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My First Nationals

Date: 8/8/2009

Author: Larry Bull

My First Nationals
or
All’s Wells that Ends Wells
By Larry Bull, Snipe Fleet 330

I’ve heard intimidating stories about the US Snipe Nationals. The weighing and measuring of boats and sails, “your boat is a quarter pound over weight, you can’t possibly be competitive; your mast is a sixteenth of an inch too long, who do you think you’re trying to fool; a skipper who drinks light beer and sails a blue boat has never won the Nationals; a skipper who sails a blue boat with a blond crew who drinks light beer has won the Nationals.” The horror stories go on and on. Since this year’s National was co-sponsored by our local Fleet 330 and Pensacola was well within driving distance, I felt obligated to give it a try. This was a great opportunity to test my 5 years sailing experience against the nation’s best.

For those of you who may not know, the Snipe Nationals is divided into 3 events. First the Crosby is the qualifier for the Heinzerling. The top 33 boats from the Crosby compete in the Heinzerling. Boats that do not qualify sail in the consolation race, the Wells. In order to attract more sailors, the organizing committee decided to open up the Wells this year to anyone who wanted to sail. They would not have to sail in the Crosby to be eligible for the Wells and the Wells only lasted 3 days. This was a great opportunity for me to get the flavor of National competition without having to embarrass myself in the Crosby. There would be a lot of novice sailors like myself; or so I thought.

As I pulled into the parking lot of the Pensacola Yacht Club on Tuesday I met my crew, Amy Benner, who had come down earlier. She had taken care of the preliminary registration with instructions to have the boat weighed at 8:30am on Wednesday. Our plan was to rig and tune the boat and go out for a little practice while everyone else was out sailing the final races of the Crosby.

The first thing I noticed was the heat and humidity. It was 98 degrees but felt like 115 degrees. Amy, the brains of our team, suggested we move the boat into the shade to rig. About an hour and a half later we managed to get the boat in the water with the help of Ray, the dock master as near as I could figure. He was a very nice man and didn’t make fun of me one time even though this was the first time I had used a hoist to get the boat in and out of the water. In fact, when he would see us approaching the dock he would always have our trailer ready for us. We got the sails up and headed out for some practice.

Amy had learned that we needed to stay between the channel markers in order to clear shallow water and “the rocks”. We negotiated the channel like a couple of experts and headed out for open water. We had the boat trimmed nicely and all was going great when we heard a rumble behind us. It was a big black cloud emitting intermittent sparks. We told each other that it couldn’t possibly be headed our way because of the wind direction. Contrary to all logic the storm kept getting closer. We then saw the Crosby fleet heading straight at us at great speed with spray flying off the bow of each boat. We turned the boat around and started heading back to the club as fast as we could go. The storm hit us as we approached the dock. We were blown across the waterway and ended up clinging to a private dock. We had to lower the main, furl the jib and be towed to the hoist. Amy did a fantastic job and I was extremely impressed how well she worked under pressure. This would be the first and last time we would lead any boats.

I was planning on camping but the storm continued to dump copious quantities of water. I took the coward’s way out and checked into the local motel. This was not as fun as Tent City but a lot more comfortable for an old man like me.

On Wednesday, day one of the Heinzerling and Wells, there was talk of an 18-20 knot breeze. Paranoid as I am, I tightened the rig according to the tuning guide for these conditions. We headed out for the race course with the adrenaline flowing freely. I kept saying to myself, “man, there sure are a lot of boat wakes out here and why are they all coming from the same direction?” The Heinzerling went off without a hitch. I was surprised no one was OCS. We’re up next. The adrenaline is really kicking in now. “It’s about 9 knots. Remember the offset mark. What is the favored tack? Wait a minute, how can you tell the favored tack when you can’t see the mark? Oh yeah, compass heading. What do those flags mean again? What’s the course? Amy, at 30 seconds we’re heading to line close hauled and picking a hole.” The horn sounds and we’re off. We made it to the line fine but we were trapped in a lot of dirty air. We tacked off to port to find some clean air. “Hey, were not doing too bad.” At least we can read the sail numbers as we round the windward mark. We are sure to catch up going downwind. But wait, the pole is not deploying. It’s just hanging there in the way of everything. “What’s going on? I just replaced that shock cord.” There was no way of sailing with the pole in that condition. We limped back to the signal boat to see if we could make some on-the-water repairs, or at least get it out of the way. There must have been a kink in the shock cord because I pulled on it hard and retied it and it seemed to be working fine again. We went back over to the signal boat and reported in for the second race. We got a good start in the second race. The wind had increased to about 12 knots at best; the waves were still an issue. It took a little time but we learned a lot about negotiating the waves so they did not completely stop us. With the rig so tight we were sluggish and not pointing too well. The fleet pulled frustratingly farther and farther ahead; dead last. The only good thing was, there was no wait at the dock to pull the boat out, and Ray had our trailer waiting for us. What a nice guy.

That night the party was at Rose O’Grady’s in the Seville Quarter of Pensacola. This was in the historic district of Pensacola and reminded me of a cross between New Orleans and Charleston. The party was a lot of fun; cocktails before the buffet dinner followed by dancing, followed by more cocktails. One of the highlights was seeing “Old Man Diaz” and his wife dancing with all the young people. I found myself very tired, so left fairly early to get some good rest before the next day’s racing, thinking this might help my performance.

