I learned a couple of things about sailing a trimaran this summer:
1. Standing on the windward ama, holding onto the shroud, with the tip of a 20 foot tiller extension (fully extended) in the other hand, is absolutely the best seat in the house. Looking down, I could see the waves rushing by 8 feet below. Above, I could see the full camber of both main and genoa and feel their power in the hum of the shroud. Off in the distance ahead, I could just make out the shoal marker we were heading for and behind, I could barely see the rest of the fleet
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2. Even though you stand 8 feet above the water, you still get wet.
You see, I was crewing on a Corsair F31 for the first (and so far, only) time. We had traded off manning the tiller and Glenn Howell, (once he was satisfied that I could steer) avidly watched the boat trim. We were both enjoying ourselves tremendously. I had never sailed a trimaran before and Glenn, who always steered, was finally able to watch and tune all the parts of his boat. No longer confined to the tiller, Glenn was free to scamper all over “Adios”- which he did. Meanwhile, I found out that when a wave hits the hull just right, it will climb all the way up to the trampoline, smack the crossarm, bounce, and thoroughly soak my shoes.
If I had known that ahead of time, I would have brought my neoprene boots, but when Glenn called me on Thursday afternoon, asking if I’d like to drive out to the coast Friday and spend the weekend racing his F31, I was too excited to worry about footwear.
I didn’t know Glenn very well at the time. We had only met a couple months previously. Glenn was looking for a small catamaran to practice on, and I race an Isotope, which has an active local fleet. When he decided at the last minute to sail in the Ocracoke Regatta (a 30 mile jaunt across the Pamlico Sound to Ocracoke Island), Glenn invited some of his new friends to come along, and I had the weekend free. So, I packed my clothes, gloves, hat, and pfd (but not my boots) that night and met up with Glenn after work on Friday. The trip to the coast was one of those epic sagas that sound really dull in the telling and some parts (like locking the keys in the car at the gas station) are probably best forgotten altogether. Suffice it to say we launched Adios at the Bath bridge at dusk and rigged her by the light of a nearby bait shop. That mostly involved jumping up and down on the amas, unlacing the trampoline, jumping on the amas some more, and then relacing the tramp. Oh, and the F31 has a very sturdy compound leverage gin-pole system that made stepping the mast almost easy (I was impressed). We motored to Indian Island in the dark, set the anchor and made it to bed shortly after midnight.
The race started at 8:00, so we set our alarms for 6:30. About 7:30, we managed to get under way and made it to the starting area just in time to catch the warning signal. Both the course and starting line were about 25 degrees port favored so we went for a port start, won the pin end (can you really call a 20-ft tall channel marker a pin?) and jumped out into the lead.
Just being in the lead doesn’t mean much though, when you consider that Wairere, a Thompson 30 (and the second fastest boat there) has a PHRF rating of 36 (lower numbers are faster) and the Corsair F31 PHRF rating is negative (yes negative) 29. That meant that in order to beat Wairere on corrected time, we would have to cross the finish line over 31 minutes ahead of her. Or, as Glenn put it, “If you can see the other boats, they’re winning”.
In fact, that’s what Glenn kept asking me as I stood out on the ama – “Can you still see the other boats?” At first, the winds were too light for us to really move. Although we were pointing quite well, we weren’t pulling ahead enough. Even footing didn’t give us quite enough speed to get up on plane. After about a half hour, though, the wind picked up and we started to fly. The seas were about 2 feet, just enough that once the bow came out of the water, we were able to skim the waves. I’m used sailing a boat that accelerates like a racehorse out of the gate – the F31 accelerates more like the space shuttle launching. It seems like slow motion when first climbing the bow wave and then – holy cow! Not many keelboats can plane upwind. “In these conditions,” Glenn told me, “our target boatspeed is 11 knots”.
“What are we doing now?” I asked (given that I was hanging onto the shroud steering).
Glenn leaned down to read the knotmeter and returned, smiling, to reply: “Twelve and a half. Eric, you’re going too fast!” Well, we weren’t footing so I figured we’d just have to live with it. That was about when Glenn started tweaking things, periodically asking “Can you see the other boats?” Each time, I’d have to reply that their sails were getting smaller, but that I could still see them. We were making over 9 knots in the lulls, and nearly 14 in the puffs, so I hoped they’d disappear in time.
About 2 1/2 hours into the race, I called out to Glenn (who was down in the galley making a sandwich) “Hey Glenn, I can’t see the rest of the fleet anymore!”
“Good!” came his muffled reply.
Eventually, we had to tack (actually, we had to tack twice before, to pass above a shoal marker – which means this is probably a good time to mention Adios’ electronics). Glenn has a wonderful device that I had never used before, a chartplotter. Unfortunately, it’s in the companionway, so I couldn’t see it from the ama, but I found it very useful the times Glenn steered. With it, we could see all the navigational marks and depth soundings, see our position and our track, and even project our course. Our track showed us how the wind had shifted (a few degrees to the right) and the course projection helped us decide when to tack around shoals. Glenn also had a handheld GPS displaying a “goto” to our finish mark – Royal Shoals #3. This he used to gauge our final tack. I generally time my tacks by looking over each shoulder, sailing until it looks like I’m way past the mark, and then counting to 10. I find that usually puts me right on the layline. Glenn’s way was much simpler. When the GPS said “turn left 90 degrees”, we tacked.
We reached Royal Shoals #3, all by ourselves – literally. There was not another boat in sight. Adios had done a horizon-job on the entire fleet and even beat the race committee to the finish. Glenn and I laughed and took our own finish time, although it later turned out that RC did see us finish (from a distance). We sailed the course in just under 4 hours and finished nearly 43 minutes ahead of Waiere. Glenn not only took the Spinnaker A fleet trophy, but Adios also won fleet honors as the fastest boat on corrected time overall.
We were thrilled and exhausted (although not so exhausted as the sailors who took it on the nose for 4 more hours). I actually fell asleep sitting up later that day. Nevertheless, there’s a certain smug satisfaction that comes from being already tied up, everything put away, and sitting at the bar waiting for a sandwich when the next boat pulls in.
If you get the chance to try a trimaran, go for it. When the wind is up, it’s a total thrill ride (just remember to bring a change of shoes and some dry socks). I can’t wait to go again. If you see me walking around wearing my “Ocracoke Regatta” t-shirt, ask me about the ride back (we broke 16 knots dead downwind with 2 reefs in the main and no headsail at all).
- Eric (Isotope 42)
