Almost Perfect- the 2012 Vineyard Race

Originally Printed at www.sailingworld.com September 2012

Sometimes I’m amazed that anyone chooses to any distance racing in the Northeast.  The events lack fun factor of distance sailing in most other places. Take the Vineyard Race for instance. Taking part every Labor Day weekend since 1932, the race starts off Stamford, CT, rounds the Buzzards Bay Light tower to starboard, Block Island to starboard, and finishes back in, err, Stamford 238 miles later. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Stamford, other than the city allowing Brewers Yacht Haven to be torn down for office space and apartments, but after spending 200 odd miles at sea, it’s refreshing to wind up in a different place, one that has dockage for the boats involved to tie up and be social. The course of the Vineyard Race also typically becomes nothing more than a very long windward-leeward race, often in light air. Ask any “Buzzard”, a sailor who has done at least 10 Vineyard Races, and all can tell you about a time they had to anchor at the tidal gates marking the beginning of Long Island Sound.

As they say though, a bad day of sailing is better than a good day at work, so when I got an invite to join the crew of Todd LeBaugh and Bugs Baer on the IMX 45 Xcelsior it was an easy yes. As the days to the start dwindled, something amazing happened. For once, the weather forecasts were predicting a perfect race. Southwesterly wind gradually building to 20 knots, shifting northeast right as most of the boats would be arriving at the tower. Could it be, a 238 mile downwind ride? Visions of a fast race and Saturday afternoon finish dashed through my head. Could it really happen? Or was this just another forecast destined to fail?

Dock call was early on Friday. Even on a well-prepared boat, there always seems to be a list of things to do and an endless supply of food and gear to be stowed. On Xcelsior, we’d have plenty of sandwiches, a hot dinner for Friday night, and hopefully be back for dinner on Saturday. If things went really bad, there was a rumor of freeze dried food for Sunday, but nobody wanted to see that.

Finally, it was time to get started. Our IRC 45 class had a good mix of competition, including a King 40, Farr 40, Swan 42, and a J-133. With a building southwesterly setting up for the first afternoon of the race, we were concerned that the sprit boats would have an advantage. Fortunately, our IMX 45 was carrying both symmetric and asymmetric spinnakers. With any luck, our A-sail would help us hold off the sprit boats until the wind really came up and we could square back and hoist a symmetric kite.  The start was almost a non-event. Our class was evenly spread down the line, and soon everyone was finding their own lane. Our goal was to try to sail in mid Long Island Sound, where we believed we would find the best wind and current. Just below us was the Swan 42 Orbit. She would be a good test of our speed, as we figured out the best pole height and angle to optimize the new asymmetrical kite. In our own little match race, we’d gain a few lengths, only to have Orbit claw them back.  As we fought it out, the other competitors were falling back. The game was only broken by a tug and barge. Not wanting to be caught in its wind shadow, we sailed above it, while Orbit went below. On our own for the first time, we made our first mistake of the race. Feeling good sailing slightly higher and faster, we soon found ourselves too close to Long Island and in a hole. As we desperately tried to gybe back to mid Sound, all of our competition sailed away. The gains made in the first hours of the race were gone. Heroes to zeros. The only bright side was that we passed them once and there was a lot of racecourse to pass them again. We just needed to be smarter.

Finally back in the pressure, Xcelsior was now locked in battle with the King 40 American Girl. Before our little field trip to the Long Island beaches, we were ahead of them by over a mile. Now, they were 10 boat lengths ahead. Converging on opposite gybes, the major question now was which gybe was correct? This decision would be heavily weighted by where the navigation team of Bugs and Jay decided to take us out of Long Island Sound. For those not familiar with the area, all of the water for Long Island Sound has to funnel through a few narrow formations of land. On the North side, spanning New London to Plum Island, is The Race. Between Plum Island and Long Island is The Gut. The tides here can run well over 3 knots, and change at different times. We knew we’d be approaching as the tide turned foul, so minimizing the bad current was key. If Xcelsior continued on her gybe away from Long Island, we’d be headed for the Race, while American Girl could make a break for the Gut.

“Gybe when you can.” was shouted by Jay through the companionway. Our brain trust downstairs had determined that the Gut would have less adverse current for a shorter distance than the Race. It also allowed us to have a better angle toward the Buzzards Bay Tower, assuming the forecasted backing and strengthening of the wind would come. We were betting that our boat would benefit from deeper running angles with a symmetrical spinnaker in heavy breeze than our sprit equipped competitors. Before that, we needed to turn the boat and engage American Girl. As we finished our gybe, American Girl chose to gybe away from us to take advantage of a small wind shift. All of us on deck knew the game was now on. If we could out-gybe American Girl, and time the shifts better, we’d be able to put her away before the Gut. After a few gybes, we were finally parallel to our competitor. Now, we just needed to follow the old adage of staying between them and the mark to consolidate our advantage.

We approached the Gut as the sun set behind us into Long Island Sound while lighting the sky on fire. At the same time, the full Blue Moon was rising on our bow.  The crew on Xcelsior, however, couldn’t sit back and enjoy the natural fireworks. According to the navigators, we would need to head up sailing through the Gut, and there was concern that we would not be able to carry the spinnaker for the short reach around Plum Island. The speed team desperately wanted to avoid the slow down involved with a sail change, so we worked especially hard at managing the power of the spinnaker while Fernando, our intrepid bowman, rigged up the jib top.  With only a mile of tight reaching before freeing up again, the trimmers and driver managed a delicate dance of power and heading. There was no room to run off in a puff, the trimmer needed to anticipate a puff and de-power the sail to keep Xcelsior on course and off of the beach. Whatever we were doing was working. Xcelsior was on course and reeling in boats from other classes that chose not to fly a spinnaker and soon we were around Plum Island, having gained on our nearby competitors.

Leaving Long Island Sound allowed us to point the bow at the Buzzards Bay Tower, and the chance to square back the asymmetrical spinnaker. With the squaring of the pole, the internal debate stated on whether the A sail or S sail would be faster. Normally, we’d have a crossover chart to help make this call, but the A sail was new, so we were on our own. With only one masthead halyard, every sail change would give up precious miles with a bareheaded change, so it was critical to get the call right. Finally with the wind angle going past 150 degrees, the big blue symmetrical finally got to come out of the bag and the chatter onboard died down. Now we could enjoy the final miles to the Tower under a beautiful full moon, dolphins playing in the water around us, and 15 knots of wind.