Day two also started with rumors of the wind building to 20 knots. Stupidly I left the rig as tight as before. At the start of the first race it was blowing about 12 knots. “Not too bad,” I thought. “When the wind builds we should be in good shape.” The first race was sort of a repeat of the day before. The fleet kept pulling farther and farther away but they were not pulling away as fast. Amy and I were growing more frustrated. I know Amy about had it when she said, “You have to get your ass out of the boat and hike.” We did better but managed to hold on tightly to last place. We’ll do better in the second race. Unfortunately, the wind dropped to about 7 and we were not pointing well and quite sluggish; but I was hiking; I was afraid not to. Again we maintained a tight grip on last place. There’s Ray and he has our trailer waiting for us again. What a great guy.

Back on shore I started talking to people about what I might be doing wrong. “First, your rig is way too tight.” Yeah, I know that. “Are you tacking on the shifts?” Shifts, what shifts? According to my compass I’m only getting 2-5 degree shifts. “Yeah, that’s about right, you need to tack.” But I’m used to 20-30 degree shifts back on Allatoona. “You ain’t on no lake, boy”. “Are you adjusting for the current?” Current, what current? “Well, the current is tidal. You need to check and see if the tide is coming in or out.” Well that explains why the marks seem to be moving away. I just thought it was the heat playing tricks on me.

That night the party was at the Yacht Club; “A taste of the South.” Following the meal the “Bird Game” was organized on the back patio. Earlier in the week a group or Fleet purchased wooden Snipes and decorated them for the game. The most original was the bird from Tent City. It was a Snipe on wheels lying on its back reminiscent of the incident Clayton and Bruno had with a trailer on the way down to Pensacola. A game board was fashioned on the patio that consisted of squares 6 wide and 6 deep. Each bird got to move one square if its number came up on the roll of the dice. People would bet on which bird came in first. After a late start, the Tent City Bird came in first overall. This was a lot of fun.

I got up early on the last day. I wanted to retune the boat. This time the words from Greg Fisher were ringing in my ears. “Set the boat up for the wind you have at the start of the race.” I didn’t think the wind was going to get much above 9 so I set the boat up nice and loose. As I entered the Club to get a drink of water I noticed a sign on the door, “By the Authority of the National Secretary All Races Today Will Be in the Pool –DH.” What’s this all about? I walked out the back toward the pool. It all became very clear. Don Hackbarth’s boat was floating majestically in the pool along with several ducks. Somehow this seemed all quite natural.

At the start of the first race the wind was probably blowing 6-8 knots at best. There was still a lot of chop but we had learned how to better negotiate this stuff. We ended up at the pin side of the line and just made it across. We were doing much better. The boat felt good and my ass was out of the boat. We rounded the windward mark well in position to catch the fleet. We had been doing well going downwind most of the week. When we reached the leeward mark the mark boat was displaying the “Charlie Flag” and holding up the number one. I don’t know why but my first thought was Means Davis would be all over them for not making more random and frequent whistles. Dumb ass as I am I misinterpreted this to mean that they shortened the course by one lap. This made logical sense to me. The wind was dying and the 2 laps might take more than the allotted time. We made the best finish of the regatta; but I wonder why they didn’t call our number? As we were heading downwind back to the signal boat, we noticed the rest of our fleet was still heading for the leeward mark. Then it struck me. “You idiot that wasn’t what the flag meant”, I told myself. Well the fleet was too far gone to continue so we headed over to the signal boat to wait for the next race. In reality it was not the shorten the course flag it was the change of course flag meant for fleet one, the Heinzerling Fleet. That’s why they didn’t have the + or – cards displayed. How could I be such and idiot!

The last race proved to be a disaster also. After the leeward mark rounding, the shackle came off of the luff wire of the jib. The only thing holding the jib was the jib cunningham. The jib had a huge curl in the luff making it very difficult to go upwind and I was afraid I might ruin the sail. This was the final straw. Amy and I threw in the towel, signaled the mark boat we were heading in, and turned toward the channel and the club. Again, Ray was at the dock with our trailer waiting on us. Ray said, “Well at least you’re first to get your boat out of the water.” I hate that man.

The banquet was fun and I felt the tension easing. The meal was fish or beef. But here is a classic: One of the young ladies sitting at our table was from California. She told the hostess that she was a vegetarian. The hostess replied, “Don’t you worry, honey, we have chicken too.” Well, anyway I thought it was hilarious. Of course the Mt. Gay may have had something to do with my reaction. Freid Elliott had a slide show he presented of the week’s sailing that was in typical Freid style of capturing the essence of the sport. Awards were given out and the band started playing. After sailing each day I was exhausted. I have to praise Tom Henderson and Don Hackbarth for their endurance and energy. I would also like to thank Marianne Hackbarth for her tireless efforts in doing all the things she does. I know she is the glue that holds these events together.

Well, what did I learn? First, trust your own instincts and don’t rely on rumor. Check for current. READ THE SAILING INSTRUCTIONS. The sailing instructions are not waterproof. Get your ass out of the boat. Kegs of beer do not last long when Snipe people are around. To be in the top 10 you have to look like someone from the cover of GQ. Don’t pinch. Amy is studying to be a lawyer; when she is a lawyer I definitely want her on my side. Thank you again, Amy for sailing with me.

One thing I will never forget. In one of the races, the Heinzerling Fleet was catching up with us. They were headed toward the finish and we were heading to the windward mark. Augie Diaz was about 10-12 boat lengths to leeward followed by Hal Gilreath and Andrew Pimental. I wanted to hang with the boys a while and see how the boat performed with the big boys. To my amazement we were sailing as fast as they were; pointing as high as they were; and we were actually sailing a little faster than Augie Diaz. I was in disbelief. My moment of triumph was broken when Hal yelled, “Hey Larry, what mark are you going for?” I had over stated the windward mark. We tacked off back to our mark. For that brief moment I felt like one of the boys.