2001 HOBIE 20
CONTINENTALS
TAMPA, FLORIDABy Heather Morrison & Bryan Frahm |
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Sailing in the Continentals had to be one of the most
exciting experiences I have ever had.
I was so lucky that Bryan asked me to crew for him. I think Bryan learned as much as I did! We arrived 3 days early to practice on the water, become
familiar with the wind, current, etc.
When we arrived that evening, the humidity was so high, it was
uncomfortable sleeping. But
I thought, hey, I’m in Florida and this is what we expected (and I
actually looked forward to!). The
morning was a different story. Rather
suddenly, a cold front moved through the next day.
We were dressed in sweats, sweatshirts, and jackets trying to
stay warm. Who would have
thought Florida could be so cold. The
wind was blowing which was not a common occurrence for that time of
year. But most people
expected it to move out of the area by Monday, along with the winds.
Needless to say, we only sailed a few hours all weekend. |
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The announcement at the beach Sunday afternoon was a few practice
starts/races to get the blood flowing.
We were one of about a dozen boats at the first start.
A few more boats wandered out later.
The wind was pretty steep, but that didn’t stop us.
We had tightened every knot, bolt, and pin and were ready to go
(or so we thought). We
discovered rather quickly that the heavy, humid, dense, sea level air
was extremely powerful and the boat floated higher in the water.
It was a good thing we went out on Sunday because everything that
could go wrong did. In the
first five minutes out on the water, the shackle attached to the jib
block came free which meant no more starboard tacking!
Well, we fixed that by robbing a shackle from the dagger keeper
(after I had to attempt the repair twice).
Second, the mast rotator stuck to the crossbar-a screw was loose
and lowered the whole mechanism. How do I fix that?!
Pull it in and leave it there!
Next, at one of the starts, the mainsheet cleat wouldn’t hold,
so Bryan was handholding the main.
Then I discovered the barberhauler line was tied on the wrong
side of the downhaul line. And
finally, the jib car kept sliding forward, so I couldn’t sheet in
tight in addition to the knot on the jib clue sliding!
We limped back in after an hour and a half of trying to fix all
the things we had “tightened” on the beach.
We were lucky to be in one piece by the time we reached shore. Sunday night was the Welcome party, and welcome we did! Stu (my husband and “Beach Bunny” shore crew) and Kathleen Tracy (who came to work on the committee boat and attend the annual NAHCA meeting) had arrived, so we went for a few drinks at the Yacht Club. We met so many neat people! People who had a passion for sailing traveled from California, South Carolina, New York, Texas, and Oklahoma. We were laughing, telling stories, and enjoying the conversation. Don’t forget, Kathleen, we are sailing in New York in May at the Madcatter and Stu is sailing on a Hobie Fox! Note: Never drink Cape Codders with Kathleen! I owe her big-time for her assistance in helping Stu carry me home that night! I don’t know if I will ever live down the name the bartender gave me, “Under the weather Heather”. Monday morning rolled around really fast.
I was pumped and ready to go (except for the pounding headache,
queasy stomach, dizziness, shakes and fatigue!) for the 11:00 class
flag. First, we attended
the skippers meeting. It’s
a good thing Bryan sailed in so many Continental events, because I was
getting a little confused. The
start line is where? You
mean I need a compass because they move the marks during the race?!
And I can’t even see A mark at the start?!
Do we have enough flag stickers?
Thank god they were using the new start sequence, at least I knew
that! Now, I am used to
being the skipper, but I was so thankful that Bryan was calling the
shots! He knew I was clueless when they were talking about the gates
being down by the start line, ignore them-they are not the start line!
Surprisingly, the wind was still blowing up to 22 knots.
But this didn’t dampen our spirits!
We were dressed in all our gear and excited for the first day of
racing. Monday proved to be a test.
But we got into the groove of things.
Before the first start, I kept thinking “all these boats are
going to fit on THAT line?” With
about a minute and a half to go, everyone shot for their spots on the
line and parked. From what
I learned, parking a 20 in these winds is not an easy task, especially
with such steep chop in a shallow bay.