We rounded the Tower at 3:30 Saturday morning, and for the first time in the race we needed a jib for the leg to Block Island’s south side. This leg would be a 4 hour-long tight reach, and for Xcelsior, it allowed us to make use of our waterline to add miles to our perceived lead. For me, this was a good time to get some rest.

As the brightening sky filled the cabin, I awoke to find Xcelsior very close to the bluffs on the south shore of Block Island. Normally, this is a dangerous place to be, as the wind dies and the currents get funky. True to form, we were nearly stopped, but amazingly, the Oakcliff Farr 40 was between the island and us, and sailing away! In the span of 30 minutes, she was able to sail right around us and now had a 2-mile lead. The last time we had seen this competitor was shortly after the start. For us, the urgency had returned, and the race was on again. The Farr 40 owed us time, but only about 5 minutes, so we needed to get back in front to have a chance, but first we needed some wind!

To get the wind, we needed to sail towards Long Island. Based on predictions from the navigators, this was a problem because the current would be foul at the Gut when we arrived. Based on the heading of the Farr 40, she was headed for the Race. The Race would still have some favorable current, so it was critical for us to get there, but for now boat speed was paramount. As the boat speed came up, we found some more pressure and soon were able to point the bow towards a waypoint in the middle of the Race. With any luck, our waterline advantage over the Farr 40 would allow us to claw back the miles we had given away near Block. Try as we might, we couldn’t gain our miles back on the reach to the Race. Then something amazing happened. The Farr 40 started to reach off to Long Island. They were sailing to the bad current! We had a chance, assuming that our weather model showing more wind on the north side of the Sound was correct.

Whatever we were doing was working. The wind was increasing and backing. Onboard chatter went from the Farr 40 to whether or not we should be hoisting the Code Zero. In hindsight, we waited too long to hoist the zero. Once it went up, it only stayed up for 5 minutes before we needed to peel to the asymmetric kite. At least that mistake didn’t cost us. In fact, we were now even in 1.5 knots of favorable current and making trees on the Farr 40 on the other shore. With the A sail finally up and drawing, we were making 10 knots directly towards the next mark, R32 off of Stamford. This was shaping up to be a 60-mile drag race with the Farr 40.  The win or the loss would come down to precious seconds, so we had to minimize our mistakes and sail as fast as possible. For the next few hours, the sailing was pretty much straightforward, then the wind started to come forward. This was a problem for us. Changing to the jib top would reduce our sail area and slow us down. While Xcelsior might be forced to sail high and slow, the Farr 40 on the south shore could now VMG sail towards the finish. For us, it was essential to keep the A sail up for as long as possible. After 2 wipe outs, the call to drop the kite grew louder, but we fought off the onboard naysayers and kept pushing. The only way to win this race was to keep the A sail up and the boat under it.

Persistence and patience paid off. We were able to carry the kite all the way to R32, and we rounded about 30 seconds in front of the Farr 40. Squaring back for the final run into Stamford harbor, the crew was finally able to relax and savor the coming victory. After 30 hours and 240 miles, we beat the Farr 40 by only 38 seconds. We did it in weather conditions that were almost unimaginable. The predicted forecast mostly arrived. I’ve never had a spinnaker up as long as I have in this race. The winds were fresh, and the clear skies were postcard perfect. In a final natural finale, the Blue moon raised blood red out of the Sound to signal our finish. Fireworks along the Long Island shore seemed to be exploding just for us. On the delivery back to the American Yacht Club, the crew was allowed a victory shot of rum. To thank Neptune for our good fortune, a shot of rum was also poured over the side.  A Vineyard Race may never be this perfect again, but we weren’t going to risk offending nature, just in case.

MOD-ernizing Ocean Racing

Originally published July 2012 at www.sailingworld.com

“The fastest boats.” Check. “The world’s best sailors.” Check again. Newport, R.I., had it all last week, but I’m not talking about the America’s Cup World Series. Overshadowed by the wings rising over Fort Adams were the world’s real fastest sailors. Hiding in plain sight at Newport Shipyard were the sailors of the MOD 70 circuit. Russell Coutts may think his AC45 is fast, but Spindrift co-skipper Pascal Bidégorry sailed over 900 miles in one day onBanque Populaire V. He’s not the only one; most of the Transatlantic record-breaking crew is spread throughout the five-boat fleet. Current Jules Verne Trophy holder Brian Thompson is on Mussandam-Oman Sail. His 45-day lap of the planet is still awe-inspiring. Double Vendée Globe winner Michel Desjoyeaux, skipper ofFoncia, is also present. There’s no marketing hype needed here, though maybe there should be. Even as an estimated 60,000 sailing fans packed Fort Adams, less than 1% of them knew that the reigning royalty of ocean racing was at their doorstep, and that a tour of some of the fastest boats to ever cross an ocean was free for the asking.

The first Multi One Design 70 trimaran hit the water last year. Designed to replace the old ORMA 60 trimarans with a faster, more cost effective platform, the MOD 70 class was supposed to be the multihull’s answer to the Volvo Ocean Race; fully crewed ocean racers on a global circuit. The comparisons end there, though. A Volvo 70 is a brute of a boat. Just sitting at the dock, the boat seems to say “I eat sailors for lunch.” Everything on a Volvo 70 is big and powerful. The MOD 70, though, is an exercise in refinement. Everything on the boat is sleek and sexy, from the ultra narrow hulls to the slick canting wing mast. Since there’s no lead to drag around in a MOD 70, it can generate a greater power-to-weight ratio than a VO 70. In fact, the entire 6.9 ton displacement of a MOD 70 is less than the 8.2 ton weight of a Volvo 70 keel assembly. Things then become more manageable. The gennaker on a MOD 70 can be dragged around by a single (strong) person. Moving the Code Zero on a Volvo 70 requires you and a bunch of your friends.

