For the 1983 America’s Cup, our plan was to do two new boats and to trial them against each other. We already had two decent boats, Freedom and Enterprise, for comparison. We suspected that the Australians would be competitive and planning to do something special following their clever bendy rig in 1980. Don’t forget that the Americans had won forever, and the foreigners were predisposed to losing—which might not be fair, but I think it was realistic.

We thought that if we designed and built two new boats that we would have the landscape pretty well covered. We decided to have Johan Valentijn design one boat and Olin Stephens and his Sparkman & Stephens office design the other. The Valentijn boat, ironically, would not have been able to race in the Cup because it was too short on the waterline and didn’t fit the 12-Metre Rule.

For the S&S boat, Olin Stephens was getting older, so some others on the S&S team were probably involved, such as Bill Langan and the team behind him. They designed a fairly large boat. Normally, a large boat would be fighting for enough sail area, but they got it by pushing the girth profile pretty hard to gain back some rating under the 12-Metre Rule. It pushed the rule on girth hard. It was large, and the reason it did not have a smaller sail area was because the girths were not penalized. It was V-shaped and not wine-bottle-shaped. You would think with that configuration it would be slow, but it needed to be that way under the rule to get a large boat with a larger sail area.

We tested it against Freedom and Enterprise and realized that the design did not work well. We decided that we needed to either build another boat or rely on Freedom to be a good boat. We decided to have another boat designed and built, and based on some of the innovation that Valentijn had shown with his design of Magic, we let him do it. He designed Liberty, but it was not a great boat. 

The first day, we sailed Freedom against Liberty—mind you, I hate to go swimming, but I said I would go swimming because there must be something stuck on Liberty to be this slow against Freedom. So that did not bode well for our future.

We decided that we would also let Valentijn make changes to Freedom because she was sticky in the light air, and we thought that would improve with more sail area. We decided that we would let him make Freedom a little shorter so that we could add sail area. However, Freedom had the lowest freeboard of any 12-Metre, and that had been grandfathered in because the rule on freeboard was changed in 1983.

Freedom had a low ­freeboard and was quite wet, but it was the low freeboard that gave her better aerodynamic and hydrodynamic qualities. Valentijn did not interpret or misread the rule, so in making the boat shorter to gain sail area, we lost the grandfathering of the freeboard. We ended up with a shorter boat and without any additional sail area. It made Freedom worse in light air without added sail area, and worse in stronger conditions because it was shorter and it rated the same. So Valentijn designed Magic, which could not race for the Cup because its rating was too short; he designed Liberty, which was not a special boat; and he negatively impacted Freedom, which was our best boat after all of this. We ended up having to race Liberty.

In the meantime, the Australians had built two boats: One was Challenge 12 and the other Australia II. They were identical except one had a ­regular keel and one had a winged keel. The winged keel ended up being the better boat. It was the shortest boat you could design and still race, which, if I remember right, was 42½ feet on the waterline.

The problem with a small boat is that it isn’t very good in windier conditions. They figured out how to make it better by turning the keel upside down. They attached the short part of the keel to the hull and had the longer part at the bottom of the keel. That made a short boat with a lot of sail area very stable in the breeze. The tank testing was done in Holland and the idea came out of Holland, which made it illegal, but that’s another story.

The problem with the long keel at the bottom was that it made excess tip vortices—or, in layman’s terms, there was too much drag. They figured that if you added winglets to the keel, it would reduce the vortices. They started thinking that if you were going to add winglets with that drag, you might as well make them out of lead, which would give even more stability. And, if you were heeled over, one of the wings would be more vertical and add lift. So, for Australia, it was all a gain—aside from some additional drag downwind—but the boat was short and had plenty of sail area, so it was not that bad. 

The fact that we were up 3-1 after four races was a ­miracle. But it was a combination of them having some bad luck and not sailing well at the beginning and us having some good fortune. Once they figured out that they were fast, they became formidable. They got stronger and stronger, and John Bertrand got less nervous; they had a good crew and a good boat.

We broke down in the fifth race when the jumpers blew off the mast, which was too bad because those were our best conditions. They had good fortune in the sixth race and were faster. In the seventh race, we were kicking their butts—but the wind dropped quite a bit, and they got stronger and stronger and passed us.

Would I have done anything differently? Maybe knowing what I know now, but what I knew back then, probably not. They were a good boat.

The post America’s Cup 1983: Wrong Horse For the Course appeared first on Sailing World.

Wingfoiling is a new and exploding addition to the world of sailing, and naturally it has a racing component built into its foundation. Wherever there’s wind and water these days, wingfoilers can be seen flying fast with light and minimal equipment, and when two ­foilers meet, who doesn’t want to see how fast they can go? And who’s faster? Even though wingfoiling is relatively new, there’s already plenty of racing developing, internationally and domestically. Whether you are new to wingfoiling and want to race for the first time, or you want to push yourself to the next level, here are my top-10 tips to make the most of your wingfoil racing.

Enjoy the racing. Wingfoil racing is a unique way to share the water with a lot of people. One of the coolest things about foiling is how silently you sail across the water. You can be very close to another person and have a conversation, which makes racing much more social and competitive.

Be open to learning new things. When I work with the kids on the Wylde Wind & Water Wingfoil Youth Team, I tell them that the best way to improve is to race. Racing teaches us so many invaluable lessons about equipment management, reading the water, sailing in a variety of conditions, and pushing our comfort zones. Every race will teach us something, so we have to remember to be open to learning from it. I learn as much from one regatta as I could from an entire month of training on my own.

Don’t stress the gear. The best equipment with which to start racing is the gear you have. Use it to participate in a local race series, and as you get more familiar with the racing formats and as your skills improve, then you can purchase more-advanced equipment for wingfoil racing. Don’t let your equipment be your barrier of entry to try something new.

Learn the different starts. There are three types of starts in wingfoil racing: traditional upwind starts for when you are ­racing windward/leeward courses; reaching starts for when you are slalom racing; and rabbit starts for when you are distance racing or marathon racing.

As your skills improve, you can purchase more-advanced equipment for wingfoil racing. Don’t let your equipment be your barrier of entry to try something new.

The start sequence is typically a 3-minute countdown. Because wingfoilers sail very quickly, you cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time, so calculate this into your prestart routine so that you know where to line up at 30 seconds before your start. The goal is to cross the start line going full speed—and in control. You always want to be on foil during the prestart sequence, so jibe or tack in puffs—whatever keeps you on the foil—so you can ensure that you’re foiling when you cross the line.

Pump for extra speed off the line. When pumping for speed off the start, use your whole body, starting with your legs, to compress the foil into the water to generate lift. As the board starts to rise, extend your arms and capture more wind in your wing, which will counter the lift of the foil and propel you forward. When pumping, engage your core, not only for strength and power, but for stability as well. Remember, you are the connection between the wing and the board. Be a solid connection.