These boats didn’t move. I
heard yelling, crew hooking up, and mainsheets cranking.
We are coming up to the line so fast!
I ask Bryan “Unsheet the jib?”
No. But we are still
coming up so fast! I ask
again, “Unsheet the jib?!” NO!
Damn, he was so calm and collected at that start line.
We found a sweet spot by the committee boat and immediately
tacked to port-a move that worked for the rest of the regatta.
In fact, by the end of the regatta, rather than 3 boats tacking
to port by the committee boat, about a dozen were tacking to port along
with us. I guess others
figured out patience and clean air pays off (right, Valdek!?)
OK, now where is A mark, I know it’s supposed to be up here.
Call the gusts, watch for starboard boats, tack on the layline,
more downhaul, more mast rotation, sheet the jib in harder!
Help Bryan with the main traveler. If he can’t get it released, how the hell am I?!
We tack on the layline and head for A…all the boats are coming
up! Try not to get in bad
air and don’t get headed! Flying
downwind we see a broken boat to leeward, yes, the hull was broke in
half. OK, don’t stare,
concentrate! It was the first
pitchpole downwind in the third race that was the shocker.
You mean a 20 really does pitchpole?
We had been doing so well! It
was that one killer gust that got us.
I think Bryan remembers me saying, “there’s a real nasty one
back there” and wham! The bows dug (actually submerged) and we were buried with it.
The bay is only 12 feet deep, so you don’t want to dig the mast
in the mud. By the time we
righted the boat (which really wasn’t that hard), we were so tired
from pulling ourselves back ON the boat (how do you crawl back on a 20?
Bryan had to grab my harness and throw me on board like a fish),
that we abandoned the race. Not
an easy thing to do, but we were last anyway.
Other people behind us who saw said it was quite the dive.
Stu, aka, “Beach Bunny”, greeted us on shore with a smile and
“Damn, that was some wind.” Tuesday offered the same conditions.
These conditions are similar to the lake sailing we are
accustomed to. The
waves are steep, close together and build quickly with the breeze.
The gusts are similar to the lakes with the 20-degree shifts that
last minutes or seconds and have differing widths.
Certainly everyone experienced different conditions dependent
upon where they were on the water.
We must have been learning the conditions because in race 6, we
got 8th and we were FIRST to A mark!
We were thrilled to have a single digit finish.
Those top sailors are good!
They are so fast, it seems as if they don’t make mistakes.
We hung on hard for that 8th and ran with the big
dogs. Going to A on port was exciting and also trying to find that
hole to tack in! Here comes
that starboard parade and I’m calling the boat positions to Bryan. Where are we going to tack?!
I finally tell Bryan he has to find it, and he does, of course.
And we make a nice mark rounding on top of it!
Some of those gusts were ferocious at A mark.
Many racers would shoot past the mark a good 20 boatlengths so
they could reach in and not have to dive so hard around A to head
downwind. Throughout
the week, many lost it at A and you had to maneuver quickly to avoid
running over masts. It was
the downwind legs that made your hair stand up.
Bryan decided real fast it was safer for him to stay in the back
and keep the boat down because he knew I would gradually get everything
done in the front of the boat without his help.
Now I know why I needed a snorkel for the leeward side. It was a good thing I had Barz goggles. Boats were going over left and right, but I didn’t want to
tell Bryan-he had to keep his mind on the tiller.
I was calling gusts and sheeting the jib at the same time getting
drowned by spray and hanging onto the boom so I wouldn’t wash off the
boat. It was so much fun!
It was intense, pulsating racing.
I tasted salt, felt cold, but loved every minute of it. Wednesday. Valdek
kept telling me it was going to warm up.
When?! It was still
cold, but the sun was out. I
told him if it didn’t warm up soon, it would be the ant pile for him!
The wind seems to be steady in the morning, and build in a matter
of minutes as the boats go out. Stu said every time we headed out, the wind came up.
By the time we reach the start line, we see huge waves and feel
huge gusts. It’s hang on
to your butts, because we are going for a ride.
