Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
032215
The Annual Singlehanded Sailing Society’s Corinthian race. What a grand race. It starts at the Corinthian Yacht Club in Tiburon. A beautiful clubhouse, built like a multi layered wedding cake with cream cheese frosting. It sits on the Bay with front seat views of The City and the Golden Gate Bridge. Ah. And there we all were, more than a hundred boats, waiting to start the race on another glorious, sunny spring day. The race pin was set and the warning horn was sounded when – what is this? According to Allen Cooper, the SSS Race Chair, the pin line was chewed in half by an angry turtle. Seriously? Seriously!? Well, no one cared that the race was postponed because of a turtle. The sun was out and it was a good big fat fib if it wasn’t the truth. The wind had changed anyway, and the postponement was brief.
The forecast called for only 5-10 knots, but the wind had been steadily building on the Bay for the past week or so and most people anticipated it would fill in sometime during the day. The stickler was that 3.6 knot flood just at the start of the race, so the Committee opted for Course 2: the shorter course.
Oh boy, I could hardly wait. I had both spinnakers packed and ready to go in their bags. I sewed clips onto each bag so I could hang them off the bow pulpit, thus reducing the possibility of tangling spinnaker lines with jib sheets and everything else up there at the head of the boat. And there are lots of things to tangle and catch. This was the race where I was going to raise the spinnaker. A spinnaker would help Dura Mater get through any troublesome ebb or flood. Uh huh. Ever hopeful.
After a good start Dura Mater and I made our way over to Blossom Rock. Wind kicked in. Yippee. That was fun. Three long tacks and – what was this? A one design race off the St Fancy. So, okay, two extra long tacks in order that we not interfere in a regatta with its own chase boats. And next there was Blackaller, rounded in nice high wind. What a great day! Then it was time to decide which way to approach Southampton: around the south side of Angel Island or through Raccoon Straits? I looked at my cheat sheet, stuck to the companionway with blue painting tape. By this time it was after 2pm. Slack tide was 2:30pm. Theoretically the current in the Straits no longer posed a threat.
I looked east to where Galaxsea had slowed while Dan Willey walked its length to attach his spinnaker, Big Red. I watched as Big Red rose up and slowly but surely began to pull the vast bulk of the pilothouse toward Raccoon Strait. Wow. Gotta follow Galaxsea, if only to watch the spectacle!
I look around at Richardson Bay. The wind seems a bit quieter. There are smaller white caps and hardly any swell. Maybe it’s time to bring the spinnaker up from the cabin. So I do. My entry level Simrad tiller pilot, Mary Madeline, doesn’t like to hold a course downwind. This means that I have to run up to the bow with the bag, then back to adjust MM, run back up to the bow to collect the spinnaker sheets, then back to MM, etcetera etcetera. This causes me to sweat in my foul weather jacket but I don’t have time to take it off.
I remind myself aloud: “Lock the topping lift clutch”. “Yes”. “Raise the pole”. “Yes”. “Lock the halyard clutch”. “Yes”. I have no one to curse at but myself. The plight of the singlehander. I hope the sheets will run free. I hope the spinnaker block doesn’t foul. Hopefulness abounds on Dura Mater. I pull fiercely on the green line. Up the spinnaker goes to starboard and – ah - isn’t it lovely? I’m so happy!
I immediately start to worry about what comes next. Why can’t I just enjoy myself when something goes right? I’m entering Raccoon Strait with a spinnaker up surrounded by many other boats with spinnakers up. That’s exciting, right? Well, yes and no. This spinnakering business is still new to me. Things can go wrong. Things have gone wrong before
I glance behind, swerving back and forth, steering with the tiller between my legs. There are dozens of lovely spinnakers behind me and I’m momentarily mesmerized and instantly impressed. All those people who seem able to do this easily! I see their faces and they look serenely past me toward the finish. Then I realize something. They really are all headed toward the finish while Dura Mater and I must continue on to Southampton. Which requires a gybe. I have never gybed a spinnaker. Gybing a spinnaker is something I haven’t yet mastered. And another thing: Is the finish line restricted? I forget! Do I want to sail through the finish line in front of all the real finishers with my spinnaker flying just because I don’t know how to gybe?
Thinking to myself, “Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into” I swiftly loosen the mainsheet in order to blanket the sail a bit before pulling the spinnaker down, then ‘round the shrouds and into the cabin below. After making sure no lines are trailing in the water, I start my engine and veer north toward Belvedere Cove, making way for the bulk of the fleet to finish another year’s Corinthian Race.