Stay fast and tight. On the typical wing racecourse, there are two major obstacles to avoid: dirty air and dirty water. Dirty air can be really disruptive to your top-end speed and your upwind or downwind angle, so do your best to find lanes of clean air to avoid wing turbulence. Wing turbulence is one of the easiest ways to catch a wing tip in the water, which often results in swimming. Foils disturb the water and create turbulence from the introduction of air down the mast. Somebody else’s foil turbulence can knock you off balance or cause your foil to cavitate. Learn how to anticipate foil turbulence, and if you can, avoid it.

Somebody else’s foil turbulence can knock you off balance or cause your foil to cavitate. Learn how to anticipate foil turbulence, and if you can, avoid it.

Embrace different courses. Wingfoil racing can be short and intense, which keeps it exciting. Slalom races are anywhere from 3 to 6 minutes, course races are about 8 to 12 minutes, distance races are around 20 to 25 minutes, and marathon races are at least 45 minutes.

Enjoy the entire wind range. Wind minimums and maximums depend on the ­location and sea state as well, but race organizers typically aim to sail in 6-knot minimum. And the wind maximum? That depends on the race committee, however, I recommend getting a small wing because wingfoil racing in 35 to 40 knots is chaotic but a ton of fun.

Clean and safe mark roundings. It’s especially important to pay close attention to your exit angle from a mark rounding. You’re moving at a high rate of speed, and your exit angle can make or break your race. Also, just as you would off the starting line, pump out of the turns to accelerate.

Find your fleet. Where to wingfoil race? There are many race opportunities around the world, including the high-level Wingfoil Racing World Cup tour, GWA Wing Foil, X-15 Class races (one-design), and national and local races. Connect with your local sailing club or federation to learn more information about the upcoming races in your region, and if you don’t have a local wingfoil racing scene, start one. All it takes is another winger.

The post Wingfoiling Racing Beginner Basics appeared first on Sailing World.

It’s not the first mistake, it’s the second,” world champion sailor Bora Gulari once said while I was coaching him in the Nacra 17 for the US Sailing team. When asked if it was OK to quote him, he said, “In fairness, I got that from Terry Hutchinson.” Regardless of the origin, I like its message—that the unexpected is inescapable, and that it’s how we manage problems that matters. That doesn’t mean being complacent, however. It means finding solutions.

When I’m sailing, I make ­mental notes of any adversities such as “spinnaker takedown late.” Then, once onshore, I add details into the Adversity Spreadsheet that I keep. It’s an incredibly useful tool to keep those second mistakes from happening again. I recently added an Impact column to the spreadsheet, which is a measure of how many boats were lost due to a noted adversity. This is easy to estimate sometimes, such as our flubbed takedown cost us two boats, so the impact is simply “2.” But it’s harder to estimate the impact of a bad start. Did it cost me 15 boats at the moment, or five? All I can do is make my best guess.

The Impact column also helps me identify my repeat offenders, understand which ones cost me most, and motivates me to work on improving. It’s eye-opening that, for any given regatta, even in winning, I might have an impact of 30 or more. In losing, I might see just a few things I could have done better that would have made all the difference.

This Impact column has led me to pondering the risk ­versus reward trade-offs of an OCS. For example, I recently sailed a regatta where I pushed the line and was OCS in one of the 10 races. But the other nine starts were excellent. It’s hard to measure, but maybe my finishes would have been five places worse per race if I’d held back. Over nine races, that’s 36 points. But the OCS cost me 60 points. Without a discard, ­pushing the line risking an OCS is a major error, but if there were a discard, I get to shed those 60 points, so risking the line is the right move.

The whole point of ­gathering all of this information into the spreadsheet is to come up with solutions. For our poor spinnaker takedown, my teammates and I concluded that there were two solutions. The first is to start the process a little earlier when we are not fighting for mark room. But when we don’t have that luxury, we came up with a process change: When we need to carry the spinnaker late, we need to put the board down and jib up very early, then strip the pole and free-fly the spinnaker. The Solutions cell in the spreadsheet can be simple and to the point, or long and in depth.

Boathandling adversity is definable and mostly in our control. Practice is usually the solution, but in the long run, I think that the best way to reduce it is to empower each team member to succeed and equally empower them to be human and, with that, make mistakes. When I see someone on another boat lay blame and even yell at their team member, I cringe. I expect an occasional boathandling error from my teammates, and they expect the same from me. In the moment, the right response is to work together to recover. Then, after the race, the spreadsheet is a low-conflict way of defining problems.

Boat-on-boat tactical adversity is often our mistake. If I am on port tack and feel strongly about wanting to get right, for example, a mistake would be to lee-bow a starboard tacker instead of taking the big duck. Most tactical errors can be solved by the tactician clearly planning and communicating. A good comms example would be: “We are going right, so if anyone comes, then we are ducking.” It reinforces planning for specific moves with an if/then.

Strategy is an interesting study in adversity mitigation. We can put solid thought into our race strategy, but in the end, Mother Nature does whatever she wants. Suppose I identify the adversity in my spreadsheet as: “I went left as local knowledge dictated, but instead a persistent righty won.”

If, in looking back, I can see no way to have predicted the right shift, I can’t count that as an error. However, the error might be that I did not mitigate the damage. The root cause would be: “I did not see the righty soon enough.” The solution could be: “We need a team member assigned to regularly to check the opposite side of the course for signs of change.”

Boatspeed adversity is the most frustrating because the root cause is often hard to identify and elusive to solve. But it is always in our control. 

For adverse tactical situations over which we have little control, we switch our focus to mitigation. Suppose we identify adversity as “we were tacked on.” We might call it an error because “we tacked into too good a lane and it was inevitable we were getting tacked on.” The solution should be: “We should have tacked in a compromised lane, that way the odds of ­getting directly tacked on would be low.”

One easily identifiable adversity is a protest situation. Many fouls can be avoided with clear communication with competitors. Suppose the error was: “We thought it was obvious that we were clear ahead at the zone, yet someone jammed in anyway.” The root cause is: “We did not communicate that they had no room.” The solution is: “We should always start the overlap conversation 10 ­boatlengths out. Doing so establishes the overlap status in case of a protest situation, but more importantly, it leaves enough time for both boats to think things through and be mentally prepared to round in the proper order.”

Boatspeed adversity is the most frustrating because the root cause is often hard to identify and elusive to solve. But it is always in our control, and as such, is listed as a mistake in our spreadsheet. If the problem is: “We are slow in medium wind and chop,” and the root cause we might have to write is: “We have no idea why.” In this case, the solution is: “We need to ask some of our friends who are doing better in this condition, come up with a list of things to try, and then find medium wind and chop to train in with a tuning partner.” There is no simple solution to boatspeed woes, but to do well, we must be fast, so we must never stop working on speed.

An ongoing boatwork list, along with regular inspections and replacements, takes care of most mechanical adversity. But mitigation comes into play too. For example, born from things going wrong, I have added redundancy to some systems. For example, my outhaul broke once, and it’s ­impractical to inspect it often because it’s inside the boom, so I have added a safety line. I’ve busted my spin pole more than once, so now I carry a spare. While coaching, whenever my athlete asks, “Do you think I should replace my—” I interrupt with a “Yes!” before they can finish. It does not matter what they were about to identify, if they question whether it should be fixed or replaced, it should be. If ­nothing else, for peace of mind.