On paper, this class has it all. Yet, halfway through the inaugural Krys Ocean Race from New York to Brest, France, who’s watching? According to YouTube, just 500 people. Anyone who loves ocean racing should be glued to their Internet connections. In the first 24 hours of the race, the fleet averaged 640 miles in 24 hours, with some boats breaking the 700-mile mark. Let’s put that into perspective. On the first full day of the first official MOD 70 race, every boat sailed faster than any monohull in history! So why isn’t there a greater following? It’s too easy to say that the class is too French for global appeal. Historically, offshore multihull racing has been a French-dominated domain, but with the America’s Cup switching to multihulls and the power of the Internet multimedia on full display for 100,000 fans of the Volvo Ocean Race, that excuse no longer holds. The MOD 70 association has also taken great pains to deliver international multimedia. Even the daily video recaps are produced in both French and English. While multi-language media is good, the overall content of the media needs to improve. While each MOD 70 has a state of the art media station and a high definition camera, there is no dedicated media crewmember. In the case of Mussandam-Oman Sail, Brian Thompson has been designated as the media crew. The world’s fastest sailor and the most experienced crew on the boat also has to be responsible for media content? This won’t work. When the going gets tough, the most experienced crew is going to be sailing the boat, not holding a video camera. Offshore racing fans have grown accustomed to seeing all of the action—especially when things go wrong. That compelling video footage and the accompanying story are missing here. People follow ocean racing for the drama and for the personalities—the development of both needs to be prioritized. As long as media is an afterthought, the sailing public will go elsewhere for content.

When the content isn’t world class, then the timing of the event needs to be such that the event commands global attention. The Krys Ocean Race was destined to be an afterthought simply by being scheduled to coincide with the end of the Volvo Ocean Race. The start of the prologue race from Newport to New York was going on just as the lead boats in the Volvo were approaching Galway. I was torn between watching the Volvo finish and the Krys start, and the Krys start was happening live right in front of me! The timing reflects the great challenge for any race organizer. The Krys Ocean Race is timed to have the fleet arriving in France in time for Bastille Day national holiday events. Yet, by catering to the home audience, the event is placed in a difficult global position. To create a global event, the global good needs to be considered. Had the Krys Ocean Race started in early August, the Volvo hangover would be over, and the world’s sailing media could be focused on MOD 70 sailing. The America’s Cup World Series arriving in Newport at the same time certainly didn’t make things any easier.

World-class media and good scheduling are all meaningless if the class isn’t financially strong. Title sponsor Krys has signed on to events through 2014, yet the MOD 70 class is in financial jeopardy. The original model for the class included 9 boats, ideally with a global distribution. To date, only six boats have been built, and five are currently sailing, with four of them predominantly French. The MOD 70 class owns two of the boats: Race for Water, and the former Veolia. Race for Water is hull number one and was originally to be a demonstration boat before being turned over to a sponsor. The sponsors, though, haven’t come knocking, and now the class is subsidizing the costs for skipper Stève Ravussin and crew. At the same time, the organization had to buy back hull two from Veolia after the French sponsor suddenly dropped their sponsorship earlier this year. Veolia, skippered by Roland Jourdain and captained by American Ryan Breymaier, was one of the best prepared MOD 70s and was offered at an amazingly low price. When turnkey boats with a top notch crew can’t be sold, where is the hope for new hulls to be built? The class needs to find a way to unload their boats to private teams. Maybe when that happens, more money can be funneled into media and promotion.

Ocean racing fans and sailing speed freaks owe it to themselves to check out the MOD 70s. The fleet will cover the remaining miles to France by the end of this week, and a European tour will begin in late August. Sailing World’s senior editor Stuart Streuli had a chance to sail onMussandam-Oman Sail as a guest crew during the prologue race from Newport to New York. His race report is coming, but in the meantime, you can see video reports here: Hopefully, by the time the European tour begins, the class will have upgraded its media output, and ocean racing fans shall rejoice!

The Other Side of the Docks

Onboard for the 2nd leg of the Atlantic Cup. Originally printed on www.sailingworld.com, May 2012

In life, there are the haves and the have nots. The same dichotomy exists in Atlantic Cup Class 40 sailing as well. On one side are teams like Germany’s Jörg Riechers. Jörg came to Charleston armed with the newest and most expensive Class 40, a shore team, and the resources to be able to fly in some of the world’s best crews for Leg 1 and this weekend’s inshore series. Thanks to the generous backing of his sponsor, Mare, there is funding for a Class 40, a Mini, and all of the logistics needed to make things run smoothly. It’s no surprise then that Jörg has finished first in Leg 1 and second in Leg 2 of the Atlantic Cup. He’s a fantastic sailor, and he has the luxury of not having to worry where tomorrow’s funding will come from.

On the other side of the dock are Americans Emma Creighton and Rob Windsor. At 27, Emma became only the second American woman ever to complete the grueling 4,200-mile Mini Transat Race. Prior to that, Emma got her sea legs by working as a delivery crew and captain. Yet with thousands of ocean miles under her belt, she couldn’t find any fully crewed American offshore programs to take her. “They’d take 18-year-old guys who had never been offshore before to race,” Emma says, “while I’d only be called for a delivery.” Determined to beat the boys’ club at their own game, Emma got her hands on a Mini, a 24-foot, singlehanded boat popular in France, and began racing it on the West Coast, placing third in the doublehanded Pacific Cup. She then moved to Europe to find the competition and financial backing needed to properly support a Mini campaign and more. For Emma, the Mini Transat was a huge accomplishment. She was the only female to complete the race, and one of the few mostly self-funded teams to complete the race. Gear donations from Ronstan and Samson helped, as did financial support from the Richmond Yacht Club. The French press is taking notice, too, as Emma became a bit of a media darling after the Transat. She needs that fame if she can hope to break into the world of French sponsorship. Without it, her goal of competing first in the Class 40 circuit, and later in the Barcelona World Race will be daunting. Emma was only able to compete in the Atlantic Cup by bartering  for the use of Tanguy De Lamotte’s Initiatives in return for delivering it from the Solidaire du Chocolat to the start of the Quebec to St. Malo Race. “When I got the boat, it was just sitting on a mooring.,” Emma joked. “There weren’t even any dock lines, so don’t break anything!”

Rob Windsor, of Centerport, NY, shares similar aspirations to Emma. As a sailmaker for Doyle Sails in Long Island, Rob was first exposed to Class 40 sailing when Doyle began building sails for Mike Hennessey’s Dragon. Rob soon found himself as Dragon’s part-time project manager and Mike’s co-skipper in the inaugural Atlantic Cup. With a victory in that event, Rob was able to arrange a spot with Fabrice Amedeo’s Geodis sailing team for 2012. According to Rob, that program was to have included the Quebec to St. Malo race as well as the Atlantic Cup, providing him with the global exposure needed to secure funding for his own Class 40 project. Rob’s hopes were dashed, however, when Geodis shattered a bulkhead on its delivery to Charleston after the Solidaire du Chocolat. With the boat stuck in the yard, Rob was high and dry for 2012, until a phone call from Emma a few weeks ago. “ I had met Emma in Mexico where the Class 40s were,” Rob said. “Since she was the only other person who spoke English as a first language, I thought I should go and introduce myself to her.” They hit it off and soon enough, Emma asked Rob to join her as co-skipper of Initiatives for the 2012 Atlantic Cup.

