Well, seems our old friend Capt'n Hiram teamed up with Scott & Warren to cook up a double helping of near fantastic conditions for both spin and non-spin boats.

At this fourteenth running of the event, the Weather Channel was pretty much flat-wrong AGAIN about conditions, and it was weather underground that came closest to the time/direction/strength of the wind.

I would suspect there were a few butterflies in the stomach of the lighter crews after the weather channel broadcast an insane amount of wind (I believe I saw one forecast at 25+ with gusts over 30 from a “death reach” angle). As a member of a crew with a total weight more than the boat we would be sailing (N20 “old yeller”), I wasn’t as concerned with the strength as much as the direction. With our near quarter ton of crew weight, a nice spin run would be ideal against these puny little boats and their fly-weight crews.

The rigging area was busy, despite the steady rainfall. It was a family reunion of sorts, with many notables and perennials making an appearance despite the forecast. The sociable portion of the event would have to wait as the clock ticked toward the Prep flag, and Warren is no PRO to be testing the meaning of “be punctual”.

The wind was slowly clocking around to the north and beginning to build by the start of the non-spin fleet at 11:00am. As the horn sounded, the non-spin fleet took off toward Hiram’s with no incidents and a good angle. Our turn was next, and the clouds were beginning to break indicating the frontal boundary would soon be upon us. I glanced around to find several H-16s with spinnakers rigged and Kent Cooper set up to singlehand his I-17. Yeah, good luck with that!

This event would be my teammate’s first adventure with his N20 in anything more than 12 mph breeze, and he was looking forward to finally not having to sit on the hull while everyone else was double trapped around him. Coming from a Prindle, it was also his first distance race using a spinnaker, as Macho Man was mostly a bob-fest with a close reach near the end. I could see his excitement tempered with a bit of trepidation, and I knew this race in particular was perfect for him: Near flat water, land on all sides, straight run south.

So with my trusty Target $4.25 egg timer (with large display, big buttons, and loud beeps for old farts) counting down, we lined up in front of Performance Sail & Sport. Nervous glances were shot about as the jibs flapped noisily in the building north breeze. The countdown was on! 3..2..1 and Forrest gave the boat a healthy shove, almost sending it off without me (did I mention he’s a big dude?). Game on!

It’s always fun to see who makes the “crazy” move first. In this case, it would be who sets the spinnaker first, and when. Prudence would dictate to pass under the Eau Galle causeway first, then set up the spin. That never happens, and there was one notable year when a F-16 sailor who will go unmentioned (Matt) pops the spin, gets hammered, and practically pitchpoles under the main span of the bridge with about 10 other boats within spitting distance with no option to go around. I didn’t know he could say the “F” word that many times in 3 seconds.

Once we got our wits about us and realized (1) the wind wasn’t going to waste us like the weather channel said and (2) “everyone else was doing it”, we set the spin and shot the main span of the first causeway. We lined up in the pecking order and started to get in sync with the somewhat “spicy” puffs, which tested my crew’s ability to remember to drive off when hit with the spin up. One blown gybe forgetting this rule and we did our little “dolphin encounter” between bridge 1 and 2. Another good point about the N20, even weird pitch/flips take longer to execute than on the midget boats. Probably took a good 5 seconds to go from “downdowndowndown” to “crap” and finding a spot to climb over the high side.

While the process of righting the boat was short, it took a while for Forrest to get situated, snuff the spin, and position himself to correctly right the boat while I gave instructions from the upper daggarboard perch I had found (I am “high maintenance”  ). A fouled spin sheet later found him having to circle back and pick me (and my hat) up. A lot of firsts for us during this “maneuver”: First time he flipped with spin up, first time we used the righting line, first time I have been separated from a boat (good thing I had my phone, a PFD, and a shoreline within ½ mile).

Fifteen minutes is a lot of ground to make up in a race that ended up lasting little more than 2 hours, but we were having a grand time doing it. The wind had built a bit to middle teens with puffs, and the leaders had outrun the frontal boundary and were forced to contend with lighter airs. So we dialed up and started gaining ground again.

The big fat spin on Old Yeller proved to be an asset, allowing us to drive almost straight down the river rather than the endless zig-zagging we saw the puny boats (and their flat-cut sails) engaged in. That looked like a whole lot of work as we trucked past the various boats down the line with GPS speeds topping 22 mph. When all was said and done, I believe we placed fourth over the line on Saturday. A “Haul” it was….