The Annual Singlehanded Sailing Society’s Corinthian race. What a grand race. It starts at the Corinthian Yacht Club in Tiburon. A beautiful clubhouse, built like a multi layered wedding cake with cream cheese frosting. It sits on the Bay with front seat views of The City and the Golden Gate Bridge. Ah. And there we all were, more than a hundred boats, waiting to start the race on another glorious, sunny spring day. The race pin was set and the warning horn was sounded when – what is this? According to Allen Cooper, the SSS Race Chair, the pin line was chewed in half by an angry turtle. Seriously? Seriously!? Well, no one cared that the race was postponed because of a turtle. The sun was out and it was a good big fat fib if it wasn’t the truth. The wind had changed anyway, and the postponement was brief.
The forecast called for only 5-10 knots, but the wind had been steadily building on the Bay for the past week or so and most people anticipated it would fill in sometime during the day. The stickler was that 3.6 knot flood just at the start of the race, so the Committee opted for Course 2: the shorter course.
Oh boy, I could hardly wait. I had both spinnakers packed and ready to go in their bags. I sewed clips onto each bag so I could hang them off the bow pulpit, thus reducing the possibility of tangling spinnaker lines with jib sheets and everything else up there at the head of the boat. And there are lots of things to tangle and catch. This was the race where I was going to raise the spinnaker. A spinnaker would help Dura Mater get through any troublesome ebb or flood. Uh huh. Ever hopeful.
After a good start Dura Mater and I made our way over to Blossom Rock. Wind kicked in. Yippee. That was fun. Three long tacks and – what was this? A one design race off the St Fancy. So, okay, two extra long tacks in order that we not interfere in a regatta with its own chase boats. And next there was Blackaller, rounded in nice high wind. What a great day! Then it was time to decide which way to approach Southampton: around the south side of Angel Island or through Raccoon Straits? I looked at my cheat sheet, stuck to the companionway with blue painting tape. By this time it was after 2pm. Slack tide was 2:30pm. Theoretically the current in the Straits no longer posed a threat.
I looked east to where Galaxsea had slowed while Dan Willey walked its length to attach his spinnaker, Big Red. I watched as Big Red rose up and slowly but surely began to pull the vast bulk of the pilothouse toward Raccoon Strait. Wow. Gotta follow Galaxsea, if only to watch the spectacle!
I look around at Richardson Bay. The wind seems a bit quieter. There are smaller white caps and hardly any swell. Maybe it’s time to bring the spinnaker up from the cabin. So I do. My entry level Simrad tiller pilot, Mary Madeline, doesn’t like to hold a course downwind. This means that I have to run up to the bow with the bag, then back to adjust MM, run back up to the bow to collect the spinnaker sheets, then back to MM, etcetera etcetera. This causes me to sweat in my foul weather jacket but I don’t have time to take it off.
I remind myself aloud: “Lock the topping lift clutch”. “Yes”. “Raise the pole”. “Yes”. “Lock the halyard clutch”. “Yes”. I have no one to curse at but myself. The plight of the singlehander. I hope the sheets will run free. I hope the spinnaker block doesn’t foul. Hopefulness abounds on Dura Mater. I pull fiercely on the green line. Up the spinnaker goes to starboard and – ah - isn’t it lovely? I’m so happy!
I immediately start to worry about what comes next. Why can’t I just enjoy myself when something goes right? I’m entering Raccoon Strait with a spinnaker up surrounded by many other boats with spinnakers up. That’s exciting, right? Well, yes and no. This spinnakering business is still new to me. Things can go wrong. Things have gone wrong before
I glance behind, swerving back and forth, steering with the tiller between my legs. There are dozens of lovely spinnakers behind me and I’m momentarily mesmerized and instantly impressed. All those people who seem able to do this easily! I see their faces and they look serenely past me toward the finish. Then I realize something. They really are all headed toward the finish while Dura Mater and I must continue on to Southampton. Which requires a gybe. I have never gybed a spinnaker. Gybing a spinnaker is something I haven’t yet mastered. And another thing: Is the finish line restricted? I forget! Do I want to sail through the finish line in front of all the real finishers with my spinnaker flying just because I don’t know how to gybe?
Thinking to myself, “Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into” I swiftly loosen the mainsheet in order to blanket the sail a bit before pulling the spinnaker down, then ‘round the shrouds and into the cabin below. After making sure no lines are trailing in the water, I start my engine and veer north toward Belvedere Cove, making way for the bulk of the fleet to finish another year’s Corinthian Race.
Last edited:
