MAX EBB “Y
ou’re not really going to fly the chute in this wind, are you? Are you?” “For sure,” Lee answered casually as she passed the spinnaker bag up to the foredeck crew. It was about as windy as I'd ever seen it on the Bay. The boats in the division ahead of us had already rounded the top mark, and those that had set spinnakers were spinning out in every direction. Fortunately I was not sailing this race on my own boat, but on the ultralight that Lee usually crews on. They must have been desperate for crew, because Lee had actually invited me to come along as a trimmer. “No shy kite?” asked the foredeck crew as he took the bag forward. “We didn’t bring it today,” Lee shrugged. I ducked another blast of spray and tightened the buckles on my lifejacket as the crew hooked the bag to the lifelines forward. “Make that a jibe set!” called Lee. “We want to like, head back toward the island to get some tide relief.” “That'll mean another jibe later in the leg,” warned the woman steering the boat, her voice showing some concern. “That’s the windiest part of the Bay — and where we’ll run into the strongest opposing current.” The foredeck crew just barely had time to hook everything up as we rounded the mark. But because we had to jibe before the spinnaker set, our apparent wind was high — even on a run — and the main was very heavily loaded for the jibe. The driver helped pull it across by hauling on one of the parts of the mainsheet tackle, but she didn’t let go in time and it ripped out of her hand when the sail slammed across to the new side. “Fids and futtock shrouds! That jibe gave me a doozy of a rope burn.” The guy on the halyard hesitated. It was clear that our skipper was in pain, and wasn't going to have the use of her hands for a while, at least not on the mainsheet, vang, cunningham or outhaul controls that all led back on this boat to her driver’s position. “Better get some goop and band-aids on that burn,” said Lee. “Max, take the helm!” “Who me? But Lee, I . . .” “Thanks, you’ve got the con,” said the injured driver as she shoved the hiking stick into my waist. “I have to duck downstairs to take care of this. Just keep
the keel wet and the spreaders dry. Chute up, now!” The spinnaker went up, popped open, and we started to fly. “Not too deep,” warned Lee. “Keep the apparent wind at about 150 to 160.” “Uh, right,” was all I could manage. I was sure it was as fast as I had ever gone on a sailboat. “See, Max? Just like a Laser. As long as we’re going fast, there’s like, nothing to it.” She was right — at least for now. Even though I gave up dinghy sailing many years ago (and I wasn’t going to let Lee know that I'd never actually sailed a Laser), I almost felt like I was in control. “Hey, this isn’t so . . ."
“S
HEET!” someone screamed as the boat took a heavy roll on the back of a wave crest and started to round up. We flogged for a few seconds, I muscled the boat back down to a run, and after some quick tailing and grinding the big spinnaker was working again. But the wind was up another notch, and it was precarious. “Someone else take this!” I begged. “We gotta stay on the trim!” they yelled back. “You’re doing great, just keep it under the sail!” The boat in front of us had spun out too, but didn’t recover as easily, and we blew past them while they were still on their ear. The boat behind hadn’t set and was dropping back fast, according to the people who could take the time to look in that direction. The boat that had elected not to jibe at the mark had it worst of all, having spun out to leeward. They were pinned down with their pole in the water and their boom up in the air. “Okay, time to crank in some thong,” shouted Lee. “We can like, afford to lose a little power right now.” The foredeck crew seemed very happy to hear this command. They spun the handle on a spare halyard winch, and the immediate effect was to pull the middle of the foot of the spinnaker down toward the bow and create a large crease to form
"Give me more thong!"
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Latitude 38
• September, 2006
right up the centerline of the sail. “What did you do that for?” I asked. “Instant shy kite,” said the trimmer. “You know, the elephant ass effect.” “I thought the elephant ass went out with cross-cut spinnakers,” I said. But I also realized that suddenly the boat was easier to steer, and wasn't trying quite so hard to roll out from under the sail. “I was having much more fun with the full sail,” I lied. Nobody bought it. “The boat out in the middle is still down,” Lee observed. “And those guys who were in front of us are dousing.” Another gust hit. “Maybe we should douse too?” I suggested hopefully. “Give me more thong!” Lee called. They cranked harder on the winch,