2006 Biscayne Trophy

Report by Tom Londrigan Jr.

January 21, 22, 2006

 Coral Reef Yacht Club is located in Coconut Grove, Florida and enjoys warm temperatures and steady wind all winter long.  These ideal conditions prevail when Star sailing is scarce in the Northern Hemisphere.  Therefore, many of the best sailors from around the world have been migrating south to sharpen their skills. While the Bacardi Cup has always been a Star Class staple, the other events such as the Bob Levin, the Schoonmaker Cup, the Commodore’s Cup, or the Biscayne Trophy have consistently seen much smaller attendance.  No longer.

 This year 74 boats entered the Biscayne Bay Trophy, more than the number of boats in the Bacardi Cup last year.  Most of the sailors were of the professional caliber.  Tuning up for the Olympic Classes regatta was their priority.    Nearly all the major contenders for the 2008 Olympics were on the water except for Torben Grael and Paul Cayard (Loof, Reynolds, Bruni, Bromby, MacDonald, Percy, Doyle, Brun, Dane, Lovell, Szabo, MacCausland, the Polish guy, Mendelblatt, Domingos, Pickel). 

 Friday, we practiced in breeze ranging from 10-15 knots from the east; Saturday brought the same weather.  After a couple false starts, the fleet was on its way to the weather mark.  We were buried and bailed out to port and took everyone’s stern.  This is not generally considered a wise move.  This humiliating maneuver could have been eased if the boats had catchy names on the transom like “see you at the dock” or “you suck, Tom”. 

 Instead, we played a little game of “just the tip.” (see, Vince Vaughn monologue from “The Wedding Crashers”). Just point the bow at the beam of the starboard tack boat and hold it, just to “see what it feels like” then pull out at the last minute.  Sadly enough, it did not bring the same joy as ramming that bow home into the side of a new boat.  Even sadder was that the right side of the course provided little relief and pressure began to build on our boat.  The leaders were beyond sight.  It was time to work on technique with my new crew John Corrigan; a little practice to take the edge off.   It turns out we need a lot of practice.  

 With 74 boats, course management is a high priority.  Certainly, the start is a given.  Climbing out of the bowels of the fleet is messy business, especially when 40 of the boats ahead of you are professionals.  The weather mark and leeward mark can cost clumps of boats.

 At the leeward gate, I chose the path of least resistance, the left gate.  It presented a nice easy mark rounding without heavy traffic, the diarrhea of sailing maneuvers.  Perfect, like Sunday driving.  However, as my brother Joe eagerly pointed out after the race, the smallest amount of critical thinking would have led the simplest of sailors to conclude that the other boats may have chose the opposite gate for a reason.  The wind was shifting and building to favor that side of the course.  My critical thought process kicked in a little late, so we tacked to head over to the other side of the course after the rounding-- a reasonable decision albeit tardy.  Someone with the smallest of minds might have considered the downside of crossing in front of multiple boats heading downwind and through their disturbed air, but not me.  Clusters of boats who applied this simple reasoning passed us.  Well, there you have it, lesson learned.

 I would enjoy telling you how the top of the fleet finished, but we were 48^th and if I gave a play-by-play then I would be a liar.  Poor decision-making and lying may not be strange bedfellows but should take their separate paths when the opportunity arises.  The second race was a snap.  Clean start, we grinded down the fleet and then played it safe the rest of the way to win the race with room to spare.  See, I was lying and I am sure no one reading this believed me anyway.  But, for those who did… thank you for the vote of confidence… Betsy.

 Instead, we decided to start with clear air this time, no more ducking sterns. Instead, the boats ducking me could enjoy my grin or occasional middle finger greeting.  We were off, no one to weather, and only Robert Scheidt safely five boats lengths to leeward.  This was easy. 

 The Race Committee saw it differently.  They awarded us the distinguished “BFD” letters on our score.  I am not sure what these letters mean but I can tell you that only a couple of us out there earned this prestigious distinction.  Cheers to us! 

 A tack here and there and we were in the teens.  In our excitement, I tacked under about ten boats on the starboard lay line.  Those boats went too far.  So long suckers!  We had more gains to enjoy.  Strangely, the water was severely disturbed and the wind diminished from 15 to about 7 knots.  The wind fence effect was created by the ten boats above me and the boat in front of me was dragging the mark.  Bands of boats bid us “Adieu.” 

 Time to pick the proper gate; this time I took the road most followed.  The constipated way for sure, but the right way to go.  Eric Doyle made sure the road was a bumpy one.  I had no room and was forced to circumnavigate six boats rounding the mark.  Their little wind fence threw me into park.  More boats had their way with me. 

 By the weather mark I was determined to manage this race course a little better.  My thought was this, “No more clumps, so I will go beyond the starboard lay line and come screaming into the windward mark! Hey, maybe we pick up a few boats stuck in the washing machine I wallowed in earlier.”  Yep, this was my race.  We set up early.  As we approached, boat after boat tacked in front of us on the layline.  We seemed to bounce and bounce but not make much progress to the mark.  More boats arrived; more bouncing.  Boats 500 yards back arrived-- welcome.  It was a long day with, two full length races.  We finished 37^th. Again, I will not attempt to describe what happened with the leaders.

 After a late dinner, I enjoyed a beer with my crew John in the hotel bar.  A young woman sat next to John.  She seemed to be well over 6 feet tall, a little over-endowed and her thong strategically exposed.  She stared at John for a while until he made small talk.  When she opened her mouth, I realized it was time for me to leave.  She was hammered and could not string together two words.  John is 23 and seemed not to be deterred by this fact.  I left.  Later, John told me that “Kimberly” was a well known “dancer”, and wanted to go to his room.  Our room to be precise. 

 It is hard enough to sleep in the same room with another man but a John and Kimberly liaison would have been the final poor decision of the day.  More bouncing, more poorly executed maneuvers, more clumps, and maybe a little game of “just the tip.”  On top of that, the digital camcorder and my Speedo were in the car.  Seriously, I would never film something as sordid as that.  Never.  Speedo or not-- never.  John made the right choice and left her behind as she engaged in a rousing debate with hotel management.

 Over breakfast, Peter Bromby quietly listened to John’s tale.  Peter explained to young John, “From everything you have told me mate, Kimberly is a man.”  Silence ensued. Apparently Peter must carry some level of credibility in this arena because no one really refuted his conclusion.  Instead, we were all looking off into space.  I quietly rubbed my rabbit’s foot.  I was terribly grateful that I did not have to sleep in the same room with two very large men wrestling on a roll-away bed.   John, I am sure, was thinking of a quick shower.  And, Peter just smiled.  Who knows what Peter had on his mind?

Sunday was windier, 15-20 knots.  I dutifully put on my sunscreen as we surfed out to the race course.  The sunscreen and salt water climbed into my eyes.  When the race started, I ditched the sun glasses.  My eyes were swollen and red and I was sailing with only one eye open, looking for other boats and steering by feel.  I should have retired.  Sailing up the first leg like that was dangerous and I was fortunate not to hit anyone.  We rounded in teens nonetheless.  Should there be a solution for this problem, please write with suggestions on how to keep the salt water and sunscreen out of your eyes.

 It was an Olympic course and the two reaches were wet and fun and more clumps of boats took the passing lane on us.  Ian Percy and Steve Mitchell won the race and the regatta with Ross MacDonald close behind.  It is apparent that the Olympic campaigns are well underway with only 2 ½ years left and this weekend was “just the tip” of the iceberg.