As one of the least-funded teams in the Atlantic Cup, a good result was critical to help grow their global sponsorship resumes. With a gut-wrenching 10^th place finish in Leg 1, the duo was determined to break the top five in Leg 2 and prove that even with an older, underfunded boat, they could still hang with the top teams. With light air forecasted for the 221-mile leg from New York to Newport via Barnegat, NJ, redemption would require patience.

Leg 2 started with around 8 knots of downwind breeze and a good ebb tide to help push us out of the harbor. A conservative start put us in the back row, so redemption would require some smart plays in the wind shifts and currents of New York Harbor. After close crosses with Mare, Icarus, and Dragon, Rob and Emma had managed to pull to the front of the fleet by the time we reached the Verrazano Bridge. Passing Icarus, we were close enough to be able to lob a few good-natured insults back and forth. While the American teams were all close on shore, at sea it was a battle to the very end, and we hoped to put Icarus in our rearview mirror soon. Now the question was how close to shore to go for the run down the Jersey coast. Dragon and a few others opted to go as close to the beach as they could, while we chose to remain about three miles off the coast with the majority of the fleet. In the light air, positions changed with every wind shift. We must have passed Mare and Icarus three times each. By the time we all reached the turning mark at dusk,Bodacious Dream and Dragon, who had remained inshore, rounded in front of Icarus, as well as Mare and us who too rounded just in front. Icarus was so close that we could hear Tim Fetsch shouting to Ben Poucher: “OK, you’re a bow guy now. Wait, now you’re a trimmer. Hey, turn your light to red!” 

We needed to get away from these guys just to get some peace and quiet. Ahead of us was about 180 miles of upwind sailing. The question was to tack to starboard and head for the Long Island shoreline or continue on port out to sea. Our pre-race routing suggested that if the wind was greater than 10 knots, more wind would be offshore, and the breeze at the time was 9.8 knots. That seemed close enough to 10 for Rob and Emma, so offshore we went. In our camp wereBodacious Dream, Mare, and Icarus. Dragon, Campagne de France, and a number of others chose to head for shore. The first big roll of the dice had been played. In a day we would know who was right.

Throughout the night the wind slowly rose into the high teens. Along with the wind, the sea state had continued to build too, and by dawn, teams that headed offshore were beginning to decide whether or not to reef. Onboard Initiatives, we chose to keep full ballast and a full main, but Icarus, who was again right next to us, peeled down to a reef. After nearly 150 miles of racing, Icarus was close enough to shout to, and Mare was nearby someplace. Spirits were high onInitiatives. We had an awesome battle going on with the overall race leader. Something good must be happening, and the position reports soon told us that we were all fighting for the lead. The boats that went inshore suffered through less breeze at an unfavorable angle. Every update showed us gaining on the outside, and we were loving every minute of it! The big question was going to be when to go back. Mare was the first of the group to tack away, leavingIcarus, Bodacious Dream, and us as the furthest boats east. For Rob and Emma, choosing the side of Block Island to pass would dictate our layline call and when to tack. Based on our data, and Rob’s experience winning this leg last year, it was decided to pass between Montauk and Block Island, given that we’d be in the Montauk area with the current favorable enough to pull us in, then change and push us towards Newport. Thus, Mont

auk became our weather mark, and we did our best to call a layline from 50 miles away. Of the 3 boats left going east, we tacked away first. Icarus tacked after gaining a few miles of leverage, and no one knew where Bodacious Dream was. In hindsight, we should have been paying more attention to them.

As it turns out, the further east a boat went, the better. There was better pressure and angle towards Newport for every degree of longitude east. Bodacious Dream was willing to go farthest east, and was rewarded with an almost commanding lead by the time we all approached Block Island. Similarly, Icarus was now in second, due to being further east. We were in third, withMare and Campagne de France in fourth and fifth. We could see Icarus, and we were convinced that we could get them and take second place.

Converging on Block Island was awesome. Two of the oldest boats in the fleet were beating the perennial global-class favorites. Who needs a big budget when you have local knowledge, right? All we needed to do now was hold them off. The first cross with Mare and Campagne had us a mile or so ahead. Unfortunately, we weren’t laying Montauk, so a mid-ocean tacking duel was going to begin with four boats. With Icarus’ eastern position, they didn’t need to tack as often as us, putting them at an advantage. Every tack we had, we seemed to lose a bit. Mare andCampange were getting bigger on every cross, but we were still ahead, and they looked committed to going east of Block Island. We could still do this, right? Right?

When everyone had made their choice on which side to pass Block Island, we were a mile or so behind Icarus, but still appeared to be ahead of Mare and Campagne. Block Island would determine the fate of second through fifth. Bodacious Dream appeared to be out of reach. On our side, the tide was doing exactly what we wanted it to do, and we were sailing faster than Icarus. A second or third would be huge for this team, and the desire to beat the best Class 40 sailors in the world was at its peak. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t slept in nearly a day; Rob and Emma were constantly moving the stack and trimming to get every advantage. There would be no excuses left out here.

As we converged into Newport, reality set in. The boats that went east had gained. They had a much better wind angle with more pressure and likely sailed four miles less than those of us on the west side of Block. Crushed, but not defeated, Rob and Emma now looked at the rest of the race to preserve their fifth and try to pass Icarus for fourth. The miles to the finish at Fort Adams were agonizing, as the wind shut off, and the current out of Narragansett Bay was running at full ebb. At times, we were tacking through nearly 180 degrees, and we felt like we’d never make it home. Finally, we crossed the line at 2:44 a.m. on Monday morning in a well-deserved fifth place. Rob and Emma gave this leg their all and can be very proud of the job they did to hang with the top boats in the world. Given the proper resources, this pair can take on and beat anyone in the Class 40. All they need is a sponsor to believe in them. As many an American sailor has learned, the race to the top of a class like the Class 40 lies not only in talent and ability, but the ability to raise funds too.

