The 2003 Spring Classic - or - How to Lose a Regatta

Dean Caley

Have you ever noticed how many regatta articles are written by the winner describing the flawless performance of themselves and their crew? This is not that article, though I have written that article in the past. Twice actually. No, in this instance, my wife Kandi is the current secretary of Fleet 36, and as she claims an involuntary loss of her virginity in the middle of the third race (more on that later), I have been given the task of writing this article as an act of penance. Kandi gets what Kandi wants.

Our approach to losing the regatta required intense advance non-planning. Having purchased new hiking straps last fall, we uncovered the boat for the first race to realize that we had not purchased the line with which to attach them. Oh well, those twing lines were too long anyway. Having solved the dual problems of excessively long twing lines and uninstalled hiking straps, we set off for the racecourse.

As we usually do before a race we popped the ‘chute to shake it out. Wow. That’s a neat double hourglass. How did you guys get that in there? It would not shake out, so we doused it. My lovely wife Kandi ran the edges, and we popped it a second time. Or not. Gee, now it’s entirely too twisted to even form an hourglass. That takes experience. Or not. So we doused it again, ran the edges again, and popped it a third time without the sheet attached. Hmmm. That’s one way to get the twists out. At this point, I was wondering if there was good movie on at the local theatre. Douse it. Attach the sheet. Pop it again. Oh, that looks great. Excuse me, but just why are the sheets under the hiking straps? Unhook the hiking straps, and reattach them. Okay. Lets get the ‘chute down it’s time for the first start.

Thirty-five boats took that first start in a kind and gentle tune-up breeze of eight knots out of the southeast. It was a beautiful day, warm and dry. The wind gradually escalated through the first three races as if to allow everyone to get back into racing after the winter months. The race was uneventful from our viewpoint in a position between the two packs until we worked into huge thirty-degree lift on the third beat. This was going to take us well up into the leaders. I was enamored with that lift, but the boats behind us kept peeling off, and by the time we figured out they were going for the finish, we had over stood and were rather last. With the wind up and light crew, our plane to the finish line picked up two boats for a regrettable thirty-third. Okay, that was fun. Is everyone awake now?

There was a general recall on the start of the second race, which was a fine thing as we were so late as to be in an adjacent county. We pegged the restart dead on and proceeded to work our way out in front of the pack sailing both higher and faster. Way cool. We rounded the windward mark in second and stayed with the top three or four boats through the next two legs. Just then, my Scottish ancestry rose up to smite me. A near antique part, frugally recycled from those old boat bits my father collected, failed. This resulted in the separation of the jib sheets from the clew creating a remarkably slow sailing configuration but a fine way to go from at worst fourth to at best thirty-fourth. I would have used a number of choice skipper words at this point, but quite frankly, I was utterly speechless. We completed our repair and fought all the way back to finish thirty-second. This is not the sort of consistency we strive for.

The wind continued to build before the third race. When Kandi asked what the wind speed was, I said it was near the upper limit of what we could handle. This was a clue. Nevertheless, we would at least start and see how things worked out. For our crew weight, it was intense. As we approached the second windward mark, my wife suggested that we not fly the spinnaker. I figured we had nothing to lose, so let’s do it. We rounded the windward mark, laid off for the offset and were instantly planing at high speed. Whoopee! You don’t feel acceleration on these pointy flower boxes all that often. We rounded the offset, popped the ‘chute and worked right to get around two capsized boats. I understand one was Jim Allen. Another clue. I called for the gibe to port, and a moment later, we became the third capsized boat. A warning to others. As Kandi had never capsized before, this moment represents the loss of virginity she referred to.

The only injury was a broken fingernail on the middle finger of Kandi’s right hand. This was incurred as she was flipping me off from the cockpit side of the boat while I was standing on the centerboard telling her in rather specific terms to let go of the boat as she was turtling it. But Kandi gets what Kandi wants, and clearly, she wanted the boat upside down.

A rescue boat manned by Gordon McCarty and Len Ciccone was instantly standing by having been attracted to this now popular area by the two previous capsizes. While these two had recovered and resumed the race, we were unable to do so and enjoyed the cold water longer than was necessary or advisable. Thanks to Dave Werley and Greg Maras who jumped into the water to lend a hand, we were finally under tow. Also, thanks to Jonette Werley for sailing the Werley Lightning back to the club singled-handed having loaned us both skipper and crew.

Somewhere beyond our little circus, really good racing was going on. The wind kindly abated for more civilized fourth and fifth races, which I’m sure were quite enjoyable, though we did not participate. We were recovering thermally and taking on fresh anti-freeze in the form of Jim Stone’s rum.

The Spring Classic party is always something to behold, and once again featured the renowned Trailer Trash Band playing Songs You Actually Know on the first stop of their Double Wide Tour. Recalling last year’s TTB theme The More You Drink, The Better We Sound, special thanks goes to Tri County Wholesale Distributors of Youngstown OH and Labatt Breweries for the generous supply of beer. The crowd went wild over the band’s renditions of "Brown Eyed Girl", "Margaritaville", "Borland’s Trailer" and a special guest performance by David Stark. There was some head thumping music played later in the evening, but we weren’t there to know what that was all about. No, we didn’t win the party either.

As forecast, Sunday’s races were blown away by high winds and a nearby storm system. The final standings, of interest to those people who were really racing, had Skip Dieball with Matt Frymier and Laurie Dieball in first place, Bill Faude, with Ernie Dieball and Michael Stark in second. Third went to David Stark with Bill Healy and Derek Gauger. Fourth to Mike Holly with Valerie Tardif-Holly, and John Humphrey, while fifth went to Debbie Probst with Kathy Miles and Joyce Spring. Oh yes, and Dean Caley, Kandi Caley and Jim Stone for the very first time, dead last in thirty-fifth.

If we had this much fun in last place, imagine how much fun you could have actually racing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to call the florist. See you next year!

Picture captions:

For the group of winners: The 2003 Spring Classic top five finishers. Not pictured: the author.

Two Lightnings under Spinnaker: Bill Faude (15056) pursues the author (14420) before our breakdown. Bill finished the race in 3^rd place.

For the capsize: The author taking depth soundings using the mast in race three.

Bartenders: Linda Condon, Sally Anstrom, Abby Ruhlman, Nora White