; crew choreography on a well-sailed racing yacht is all the more impressive when it’s done without even uttering a single word.
Powers of observation: why is the forward end of the spinnaker pole suddenly pressing against the forestay, ready to dismast the boat? Uh oh—we skyed the pole at the mast end!
Balance and agility: ever tried to cook a meal on a gimbaled stove while a boat is heeling on a long distance race?
Strategy and tactics. Ah, if only the rest of life were so straightforward. Lessons learned: sail your boat before worrying too much about others; consolidate your gains when you can; don’t get greedy or chase high-stakes gambles; try not to stray too far from the rest of the pack; get on the correct side of things.
Punctuality: the boat will leave the dock without you!
Respect tradition.
Clean up after yourself.
Manners and etiquette: treat others and their property with courtesy and respect if you want to be invited back.
Don’t show up empty-handed.
Hope: Even a blind squirrel can stumble upon an acorn; even a broken clock is right twice a day!
And, finally—perhaps most importantly of all: Persistence pays. You can often claw your way back even after horrendous disasters, so never give up.
by Tom Cobin