Managing adversity is a deeply personal mental game. For me, when something goes wrong, I take a deep breath, hold, then exhale. It probably takes only about 5 seconds for that full cycle, the amount of time my brain needs to move on. And with my breath held, I can’t possibly do something in the heat of the moment that I will regret.

I once coached an ­emotional team of three sailors, and we used the word “helicopter” to get the team back in focus. Anyone on the team could say it, and the agreement was that the others would each visualize being dropped into their boat from a helicopter, with no knowledge of how they got into their current position. The message was: “No blame, no bad history, just focus and hard work from where we are.”

Even in winning major events, I have never raced without plenty of adversity. Some clear mistakes, some completely out of my control, and plenty somewhere in between. I have learned to expect them, and with that, I am free to move on to managing whatever the problem might be. In the moment and with a clear head, I want to quickly come up with the best solution. Postrace, I want to identify the root cause and hopefully agree with my team on a solution. Even if I can’t identify the root cause, the solution will be to study it to find the root cause. Those that are squarely in my control, such as ­boathandling, I want to do everything I can to eliminate. Others, such as picking a side, are less in my control and I am only playing odds. For these, I work on mitigating their damage. But most importantly, when the inevitable problem does come our way, I want to empower my team to do the best they can to mitigate the damages and move on, ­avoiding that second mistake.

The post How to Manage and Measure Mistakes appeared first on Sailing World.

One of the coolest uses of a centerboard I’ve ever seen was at the Smythe Laser Championship qualifier—a junior sailing regatta. The two best sailors were fighting for a chance to go to the finals as they approached the leeward mark with the trailing boat barely overlapped. In an amazing move, John Torgerson, who was slightly ahead of the competition, pulled his daggerboard up all the way, and pushed his tiller toward the competitor to start sliding sideways, breaking the overlap. He literally slid into the zone like a race car drifting around a corner and started hailing, “No room!” He then slammed the board back down into the trunk and jibed to round the mark ahead. There was a protest, but he prevailed in the end and off to the Smythe finals he went. So cool.

For many dinghy sailors, the centerboard is hardly a consideration. It tends to be out of sight and out of mind, and either up or down or somewhere in between, but rarely dynamically adjusted. As a high school sailing coach, I can see that most sailors focus on other skills first before thinking about the importance of the centerboard, but this important underwater appendage can make a world of difference in your performance and speed, so let’s discuss in the simplest terms how it’s best used.

The first rule of thumb is that you want your centerboard, daggerboard or leeboard all the way down while sailing upwind to create more lift and side force, and to give you more power while reducing leeway. Downwind we prefer the board as high as possible to reduce drag while keeping the boat tracking, especially if we’re not sailing dead downwind. And let’s not forget stability—no sense in capsizing for a small gain in boatspeed. 

In most boats, this means putting the centerboard all the way down upwind while sailing in light to medium winds. On some boats and in certain windspeeds, it can be faster to pull the board a few inches, but we’ll get to that later. As a point of making sure the centerboard is fully down and then some, I’ve noticed top FJ and 420 sailors experiment with the type of blocks used on top of the board to allow it to go down just a little bit more than the competition. This deeper board gives them more power and less leeway upwind, which is a performance gain. 

Downwind, if running very deep, let’s say close to dead-downwind, we don’t need the board dragging through the water, so we can pull it all the way up. However, if the boat starts rocking excessively and is hard to control, we can drop the board down until the boat becomes stable—think of this as your “roll control.”

Top high school and college sailing crews are very active with the centerboard downwind, dropping it down a few inches in puffs to prevent the boat from overheeling, and pulling it up in lulls when it is less needed. Playing the board can be very fast.

If you are reaching, the basic rule of thumb is to pull the board up until you notice the boat starting to slide sideways, then put it down a touch so that you are tracking straight. By doing so, you’re reducing drag as much as you can and using only the amount of board necessary to track and go forward.

When sailing downwind with the board up to some degree, it’s also effective to put it down for a maneuver, which gives you stability and helps you power forward out of roll tacks and roll jibes when you’re generating a lot of side force. As a bonus, it also clears it out of the way for the forward crew in doublehanded and triplehanded boats. 

For more high-level thoughts on centerboards, I reached out to my friend Will Ryan, a fantastic Olympic International 470 gold medalist. After dominating the class for many years, he’s got a solid handle on how and when to play the centerboard. As a general rule, he says, having the centerboard to its maximum down position is useful when sailing upwind or in light air. Having the centerboard at its maximum down (or vertical down such as in an International 470 or 505) helps the foil create its maximum side force, which helps generate power in the boat and to create lift. That’s a good combo. This setup is also fast when you’re overpowered but trying to sail a “high mode.”

In smaller boats especially, Ryan adds, pulling the board up a few inches in breeze is fast: “The centerboard acts as a power control. Water has more drag resistance than air, so the benefits of reducing hydrodynamic drag can outweigh the benefits of reducing aero drag (smaller sails) because often the bigger sails can still be useful on the downwind legs.”

For many dinghy sailors, the centerboard is hardly a consideration, but this important underwater appendage can make a world of difference in your performance and speed.

Ryan also reminds us that raising the centerboard is a good way to optimize the balance of the boat when overpowered: “Changing the centerboard’s side force can make the boat more responsive  to gusts and easier to handle in waves, while also making the boat easier to steer, which generally makes the boat easier to control. Upwind, more side force might be required from the centerboard to help with the boat performance (because the lift from a centerboard is related to the speed it is moving through the water). Conversely, more centerboard up may be used downwind when the boat is traveling faster (a smaller centerboard area still giving the same amount of required lift or stability with the boat traveling at a higher speed) or when the course of the boat does not require as much side force (i.e., downwind); even less centerboard can be used in the water because reducing wetted surface area might be even more beneficial.”

In lighter airs, he says, some boats such as 470s and 505s can rake the centerboard forward—even forward of 90 degrees. “Raking the board forward can help to provide a greater side force, giving the boat more power. The board shape can create more lift, and this can also help to optimize the maneuverability of the boat because it makes the distance greater between the rudder and the centerboard. On boats such as these, where sail shapes have a number of available controls, and mast rakes or mast step adjustments are also allowed, the rake change of the foil can also help to balance the boat for better upwind performance.”

Next-Level Board Play

What we’ve covered so far are mainly straight-line considerations, but let’s take it back to Torgerson’s slick slide into the zone at the Smythe. If your ­centerboard adjustment is easy to play, consider how you might use it like Torgerson did so masterfully. Someone once told me about what he called the “­prestart slide.” If he got to the line a fraction too early, was exposed, and had room to leeward to rumble, he would turn to a reach, pull up the board quickly, and laterally slide the boat one width to leeward. When it was time to turn up, all he had to do was drop the board, let it bite, turn, and trim.

