And then we were six

The whole crew spent a restless weekend trying to figure out who would round out the Pac Cup team. We had a last minute cancellation (one that we knew might happen but were holding out hope that it wouldn't) and we had to fill in the spot quickly. I guess it is technically possible to sail to Hawaii with 5, but some quick math makes you realize that you get a lot more sleep with 6.

Here's how the progression of possibilities sorted out:

1. Great sailors with whom somebody had sailed
2. Sailors with whom somebody had sailed
3. People we knew who sailed
4. Sailors we'd heard about that might be able to make it
5. Friends who didn't sail but we knew with whom it would be fun to spend 2 weeks sailing

Yep, we got down to number 5 pretty quickly. It's amazing how few people can drop everything and take 2+ weeks off with 1 week notice. I have such a friend, one who is up for anything, and has sailed a few times with me. He doesn't bring a ton of sailing experience but he can fix anything so I won't be so worried about breaking things. And I've spent a lot of time with him so I know I can stand him for 2 weeks. It's Tirso!



So what if he's a Dodger's fan and might not know port from starboard. We have time for some intensive on the job training. The first few days is close hauled, very little sail trim to be done and Valis steers very nicely to windward. He'll get some great experience getting to know the boat. When we turn the corner, you have calm seas and somewhat light winds to get used to reaching and downwind steering. Your first few days of spinnaker sailing are easy to get a hang of that before the swells and trades kick in. At that point he'll have had plenty of ocean miles to have learned the basics and he'll get a crash course (not literally I hope) for the more intense tradewinds sailing. Hell, I need practice before getting to those conditions.

So, we're all set with six and less than a week until we're sailing to Hawaii!!!!!

A sharp dressed man

The temptation when sailing to Hawaii is to wear t-shirts and flip flops. It's not good sailing garb but you'd really fit in once you hit the Islands. But the crew on Valis is just a bit snappier than that. Not only do we recover cushions with incredible precision and aplomb, but we dress like a Tommy Bahama's ad. For your consideration:



This is the sight that greeted me when I got home from work the other day. It was obviously a plea to not sail to Hawaii. Or it might have been a gesture of support. Or he might have been sleepy.

But, no matter what, he knew a quality Aloha Sailing Shirt when he saw one and didn't pass up the opportunity to get all geared up like a bad ass ocean going racer.

Cushion Overboard

When it came time for the Pac Cup inspection, we had already signed the certification that we had performed the obligatory MOB practice onboard Valis.  The Inspector asked the simple question, "has the crew done the practice?"  Paul answered, "yes".  The Inspector pressed on, "this crew?"  Paul, "Umm, no."  Inspector, "no problem, just do the practice and send in the certification form."  Paul, "sure, we'll do that."

Lacking the ability to lie, we all decided we'd best do the MOB practice and the Emergency Rudder test.  This weekend was perfect for it, blowing 20-30 knots in the slot, exactly the conditions that people, hats and cushions go overboard in real life.  We left Sausalito with me on the helm, searching for a good spot.  I cruised over to Alcatraz, gybed onto port, wove our way through some racing fleet or another, with top sustained wind in the low 30s, the boat handling like a dream. 

Every once in a while, I'd count to make sure we still had four crew on board.  You know, in case somebody decided to test me right there and then.  But, thankfully, nobody on the crew is that stupid or clumsy.  So we kept searching.

Finally, as we started into the lee of Angel Island, the wind moderated down to 20, then 15, then 10.  And we were set.  We have a lot of thinkers and theoreticians aboard Valis so we got right down to business.  The business of discussing what we were about to do as I sailed aimlessly around Southampton, avoiding other less serious more leisurely sailors.  We discussed the ins and outs of MOB theory and research.  We discussed Valis' particular handling characteristics in such situations.  We messed with the nav display to figure the appropriate button to push for MOBs.  And we annoyed the heck out of John. 

After about 15 minutes, he said "f*** it, man overboard" and threw the hapless cushion to the dangerous seas.  Ah, hell, I was the poor schmuck at the helm, I had to do this.  So, I beam reached, tacked, broad reached, and tacked up to our cushion and came within about 2 inches of the pole being able to reach our victim.  Instead of doing the whole figure 8 again, I just went ahead and did the bottom half of the 8, pulled up alongside of the cushion and David brought him onboard.  We had saved the cushion. 

