Drake's Bay Races

[BobJ]

Philpott says she wants a report about the weekend so I'll steal the one I sent to Pat B:

Dave Morris was helping run the C-15 nationals at HMBYC this weekend. Since Chris Case's FUGU was in the shop he agreed to sail with me.

We had a good port-tack start and worked through the usual shifty stuff off the CYC. SailFlow had shown 7-9 knots TWS all the way to Duxbury (HA!) and I was jonesin' to fly the new #2 but good sense prevailed, we went with the #3 and after Bonita, a reefed main. We tried Bonita Channel but the current was too strong so we tacked back out for awhile. There was noticeable adverse current all the way to Duxbury - we should have gone even farther out. After Duxbury we finally got rolling and just hammered our way up the coast. We went inside a bit approaching the bay and then tacked back west to the finish line, crossing at 1827 - a long ride. EVERYTHING was wet - Chris made the understated comment: "Your boat is wetter to sail than FUGU."

It was howling in the anchorage so we sailed to the north end, got in close under a cliff and set the big anchor with 90 feet of scope. As much as I wanted to, rafting up didn't seem like a good idea. Around 0300 we swung 180 degrees with a wind shift to the east and the anchor alarm went off. Even though it was set for 200 feet the full swing plus line stretch set it off. I reset it to 225', checked the depth again and went back to sleep.

Sunday morning dawned wet with fog. The anchor fought us a bit but we got underway and went searching for the starting line. We stopped by to say hey to Carliane, who graciously gave us some additional water (long story).

Again a good start, we jib-reached for awhile to see what the wind would do, then chickened out and set the A4 instead of the A2. I haven't seen Sunday's results yet but I think this cost us a bunch - I know the single-stringers both finished ahead of us.

A tough but enjoyable weekend. I was sorry to hear some boats had issues.

[Lightspeed]

Thanks Bob, we need more stories from the survivors, lots of Ret. When the finish times were texted to me (in the middle of the night) I assumed no wind like past years.....However, looks like the opposite good wind on the nose. I did hear we may need an anchoring in the dark with 20K winds as a prequalifier for this race...Also I assume the other good news is the wind blew the darned flys away.....R

[Philpott]

Rick, I can attest to the fact that there were no flies. On Green Buffalo we were asleep by 9 pm. We slept till 7 am the next morning with no snoring at all from anyone. During the night the wind was so high it shook the boat hard. Jim had put out a stern anchor as a precaution, and I am now a firm believer. Just a tiny little danforth, but apparently it made a big difference. Seeing California Condor was a sad sight. That Buzz, he’s cool under pressure. Green Buffalo motored over to see if we could assist, but Buzz declined with a big smile. As we motored slowly away he called out, “Don’t tell Stan!”

[BobJ]

I should add that the sail home on Sunday made up for the beating we took on Saturday. It was just a stellar day with nice breeze out of the NW that bent nicely approaching Bonita, so that you were pointing at the So. Tower without having gybed. It got really gusty inside the Gate as usual, but it was manageable. A really nice day.

[Lightspeed]

no snoring at all from anyone!”

Jacky, you must be a very sound sleeper. All sailors snor!

[Gamayun]