In the prestart, Ryan says, having maximum centerboard down provides the aforementioned side force (or grip) to help hold a boat in position, and minimize leeway. This can be particularly helpful when the boat is sailing at slower speeds. Keep in mind, however, that you’re not overpowered when you trim in and go. Also, raising the centerboard a little might help the boat to bear away and accelerate.

One additional tip Ryan shares is that for small boats that might be prone to getting caught in irons, or ones that don’t have a jib, raising the centerboard briefly can help get a boat to rotate the bow away from the wind. This is not a practical maneuver on all boats, but having some centerboard angled aft or raised up a bit can also help on the exits from tacks.

Here’s my final thought on the centerboard when in close quarters, and this applies ­especially in windward/­leeward luffing scenarios. If you’re the weather boat, remember to drop that board before the attack. And if you’re keen to try Torgerson’s move, remember to drop it before the turn—unless, of course, you like leaving the barn door open.

The post Next-Level Centerboard Use appeared first on Sailing World.

The schooner yacht America was a child star and a technological marvel. Arguably the most famous yacht ever built, she won the ­silver cup in August 1851, and now she represents the pinnacle of yacht racing.

The story of America’s design, build, and her first 16 weeks afloat are the stuff of legend, and for good reason: The schooner’s origin story is irresistible and watertight. The yacht was funded by New York’s wealthiest sportsmen and created specifically for international competition; an invitation to compete had been extended to the Americans from British yachtsmen based at Cowes, on England’s southern coast. The resultant design brief was ambitious: The new yacht must possess the ability to safely and swiftly cross the ocean but also to win nearshore races against yachts specifically built for that purpose. Her given name reflected the aspirations of her owners: America. About 100 feet long on deck, America was constructed on the Lower East Side of Manhattan in the winter of 1850 and into 1851.

America’s design represented the latest—somewhat radical—ideas of how to create a fast racing yacht. Low to the water, lean, and carrying her maximum beam far forward of other racing yachts, she was rigged simply but ingeniously. A maximum of four sails meant that maneuvers could be executed quickly and by a relatively small crew. These sails were carried by a pair of dramatically raked masts. The engineless America featured state-of-the art sailing technology, including tightly woven cotton duck sails and lead ballast carried low and carefully molded to fit the shape of her hull. A tiller—more responsive than a wheel—could be fitted on for racing. 

In June 1851, just weeks after her launching, and with her racing sails stowed below, America bolted across the Atlantic—New York to La Havre—in just 19 days (a passenger-­carrying sailing ship of the era might complete the same route in 40 days). At Le Havre, her hull was painted black and, from there, she traveled to Cowes, England, to meet the British fleet. 

On August 22, 1851, America soundly defeated the cream of the British yachting fleet in a 53-mile race around the Isle of Wight. In the wake of this landmark victory, Queen Victoria walked her decks, and her owners were awarded a 27-inch-tall 134-ounce bottomless trophy made at Garrard’s, the Queen’s Crown Jeweler. Just 16 weeks after her launch, America was a legend. Her origin story is, to this day, familiar to sailors and aficionados of naval history and continues to be widely studied, written about, discussed, and analyzed in a near fetishized manner. However, what happened to America after the win at Cowes is a decidedly less-trafficked patch of water. America’s career post-Cowes is a more checkered narrative. After winning the cup, America was at the center of a decades-long run of ­adventure, neglect, rehabilitations, and hard sailing, always ­surrounded by ­colorful, passionate personalities. 

Recognizing an opportunity to cash in on their schooner at the top of the market—and harboring no sense of nostalgia or emotion—America’s American owners sold the schooner almost immediately after the race around the Isle of Wight. The new owner cut down her spars and added ballast. She would still be fast but never again as racy. America changed hands again and again. By 1854, just three years after her famous victory, she was abandoned on a mudbank at Cowes. Two years later, a shipwright bought her and began a restoration.

In July 1860, America was sold to a mysterious new owner who immediately put her in harm’s way. Her new owner sailed America back to North America, where the schooner was, apparently, sold into the Confederate navy, and for nearly a year, America officially served the rebel cause. In summer 1861, America carried a pair of Confederate officers across the Atlantic to Europe, and then returned to the southeast coast of North America, but only after entering at least one regatta in Europe. Through much of 1861 and into 1862, America appears to have been frequently in action on behalf of the rebel cause at the mouth the St. Johns River at Jacksonville in northeast Florida.

In spring 1862, as federal troops closed in on Jacksonville, America was pinned inside the St. Johns River at Jacksonville. Rather than risk the certain loss of the practically and symbolically valuable schooner, the rebels moved America 60 miles up the St. Johns and scuttled her in a shallow, muddy tributary—apparently with the intent of returning to refloat her at some later opportunity. Shortly thereafter, having secured the river and Jacksonville itself, US Navy sailors moved upriver, where they found and raised America. America then served on the federal blockade at Charleston and was directly involved in the capture and/or destruction of several rebel blockade runners. Finally, in May 1863, America received a reprieve. She was sent north to serve as a training vessel at the United States Naval Academy in Newport, Rhode Island.

In 1873, the federal government sold America to General Benjamin Butler, a colorful Massachusetts-based politician. Butler proved to be a strong patron of the now-iconic schooner, spending lavishly on her upkeep and sailing her extensively. Butler and America were among the spectator fleet at New York for multiple defenses of the America’s Cup in the late 19th century. After Butler’s death, in 1893, the aging wooden vessel was approaching 50 years and had been “ridden hard and put away wet.” By 1921, America was rotting at her slip in Boston and offered for sale. Much of her lead ballast had been stripped off and repurposed for military purposes during the Great War. When rumors circulated that a Portuguese syndicate was interested in purchasing her and converting her to a trading packet, a group of historic-minded sailors from Boston’s Eastern Yacht Club stepped in and purchased America. The group moved America to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, where she was ­presented to the Naval Academy. 

While Annapolis seemed to be a logical long-term home for the famous schooner, the Naval Academy did not have the ­facilities or manpower to maintain an aging wooden sailing vessel. She spent the next 20 years afloat in a slip on the brackish Severn River, serving as a photo backdrop for midshipmen and, sometimes, as a playground for local children. She was kept afloat but with a bare-minimum level of maintenance. Finally, in 1940, a move was made to restore the now 90-year-old schooner. While no official paper trail has been found connecting President Franklin Roosevelt to America’s rehabilitation, the effort was widely assumed at the time to have been endorsed by the president himself who, allegedly, envisioned America as a centerpiece of a new Navy museum at Washington. Plans were made to move America to nearby Annapolis Yacht Yard, with the facilities and staff capable of undertaking a proper rehabilitation. On a windy evening in December 1940, America floated on a king tide over the sill of the privately owned Annapolis Yacht Yard’s marine railway and was hauled ashore, according to one witness, “groaning and complaining.” She would not touch the water again.

