Since 1867

November, 2000                                                                                                     Ariane E. Paul, Editor

The race to Hawaii started for us, one of the Division A (small) boats on July 10, but the activity actually started back in 1998, when we decided to target the 2000 Pacific Cup. Between the things we HAD to do to Spirit to meet the race requirements for an Offshore Racing Council Class 1 ocean race, things like installing a second big bilge pump that could be operated from the cockpit, buying and figuring out where to stow the life raft, building an emergency rudder, and adding more fresh water tankage, to doing the things we needed to do to be competitive and confidently seaworthy, a two-year preparation window was none too long! A friend who has done a few Pacific Cups told me that "sometimes your list of things to do gets shorter, and sometimes it gets longer, but when it is time to go, you just go!". We were ready by the start of the race.

You get so busy during the last couple of weeks of preparation for the race that you don't realize how excited you are until the morning of the start and you find yourself running again and again to the head to pee just one more time. It didn't matter either that it was cold and foggy. We were shocked when we saw some pictures of the start. Was it really that foggy? Was it really that windy? We started at 12:30 at the St. Francis Yacht Club, with an ebb tide. There were about a dozen boats in our division, so we expected that the outboard end of the starting line would be crowded, with everyone wanting to get out into the strong ebb. We got a little buried at the start, and crossed the line slightly behind Diminished Capacity (Ranger 33) and Cinderella (Ericson 35).

We sailed a few boat lengths to clear our wind, and tacked onto port behind and to windward of the two leaders, and then we just sat back and let Spirit do her stuff. The apparent wind was in the 15-18 knot range, and we had a full main and heavy #1 (150%) genoa up, and the old girl just pointed higher and went faster than the two boats ahead of us. In 5 minutes we had driven over the top of Diminished Capacity and Cinderella, and led Division A under the Gate.

Of course you all must have heard by now that the wind didn't go past the Farallones. It was a real bummer to go off watch and to come up four hours later and they were still there... or rather we were still there. That's when you didn't want to do the math on our possible ETA at the other islands... a probable arrival time of Christmas maybe?

The Pacific Cup became just like a race on Lake Merritt in El Toros. The first boat to get the next puff would sprint into a huge lead, and we wanted to be that boat. We drifted south, according to our pre-race plan, trying to get the most out of each little puff, for 3 days, and it was psychologically trying. We knew the boats that had not yet started were happily seeing our time allowance disappear as we slatted at 0.4 knots, hour after hour. We held our own, or a little more, against Division A, but we were losing big time to the boats that had not yet started.

Ian said "think like you are in an El Toro." That method worked the best for Annie. But an El Toro would have been going a whole lot faster. This was definitely a time when that long traditional keel, rudder and heavy duty construction were not an asset.

After the first day we all got into the swing of things. Ian and Patrick each staked out a quarter berth. Steve and Annie hot bunked on the settee berth. Our prepared food was in a heavy duty cooler that was wedged athwartships between the galley and the settee. It provided a great seat for cooking, dressing and even navigating. The precooked dinners were packed in dry ice and stayed frozen for ten days. Annie transferred meals ever two days into the small icebox and filled up the air space in the cooler with the double bagged garbage.

When the wind started to fill we dove south hard and it built until a steady 8 knots of boat speed became boring. It was Patrick who said after a night of spinnaker reaching with the beautiful full moon at 10 plus knots..."You know...8 knots just doesn't cut it anymore". Its hard to convey just how glorious those nights were with the full moon, passing clouds, nice big waves, shooting stars and best of all... wind! The learning curve was very steep for all of us, and Spirit sailed like a thoroughbred, easy to steer and control under spinnaker in big waves.

After about 2 days of really sailing, and actually getting closer to Kaneohe, the second flat spot happened. At least this one affected most of the fleet, not just the little boats. A trough of low pressure had disrupted the Pacific High, and stopped the trades from blowing! This is when many of the big, heavy boats decided to quit, declaring their membership in the unofficial Pacific Cup "cruising division" by putting their engines in gear toward Hawaii, or turning around back to California.