Yeah, Rick, I bought that fly swatter as you suggested. It sits proudly (and cleanly) on my nav station. Kelp flies don't bother ya when the wind blows 30 knots! I also had Daniel's comment during the skippers' meeting in my head about "don't come into Drakes Bay after dark especially in the fog without radar." I was sailing Kynntana solo and in the spinnaker division with Al on Bandicoot and others because I didn't want to race myself in the non-spin division. No fun in that. Given the long race ahead, I was a minute late on the starts each day and watched as both Wylies (Bandicoot and Nancy) sailed away from Kynntana. Oh well; that was expected. Everything felt pretty good heading out the gate until about 3 miles south of Duxbury when I realized that the chartplotter was not updating and was still showing "3 miles ETA to Duxbury." This really taught me not to drive without verifying my position visually. I quickly got eyes on the Duxbury Reef marker and actually tacked out about a mile away because I was so freaked out by my rookie faith in my (up to that point) trusty nav equipment. For the next couple of hours, I tried to trouble shoot, turning off the system, checking the components, etc., to no avail. I had no radar, no electronic chart, and no auto pilot. I found that the knob at the pedestal would hold the helm as long as Kynntana was balanced. Alas, this made me realize my reefing system needs some more work as it took a lot of time to get my first reef set right. Without the sail trimmed correctly, my tacks were super wide and really painful as the sun started setting lower in the sky. Each tack, I keep thinking, "we're close" but Point Reyes still loomed pretty small in the distance. At around 1930, I was both cursing the blinding glare of the sun and hoping it would stay up for a while longer. I had one display that was showing boat speed and depth, and my paper chart. Part of me was really freaking out about navigating in the dark in a strange anchorage and the other part of me was saying, don't be ridiculous; you have everything you need to do this. I had also been here before with Jackie on Dura Mater, but we had motored in after dark. And, of course when someone else is driving, one doesn't really pay attention. At least now there was Joe on Archimedes and I believe, Cadenza, who were coming in around the same time as I was. I only hoped that they weren't thinking they were going to follow that blue boat because "she looks like she knows where she's going." Coming into Drakes Bay was very hard to see anything, but the committee boat said it had Christmas lights on so once around the headland, I got the binoculars and found them...right there! Now to anchor. For the third time in my life. In 20+ knots of wind. Without an autopilot. And manage the sails. And make sure not to run into anybody. Oh, did I mention it was dark?! OMG, it was dark! I found a place that seemed near the rest of the fleet toward the northeast and directly into the wind coming off the hills, i.e., away from the possibility of drifting into land. (One of those two other times I have anchored, I drifted. Not a good average yet.) I set the anchor hard in 25 feet of water and let out enough chain until I felt it was OK, but no idea how much was out. (Note to self, if you're going to put marks on the chain, write down what the different colors mean.) Then I started to do the math of a 5:1 scope or even a 7:1 scope with the expected 30 knots of wind for later that night. I ended up putting out more chain and backing down again with the motor just to be sure. Eventually, I realized that my VHF was picking up lat/long so I made note of that to make sure I wasn't drifting (getting an anchor alarm is now on the project list!). For an hour or so, I tried to help Joe on Archimedes who was having trouble getting his main sail down, but he gave up and I didn't hear from him again until check in the next morning, which was a HUGE relief! In all that craziness, I did get to see the falling stars during the Perseid shower and watched as the bright orange gibbous moon rose over the eastern sky. The chatter on the radio about the others running aground and running into a tri with no anchor light was sobering. I was thankful that Kynntana and I were secure. Around 0500, I woke up to a wind shift and waves lapping at the boat, so I turned on the radio to check my lat/long position. All was holding. In the morning, the dense, dense, dense fog gave me trepidation again, as I still wasn't able to get the nav equipment working, but I guess I'd just figure it out again. Luckily, I heard my friend Jim on Tessa ask the RC for their lat/long otherwise I might not have found them. As we started, I kept saying to myself, "just keep the Wylies in sight", but a few miles later, it looked like the sun was going to burn off the fog and I was resigned that the Wylies were sailing away from me. When everyone veered toward the coast, I continued to move outside to enjoy a more beamy reach. I was rewarded with humpbacks, harbor porpoises, and hundreds and hundreds of murres calling for their chicks. It was all I could do to not keep heading south. It was beyond words how beautiful a sail that was. I let the boat go while I enjoyed the surroundings and took video and wrote in my log book. Oh yea, I'm racing...my plan is to (soon) leave the bay area and cruise the world. I've been prepping for this eventuality for the past 5 years and racing with the SSS has pushed me in so many good ways, yet I wonder if other places will render me to tears quite like this place does, and whether I will find another group of people quite like what exists here. It is a place that is so challenging to sail and yet so stunningly calm that it produces an amnesia to whatever stresses I might have felt earlier. Fears, concerns, questions of doubt just disappear.

And then, there is the Bay. Whooohoooo, breeze on, right? It is alternately blowing like hell and luffing my mainsail, which is still reefed out of an abundance of caution about the autopilot and nav equipement, which seemed to have mysteriously fixed itself around Duxbury Reef, again. Weird. Once I finally cross the finish line, Raccoon Strait is devoid of wind so I turn on the motor and keep it on through the 26 knots that's blowing through the slot. I had shook out the reef and we're FLYING at 9.5 to 10 knots like a horse heading for the barn. I am ready to get home, too, and it takes just a fraction of what it usually does to get back to Oakland. As I'm mowing down other boats in my path, who probably don't realize that I'm under motor, I can only hope they're thinking, "wow, that's a Freedom. She really moves!"