The Atlantic Cup- Leg 1

Originally posted on www.sailingworld.com, May 2012

I’m in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean right now sailing as a media crew on Jörg Reicher’s Class 40 Mare with co-skipper Ryan Braymaier in the Atlantic Cup. What follows is my running diary of the race.

Day 1: Why is it that the hardest part of any race is getting on and off the dock? 4 pm was dock call, and with German efficiency the motor was on and running at 4. The only problem was that no one checked to see if the engine was able to go into gear before we untied from the dock. In a place as tidal as Charleston, this could turn into disaster in a major hurry. With impending disaster looming, my first media man crisis was should I help to avert disaster, or stand by with the camera running? Since it was pre-race, and I was being asked rather firmly to pitch in, the camera was left off as we tried to raise the main and keep from running aground in the narrow channel by the Charleston Marine Center. Once the sails were up, my time as a sailor officially ended, and it was into cameraman mode for the next three days.

Compared to other more “traditional” 40 footers, the Class 40 is amazingly roomy down below. With a wide beam, high form stability, and a deck stepped mast, the interior feels like a big bright room. We even have windows for light, and as opposed to the current crop of jet back carbon hulls, the fiberglass hull of Mare is actually translucent enough to all you to see the water rushing by its side. Yet with all that space, I’m always in the way! Can’t use the pipe berth, that’s for the sleeping crew. Can’t sit at the little molded seat that forms the nav station either, since the weather grib files always seem to arrive 10 minutes after I start downloading video. The cockpit is small and lined by high comings for crew safety, so I always seem to be in the way there too. I can’t even sit on deck at the start, since the camera people want to see doublehanded sailors, not a media guy. Finally after a bit of searching, I found my “office” in the aft stacking bay on the weather side. There’s a great view out of the transom safety hatch to judge speed. For the next few days I’ll sleep, edit video, and write from this cocoon, at least until I’m in the way here too. Maybe it’s easier on a Volvo 70, there’s more space in which to hide and more people to blend in with.

The other big challenge being a media man is finding stuff. Every other time I’ve gone offshore, I know the boat and the crew well. For the Atlantic Cup, however we only had a few quick hours to chat prior to the event. Every small daily life event now requires a question. “Where’s the water?”,“How do I use the turbo heater without blowing up the boat?”, and last but certainly not least, “ Bucket, bag, or transom?”

With all of this personal drama, it’s amazing there was actually time for a sailboat race! Our prestart plan was to start at the pin, lead the fleet to the turning mark, extend in the tacking duel out of the 2 mile jetty, and then sail as fast as possible due east to find the Gulf Stream. The only problem was that we were late to the start by about 30 seconds and were now forced to play catch up right from the start. As bad as out day was, it was about to be worse for Hannah Jenner and XXXXX on 40 Degrees. Just past the first turning mark, 40 Degrees was just to leeward of us when the always gut wrenching sound of cracking carbon fiber was heard across the harbor. Their mast had failed just above the first spreader, and the Atlantic Cup was down to 14 teams. On Mare, we were about 12^th. Maybe we could tack our way to a better position, since we’d need to do it about 10 times before reaching the open ocean.

Tacking out of the jetty was interesting to say the least. In yesterday’s skipper’s meeting we were promised that there would be no commercial shipping in the harbor during the start time. That statement proved to be no good as no less than 5 ships were transiting as we were starting. It can be a real sickening feeling having an 800 foot container ship bearing down on you when you are short tacking between stone walls and shallows. We even managed to bump aground once avoiding a ship. Through all that insanity, we did manage to pass some boats and were someplace around 6^th when we could finally put and end to the tacking. If only we could have put away going to windward!

The fastest way to make it to the Gulf Stream while still making sensible VMG to New York was to aim for a place off the North Carolina coast called Frying Pan Shoals. To get there, we were looking at nearly 12 hours of starboard tack beat in a dying northeasterly breeze. Onboard Mare, Ryan, Jörg, and I were learning how to get along together. With the accrued skill of a world circumnavigator, Ryan is the model of nonchalance. Nothing is a problem to him as long as we stick to our plan and execute it. That means sailing in full upwind mode, even as teams around us our starting to crack sheets and go faster. “Our goal is to be outside everyone and first to the stream. The French don’t know how to sail upwind; they just love cracking off a bit to feel good. Don’t follow them.” Was Ryan’s constant mantra. Jörg, however, can’t sit still. He is constantly fidgeting with every part of the boat. One second he’s moving the stack, the next second he’s dashing about the cockpit making small sail adjustments, then he’s off to add water ballast. It’s quickly clear that he’s obsessed with boatspeed, while Ryan will manage the bigger strategic picture.

Day quickly becomes night, and I was once again reminded of the true beauty of a starry night sky. On the horizon behind us, mast top lights went from red to green as Mare continued to fight for upwind height. Through smart boatspeed and tactics, we had worked ourselves up to second behind Campange de France and just ahead of rival Talan Bureau Veritas. At the time we were just ahead and to leeward of Talan, when she decided to abandon her upwind strategy and begin to sail to shore. Putting the boat under autopilot, the crew soon deployed their code zero. In the process, they came tearing down on us, nearly causing a collision. We were confident in our decision to continue to the Gulf Stream, and the race for first was on.

Dawn and Frying Pan Shoals lighthouse greeted us together on Saturday morning. Here, we could first start the effect of the Gulf Stream pulling us north, but the major current push was still further offshore. The major tactical decision of the day would be whether to bear off and set a code zero. By doing so, we would sail less distance to New York, but we would have to wait a bit longer to hit the Gulf Stream proper. Since we had worked hard to position ourselves as the most offshore boat, we waited for Campange to bear away, then played the growing clouds near the Gulf Stream for local breeze advantage. Finally at about midday, we finally put the bow down towards New York, and Ryan and Jörg busied themselves with hoisting the code zero.

Changing sails on a doublehanded boat isn’t a simple, or quick, procedure. Getting everything assembled for the code zero hoist took nearly 10 minutes, so you need to make sure the sail call is correct, and not need to be reversed in 10 minutes. By the time our zero was up and flying, we saw a boat come over the horizon, much further offshore than us. Bodacious Dream had followed our plan, but they took it all the way to the Stream, while we had elected to cut the corner. Putting the zero away, tacking, and going to cover Dream was discussed, but in the end viewed as too costly. For the rest of day one and part of Day 2, we’d watch our competitors roll us and pass on over the horizon.