This is when we learned about suck squalls. Having done our homework, we knew that squalls produce wind, usually double the amount you are currently in. We worked really hard, coasting along on zephyrs, to sail into a squall, only to be rewarded with rain, rain, rain and no wind at all for three hours. Hence the name "suck squall" coined by Jonathan Livingston on Punk Dolphin. After that experience we steered clear of squalls until we were in the real trades. Ian and Patrick, fed up with the slow going, decided that we had to tack to every wind line we saw regardless of compass course. That tactic actually worked. Our GPS track looked crazy but hey! we were moving in fits and starts and inching out of the low-pressure trough. Of course, by this time the weather had warmed and we were shedding the customary layers you sail with on the Bay. Out came the shorts, hats and T-shirts, and into big zip lock bags went the long undies, fleece sweats and sweatshirts. Night watch usually only required a light windbreaker.

By this time Spirit and Diminished Capacity, the Ranger 33 that was our competition in Division A, were south of most of the fleet, with the exception of the Santa Cruz 50's and 52's, and the really big sleds, like Rage and Pegasus. We got back into the trades a little sooner than the fleet further north, and we got a little stronger wind. Soon the two of us were solidly first and second in Division A. With the trades came the black squalls at night, but fortunately most were the typical "blow" squalls, with lots of wind to go with the rain. We did get caught in one more suck squall, and lost our boat-for-boat lead to Diminished Capacity. We had identical ratings for this race, so it was "mano a mano" between us.

When the trades finally made their solid appearance, they blew from a direction a little more easterly than is typical, so we were charging straight to Kaneohe on port pole, instead of the traditional starboard pole "slot cars" segment of the race. We had the 3/4 oz. chute up for about 4 days straight, with just an occasional easing of the halyard to move the chafe spots an inch or two. We surged down the still confused swells at 11, 12 or more knots. We got better and better at sailing dead downwind and only had one horrific spinnaker wrap to untangle at "o dark thirty". That mess had us trying every trick in the book and a few that weren't. Steve kept a watchful eye on the large squall developing behind us as Patrick and Ian unwrapped both clews and finally untangled the mess. Of course a big gust hit just as the chute cleared and for a while it looked as if Spirit had a ghost out in front of her.

Diminished Capacity was ahead of us at this point, but within striking distance. We debated whether or not we could catch her before the finish, and finally Steve decided that we needed to try something different, even if it cost us distance. We had a large lead over the third place boat in Division A, so he felt we could gamble for first, but we would still have a solid second if the gamble turned out badly. We jibed one morning right after the radio roll call, and spent a day on starboard pole, jibing back the following morning. When we plotted our position and that of Diminished Capacity after roll call, they had gained significantly on us! The gamble failed. From then on we sailed hard, and held steady or gained slowly on Diminished Capacity, but we couldn't gain back all of what we had lost.

At times, when it was really, really windy, we flew an old 150, recut to be high clewed, wung out on the pole. That produced great speed but a wicked motion. In the lightest stuff we hauled out a golden oldie, a drifter made by Pete Sutter. That limp rag did a great job. Our 1/2 ounce & 3/4 ounce chutes saw lots of service. We even used the old starcut in some blustery stuff. We never reefed the main or spun out, either to windward or to leeward. That's when that long keel came in handy. (We did envy Peter English and his spade rudder more than once!). The boom did get dragged through lots of waves and the sound that the water made when we hit speeds of 11 knots and above was awesome. At 15 plus knots the bow wave moved all the way aft past the cockpit and curled onto the deck aft, over the helms person’s head. This was very exciting and generated a lot of crew noise. Ian managed to stuff the bow in once and have the solid water come just aft of the mast. That too generated "crew noise".

Because of the two light spots early in the race, finishing before the expiration of the time limit became an issue. It would have been horrible to race hard for 17 days, and miss the time limit cutoff by a few hours, or a few minutes, and end up with a DNF! Steve had been calculating what our average speed needed to be to finish before the time limit since about Day 8. Then we needed an average speed of about 6.2 knots to finish, fast but doable. Every day after the second light spot our average exceeded what we needed, and when the average we needed got down to less than 5.5 knots, we knew we could finish before the lights were turned off at the Kaneohe Yacht Club.

The day and night of the finish were really wild. It got windier and the waves got steeper and the squalls were closer together with much more rain. The sunset was the most dramatic yet with dark clouds, darker seas with white caps and golden light. The pep talk in the morning from the skipper had us all agreeing to stand our regular watches and get our normal sleep, which some of us pretended to do. When we picked up the loom of the Molokai light everybody got really jazzed. We started having traffic to watch out for and of course it started to rain more and more. The young eyes on board picked up our range lights and we got a good bearing on them. Once Steve popped up after checking the charts and the GPS to ask how we were ranging on the lights, to which the cockpit crew chorused..."What lights?!" Another serious rain squall and there we were charging to the finish line, in zero visibility, doing a good 11 plus knots, all knowing that the coral reef was just behind the finish line. Well, Steve and the GPS had it all worked out and the squall cleared just in time for the race committee to see us finish.

What a sensation! After 17 days going mostly downwind you turn to weather, put the engine in gear and things get crazy. Where and how did those waves get so big? Where did all this wind come from? Where's the escort boat? More important, where's the reef and which way is offshore? (When we checked out the finish line in the daylight we were very glad it had been dark. What a scary sight!) The welcome at Kaneohe was incredible. It really was a "dark and stormy night", but there was a crowd of people out to take our lines, greet us, and hand us the Mai Tais, flowered leis, a photo op, Mai Tais, pineapple boats and those first staggering steps on land. And then...that first shower.

We ended up second behind Diminished Capacity in Division A, and we two were the only Division A boats to finish within the time limit. Spirit was the oldest boat and the ONLY woodie to race this year, and, ironically, Diminished Capacity was the second oldest! We finished 32nd overall, which was not too disappointing given the slow days at the beginning of the race. Almost all of the top spots were taken by boats that started late in the week, and were not slowed by light winds as much as the early starters.

We ate really well during the race, and having the dinners mostly precooked left Annie time to rest and stand her watch. The guys did the dishes and Patrick assured us that he really didn't mean to throw his bowl and fork overboard with the soapy water. Breakfast was a formal cooked meal every other day and a grab what you want from dry cereal, instant oatmeal, dried fruits or whatever the rest of the time. We baked muffins and cookies and the instant no cook desserts were a real hit. A word of warning though to any one with the new propane tank with the safety filler valve. Make sure that its vented properly when filled. Ours wasn't, we didn't get a full charge of propane, and we had two days without fuel at the end of the race. Thank goodness for Trader Joe's' tortillini. It soaks very nicely in cold water and we had pasta salad for dinner. Our apples and oranges kept great as well as our eggs. We all did get a little tired of cabbage salad even though Annie did her best and made what felt like a hundred variations. Ian did draw the line at the carrot, cabbage and prune combo!

At some point in the rough stuff a lot of water started appearing in the bilge. Spirit usually has spiders and dust bunnies in the bilge so there was some concern about where this water was coming from. The fittings in the transom for the emergency rudder were suspect but looked and felt dry. We checked and rechecked all the through hulls, the rudder post, the prop shaft, the butt blocks, the stress points, the hose clamps, the bow, the stern and kept pumping a couple of quarts every other watch. It wasn't until we were on the way home from Kaneohe that we found the leak. Settled onto a steady port tack the culprit turned out to be our 30 gal plastic water bladder that was leaking slowly from a corner. (Thank goodness!)

Michael, our younger son age 11, joined us for the sail home. We were sad to see Ian fly home but now the initials on the water bottles spelled SPAM when lined up instead of PISA. We had the regular boisterous trades for the first couple of days and then wouldn't you know it ... becalmed again. This time we could put that engine in gear but we all hate the noise so we would tough it out down to 2.5 knots and then throw in the towel. I believe we spent as much time under spinnaker on the way home as hard on the wind!

We settled into a three hour watch rotation at night with only one person on deck, in safety harness of course! Michael only stood watch during the day. I remember one glorious early morning, spinnaker pulling, beautiful clouds and sparkling water when he plunked himself down in the cockpit, wiped the sleep out of his eyes, looked all around and said, "You know, this is paradise."