Yeah, baby

[Philpott]

Wonderful write-up, Carliane. Thanks for taking the time.

[Submarino]

Enjoyed reading your write up! And yes, I did use Kynntana to find the lost Finish Line.

[Philpott]

During the 2017 Sail Down, after dinner on the deck of the Sequoia Yacht Club, there were at least ten singlehanders sitting ‘round the table. When I mentioned that I had had the opportunity to crew on Green Buffalo it became apparent that few of those singlehanders had done so. Which is not surprising given the fact that they are … are you ready? Singlehanders. And they were interested. So here is the scoop:

Three weeks after the Drakes Bay race, today I recall my adventure as crew on Green Buffalo fondly. This is proof that my memory plays wicked tricks on me. Today, I recall my experience nostalgically. I remember it as one of my most memorable sailing experiences. Yes, memorable. That’s the word I’ll use to describe the bashing and beating through the water from the Corinthian Yacht Club to the Golden Gate Bridge, the exhilaration I felt as we sailed under that iconic gateway to the Pacific, the excitement of knowing that we were on the Best Boat Possible should the wind pick up and the waves increase.

And then I got sent up to the rail. The Captain didn’t discriminate: he also sacrificed his own son to the rail, to the wave gods. And that was fine until the waves began to wash over us. The Cold Cold waves, leaving us to Not dry out in the Cold Cold wind. As I began to freeze to death I decided that someone had made a mistake. Was I not a guest on this boat? Maybe someone thought I was Tony in disguise: Someone with more meat on his bones, oblivious to the elements. Instead there I sat with Tom and Heinz and Stephen. Tom, who seemed to be having a fine time. Heinz who smiled out of the hood of his rubberized suit and Stephen, who, when it was time to tack, circled ‘round the mast doing a modified cha cha. Who were these lunatics?

They were the crew of Green Buffalo. Heinz is the bowman. He must be Austrian because he sounds like Arnold. Stephen is progeny of the Captain, an engineer at Lawrence Livermore. And Tom seemed mild mannered, with the confident voice of a successful executive, but he was up there, too, so how normal could he be?

In the cockpit were Ian, who made quiet strategy suggestions which were either accepted or countermanded by the Captain. Bill and Jeff moved effortlessly between all the other positions in the cockpit, clearly comfortable in their roles sheeting in, tweaking, shifting from port to starboard. Everybody in that cockpit was focused and working toward the goal of Getting There First. It was an impressive display.

As we neared Duxbury in the fog I began to fade in and out. I had on the same foul weather gear as everyone else, but the drenching took its toll and my teeth began to chatter. I turned up my wristband to FIVE. Are we there yet? What? Fifteen more miles of this? I rolled back and forth under the boom when we tacked, but then my coordination failed me. I didn’t move fast enough and Tom grabbed me. Thank you, Tom. I recalled the saying that you are only as safe as your weakest link. Well, I was that link. I needed to get warm, so I made my way back to the cockpit, where I leaned over the leeward side and lost whatever was left of the granola from breakfast.

The cockpit crew directed me to the aft starboard bunk, which they call the coffin. It is sensibly upholstered in dark red washable vinyl. I fell asleep dreaming that I was in the engine room of a freight train. The Green Buffalo freight train.

Jeff has this lovely South African accent. Hours later I heard him as he leaned over and asked me if I would like to wake up in time to enter Drakes Bay. What perfect timing. Of course I would. I love Drakes Bay. I came up from the cabin as the wind modified and The Captain and his crew refined their significant skills enough to finish without tacking again. It is always a magical experience to enter Drakes Bay under sail. I looked ‘round at their faces as they appreciated the moment. Entering a safe harbor after a hard sail: What a pleasure it is. And what a pleasure it was to experience the Green Buffalo in its winning mode with its charming Team Buffalo. Thanks, everyone. Thanks, Jim.

photo by either Pressure Drop or NorCal Sailing or Latitude

[BobJ]

If it wasn't for amnesia we'd all be lawn bowlers.