As work was started on the America project, the Annapolis Yacht Yard’s leadership began an aggressive, effective push to secure contracts to build 110-foot wooden submarine chasers for the United States Navy and, later, to build 70-foot wooden motor torpedo boats for the British Navy and other allied navies under the auspices of the Lend-Lease Act. The facility became a vital military production partner, critical to the war effort. Meanwhile, America languished in the literal center of this activity. Some initial scoping work had been completed and a few sections replaced, but the demands of wartime shipbuilding overcame any serious rehabilitation effort. In late March 1942, a makeshift shed that had been built over America’s hull collapsed under the weight of a surprise snowstorm. After the shed collapse, any visions of a straightforward rehabilitation evaporated, no matter how powerful the project’s sponsor. A more permanent structure was constructed over the ruins, and, at the end of the war, with Roosevelt dead, America was unceremoniously broken up and the remains hauled to the Annapolis city dump. 

At the time of the breakup, a handful of historic-minded ­yachtsmen and museum officials bemoaned the loss, but there was no widespread outcry, and it is unfair to judge the decisions and actions that led to America’s breakup through a modern lens. America’s planned rehabilitation was interrupted by the attacks at Pearl Harbor and halted after the United States’ entry into the Second World War. The iconic America, her physical form likely well beyond “saving” after the shed collapse, was, ultimately, a victim of poor timing and most unfortunate circumstances.

Editor’s note: This article has been edited for style and clarity.

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As the white blades of his ­sculling oars dipped and swept the pristine waters of the Strait of Georgia, Adam Cove was having fleeting second thoughts. He was barely a day into the adventure—no-­engine-and-no-support 750-mile Race to Alaska. His plan to row his 2,800-pound 18-foot Marshall Sanderling cat boat Wildcat through a set of islands and ­farther offshore in search of wind had backfired.

“The wind was forecast to be there,” he says. “I got out there after rowing for six hours because the wind had died inside, but there was no wind out there either. And then the current turned and I was 3 miles out, so I just started ­rowing harder to get close to the coast. That was a brutal 8 hours straight of rowing, and by the time I reached anchorage, I said, ‘I still have another 660 miles to go—this is going to be a long race.’”

This was an R2AK baptism by agony for Cove on his first attempt at the biennial race, but he was prepared for it. There would be no quitting.

The Race to Alaska’s course winds mostly along the rugged Canadian coastline, with a start in Port Townsend, Washington, and a finish in Ketchikan, Alaska. There is a 40-mile qualifying leg from Port Townsend to Victoria, British Columbia, which essentially thins the herd, and Cove aced that section. What ­follows, however, is the far more testing 710-mile stretch to Ketchikan, which takes the fleet first through Seymour Narrows, revered for its swift currents and capricious winds. Then there’s a long open stretch across Queen Charlotte Sound with a mandatory checkpoint in a town called Bella Bella in British Columbia. From Bella, it’s into the open waters of the Hecate Strait, dodging logs, debris and wildlife. How, where, and when competitors stop to rest, replenish, or escape adversity is entirely up to them.

The eclectic fleet of ­vessels that now gathers every other year is not all sailboats or ­necessarily oceangoing, and the adventurers themselves are equally unique. Cove generalizes his fellow ­competitors as “very hyped-up, athletic, excited and a cool crowd.” He fit in well among them.

The Lemans start from Victoria on June 12 sent Cove on his way, meandering through islands, rowing until the reaches of Seymour Narrows, the race’s first true proving point. “This is the area that everyone talks about,” he says. “You don’t sail through at night; you don’t sail through with the full current. You wait for the slack tide.”

However, by the time he ­approached Seymour at 3 a.m., he had the full embrace of the current to carry him through. “I hit 12 knots over ground, with 4 knots of wind, which might be a record for a cat boat,” he says. “But it was wild. There were whirlpools everywhere, and the boat made three complete 360s going through there.”

Now roughly two and a half days into the race, Cove and his Wildcat had devoured a good bit of the course, and only once he was flushed through the Narrows was he able to make his first respite.

“I rode the current until it pretty much stopped, then pulled over and slept for about four and a half hours,” he says. “I woke up in a beautiful little cove, and when the current switched, I jumped back out there again and continued racing.”

Ahead, he says, was the most treacherous part of the course—Johnstone Strait, a half-mile-wide sluice with high mountains and roaring winds that funnel through the straight one way or the other. For Cove, it was all uphill.

“I had 26 hours of short-­tacking between the shorelines,” he says. “You try to fight the current as long as you can, but eventually it wins. The real challenge is there’s not a lot of places to pull over.”

He did eventually sniff out a place to shelter—a shallow spot behind a pile of rocks—dropped anchor, and hoped for the best. “I was so tired, but I went for it,” he says. “The best part was, when I woke up in the morning, the current had switched, so all I had to do was pull up the anchor. I already had my centerboard up, being a cat boat, so I just drifted over the rocks and kept going—another cat boat advantage I hadn’t considered.”

Cove’s choice of a Marshall 18 cat boat for the race was a suggestion from his wife, and a family connection at Marshall Cat Company boatyard in South Dartmouth, Massachusetts, was just the source he needed to line up the adventure. Over one long New England winter, he set about preparing the boat with the help of family and industry contacts, stripping 120 pounds of old bottom paint, renewing the brightwork, replacing portlights and rudder hardware, blocks and lines, adding a third-reef into the sail, and installing a sophisticated Raymarine electronics package. The biggest project was custom building a rowing station with a sliding seat, which proved to be time well spent.  

After pinballing through Johnstone Strait, Cove presumed that the worst of the course was behind and that it would be smooth sailing to Ketchikan. But he was wrong.

“I got to the other side saying, ‘I’m ready to be out of here,’ but then I was right into 6- to 7-foot breaking waves. Every single wave, I was taking on water. I’d hit the wall.”

When racing solo, misery’s company is oneself, but Cove was relishing the torment. It was exactly what he’d signed up for. “I’ve done a fair amount of ­offshore racing, and everyone always builds the offshore side to be that much harder,” he says. “In coastal racing like this, especially if you’re singlehanded, there are so many more things to hit. This was something I had pushed myself to do. And I was up for that challenge.”

He did tuck his third reef twice, to what amounted to a small triangle of sail, which he says was a big consideration when preparing for the race. “Figuring out that balance and how to compensate for the large rudder and the weather helm. We found it made a big difference putting a lot of forward rake on the mast. That moves the center of effort forward on the sail quite a bit. So up to 10 knots, it’s actually a balanced helm, which is crazy that we could achieve that on a cat boat.”

His Starlink terminal proved to be an essential piece of equipment for sending media for the boat, but also for relaying conditions and information to his fellow competitors scattered about. “Everyone supports one another through the race,” he says. “You want everyone to be successful and to keep sailing because there really are limited rescue resources up there. The Coast Guard is close, but when you consider the water temperatures, by the time they get to you, you’re likely dead.”

Cove predicted that he would do the race in two weeks or so, and had plenty of freeze-dried food and supplies to get him to Ketchikan—in hindsight, he was way overprovisioned. And as much as he was racing to win, the reason why he chose a cat boat over a quicker vessel like a trimaran or sportboat was to allow him more time in the elements, to savor the journey that much more.

“The biggest highlight of the race is just being able to ­appreciate the scenery around us and overcoming the challenge,” he says. “It’s just absolutely ­gorgeous throughout the entire course. It’s tough to beat ­anything on that level.”

