Ocean Racing
Ocean racing is like standing in a cold, saltwater shower tearing up $100 bills!
It’s day two of sailing nonstop in a speeding boat pounding wave after wave, and the reality of ocean racing conditions has set in: sleep deprivation, always wet, physical exhaustion, fear, no hot meals, no privacy, stuck on board. This is not one design racing.
My good friend, Jim Briggs, had invited me to join his crew to race in the SORC (Southern Ocean Racing Circuit.) Jim sailed a 44-foot sloop, Yahoo, that had been competing successfully in ocean races for several years. I was in my twenties and had been racing small one-design boats successfully for five years and I was eager to find out what the other part of the sailboat racing world was like.
I met Jim and the rest of his crew in Miami for the first race of that winter's series, the Miami to Bimini race. There were seven of us, although three men could handle the boat in most conditions. The additional crew members allowed those off-duty to get some rest as the race lasted for days, not hours. Three, or occasionally four, crew members would be on deck for a three-hour watch while the rest tried to get some sleep. But sleep was not easy when you were still soaking wet from you last watch and the boat was pitching with every wave. And, you always had to be ready to scramble topside for a sail change or other emergency. It’s still 24/7.
Twenty large sailboats jockeying to be the first to cross the line when the gun sounded was the most thrilling part of the three-day race for me. I felt honored when Jim had me take the helm for the start of the race. He knew I was known for my good starts in one design sailing. Maneuvering a 44-foot boat is completely different, but I managed to get us a decent start. Within two hours I realized how meaningless the start actually is in a race that lasts for several days. The fleet had separated so much that only four other boats were in sight. By nightfall we could not see the lights of any boat. What a contrast to one design sailing where a long race might last three-and-one-half hours and you could always see your competitors and knew exactly how you were doing against the rest of the fleet.
That is not to say that ocean racing is easy. The crew, often sleep-deprived, is constantly working to adjust the sails for maximum speed in shifting winds, and the skipper is working hard to lay a course that will take maximum benefit of the currents and anticipated changes in the weather.
But, when it is all said and done, a yacht design for light winds really does not have a chance if it is blowing hard for most of the race and the boat designed for heavy winds has little chance if the winds are light.
By the time we were approaching Bimini the winds had picked up to 30 mph with higher gusts, the seas were rough and everything in the boat was wet. As Jim maneuvered Yahoo across the finish line and then through the narrow channel to the docks, I had a moment of apprehension.
We had finished a respectable third in a fleet of 20.
There had been no time for anyone to prepare a real meal during the race. We had existed on sandwiches and fruit juice. Once we had the sails stowed and we were securely tied up to the dock, the whiskey came out and I experienced one of the legendary ocean sailing celebrations firsthand. In the afterglow of strenuous physical effort and teamwork, we began exchanging jokes and telling sailing stories. What a fantastic party, but I decided this was my first and my last ocean race.