Day 2

With the zero up and flying, our next waypoint was Cape Hattaras. At some point prior to Hattaras, we would reach the western wall of the Gulf Stream and a reported current of up to 4 knots. The sooner we got that current, the faster we would do to the rest of the fleet what Bodacious Dream did to us. As night fell, the wind slowly started to back and increase and our Mach 40 Class 40 really came alive. The only light on the horizon was Bodacious Dream and we were determined to catch her by morning. With each knot of new wind, the gap between Dream and us shrunk. By 4 am, the call was made to peel to the code 5 kite to bear off and pass them. With sheer power, Mare was able to sail under and around the Dream, giving us what we thought was the lead. Wind speeds continued to increase into the mid teens and back enough to let us hoist the big kite. Ever since, the day has been nothing short of champagne sailing. Right now, we are on starboard gybe, and averaging a little over 15 knots over the ground for the day, thanks to a healthy 4-knot push from the Gulf Stream. At this point, a 350 to 375 mile day looks to be in the clouds. Not too shabby for a 40 foot boat in 14 knots of breeze! From the latest position report, our strategy has worked quite well. We have put 7 miles between ourselves and Bodacious Dream, and 40 miles between Talan, the boat that nearly hit us on the first night and ourselves.

We are approaching the point in the Gulf Stream where it begins to bend east and are planning our departure strategy. Ryan has identified a warm eddy that he thinks we can hook into to give us a further push to New York. To get it, we need to gybe around 7pm to get it. From there, the warm eddy should deposit us near the Jersey Shore sometime around daybreak on Day 3. In the meantime, Jörg is driving his boat like a man possessed while Ryan catches a nap. On Mare each crewmember sleeps when they find it necessary, and I don’t think either one has slept for more than 6 hours for the duration of the race. Ryan looked exhausted; Jörg looks like he can drive until the tiller is pried from his hands. Given his average speeds of late, I think we’d all be perfectly content to let him carry on, as we are doing nearly 20 knots over the bottom right now. I’m off to cook up some freeze-dried food for dinner. Mare does not have a galley. To heat up water for the freeze dried, there is a small Jetboil water heater. It heats the water really fast, but every time I start it, I worry that my hand will be burnt off! Day 2 has been pretty good to us. Hopefully we can keep the momentum alive through day 3.

Day 3:

All good things must come to an end, and that was certainly the case when we tried to exit the Gulf Stream and pursue a warm eddy off Georges Bank that we thought would propel us home. The Gulf Stream produces a lot of energy, and with that energy comes unique micro weather systems that don’t show up on any grib file. For us that meant going from sailing straight at New York at 12 knots to wallowing around with the sails slatting for an hour as we transitioned from the Stream proper to the eddy current.  For Jörg and Ryan, the atmospheric instability meant a new sail change every 10 minutes or so, draining much of their physical stamina. In addition, the mental burden of knowing that we were stopped while our competitors were now making up valuable ground was causing ample frustration. As darkness descended, we were finally able to re-hoist the big kite and again make decent progress to New York. It’s times like this here being a media crewmember suck. My job means that I cannot help or hinder the crew, so as they are toiling away, I’m forced to just sit there and watch. After years of racing, my gut instinct is to do something, anything, to make their lives easier, but the only thing I can do is to try to be invisible.

Determined to regain the miles we lost, Jörg and Ryan worked straight through the night, yet by 5am Monday morning, the image of Bodacious Dream was back on the horizon. At this point, we are fully out of the Gulf Stream and the weather has turned cold and grey, aptly matching the mood onboard. With only 100 or so miles to go to New York, the mission is to extend our tenuous lead back to the point where we had it the night before. Throughout the morning, we were stuck in a bubble of high pressure, and were lucky to manage 8 knots of speed towards the finish. By 11 am, we were finally close enough to shore to gybe onto starboard and wait for the Jersey Shore to heat up enough to give us some sea breeze to help us along. Our main competitors seem to have stayed offshore, so this move needs to be the right one; otherwise we not have any more passing lanes for the rest of the race.

Fortunately for us, the pressure and angle favored our inshore position, and we started chewing up miles to New York. There was a lot of leverage between us and Campange, who were way out to the east along with Bodacious Dream. They had to come back, and when they did the angle appeared to be just behind us. Sure enough, a few hours later the green and orange mainsail of Campange appeared behind us, and amazingly they sailed right down to our line before gybing back. With their leverage now gone, the race should be in the bag, right?

No race is ever sailed perfectly; it is won by minimizing mistakes. In doublehanded racing, mistakes happen when teams don’t sleep for nearly 3 and a half days. Ryan and Jörg were lucky to get maybe 10 hours, and none in the last 22 hours of the race. That fatigue led to a short layline call near Sandy Hook that opened the door for Campange to take the lead. They got some current relief and better pressure, and our 2-mile lead was gone. After 700 miles of racing, we were down to a gibing duel to the finish, right up until Campange wrapped their kite in a gybe. One mistake in 700 miles was the difference between first and second place.

New York at night is a fantastic place to finish a race. With the reflection of the new Freedom Tower glancing off the water at the finish, our adventure had come to an end at 1:30 Tuesday morning with a victory. Jörg Reicher’s Mare is still undefeated in ocean races, after first winning this winter’s Solidare du Chocolat. After docking, Jörg and Ryan were surrounded by media before finally being freed to get much deserved sleep. For me, it’s off to Penn Station and a return to real life. Maybe I’ll get some sleep too.

Thank You For Flying Oman Air

Sidney Gavignet is no stranger to high-pressure yacht racing. A veteran of four Volvo Ocean Races, the last with Puma Ocean Racing, and the skipper of the giant maxi multi Oman Air, you’d think that day racing small catamarans would be a walk in the park for one of the most experienced skippers in the Extreme Sailing Series. Think again. As a rookie in the Extreme Sailing Series, the learning curve in these ultra high performance machines has been brutal. Extreme 40 sailing requires split second thinking, and a level of mental and physical endurance that is completely different than ocean racing. Miss a shift or band of wind here, and you’re done. A bad tack can cost you six places, and since you’re right in front of the spectators, everyone can see it and second guess you.  I was fortunate enough to be invited onboard Oman Air for a race, and it was an experience that will never be forgotten.