“I got to the other side saying, ‘I’m ready to be out of here,’ but then I was right into 6- to 7-foot breaking waves. Every single wave, I was taking on water. I’d hit the wall.”

He had three goals when he set out from Port Townsend: to finish the race, to be the first ­singlehanded boat to finish, and to finish inside of 14 days. “I realized kind of through the course rather quickly that I was exceeding all of those goals,” he says.

But then came the final miles, which felt much like the first.

Ten miles from the finish, the once-30-knot wind that was scooting him to Ketchikan faded to zephyrs, and then the current turned hard against him. “I felt like the finish might as well be 100 miles away, so I rowed as hard as I could to port. I was about 15 feet away from shore and caught a back current, and rode that for about 5 miles until I got to the last channel turning into Ketchikan. The current was against me again, and I just powered through it. It was super frustrating, and it just turned into pure determination. I was like: ‘I gotta finish this race. I’m so close right now.”

When Cove stepped ashore to ring the symbolic finish bell, as per tradition, he was well inside his 14-day target at 10 days, 22 hours, 26 minutes. Better yet, he had broken the singlehanded monohull record by more than two days and was the race’s fastest monohull ever, under 20 feet. A true vindication of his craft of choice. “It ended up being the perfect boat,” he says. “I had all the shelter I needed, and I was shocked at how fast that boat was. There was one night, going downwind with the centerboard up, where I was surfing waves and doing between 8 knots and 9.2 knots for hours on end.”

While it would seem logical for Cove, a marine consultant and technical editor for SAIL, based in Massachusetts, to write some definitive guide to preparing for and winning the race, you can count on that never happening. “A few of us casually talked about that with the race organizers,” he says. “And they said that it’s probably best that we don’t do that because it’s fun for everyone to learn on their own. It’s the sharing among each other that builds the community. Don’t make it too easy to get—make them come to you and talk, because that’s a big part of it, becoming part of the R2AK family.”

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the wind had been light through the first 110 miles of Storm Trysail Club’s annual springtime Block Island Race, and as we were making our way back toward the finish, we found ourselves navigating through and against an annoying ebbing tidal current in The Race. This 3-mile-wide deep channel at the entrance to Long Island Sound is notorious for its swift and turbulent currents. It’s where this race and many others have been won and lost.

As we worked our way through The Race, there was a pesky TP52 keeping pace to the south of us. At this point, we should have been at least 5 miles ahead of them, but I was happy to have them nearby because tactical scrimmages keep crews focused and racing at peak ­performance. Their presence had us hyperalert and searching for any and all ­advantages. The wind was patchy, with random puffs ­alternately accelerating our boat and then the TP52. The seesaw battle continued for hours until an opportunity appeared out of nowhere.

We were sailing with a light asymmetric spinnaker, jibing with each favorable puff and windshift while the conversation among the afterguard addressed the critical conundrum of this race: Do we favor the Long Island shoreline or the Connecticut? While we remained open to either option, a tidal rip appeared off the bow. To help understand whether there was some kind of current sheer on one side of the agitated water, we had the aid of a GPS system that calculated whether there was a favorable or unfavorable current. After we crossed the tidal rip, our boat suddenly gained 1.4 knots of speed over the bottom. By taking bearings on the nearby TP52, it was clear that we were making dramatic gains.

After sailing for a short period in this advantage, we passed through another set of tidal rips, and we were immediately slowed by an adverse 0.5-knot current. It was obvious right then and there that we needed to stay within the narrow band of favorable current, so we jibed frequently to stay in phase with the current. And as we did so, our rivals on the TP52 appeared to be stopped dead while we gained bearing. It’s amazing how crew morale improves when sailing faster than a competitor.

Tidal currents are influenced by the gravitational forces of the moon. Gravity also plays a role as water flows from higher elevations to lower levels. The prevailing direction and strength of the wind also has a strong influence on currents. On a large body of water such as Long Island Sound, tidal flow can be predicted with accuracy thanks to lunar cycles, but the actual water flow, especially at the surface, can change with every new tide and every weather system. Eddies flowing in the opposite direction can suddenly appear and then disappear, and currents from adjacent rivers and streams feeding into the sound add to the dynamics of tidal flow. It would be fascinating to hover over The Race and Long Island Sound for a long period of time to watch the changes in currents. Every day and every hour would be different.

While enjoying this miraculous magic-carpet ride toward the finish, I thought back to the many times I had suffered through calms and fought against capricious foul currents while watching competitors sail away. 

For racing sailors, finding the least adverse current or the most favorable downstream current can make a substantial difference in performance. During the downwind leg of the race, for example, we lost considerable apparent-wind strength as we moved along with the current. This meant sailing a higher course than normal to maintain our velocity made good. We also lost distance by making frequent jibes. I estimated that each maneuver cost about one boatlength, but the higher course and extra jibes were small sacrifices compared with the boost in speed from the favorable current.

Through binoculars I could see someone on the TP52 staring intently at our boat as we maneuvered through the tidal rips. They too were taking bearings and trying to figure out what to do. These narrow bands of current change unpredictably, so we didn’t know how long our good fortune would last.

While enjoying this miraculous magic-carpet ride toward the finish, I thought back to the many times I had suffered through calms and fought against capricious foul currents while watching competitors sail away. It’s not a good feeling, and I had compassion for the TP52 crew. We were lucky to be in a good geographical spot on that particular morning, but it could have been the other way around.

The good times continued for 14 miles down the racecourse as we enjoyed 90 minutes of favorable current that helped us extend our lead by 3 miles. In the end, it wasn’t enough to beat the TP52 on corrected time, but it gave our crew a psychological boost, improved our position to third place in the 37-boat ORC fleet, and served as a poignant reminder to never underestimate the effects of tides and currents.

Before any coastal distance race, a deep study of the movements of the water is a must. There are published guides and locals with great intel, as well as navigational tools and ­software that can give you a strong foundation. Most important, however, is to be hypervigilant to the water’s movements at all times, constantly looking for clues on the surface such as current ribbons, trap buoys, birds and fish, and the ­fishermen who congregate at tidal rips.

A recent Opera House Cup, raced off Nantucket, will forever be a good reminder to me to be on the lookout for a tidal advantage. This annual regatta for classic yachts is a favorite among the sailors who put great effort into preparing their boats for this unique contest. The race committee is mindful that many of the boats in the fleet are antiques and therefore set courses with four legs so that most of the race is spent reaching around the course. For this particular edition of the Opera House Cup, I was invited to skipper an International 30-Square Metre, which is a long narrow Scandinavian craft, with its ­number designating its sail area.

Our class featured 18 boats, and we started on a beam reach in a strong 16-knot breeze. We won the start and looked good, but within a few minutes, it was clear that our boat was off the pace. By the time we rounded the first turning mark, we were well behind our entire class. The next 10-mile leg sent the fleet along a shoreline that ran for at least 8 miles. I noticed a tidal rip right along the shore, so with nothing to lose, I bore off to sail into the choppy water, and we slid into a countercurrent that was running along at 1.5 knots.