This is a great day, though.
The goggles are great, the bruises don’t hurt too badly, the
calluses on my hands were healing, and we are in the top half of the
pack. At one point in a
race, Bryan slips off around behind the boat as we are rounding A (in 5th
place!) yelling “HELP!” All
I could do was grab the tiller and steer around A.
I didn’t want to lose our place (and it was a chance to
steer!). I certainly
couldn’t help him on board. Bryan somehow scrambles back on board as
we maintain our position. Downwind
is another ride. We tear
off 80 degrees off the wind
in yet another gust. I don’t even mess with the boards or rotator.
I just want to stay upright and drive hard by watching the jib
and the nose. Actually, A
mark roundings were so intense, this happened a few times.
Every boat is charging for C mark on both tacks.
Which way do we go? The
gate with the least traffic offers the best route.
Hook up, hang on, round C within inches, sheet the jib in and
point! This day (and the
next and the next) is full of body slams from the steep chop.
We’d see the killer waves coming and brace ourselves, but it
would still wipe our feet right off the boat, and then SLAM against the
hull. My shins were getting
the brunt of the abuse. After
a few times of this, you get mad enough you try to stick to the boat
like glue, no matter what you have to do! But, the best part of Wednesday is getting 2nd in
race 10. We were getting
good at making it to the A mark in the top 5 boats.
During this race we were 3rd around A mark and eating
up the 2nd place boat. Even
with a jib sheeting problem (a line caught in the block), we caught the
2nd place boat going back up to A.
This race was a course 6-one of the longest.
We held on for 3 laps behind the Shafer’s (the winners of the
Nationals). Talk about
concentration and determination. We
weren’t going to let go of this!
After we crossed the finish line (actually, it may have been
before!) we hugged, gave high fives, and yelled!
We were happy with the 8th place finish, but this was
tops. This finish made the
whole regatta, no matter how we placed overall.
But we couldn’t lose our heads, we had to stay in the game and
collect our thoughts. Bryan
was laying down trying to recuperate. That next class flag came awfully fast. The next race was a blur except for the memorable leg to A.
At one point, on our way to A mark, I can honestly say I have never
sailed so fast upwind. We
footed off and the boat was flying!
The boat was powered up; we were trapping out for all we were
worth and screaming for A mark. Bryan
said he had never gone that fast before on a 20 during 3 of the 5 days.
Back to the beach after the last race to discover Stu had
been watching from the point with binoculars (as he did all week).
He was sitting with ladies who were listening to the same
frequency the RC was announcing sail numbers as they round A.
They asked whom he was watching, “Oh, the second place boat,
#855!”. So he heard and
saw the entire race. In
fact that finish bumped us up from 20th place to 16th.
He was pumped for us, so beers all around to celebrate!
Of course, we had to fill in what he didn’t see with all the
exciting details. After a
short celebration, we grabbed the wheels, drug our boat up the beach
(does the boat get heavier every day?), dropped the sails, and walked to
the outdoor fresh water shower. Salt
sucks. Thursday morning came and I can’t believe we are going to
have another day of heavy air. I
look out the window and see the wind building.
Bryan told me at Nationals you could expect some windy days mixed
in with lighter days. Where
is my light day? The
muscles don’t hurt as much, but fatigue comes much faster.
Thursday teaches limits. Limits
of what you are physically and mentally capable of doing on the boat
safely. I remember feeling
overwhelmed on a beat to A when Bryan asks me to go in and untangle his
mainsheet, and while I’m in there, get more downhaul and mast
rotation. Oh, and did I
fail to mention, I needed to be out on the trap too?
I laughed as I hooked up
and asked Bryan if he would like me to make him a sandwich too.
He decided it was more urgent for me to be on the wire.
So after a brutal morning of 2 races and 2 general recalls (which
really ruin your momentum), we sail in to a postponement flag and cheers
from other sailors on the beach. We
are all hoping racing for the day is over.