After being given the required lifejacket and crash helmet, I was shuttled out to the boat by RIB. Stepping aboard, I was greeted by Gavignet, trimmer David Carr, tactician Kinley Fowler, and Oman’s own Nasser Al Mashari on the bow. Nasser gave me a quick overview of the rules for being a 5^th man (Don’t touch anything, no talking during the race to the crew, no hiking, and don’t fall off.) and we were off to get ready for the race.

We set up for the start near the pin end of the line with about a minute to go and a nice lane in which to accelerate. The start was quite like starting a dinghy, with Oman Air pulling the trigger with 10 seconds to the start and going from nothing to flying almost instantly.  The plan was to sail to the left side of the course, where the band of wind appeared to be. Sailing the past few days has been a massive game of snakes and ladders, and the breeze patches are really hard to see in a race that totals all of nine minutes, so the pre-start strategy is much more critical here than in a more conventional sailboat race. Our plan worked well, and within two minutes, we were on the port tack layline, looking to round the weather mark to starboard in 3^rd place. Things were great, until Alinghi caught a puff and came storming in on starboard, flying a hull on a collision course with us.

As the give way boat, Oman Air had to quickly luff to avoid Alinghi. Unlike a keelboat where you can carry momentum, the X 40 simply stops.  With Nasser desperately trying to back the jib to get us going again, we were stuck watching helpless as Alinghi sped by us, followed by Nice For You on the inside. On the other side, Luna Rossa got stuck on our hip trying to avoid us, and Red Bull came skidding into Luna Rossa with a dull thud. Artemis saw the mess unfolding and was able to speed around our pileup on the outside. Pindar wasn’t so lucky. Ian Williams misjudged his position and hit Red Bull, shearing off their rudder in the process.

With our 3^rd now being a 9^th in the span of about 30 seconds, there was a lot of catch up to be done. We were able to bear off and set the gennaker, and the battle to catch the fleet and keep Luna Rossa at bay was on. The run to the leeward mark took all of 2 minutes, as Oman Air flew a hull and tried to hold off Luna Rossa, who had taken up position inside us. We were going to be on the outside after the gybe and would need to regain our place on the next beat.

The short trip back upwind gave us few passing lanes as Luna Rossa kept a lose cover on us. We would have to hope for a mistake on their part, as the race had now come down to a match race, and every point in this series has been critical.

In the end, we were able to roll Paul Campbell Jones and the Luna Rossa team, and score an 8^th place. The entire race for us lasted just over 9 minutes, a time filled with incredible hull flying acceleration, and instant death. For me, I was off the boat to reflect on what had just happened. For the crew, they needed to put the disappointment behind them and immediately re-focus on the next race. To survive in the Extreme 40 Series, you need a short memory and the fortitude to shake off stress and loss. Every team has at least one bad race, and the key to making out of a race day on top is consistency. Oman Air recovered in the following race, scoring a 4^th, but the team is struggling to find its consistency. After 2 days, the team is in 9^th overall, but with another 20+ races to go, don’t count them out yet.

Postscript:

A lack of consistency mired Oman Air to an 8^th place finish overall. Emirates Team New Zealand snatched overall victory from Artemis Racing in a thrilling final race in front of approximately 12,00 fans at Boston’s Fan Pier. The Wave Muscat, skippered by Leigh McMillan finished a surprising third, given that this was McMillan’s first time at the helm this season.

Yacht Club Time Machine

Yacht Club Time Machine

By Ryan O’Grady

The New York Yacht Club’s Annual Regatta is always as much spectacle as it is a regatta. Really, how many other weekend regattas have a Volvo 70 entered in IRC? This year the boat porn quotient of the event was raised even higher with the approaching starts of the Transatlantic Challenge and J Class Regattas. Walking the piers of Newport Shipyard, you’d be treated to the enormous, odd, yet strangely beautiful Maltese Falcon, the VO 70 on steroids Rambler 100, her archrival ICAP Leopard, the stunningly beautiful J Class Valsheda, Puma’s Mar Mastro, and a collection of the hottest racing boats on the east coast. (If you missed the spectacle, check out the US Sailing Roadshow blog at ussroadshow.blogspot.com for a video tour) Walk a little further down the pier, though, and you enter the yacht club time machine. Nestled amongst the carbon behemoths are the 12 meters, ghosts from the day when the Americas Cup was really Newport’s Cup. For over 50 years, the 12’s have graced the waters of Newport and they show no signs of going away anytime soon.

With a length of around 70 feet, and a whopping displacement of around 60,000 pounds, the 12 meters have been lovingly referred to as “The world’s most expensive way to sail at 8 knots.” Everything about these boats is big and heavy. If you need to do a headsail change, bring friends as the genoas weigh in at close to 85 pounds each. (Yes, that’s an aramid sail. I feel really bad for the traditional 12 meter crews who are stuck with Dacron cloth!) From my spot in the trimmer pit of the modern 12 meter Victory 83, I’m immune from hauling jibs around this week. I just need to worry about a jib sheet with 15,000 pounds of load wrapping around my waist and cutting me in half. With wind speeds hovering in the upper teens for racing, a misstep could lead to serious injury. I try to keep that thought out of my mind as I ask for the backstay to be tightened over 12,000 pounds….

12 meter yachts were used in the Americas Cup from 1958 to 1987. When the Cup came out of retirement after the wars, the 12 meter was seen as a cost sensitive alternative to the J class. Since it was also based on the internationally popular International Rule, global support for the class was also present. 12 meter yachts were built to Lloyd’s standards, a main reason why so many hulls are still sailing. (Does anyone really expect to see any IACC yachts sailing in 5 years, let alone 50 years from now?) Newport became home to the 12’s, and many of the historically significant yachts still sail regularly. Columbia was the first yacht to successfully defend the Cup twice. Intrepid also defended the Cup twice and was a critical component to 4 Cup campaigns. Ted Turner’s Courageous still patrols the waters off Newport, and is still very fast. Even New Zealand’s “plastic fantastics” from 1987 are here. Remember these, the first fiberglass 12 meters that caused Dennis Conner to say during a famous press conference “The last 20 12 meters have all been built from aluminum, why would you build one from fiberglass unless you want to cheat?” 12 meters even became movie stars in the movie Wind.