Meanwhile, all of the other boats were fighting a 1-knot current. From our position at the back of the fleet, we quickly started to gain bearing. By the time we reached the next turning mark after 90 minutes of racing, we were well out in front. We held on to our lead over the final two legs to finish first in class and third in the entire fleet. It was a happy sail back to Nantucket Harbor.

I could fill this space with tales of races that did not end as well as these two triumphs, but the lessons for all of us are to keep our eyes open and always look for opportunities. Currents are an especially important element of every race strategy, so take the time to study where you typically race, but remember that the flow will never be the same. That’s the beauty of our sport—like tidal currents, the unpredictability is what keeps it interesting.

The post Working the Current Boost appeared first on Sailing World.

If a little bird were on board the Sunfast 3600 Bellino during the rough-and-tumble Rolex Fastnet Races of 2023, it would have heard Rob Craigie ask his teammate Deb Fish a simple but important question: “How are you doing?”

“Well, I’ve been better,” Fish would reply after momentarily considering her mental and physical state after three hours of relentless pounding in 25 knots of wind off the coast of England, conditions that had already thinned a third of the fleet.

“Yeah, me too,” Craigie would respond. “Would you like to carry on?”

“Yeah, why not keep going,” would be Fish’s reply.

“Thought you’d say that,” Craigie would answer. “I’m in too.”

Bellino has arguably been the most consistently successful racing yacht in England for the past two years. They won the RORC points championship in 2023, which is the cumulative scoring for all the Royal Ocean Racing Club’s approved races, ranging from 40 to 690 miles long. They won the UK Doublehanded Championship on a tiebreaker in 2024, besting 30 other doublehanded boats for the title, and by the time you read this, they will likely have won the RORC points title again in 2024.

The competition includes fully crewed boats of all sizes, not just doublehanders. And they recently finished a close second in the 2024 Drheam-Cup Doublehanded division, the most competitive event on the 2024 calendar, including French and other foreign boats (including Will Harris and me on Red Ruby). So, what is this super-high-tech racing machine, and who are these pro-sailing rock stars?

Don’t be fooled by appearances. Bellino is a nice boat, but it is a six-year-old stock Sunfast 3600 racer/cruiser, not the latest high-tech custom machine. Craigie is a lifelong racer, and at age 72, he has won his share of races. He has a lovable personality, like an imp, constantly chuckling as if he has a joke to share. But he is a retired electrical engineer with free time and a love of sailing. Sir Ben Ainslie does not stay awake at night worrying that Craigie is coming for his place.

Deborah Fish is a ­54-year-old research scientist. She started sailing later in life, only recently finding her passion in shorthanded ocean racing. She is also commodore of the Royal Ocean Racing Club, is full of lively ideas, always willing to share, and loves a glass of red wine. Although deserving, she is not on the verge of signing a big IMOCA contract. 

 So, what has allowed these two modest and somewhat older sailors, and their humble production boat, to rise to the top of the UK racing scene? Having raced against them for the past two years, I have a few observations on their winning formula.

Perseverance: Keep ­fighting and never give up, unless ­common sense dictates.

Continual improvement: They pragmatically analyze what wins races and how to create a consistent system for avoiding errors and maximizing opportunities. They learn from their own mistakes and from others’ experiences, and rarely make the same mistake twice. They also share what they have learned with other UK ­doublehanded sailors, frequently leading postrace debriefs to ensure that everyone is capturing the lessons.

Well-defined roles: While doublehanded sailors need to be able to do everything on the boat, top teams also specialize to maximize each other’s strengths. On Bellino, Fish does weather analysis, routing, headsail trim, and most of the sailhandling duties. Craigie steers and trims the mainsail most of the time. On longer races, they often trade off, but for big decisions and sail changes, they know their roles.

Low-risk tactics: They have created a tactical framework that allows them to use the best weather and current data to develop a plan, but then they temper the plan to reduce risk relative to the fleet. For example, they might skip a sail change if the gain is minuscule. Not that they couldn’t do the extra peel to the code zero, but they calculate that the gain does not justify the energy expended and the potential for trouble.

Reliability: They have focused on items on their boat that can break, and have taken measures to ensure that they can always finish the race. For example, a few years back, they bought a new J4 jib because they saw that in 25 to 35 knots upwind, they needed a strong, flat, small jib to reliably get around the course. It doesn’t get a lot of use, but it is money when it is needed. They also carry spares of critical equipment, carrying two wands, two autopilots and two navigation computers.

Optimize the rating: They race under IRC, which is pretty transparent for predicting the rating impact of various changes. With Bellino they have taken several subtle steps to keep their handicap low. They have reduced the total number of jibs they carry on a race, have kept the sail areas modest, and recently switched from symmetric to asymmetric spinnakers to reduce rating (no pole). The net result is the slowest-rated Sunfast 3600 in the fleet, but it’s a boat that is still fast enough to win.

Trust each other: This is a common thread among all successful doublehanded teams. You can’t have a skipper/crew mentality. You need two capable co-skippers, you need to make big decisions together, and you need to be able to take a nap knowing that your partner is going to sail the boat well. Craigie and Fish have developed supreme trust in each other over the years through their ­collective experience.

Spend budget carefully: Bellino is not a high-budget program, unlike many teams they beat. They don’t pay for high-level weather analysis (like I do). Using her science background, Fish does her own analysis of wind and current, using free and publicly available resources. They do all their own deliveries, and they sleep on their boat instead of getting a hotel (like I do). They do most of the work on their boat. They invest in one or two new sails per year but forgo many niceties. Through these modest steps, they can extensively campaign a 36-foot racing boat on a budget that is less than a typical J/70 program.

The Bellino approach to offshore racing takes away so many excuses for not performing well, and provides a road map of efficiency, consistency, and rational thinking. We can all benefit from this example of how to do more with less and how to turn your limitations into strengths. It also shows that modest, practical, nice people can win. So, the next time someone tells you, “Nice guys finish last,” think of Bellino.

The post The Doublehanded Dynamo appeared first on Sailing World.

North Technology Group, the parent company of North Sails, announced in early August that it acquired both of its primary rivals, Quantum Sails and Doyle Sails—a significant industry shift that now puts the big three of sailmaking under one roof.

Quantum and Doyle have become the latest additions to NTG’s expanding sailing and ­lifestyle portfolio, which now includes businesses in the ­mast-building and rigging space (former rivals Southern Spars, Hall Spars and Future Fibers and Rig Pro continue to operate independently), electronics and apparel, kite and wingfoil gear, and even the ubiquitous regatta management platform, YachtScoring.

According to the announcement, North, Doyle and Quantum will continue to operate independently, “retaining their unique brand identities and competing for market share,” and “continuing to manage its own lofts, sales and marketing teams, and product suites.”

For a lucrative but niche industry known for its talent-­poaching and enduring market-share battles, the idea of having staunch brand-loyal salesmen suddenly playing nicely for the benefit of the sport is a novel but realistic one, says Sam Watson, NTG’s Connecticut-based CEO. “I kind of want that to continue, ­actually. I think that’s going to be part of us having an ongoing healthy business and climate for the customers. I want our guys out there to be still battling to win over the customer.”