PU calls a skippers meeting to discuss the conditions and sailor
opinions. To our dismay,
the race committee informs us of the top gusts at A mark for the
morning. No one can believe
it’s only 18.7 knots (a 4-minute average).
This incites shock and growls of “I can’t believe it!”.
By the reactions, I know we are going out again, so we have to
mentally prepare for this air. I think it’s increasing by the time we get to the start
line. Boats are flipping
even before the race starts! I
start to wonder if it was a good idea we came out again.
They move the marks and we wait for the start. The fleet is now
down to 25 boats at the start. Many
chose to stay on shore. We
hope to get some good finishes. During
the first race we had some pretty hairy gusts and I know they were hairy
because Bryan kept asking me to depower the rig and we had already
depowered everything! We
just tried to keep the pointy ends up and finish, praying they won’t
start another race. Damn,
another class flag. We are
so tired and physically and mentally drained.
We got another good start, tack over to starboard and I go to
hook up and lean out. One
second later, I am swimming in my drysuit, thinking of all those shark
attacks, hoping Bryan notices I am gone.
He does and heads up. It’s
hard to swim in so many clothes. I
look at the boat and wonder how am I getting on!
My muscles are burning, my head is aching, and I am completely
waterlogged so I must weigh a ton.
Bryan has to lift me on deck by my harness.
I couldn’t even lift a finger to help.
I’m still trying to think how I missed the hook and I suddenly
realize that’s the whole problem.
I can’t think anymore. Somehow
we round A in one of the fiercest gusts ever, and drop downwind totally
out of control. We futilely hang on as a huge gust hit and we make the
decision to abandon the race. We
reached a limit and realized we had no business being out there. So we come up into the wind, the jib is flapping, and we
figure out the best way to get back in.
We are one of the lucky ones who came in.
Others lost mains, jibs and were limping in. Thankfully, we are still holding on to our 16th
place overall. Friday we looked forward to only 3 races and sadly, our last
day of intense racing. We
sailed to the starting line, scoped out the wind, gusts, and remaining
boats. Again, we sailed on
the edge, pitchpoling once (I couldn’t scramble back fast enough!) and
even went over upwind (another error due to fatigue).
But, I did learn how to walk back on the boat while we were
righting it, so not all was lost. We
found a lot of holes that day. The
wind was extremely shifty and inconsistent.
We had so many moments where we should have gone over, but
amazingly we didn’t. As
we sailed for the finish line during the second race of the day, we
looked behind us to notice a rain squall moving our direction.
All we wanted to do was finish before it hit.
As we crossed the line and parked off to the side, it started to
rain. The raindrops felt like sand hitting the side of your face.
Though it was hard to see through the driving rain, we noticed
many boats crossed the line and headed back to shore immediately.
We stayed, anticipating a brief squall.
After five minutes, it passed and we waited for the next class
flag. During many of our
downwind legs, we had so much speed, our starboard tiller kept popping
up going downwind, a repair we kept forgetting about once we reached
shore. Our tiller connector
even came loose once. Makes
for an exciting situation around C mark when you have to give room and
can’t steer. The bows
would be dug in with water to the crossbars, the boat would stop in its
tracks, spin up, but somehow Bryan managed to save it.
Wow. I decided this
was our last day and I wasn’t going in during any race, and we
didn’t. We fought it out
to the end. Bryan was
thankful for my being so gung-ho, because he didn’t think anyone else
would have made him go out or stay out under those conditions. I will sail in another Continentals, hopefully as the
skipper. We experienced a
whole season of racing in one week. We had 18 total races with only one
throwout. That meant our
final standing was 17th.
Trophies were 15 deep, so we missed coming home with a trophy by
a hair. This is only a
slight disappointment considering all we accomplished during such an
incredible week of racing. I
couldn’t have learned this much about tactics, strategy, and boat
handling in 10 years of sailing my own boat.
Thanks, Bryan, for believing in me and teaching me so much about
sailing. He really gave me
an ego boost when he said I was the best crew he had ever had at a
Continentals. P.S. Don’t be
surprised if you see Bryan with a new jib next year. |
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