To Megabyte or Not to Megabyte

Have to admit the thought of getting out of the Megabyte has crossed my mind. Is it the psychological impact of the sick economy (I'm still employed after all) or wanting to devote more sailing time to the big boat or maybe just reconsidering the kind of racing I want to do. Whichever, and until I decide, I've got some good racing planned for this Summer: Whiskeytown, family fun at Huntington Lake, and capped off with the Megabyte North Americans (10 boats would be a huge turnout, whoohoo!) in September on The Bay. The NAs is something to look forward to and at the moment is one thing keeping my interest in the boat--dedicate one more summer to improving my skills in the boat and then see what I can do. There's also the hope that having the NAs local will boost interest in the class here.

Well, either way, had a great time a week ago mixing it up with the Vanguards. I started late, kept to the edge of the course, and took wide mark roundings to avoid screwing with the boats actually racing. Still good fun and good to get some tacking and gybing practice after being out of the boat for quite a while. I was reminded that the Megabyte is a great boat to sail. Responsive, challenging, and comfortable. Maybe I'll keep it another Summer . . .

Opening Day Take Two

Six eight-minute races around some weighted down hippity-hops aint much to brag about on Sir Robin Knox-Johnston day on the web, but that, plus downing a few beers and arguing about season scoring methods, is all that we accomplished for the Vanguard 15 Fleet 76 2009 Opening Day re-do (the first attempt was blown out with 40 knot gusts--Sir Robin's seen worse.) It was great to be back among a crowd of sailing friends. All were eager to get the racing started--Dean a little over eager with two over earlies to start things off--and the post-race parking lot banter picked up right where we left it when daylight wasting time put an end to last season. Should be a great new season with opportunity to improve our skills, learn the new rules (some of us are still a couple of decades behind), do a lot of yelling, teach some kids to sail, and otherwise just have a blast racing small boats. Only one can be the first to circumnavigate singlehanded nonstop, but the rest of us still can thrill from chasing our buddies around a short course to beat them by a nose at the line--nice move there, Dean.

Remembering

Gee, can't remember exactly when it was we last sailed Lapras. I know it wasn't that long ago, but with a lot of other distractions lately, the memory has blurred away. Let's see. My mom and Bill were aboard. We motored East against the strong ebb in very light wind until the Easterly kicked in and whipped up a steep chop over the sand bar entering Suisun Bay. Hmmm . . . maybe I remember more of this than I thought . . . With the chop making the ride uncomfortable, we ran away with the jib poled out for a quick ebb-assisted sail home.

I remember that the last time out with me mum aboard was the day before her mum passed away. Last night, I wrote this to be read by me mum at me mum's mum memorial service this week in Manchester, England.


“Hi ya” Meant

Do you remember, “Hi ya”?
That thing Nana used to say . . . with a curl in her smile . . . a glint in her eye.

“Hi ya” meant “I’m glad to be here. I’m enjoying just being with you.”
“I’m me. You’re you, and that’s just right.” That’s what “hi ya” meant.

Sometimes the “Hi ya” was silent with just the curl and the glint to hint it was there. I’m sure that was the look she had when I first tried on the browny-greeny shorts she had made for me when I visited at the age of four. What made those shorts special was the matching marble bag she had crafted from the fabric offcuts. When I got back to the states, I was probably the only boy in the entire US of A with matching shorts and marble bag. Not something to be proud of, but I was.

“Hi ya” meant “how are you?” “I’m interested in what you’re doing, what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling”
“Hi ya” meant “come talk to me. We have all the time in the world.”

A cup of tea, some “mmm, lovely” biscuits . . . Living half a world away, I don’t have a lot of memories of Nana, but characteristic phrases and images have stuck. Something about “me frock” or “me hat”. (Which like my shorts and bag, often matched, too.) Always loving. Always tender. Always Nana.

“Hi ya” meant “hi.”
“Hi ya” meant, “I love you.”

I remember Nana. I remember “Hi ya”.

“Hi ya,” Nana.

Little Big Dinghy

"Hey watch out for us little guys out there," I chirped across to the I14 crew rigging up next to me in the parking lot after learning at the skippers meeting we'd have quite the diverse "open" class at the RYC Big Dinghy. "How long's your boat," came the reply. That's when I realized, "oh yeah, I guess my dinghy is bigger than yours." Still, an International 14 at speed with two on the wire is a scary site to a guy bobbing around in the "bigger" 14 foot, 3 inch Megabyte. All turned out well, however, and as far as I know there were no collisions among the Wetas, ICs, I14s, Lightnings, Johnson 18s, Osprey, Musto Skiff, Contenders, Wing Dinghy, Force 5, or the two Megabytes.