North, Doyle and Quantum will continue to operate independently, retaining their unique brand identities and competing for market share. 

North Technology Group and North Sails was purchased in 2014 by Oakley Capital Investments, founded by UK businessman Peter Dubens, who, as a keen sailor, says that he’s committed to growing his marine business portfolio. 

“We want to grow the sport by investing in skills and innovation,” Dubens said in the announcement, “by supporting new technologies in sailmaking, and by committing to accomplishing all this in a sustainable way.”

Watson is confident that the fruits of NTG’s manufacturing capabilities and future investments will be welcomed by Doyle and Quantum loyalists. “My expectation is that the different groups will continue to live and breathe in the world that they kind of come from,” he says. “We want the brands themselves to continue to innovate using their own technology platforms, and we’ve got to invest in some stuff that’s going to be good for all of them and good for our sport. New material technologies, for example, are something that we’ll be able to invest in, to another level.”

Watson says that certain technical developments will soon trickle down from the Louis Vuitton 37th America’s Cup, of which North Sails has exclusivity across the fleet, technology that will be applicable to the superyacht market, which continues to grow in size and scale. “There’s a whole bunch of clever stuff coming when it comes to using machine learning and AI that really speed up and improve the quality of the design tools,” Watson says, “and there will be positive repercussions for all the brands.”

NTG has been investing heavily in the watersports space (wing and kite) for the past two years, and some of that development, Watson says, will usher in new materials for its sailmaking brands, allowing them access to materials and resources that may have been hard to come by before.

“The decision for Doyle Sails to combine forces with NTG was a no-brainer for David Duff, Richard Bouzaid and me,” says Doyle Sails CEO Mike Sanderson, who will continue to lead the company. “It ensures the longevity of the brand we are so committed to; it will keep challenging innovation in sailing; and it brings significant opportunities for our team, ­sailors and customers.”

What excites Watson the most about NTG’s ­sailmaking acquisitions is the “access to talent,” but for NTG, he says, succession planning is on the table, “which means bringing new talent into the business, teaching them the skills, and creating career paths for ­people. It’s a really important thing for us to sustain [in the] long term.”

NTG says that Ed Reynolds and Andrew Scott will continue to lead Quantum Sails, and Doug DeVos will remain involved in the business, and as an investor in North Technology Group.

The acquisitions do not affect Doyle One Design, currently based in Salem, Massachusetts, which continues to operate as a subsidiary of Doyle Sailmakers Inc., founded in 1982 by Robbie Doyle. Jud Smith, Doyle and Tomás Hornos continue to manage the Doyle One Design business independently.

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With the last drops of Mount Gay Rum poured on another gangbusters regatta in Annapolis, Maryland, in May, with more than 200 boats, the organizing squad of the Helly Hansen Sailing World Regatta Series packed their belongings and headed straight to Detroit’s Bayview YC for a long overdue re-addition to the regatta series.

It had been a good 14 years since the series called on Detroit sailors, and for this edition, the sailors answered with the same high enthusiasm of 2010. With nearly 100 boats scattered across Lake St. Clair, there was no “Lake St. Stupid” this time around. The regatta opened with a spectacular day of sun and breeze and continued from there, delivering tight racing, especially among the regatta’s big three fleets: the J/120s, J/111s and J/35s.

The sailors of the regional J/35 class put on a great show with its growing fleet. Most of these now-decades-old 35-footers have been returned to racing form, and the top three were locked in ­boat-on-boat battles over three days. At the start of the final race, Mike Welch’s team on Falcon was sitting on a 1-point lead, but an OCS had them clawing their way back to win the race and the series by 2 points over their arch rivals on Bill Wildner’s Mr. Bill’s Wild Ride.

“That was quite a ­comeback, and there’s definitely luck involved,” Welch says. “When you’re over early, the wind literally goes out of your sails, but our crew kept it together and stayed positive.”

Falcon’s stellar perseverance earned them the regatta’s overall title and a berth at the Helly Hansen Sailing World Caribbean Championship in October, a battle of regatta champions in the British Virgin Islands on Sunsail-provided 41-footers.

The Regatta Series continued its Great Lakes tour with a stop in Chicago once again, where the Windy City made good on its reputation. With 150 boats across 16 classes, including several fleets of distance racers, competitors enjoyed three days of racing, and here it was Brian Kaczor’s team on the Tartan 10 Erica that was plenty ready for the big breeze of the final day. After six challenging races in total, Erica’s winning margin was a single point, and it was this point that they had fought for in the final race. The class win also earned Kaczor’s team the regatta’s overall title and the BVI berth.

“We hung on to first place, barely,” Kaczor says. “We had a tough day with tactics and my driving, but we were able to make up a lot of it on the ­downwind stuff.”

Their downwind speed in top-end conditions, Kaczor says, was all down to the crew: Corey Fast, Christa Georgeson, Scott Melanson, Seth Morrell, Brian Nelson and Chuck O’Donnell. “They were the key in the last race. We had to catch one more boat, and there was no question that the chute had to go up to catch that one boat in front of us,” he says. “The crew was amazing, and was able to ­handle that and pull it off.”

Marblehead has long served as the final regatta of the US series, and this year’s edition was hosted by the Eastern YC with support from Boston and Corinthian. In the days prior, the groms of Junior Race Week had been skunked with only one race scored, but the wind gods favored the adults with a challenging day of breeze on the opening day for the bulk of the fleets. With 161 boats spread across three race circles, three classes competed for their New England Championship titles: Sailors on Viper 640s, J/70s and Town Class, and Lightnings vied for their Atlantic Coast Championship.

The regional J/105 fleet has always been strong, and it was a relatively new team in Matthew Herbster’s No Quarter who played the spoiler and left with the ultimate spoils: the BVI Berth. As a group of friends who have been racing with or against one another in different classes, together they’ve been quick to get up to speed, winning the regatta in what is now their ­second season with the boat.

They battled with perennial champ Merlin throughout the regatta, and Herbster says that the win was bittersweet when racing was abandoned on the final day. “Merlin beat us on the water, but one bad spinnaker set [on Saturday] set them in,” he says. “We wanted to go out and win today, but we were robbed of that [opportunity] because of the weather. But we are happy to go back out with them and settle the score.”

On No Quarter and headed to the BVI with Sunsail in October were Jonathan Dragonas, Julie Femino, Noah Flaherty, Ted Johnson and Chris Small. They’re confident that they’ll take their collective skills to the Caribbean and do just fine against the regatta series’ five other challengers and the defenders. According to the team, they’ll go down there and do what they do. They’ll figure out how to sail the boat, get it fast, and have fun.

With No Quarter finalizing the BVI lineup, they’ll also be facing Steve and Catherine Boho’s Melges 24 team on The 300 (St. Petersburg winners), Cate Terhune’s team on the J/70 Casting Couch (Annapolis), and the defending champions of Cedric Lewis and Fredrik Salvesen’s Team Mirage.

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