Story by
Carl Albrecht
Wilmette, IL

On June 30th, an email newsletter was sent to everyone remotely identified as owning a Hobie Catamaran sailboat and belonging to the Wilmette, Illinois Hobie catamaran racing fleet. The clear message was that the fleet needs all the newcomers it can get (They can always use a rookie in the race as insurance that there will be one boat that everyone can beat). The writer, John Smyth, asked if anyone could identify who belonged to sail number 105130, the boat that glanced by the committee boat at the start of the race and was never seen again. Here is my reply:

Hello, John.

In response to your request to the fleet to provide any info possible on the owner of sail number 105130.

I am 105130.

Here's my story - the story of a rookie:

Against my better judgment I attempted to join the fun in last Saturday's race. The reason it was against my better judgment is that I still haven't mastered the advanced Hobie sailing techniques, like, for example, "turning". I had heard, however, that sailors, post-race, tend to drink gin. So I pressed on.

I missed the first race because I couldn't even get upwind to the committee boat that, as I understand it, is where races generally start. I had decided to skip the whole thing when Barb Hartman, who is an enthusiastic recruiter and helpful person who knows how to sail, sailed by and gathered me in.

She cried: "Are you Carl?" (She had called and we'd talked earlier in the week).

"Yes" I yelled over the boiling 4 knots of wind.

"Follow me", she said. And I did. And I made it to the committee boat!

I was now fully confident that I would not only race… I would win the race. Or at least I would place second to the guy with the "National Hobie Sailing Championship" sticker on the side of his hull. I could use my "halyard" skills and "starboard the main" just as well as anyone else out there, I figured.

It looked like the next race was about to begin. I only had two problems:
1. I wasn't sure how to tell when, exactly, it would begin (A Flag? A Gun? The breaking of the official champagne bottle?)
2. I had no idea in what direction I should be headed

I think I mentioned that Barb had called earlier in the week. She had explained something about red and white buoys on the course, green, red and white flags on the committee boat, and other sure-fire tactics for "downhauling", or "figuring out what the heck is going on". This information was somewhat lost on me as I'd been drinking gin when Barb had called.

So I set about my secret plan. I decided I'd follow everybody else, then, on the last leg, or "cleat" of the race…sneak up on everyone and blast past them at the finish line!

I sailed around the starting line waiting for a flag, or a whistle, or something that would indicate the race had begun. I decided to follow a boat that had set off from the cramped quarters of boats strategically situated behind the starting line. This boat was crossing in front of the starting line and I thought he must know something. I figured he was going to dip behind the line just before the start of the race - and BINGO! He'd be out ahead of the crew.

Well, that's what he did all right. What I did, however, was to point my boat "into the wind", or put my boat, technically, "dead in the water" directly parallel to, and in front of, the starting line, or "sheet". Unfortunately, ol' 105130 was not going to dip behind the line. Oh no. 105130 was not going to move. Forward. Backward. Sideways. Nothing. Frantically trying to swiftly maneuver a boat designed specifically to be unmaneuverable, I felt that wonderful tension in the air that directly precedes "certain doom".

So there I was standing in front of the line like a cow grazing in front of the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby. The sound of the starting gun and the yell from the committee boat… (Something nautical like "GO"!). And ten Hobies heading right at me at full tilt. Now I know what spawning must feel like.

So I apologized as the boats veered around my carcass on their start. I cringed while waiting to hear the type of friendly comments typically elicited from fellow motorists on the Kennedy Expressway while one fumbles for change too long at the tollbooth.

Amazing. As my fellow skippers roared around me, they said things like: "No problem" and "We've all been there". They shouted helpful nautical advice like "try stalling out somewhere other than in front of the starting line". So nice and empathetic were these fellow sailors.

But I have to admit I was feeling a bit like that guy in NFL Films who picked up a fumble and merrily carried it all the way to a TD… in the wrong end zone. At least my fumble won't be shown repeatedly on national TV (no one got my maiden voyage on film, right?).

Shaken, but still stirring, I decided I'd round the committee boat and head after the others.
I was making decent time and for a minute thought I was actually going to beat the trailing boats to the first mark because I had some wind shifts that were enabling me to sail closer to the wind and more directly at the first mark.

Let's just say it didn't work out that way.

As I made what I thought would be my final tack around the first mark, I was feeling pretty good, despite the fact that the other sailors were now around mark 2 and heading for home. But I was at least finding the right lines to sail efficiently and was on track to round the first mark with what I thought would be a minimum of turns (or "battens" in the jargon).

Now, you know that feeling you get when you lean too far back in your chair and you try desperately to regain your upright position (and your composure)? Well, as I approached the mark, my line of direction (which was calculated precisely to put me around the buoy with zero room to spare to ensure the fastest time) became increasing what we call in sailing "heading directly into the wind" (see earlier definition). Apparently this is not a heading that works very well for sailboats, at least not for long, and my boat slid right up against the side of the mark (I think this is illegal, hitting the buoy, but there was no one around to protest). I had almost half the boat past the mark when I got that feeling: I wasn't going to make it on this tack. Yep - the Hobie starting going in reverse (I am getting very good at reverse). It slid slowly backward off the mark, floundering. I fought to regain control (and my composure).

I now had to make several more tacks to get around the first mark. I calculated that, with current wind speed, my skill, and a little luck, I could do so in just under 45 minutes. By that time, my fellow racees would be back on terra sanda and swilling gin. I resolved to try it anyway. Then, I checked on how close I was to gaining on the tails of the others. It was a hazy day, and as I wasn't sure exactly where the course went after the first mark, I squinted downwind. Nothing. And then I saw them…. Colorful sails, bright blue trampolines, and cheery sailors. On the beach. Talking about the race that ended long ago. (This is an important part of any race, the camaraderie afterwards).

So then it struck me:

1. By the time I finish the race, there would be no finish line as the committee boat was now out fishing for Coho.
2. If I continue this race, I will soon be passed up by the Sunfish race that followed the start of the Hobie one. I wasn't going to hang around and get passed up by a SUNFISH.
3. Jamming the rudders full aport or astarboard does not make you turn faster in a Hobie. It makes you stop. Go figure.
4. I'm not sure how to tune or sail the boat for sailing, much less for maximum racing speed.
5. I don't understand the race course, tactics, or rules.
6. The racing course is set up so that the boats must sail in two basic directions:
1. Upwind, and
2. Downwind
7. Hobies were made to sail on a close reach; they refuse to go up or downwind.
8. You're supposed to have a crew with you so you can meet the 300 lb. Minimum. I'm 240 by myself. Does anyone know any experienced, 60-lb crew?
9. My idea of how to spend a weekend consists of sailing during every moment of sunlight. My wife and kids, somehow, do not share this view. Go figure.
10. Wilmette Park District does not allow alcohol on the premises.
11. This is too much humiliation to take with no promise of gin afterwards.

So I've decided:

As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm from the racing club, the forgiveness of the race participants, and the thrill of the chase - I think I'll use this season for some more basic learning like how to "sail". Would anyone like to provide some lessons on tuning, racing, course, committee boat flags, and tactics? I'll bring the gin.