Mack piloted the other Megabyte, and we both got some great practice on the venue that will host the Megabyte North Americans in September. By race 4, we had a good blow with 15 to 20 knots gusting 25+. Keeping the boat up to speed to weather through the steep Bay chop was the biggest challenge. I could generally finesse the boat over two or maybe three big ones in a row, but more than that and I'd loose the rhythm and come slamming down off the top of one killing all speed. Off the wind, I was happy to keep the shiny side down, but not comfortable enough to really work the boat down the waves for maximum speed. A different feel/technique is required compared to the lakes where the Fleet 3 Megabytes usually congregate for regattas. Will need to get some more practice time in on the Bay . . .

Lapras Digs In

Well, Dean and I finally got Lapras out for a higher wind test sail. Previously, 5 to 10 knots is about all we'd experienced with the new boat, and given some of the reports of how relatively tender these Catalina 250s are, I was eager to see what she would do. The nearest wind station trend shows that we were facing 20 knots gusting 25. Didn't seem that heavy, but it did have us on our ear a couple of times. The boat handled great. I'd read reports of Lapras' sisterships spinning out of control when they get past a certain angle of heel. We sheeted in hard and let her lay over past 35 degrees, and she just kept punching forward. Yeah, loaded up the helm a bit, but never felt like a wipe-out was imminent. Nice. Thirty-five degrees isn't particularly fast, though, nor comfortable; so, we tied in a reef (new dual line jiffy reef works great!), settled her down, and kept chuggin' West.

As the sun dipped near the horizon, the wind eased up. We shook the reef out, turned back up river, and had a beautiful evening run for home.

Overall pretty happy with how Lapras handled a decent blow. Still, a few minor tweaks to add to the project list: put a couple more turns on the lower shroud turnbuckles to take the sag out of the mast, rig an adjustable backstay to take the sag out of the forestay, and overhaul the main halyard clutch so it doesn't slip.

It's all relative

A recent post about going nowhere, but fast, by my fellow sailing blogger over at Love and Coconuts (love that name) reminded me that I hadn't yet shared the latest sailing outing on my local river. I'd been off the boat for a month what with bad weather and other commitments; so with a Friday forecast break in the weather I put the call out for would be crew hoping to find at least one person not wanting (or needing) to work that day. Joel answered the call and by two o'clock we were sailing, I mean pointing, upwind upriver bucking a max ebb. "I think I'll just crack off and duck that barge." "Uh, never mind, we ain't gonna get anywhere near it." With a wind speed on par with the current, we merely crabbed our way cross river relative to the land, and the barge. Our "tack" at the deep water side of the river resulted in another hundred yard loss. We were scooting through the water and going backwards. We were sailing and that's always better than working.

As I have one of those tank atop screwy things that O Docker describes, I wasn't too worried about progress, and we turned downriver downwind towards what looked like a stronger breeze. Now, I should describe the venue just west of Benicia. First Street bottoms out at a point around which the river hooks slightly North with the silt accumulating beyond in what otherwise looks like a beautiful open body of water. Check the charts and you'll see that you could get out and walk. Or, go clamming or something. After getting flushed halfway past this wide spot, and not finding the wind we'd seen prior, we decided to poke our nose back into it and see what we could do. Well after about three hitches of that and three times within anchor chucking distance of the same channel marker I was ready to fire up the iron breeze and bust out another beer. But Joel, the one was-be crew who doesn't need to work stopped me short and hollered, "Hey, let's bang the beach and see if we can make it." "OK, let's try it." We tacked back and headed for the shoals with a watchful eye on the sounder. "Four feet under the keel. That's enough for me," and we tacked back out into deep water and current. After a couple of tries at this and still no progress, my confidence in the sounder and trust that silt behind a point lays down in a nice smooth arc led us to progressively go farther on each successive hitch until we were tacking within a foot and a half of literally banging the beach. That was the ticket, and with a couple of lucrative wind shifts we were soon skirting the two foot contour and riding a nice eddy back home. And, busting out that beer--Joel will know what I mean.

Mom's Still Got It.

Bad knee and all she hopped aboard and couldn't wait to get out into open water. Only little puffs of wind coming in from the East, but with 70 degree temps (in January!) we couldn't complain. "This is just lovely," she remarked as she put the helm down and brought Lapras up onto the wind. It's been years since she's done that, but you'd never know.

That was Saturday. This morning, Mom called with sad news: 99 years, one last cup of tea, and her mother, my dear Nana, drifted off to be with the Lord.

We love you Nana.