CARNAGE REPORT – surprisingly little damage in what turned out to be idyllic downwind conditions. A broken spin pole mentioned before on Mr. Bonifait’s boat and a notable F-16 sailor (A.K.A “Curb Feeler” from another daggarboard incident in a prior Hiram’s) proved that epoxy and rocks don’t mix, but do make for good photo opportunites at the finish.

The party at dinner Saturday night was a bit subdued from years past, most likely due to the forecast for near nuclear conditions on Sunday. The midget LITTLE boat group was having their usual salad and diet water to keep their anorexic shape, while we dined on the ½ kg. deep-fried bacon & cheese burger. I had them put a piece of lettuce on there just so the rest of the table wouldn’t cry themselves to sleep. Oh, and the peanut-butter chocolate cheesecake was good, too. I had two.

Judging from the bar tab and the loss to UGA by the Gators, it looked as if the local Law Enforcement would sleep easy knowing they wouldn’t have to respond to noise complaints, activities involving farm animals, or pole dancing in hotel lobbies (Public Service Announcement – please support single moms). Pulling excuse #37 – my kids can’t witness this sort of debauchery because I can’t afford the therapy bills, I hit the pillow at a downright respectable hour with a wary eye to the flag flapping loudly in the building breeze.

My first clue that Sunday would be “zesty” was all my sailing gear had blown off the railing where it was perched to dry out the evening before. The temperature was cooler, but still “hot” for you northerners (low 70’s F) so the front had continued on south but the clouds had remained. I could see steady whitecaps on the river from my hotel room. I received a verbal summary of the weather channel’s forecast: The front was backing up and we would be looking at 25+ with gusts out of NE. I checked my WU source, which showed a bit more conservative conditions (19 holding until 15:00 hours and then 16). Either way, good times were indeed ahead.

The non-spin fleet found solace from the wind before the start to leeward of a spoil island behind the starting area. Genius, I thought to myself. Definitely beats drifting around with the sails flogging for 10 minutes. Kent, the consummate sailor, joined us with his I-17 and was surprisingly upbeat considering he’d be driving all by himself with lots of lines to handle, but I guess he did it Saturday with the spin up, so he’s pretty good at handling himself. But today was probably 5-10mph more breeze.

And we’re off! Right on time again thanks to Warren our PRO. A sketchy start for us trying to dial in the boat all while avoiding the rocks Matt found for us yesterday and figuring out which place to shoot eastward to get into the main river area. Choppy conditions from the Sebastian Inlet fetch made for a wet first setup being low-trapped and it took us a minute or two to find good sail settings. I chose to drive this day because there was no practical way for my string-beany arms and sunken chest to saw the main all day. And, Forrest makes one hell of a splash-guard. I called for some mast rotator on, and was told that the line pulled through entirely. Oops. Guess we can try this with the rotator off, since sending anyone to the low side at this point would surely spell some sort of disaster. So, downhaul on, daggers ½ up, traveler down, and away we go.

Not much to say about Sunday, since it went by so quickly. Mr. Bonifait was on fire, attempting to vindicate himself for having taken a hacksaw to his boat the afternoon before. Ding was in “marriage saver” mode, preferring to be a bit more conservative in order to avoid the beating he’d take from Precious if he fell off the back. She’s a trooper on par with the best, and I’d sail with her anytime (I do believe she helped me beat Ding in a regatta once) but discretion is the better part of valor. He gets man-card bonus points for that. Curb-feelers was dialing in as well, but once we hauled our 445 lbs out on the wire, it was all over but the whining.

Yes, it is possible to slack the WINDWARD shroud in 18 mph breeze, just in case you want to know. And the “outdated” platform hauled the mail straight and true despite questionable sail trim which we didn’t have time to correct in the 120 minute run up the 32 mile course. Only once did I feel the gen-1 rudders start to cavitate when we were hearing the 22 knot hum, and it was probably because we needed to sit a bit further back on the bus. As soon as I find that cable, I intend to download our GPS track to see how fast we really went in some of those puffs. It felt like we were skipping across the water a few times between the bridges.

And if this sounds like a marketing pitch for the N20, it is. As “outdated” as some find the design & sail plan, it’s still a well thought-out boat that handles a wide variety of crew weight, weather, and racing formats. It’s a downright shame that they don’t make them anymore. I think it discriminates against middle-aged fat guys. Isn’t there a law against that?