While the yachts are pieces of history, it’s the crews that make sailing on a 12 meter worthwhile. I remember watching the 1987 Americas Cup on TV as a kid. The guys who were crewing the 12’s then are still crewing the 12’s now. The stories and the camaraderie drive the yacht club time machine. Every time I sail, I feel like a kid living out his dream of waking up as a member of his favorite sports team. I’ve heard what it felt like to be part of the crew of Australia II when they finally defeated the New York Yacht Club in 83 so many times that I feel like I was there. Their stories have become our stories, and the good old days have never ended. Last fall, the 12 meter legends officially gathered in Newport for a reunion coinciding with the North Americans. There I was, sailing with and against the likes of Ted Turner, Dennis Conner, Russell Coutts and Gary Jobson to name but a few. It was 1983 again, just without the big hair and short shorts.

Back to reality, the weather mark is approaching, again. The Race Committee has given us two 6 leg short track races in a row on a windy day. Things are happening fast, even on a 12 meter. There’s a constant spray of water in my face as we pound through short Bay chop. We’ve managed to push Intrepid to the other side of the course and now there’s one final cross before the mark. Victory tacks with a series of creaks and groans as the sheets unload. Grinders toil to bring in the big genoa one last time. We round ahead of the fleet again and hoist the big symmetrical spinnaker for the final run to the finish. (No Wind fans, we don’t have a sail called a “whomper”) The pole gets squared back and Victory pushes away the sea at 8.5 knots. Assuming we don’t really screw up, the regatta is won. All too soon, the yacht club time machine will return me back to the present, but for now, I’m really enjoying living in the past.

On the Air

On the Air

By Ryan O’Grady

Our pre sail brief begins with “OK, so today we would like you to go out sailing for some B-roll footage.” I’m awfully used to a pre-sail briefing sounding like “Today we’re practicing gybe sets”; maybe my long winter layoff from sailing really has affected my brain. It’s not until the camera guys are jumping in the boat that I remember that my first day sailing this year is being filmed for a TV series, and a segment for NBC’s Today show. Unfortunately for my ego, my 15 minutes of fame is greatly overshadowed by my skipper for the day, Paraolympic gold medalist Maureen McKinnon Tucker. When not pursuing Olympic glory, Maureen is the coordinator for adaptive sailing at Piers Park Sailing Center in East Boston, MA, one of the nation’s hot spots for disabled sailing access. Piers Park’s goal is to allow everyone access to sailing, regardless of physical or financial ability, and has been constructed specifically to allow for persons of all disabilities to sail their fleet of Sonar keelboats. From simple articulating seats, to complex “sip and puff” technology which allows quadriplegic sailors to steer the boat using nothing but their breathing, Piers Park empowers all to be participants, not passengers in the sport of sailing.

Jothy Rosenburg is also looking to empower sailors and non-sailors alike through a new TV reality show called Who Says I Can’t. According to his website: “Who Says I Can’t” is a television show that tells the story of brave and determined men and women as they overcome disabilities and become athletes. The program will feature the “up close and personal” style of Olympic features combined with the heart-warming community elements of “Extreme Makeover” and mix them with the excitement of “The Amazing Race.”

“Who Says I Can’t” will be hosted by Jothy Rosenberg, a cancer survivor, entrepreneur, and extreme athlete. Jothy lost a leg and then a lung to cancer as a teenager. With an experimental treatment, he beat the odds and survived to become an avid swimmer and biker. He also earned a PhD in computer science and has started various high tech companies. Jothy is a true renaissance man.

In each hour episode Jothy will introduce three different characters on location and tell their story using interviews with them, family members and doctors. Family photos and videos will help tell the story. Jothy will then participate with the subject in whatever athletic endeavor they are undertaking. Whether it’s climbing a mountain, open water swimming or mountain biking, Jothy will say “Who Says I Can’t” and give it his best shot.

Along the way Jothy will relate his own experiences while encouraging the subjects. He was a 16-year-old high school student when diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a cancerous bone tumor that usually develops during adolescence. He had an above knee amputation. Three years later, while in college, the cancer metastasized and part of his lungs had to be removed. A doctor told Jothy no one had previously survived this type of cancer once it spreads to the lungs.

So, Jothy headed to the Rocky Mountains. His plan – “Ski till I die.” Well, spring came, the snow melted and he was still alive. He lived because of an experimental treatment. Jothy went on to get a PhD in computer science and become a successful tech entrepreneur and never stopped skiing, swimming, riding, rafting and trying new things every time he was challenged. He’s swum the Alcatraz Sharkfest event 17 times, rode the 192-mile Pan Mass Challenge Bike-a-thon 8 times and works out just about every day.

As it turns out, Jothy is a pretty good sailor too. Piers Park Sailing Center is the subject of the first episode of Who Says I Can’,t and Maureen and I are to match race Jothy as a primary segment of the show. Should be a walk in the park with an Olympic medalist onboard, right? Not really. Jothy comes at us with a fierce determination, and it’s clear he’s not going to let us win. We’re not going to let him win either, not even for good TV. With the breeze in the mid teens, the Sonars bob and weave in close combat. Our onboard TV camera crew is getting thrown around, but the producers in a nearby boat are too caught up in the action to notice. At the first mark rounding, Jothy catches a shift first and rounds just ahead of us. We pounce downwind and sail into a controlling position. With just inches between the boats the tension is high. Maybe the Americas Cup television producers can learn from us, for this is as good as racing gets! Whichever teams gybes better will win the race. Both teams hit the layline and start to gybe. There’s yelling and luffing and absolutely no give between the two teams right up until the end. I’d like to tell you that we won, but then would you watch the show?

The nation’s first taste of extreme disabled sailing action will be August 11, when a preview of our episode will air on NBC’s Today show. Who Says I Can’t will debut this fall. If you’re too motivated to wait that long to see what happened, then it’s time to get in on the action yourself. Centers like Piers Park exist across the country and rely on the help and support of the sailing community to survive. You can find the site nearest you here: http://racing.ussailing.org/Disabled_Sailing/Where_to_sail.htm Centers like Piers Park are always looking for able bodied companion sailors to assist its disabled members in boat operation. If you love the sport of sailing and want to share that love, there is no better feeling than watching someone like a blind sailor break out into a grin, feeling the wind on his face as he steers into a stiff sea breeze. Additionally, adaptive programs are expensive to operate due to the specialized equipment required. Financial donations are always appreciated.  Always be a sailor, not a passenger and support those who make it happen!

For more information on Jothy Rosenberg and Who Says I Can’t: www.whosaysicant.org

For more information on Piers Park Sailing Center: www.piersparksailing.org