May, 2001
By Tom Snyder
Cruising is fine for people who are afraid to challenge themselves, but, of course, the only true way to fully enjoy one’s boat is to race. Racing is all about improving one’s sailing and seamanship, about pushing oneself to excel, and about making other sailors feel badly. There are many famous sailing races in which one can test one’s mettle, among them the Bermuda, the Halifax, the Around the World Backwards, the Around the World Frontwards, and the Around Peaks Island Race.
Let’s focus on the last one. What The Around Peaks Island Race, TAPIR, lacks in friendliness it more than makes up for in fierce competition and rich history. The catalog of boats lost, crews disenfranchised, captains shamed, cheating, sabotage and cancellations is too long for a sailing magazine of this size. Suffice to say that this is no race for a first-timer. But a more perfect race one could not find by which to illustrate the fine points of racing.
Also, lest I appear to be blowing my own horn, let me mention briefly that I am only too well acquainted with this race, a race that in all my years of sailing I have never once lost. Let me share the techniques, the attitudes and the hardware that have afforded me this unblemished record.
The three phases of any race: Preparation, racing, and blaming the innocent (protesting.)
Preparation
Preparation breaks down into three sections: preparing the boat, preparing the crew, preparing the heart.
Preparing the boat
1. The day before each year’s TAPIR I give each of my eight crewmembers a large tin can and a pair of bolt cutters. They have 12 hours to trim and pare as much non-essential weight from my boat as possible. Whoever manages to trim away the most weight gets to be my first officer. Every ounce pared can mean up to a knot and a half of added boat speed.
2. I believe in a tight forestay. We get the forestay as tight as we can possibly get it, and then we tighten it some more. Hearing the deck and related fittings “complain” as the mast arches forward is a good sign. When you think you are done, put a 10-foot steel rod into the turnbuckle and lean on it one last time. The tighter the forestay, the faster you will go.
Preparing the crew
Preparing the crew breaks down into two categories.
1. Crew equipment
Each crewmember must show up for the race with a knife, a watch, insanely powerful sunscreen, a multi-tool, a hand-bearing compass, a wet notebook, and a full roll of no-nonsense friction tape.
2. Crew knowledge (This breaks down into three rubrics)
X. Every crewmember will be acquainted with the racing rules, principally knowing where the protest flag is kept and how it is hoisted.
Y. Every crewmember will individually purchase an expensive custom weather service prediction. One year we gained an obscene advantage over the rest of the fleet by learning that there would be winds from the southwest at 10 to 15 knots with a chance of cloudiness in the afternoon.
Z. Every crew member will, one week in advance, pick a captain from a competing sailboat and learn all they can about this captain’s weaknesses. Does he like the ponies? Does he like women? Does he say ‘larboard’? Is he collision-shy?
Preparing the heart
‘Preparing the heart’ breaks down into several zones.
1. Communication. I like to explain to the crew that once the race starts, there will be a lot of yelling, some in anger, some in frustration. Ideally this can lead to a compliant and docile crew. I always do some role playing to demonstrate a constructive interchange. For example:
“Captain! Huge submerged log at 2 o’clock!”
“Yeah, thanks. As if everyone didn’t already know.”
“I just thought…”
“You just thought. You just thought!”
Notice that the exchanges are brief and not freighted with emotional language like “shut up”.
2. Prayer. Some people are Jewish, some are Moslem, but one thing that we can all agree on is that being on the right side of the Holy Trinity can be the difference between fouled roller furling and free-running deck gear. So we pray, each in our own fashion.
3. Authority. There is but one captain. Not two, not three, and definitely not eight. I explain on the night before the race that if anyone wants to challenge my authority, they better do it right then and there. Next I explain that once the race has started, I will be keeping the crew essentially in the dark about everything. This goes a long way to reducing their enormous anxieties. Think of your crew as difficult babies.
Racing
The race itself breaks down into two portions: Arriving and the start.
Arriving
We all arrive at the boat 16 hours before the starting gun. This gives us time for a last minute review of our system of hand signals.
The Start
Let me put this as simply and directly as possible. I think it may very well be impossible to under-emphasize the lack of importance of getting a great start. Or, to clarify, I think it’s easy to overstate the importance of not getting a good start. Simply put, there is nothing in a race that one might forget not to emphasize more than the reluctance to reserve judgment on the very act of undervaluing a strong start.
My advice, gleaned from years of confronting the aggressive and, frankly, often dishonest skippers of The Race Around Peaks, TRAP, is this: Get a great start. Honestly, this really works. Position your boat in such a way that, as the starting gun fires, you are going over the starting line with great speed. It doesn’t matter which tack you are on; tacking will take care of itself. In fact, the rest of the race will take care of itself. Because of…
Protesting
At any convenient moment after the start of the race, unfurl your protest flag and haul it to the spreader. Once the committee boat has acknowledged your flag, you should turn and head back for the mooring. You can meet at the protest room later, after you have showered.
The challenge in boat racing is to do whatever it takes to successfully protest every other boat in the fleet. This is essentially a matter of outlasting everyone. And here’s the best-kept secret of racing: Most people don’t want to sit inside for hours arguing. If you are not prepared to verbally spar with two 9-year-old girls (who may very well have committed egregious racing violations in their Turnabout), then you may not be ready to race. Remember, racing is no different from any other aspect of life where, in the end, all-important decisions are made by lawyers and talkative graduates of a liberal arts education.
Thank you.
Tom Snyder lives in Cambridge, Mass., with his wife Anne and children. He sails his Island Packet 350, Blue Moon, out of Peaks Island, Maine.
We have complete issues archived to 2009. You can read them for free by following this link.