We had time to read, fish, search for glass balls, play cards, tell stories, listen to the single side-band BBC news and eat. We occasionally joked that we should have brought the varnish and sandpaper along. There was plenty of nice warm weather. In fact it stayed warm until the last 350 miles or so when we met the real westerlies. Soon it was back to reefed main and small jib and then double reefed main and small jib, going about 12 to 14 knots on a broad reach. We sighted Pt. Reyes light through the fog around 1:00 a m. on the 22nd of August, as the strong northerly dropped to zero. The night vision scope we received as a prize came in really handy. Where we thought there might be a boat off in the fog, we could see that not only was there a cruise liner but a couple of fishing boats, a freighter, a tug and a tow and the Farallone lights!

When the wind filled early in the morning we popped the chute and ran in under the Golden Gate. My, but does that feel good. We could hardly believe we'd been there and back. As we rounded the Richmond breakwater, just past noon, we asked "Why are we going in so early?" It seemed so strange to stop sailing so early on such a beautiful day! By then the welcoming committee was waving wildly and I must admit that it was once again time for all of us to take a long hot shower with plenty of soap!

The boat performed flawlessly. We suffered only one equipment failure on the race, a broken outhaul car bale that was easily repaired in Kaneohe, but broke again on the way home! Our rigid vang came adrift from the mast on the way home as well, but was put back in temporary working order with the banding tool. Spirit now needs some cosmetic TLC after about 4700 miles of hard sailing under the tropical sun, and we are hoping for a nice, dry, warm fall so we can get some paint and varnish work done.

The bottom line? These old wooden boats can be very competitive, as Peter English and Chorus demonstrated a few years ago, in races that use the PHRF handicap system. Even though Spirit was designed and built 40 years ago, she is still capable of doing the job against much newer designs. Given the right conditions, Spirit might even be capable of a very high overall finish.

Are we already thinking about the Pacific Cup in 2002? You bet we are!

Eight Bells

At 5 am September 30 Jim Enzensperger passed over the Bar to the Seas Beyond, following a full life (75 years) on our waters, Bay and Ocean. He always give back more than he got as a teenage co-founder of the Sausalito Yacht Club in 1942, merchant marine officer and executive for 50 years, early supporter of the Master Mariners, and avid racer of his own boats until cancer slowed him down in 1999. His long last fight is now over. At the October 6th celebration of his life at SYC attended by about 300, MMBA was present in the form of a huge wreath from the Association, identifying Jim as a co-founder and strong supporter of MMBA. He and some of his buddies at SYC (Dinehart, Easom, Hobart, etc.) provided the race committee for the Regatta in the early years of the reincarnation started by Bill Vaughn, and he made certain that SYC was generally one the half-dozen yacht clubs on which we rely to stage our various events. Jim was very much like most of our own members: a sailor to the core, enthusiastic and upbeat, generous to others and with his time, and fiercely loyal to his friends. Our tribute at his good-bye party was appropriate and fitting. You were all present in Spirit.

by Peter English

Myron Spaulding passed away in September at the age of 94. Almost as soon as I had bought my wood boat people began telling me his name, saying I should look him up for advice. Being always behind in life it seems, I never did meet him but did have one phone conversation with him last year. I expressed an interest in interviewing him. He said he wasn’t up to it at the time, but became quite talkative on the phone and I wish now that I had called more often and taken notes. Guys like him have a lot to do with why I like classic wood boats. Their concentration, discipline and determination in tackling the difficult projects that they take on is amazing, as well as how in tune they are with everything around them. Mr. Spaulding apparently had boundless energy to do all that he did, being an accomplished violinist as well as intricately involved in all aspects of sailboats. An older friend of mine remembers images of the yawl Suomi foundly when I bring up Myron’s name, and one of his boats is still a very active member in MMBA, Nautigal. Besides the wonderful vessels that he designed, he was also a top-notch racing skipper and sailed in six TransPac’s. Myron was one of a very select group of individuals across the country certified as official measurers for both IOR and IMS ratings. He continued to work at his Sausalito boatyard almost to the end. There is talk of converting it to school in his honor: for boat building, restoration, or sailing. Myron is survived by his wife Gladys.

by Ariane Paul

Nautigal sails to Drakes Bay for oysters and returns.

Nautigal, a 1938 38' Myron Spaulding (RIP) design sloop, sailed out from Berkeley Marina Friday evening at 17:00. The weather was summer like with gray overcast and a stiff westerly making it wet across the flats to Ayala Cove. We took the last available legit two mooring tie-up as dark set in. Sadly there were no other wooden sailing vessels moored but at least the huge power yachts that are proliferating the bay were not in evidence.

Early departure the next morning saw us under the Golden Gate at 8:00 with a gray sky and flat, still conditions. There were a lot of small and large motor vessels going out fishing and, according to my crew, we were to. Nearing Duxbury we slowed to troll for salmon towing a line with a very large silver plate, many swivels, then a plastic diving device, then a poor Anchovy with his nose in a clip, then a single barbless hook terminating the "legal" rig. The salmon weren't interested and the only thing we caught was a larger Anchovy, which we used as bate for bottom fish. This also was an unsuccessful venture. Ken Inouye motored by in his black gaff ketch Makani Kai and seeing no other MMBA types we proceeded uneventfully to the anchorage.

The party on the beach was well attended. Gene & Pat Buck did a great job hauling all the oysters down and setting up for the BBQ. I noted that people were tooled up with leather gloves, rags, tongs, and pliers etc. to better handle a hot oyster. Proper oyster knives of a non-folding type are perhaps a tool I could suggest be added to ones beach kit. My crew suggests for beach landings the waist high Neoprene waders that are now used by fisherman. They keep you warm and dry and they float you. They are available with or without the camouflage coloring.

Host Vessel: Ouessant

(represented, but absent due to engine problems)

 

Corsair	Echo
Elizabeth Muir	Johanna
Makani Kai	Mossie Estelle
Nautigal	Nightwind
Orca	Stroma of Mey
Sunda	Wood Echo

Theo (x-Hoyden II)

(represented, but absent due to engine problems)

Also Represented: Regulus, John T

Morning dawned with clear sky and a light breeze that soon faded. We decided to wait for the wind and also to see what was around the point. A hard motorsail out into the ocean brought into view the other side of the point, which appeared mostly the same as the front side. It is not off the edge of the world only off the edge of our chart. Several cruising vessels were coming down the coast from Oregon, Washington, and B.C. Whales were blowing and breaching looking much better than the mammal floating near the fish pier in Drakes Bay. We were now out from behind the shadow of the point and the swells and wind were right for heading south. With full main well vanged with a three part purchase rigged between the lee chainplates and five feet out the nineteen foot boom. We flew the heavy 180 jib poled out with uphaul, downhaul and everything set up tight. As any mariner who has driven a heavy, CCA type, displacement hull downwind in swells with a tiller controlled, keel attached rudder, knows, this is a full time job that requires a strong arm and constant attention. The wind was consistent and the swells were not all that big and they were nicely spaced. We did register 9.10 on the knot meter for a moment but, of course, these are uncalabrated electronic unites. At any rate about at the Patch we jibed. Not a real crash but we rolled and the boom went over instantly. The vang tore a few grommets out of the foot of the main as it slid forward and we at first assumed the big red rubber harness was gone. Upon closer inspection we realized the band was stretched all the way across the boat and about the size of your little finger. This called for some careful work removing the vang.

When sailing downwind in the ocean always rig a solid preventer between the end of the boom and the bow of the vessel! I forgot this even though there is a large bronze pad eye mounted on either side of the boom just for this safety line.

The only further excitement was noting that my crews $100 "ExTrak GPS wanted to put us on the rocks at Point Bonita. Not sure why, but we could not even go close enough to the rocks to see exactly where it thought we marked a waypoint on our outbound trip. I do have a Garmin 45 aboard but in total clear conditions we neglected to monitor it.

Ayala cove was emptied out for Sunday night and we coated and fried our remaining oysters (well done) on my new propane stove. Not really new, but an old Taylor two burner gimbaled iron toped and brass stove newly converted to LPG. Bob Griffiths (Eventide) commented that now I have a bomb on my cabin top to go with the gasoline tanks under the cockpit. He didn't even see the five gallons of outboard gas. What a relief to have a fully functioning system with two burners and a cabin heater ready to produce BTUs at the click of a button. No prickers, pre-warming, smoke, and smell. I have most of the safety features installed. Rubber one-piece hoses, gas detectors and electric solenoid.

Monday morning’s drizzle brought back the reality of a remodel job I left in Orinda with a roofer solemnly promising to paper it in. Winter is near but all is well.

I was so excited about my first ocean passage. We started out well. The wind was honkin, the main was reefed and we were ready. There were five members in the crew - our captain, first mate and world class chef, navigator, lowly grunt (me) and SnowBall whose primary responsibility was to lie around looking beautiful.

We traveled in luxury on a Passport 42 - El Tiburon. We had well stocked freezer, wine cellar and water-maker (which equates to showers). We had barbeque steaks and fish , wonderful stews, great wines, Odwalla juices, fresh baked breads. At our half way party, we had fresh frozen abalone - the best I ever had! It was quite decadent. Obviously, we weren't in a hurry, but we were competing for the best menu award. Unfortunately, he winds at the start were not to last. We made it just south of the Farallones and practically drifted the rest of the way. In the beginning, watch after watch we would come up on deck and see the same islands sitting in the fog - the only islands between here and Hawaii. The first week, we had only gone 500 miles. At this point several of the boats decided to turn around due to lack of time, provisions and/or water.

Two of the boats that turned around were the primary and backup communications boat. We took over that job, and I started calling roll call and relaying messages in the morning.

Knowing that it was impossible to finish with the time deadline, we started a new division in the race - The Cruising Division. In this division, there was an engine allowance and extra points were awarded for cruising gear such as barbeques on the stern, water makers, large anchors, chain, etc. Many boats joined the cruising division. Despite the engine allowance, we still did not make the finish within the time deadline. Still, we won the cruising division primarily because we started it and set the rules. Seeing the islands for the first time was wonderful, and we had the best sailing the last day. But the finish was a bit of a let down. We had such a good time on the crossing. When we arrived, we went aground following our escort, the kitty police were waiting on the dock to take SnowBall to kitty jail and before we finished our welcoming MaiTais we were told we had to clear the dock and get ready for the upcoming hurricane. The next day, I was on a plane going home and it was over. I look forward to doing it again!

by Ken Inouye

The destination is too far, the winds are too strong, the currents are against us, and it's too expensive to go for a 3-day weekend. Excuses, excuses. Life doesn't have to be complicated unless you let it. Fortunately, MMBA members are easy keepers. Just give them a destination and they can pretty much take care of themselves. As planned, the no-plan-weekend for Labor Day came off pretty well. Hosting it was easy, Coyote Point Yacht Club accommodated us at the guest dock and we had our own low-key barbeque / pot-luck Saturday night.

Stroma of Mey, Sunda, Pampero, Little Packet, and Makani Kai experienced an easy sail. Stroma of Mey won their Marconi division by sailing the course per the race instructions, Sunda had such a great time sailing, they circled back a few times to hear Skip Henderson play his tunes on Makani Kai. Pampero took off like a horse returning to the barn but missed mark 6 because I forgot to tell them earlier in the week that they had to leave it to starboard. Little Packet sailed well and probably had a few more hours' sleep before catching up with the rest of us in the middle of south bay. The only fierce battle in the Gaff division was when Skip successfully picked up the finish mark and anchor while I practiced heaving to under sail.

Although we all reminisced about the good old days in Petaluma, consensus of the small Labor Day group was that sailing to other parts of the bay is also good and we would like to continue this the next couple of years. If you're interested in exploring or sharing another part of the bay with your MMBA friends, volunteer to host next Labor Day weekend. It doesn't have to be complicated or expensive. Contact any MMBA board member, we'd like to hear about it by the end of the year so we can get it into the events calendar.