High fives all around, discussion on what would have happened in real conditions with a real person, more fussing with the nav display, and John had had it again.  He took the cushion and threw it overboard again.  He hates that damned cushion apparently (a good thing to know since I'm about to spend 2 weeks at sea with the guy).  This time, I hit the button, and said, "I'm not doing that again, you take the darned wheel" and handed all but pointing responsibility over to the man who hates the cushion (John for those of you not paying attention).

He executed a beautiful figure 8, came up upon our victim with flawless precision and promptly ran him over as David fished him out from underneath the boat.  We had done it twice!  That is downright certifiable.  We learned a lot about the crew, the boat, and our seamanship.  The only thing I don't know is what the cushion did to John to deserve this treatment.

Nosail in NOLA

When I started making my plans to go to New Orleans for a convention, the first thing I did was free my Wednesday night calendar and check out the local beer can races.  I contacted a few people from Sailing Anarchy about the best way to get a ride and prepared myself to sail on the local lake (even though lake sailing confuses me, everywhere you look there is land, it's like the water is surrounded by it).

Then I got here and started working 14 hour days and just couldn't bring myself to grab my PFD that I packed in our tradeshow trunk and trudge over to the yacht club with a 12 pack of beer and beg for a ride.  I feel like I really missed out on a great opportunity.  Especially because it is an unworldly hot here in New Orleans and a gentle 95+ degree sea breeze would have been nice.

Luckily, I have sailing planned on a non-lake in the coming weeks.  I'm taking Camille and two of her swim friends out for another sail camp day, then the next day I'm hoping to get out on Valis for our MOB certification (Paul, if you're reading this, I haven't confirmed with Heidi yet), and then I think I have two weeks off before I have to sail across a third of the ocean to a little known tropical paradise called Hawaii.

So, bummer that I didn't get to sail on Lake Pontchartrain but maybe next year I'll try Lake Lanier when TechEd goes to Atlanta.

Ass over Teakettle

Some time around the third knockdown of the night, we heard an ominous sound down below.  A clanking sound followed by an impossibly long silence then a devastating CRASH as metal hit finely varnished teak.  At the time I was sitting in about 2 feet of frothy saltwater on the now comfortable cockpit coaming so I didn't spend a lot of time trying to figure out what the sound was.  But we all knew it was something bad.

The boat was eventually "uprighted" and a cursory glance down below indicated that all was well, nobody's iPhone had broken and nothing appeared to have holed the boat.  It wasn't until the sun was about to come up that we discovered the true nature of the "crash."  The teapot had fallen the entire width of the boat and the handle had broken.  WE WERE UNABLE TO MAKE COFFEE! 

Luckily, at this point we could see the finish line.  Unluckily, there was no wind and Starbucks might just close by the time we got there.  So we were out of luck.   Though I'm trying to milk some drama out of this, we did eventually make it to land, and the coffee pots filled with caffeine laced goodness that the Monterey Peninsula Yacht Club so thoughtfully provided.

But we still had a problem, no teapot.  So, Jack lied.  He told Paul that he had "personal errands" to run and asked me for a ride.  I said "yes" without asking where and for some reason assumed it was to his hotel for the night.  When Paul asked what time I was leaving I said 11 and that we were driving Jack to his hotel.  Paul thought Jack was staying on the boat and when pressed Jack got evasive and wouldn't tell him where he was going.  This was fantastic, we were all confused and Paul thought Jack was up to something.  As we walked to the car, Jack told me that he was just going to get a new teapot and wanted it to be a surprise.  Thanks to my cluelessness I had turned it into a big deal and there is now distrust among the team.

But at least we have a new teapot, hopefully one that will stay put for the next crash.  As long as we have a backup.

Where is that Top Ten List????

As we sailed under the Gate, I was lamenting my demotion and detailing my upcoming futile battle against the Man named Bertranbd to Cap'n Paul.  In his inestimable wise way, Paul gave me the best advice he could.  Head west young man.  And he pointed.

It turns out he was pointing the way to the Infamous Tillerman Top Ten List of Blogging Superbness.  Or Hawaii, he might have been pointing to Hawaii.  Or the satellites that were tracking us.  What the heck is he pointing at?

O Docker outed me

O Docker is the most amazing blogger on Earth.  Somehow he figured out from the AIS tracker on Valis that I had bought new foulies and was wearing them on the foredeck when the satellite flew over.  Wow.  The insight, the perception, the invasion of privacy!

Since he brought it up and since the Newport Fashion, Lifestyle and Boat Show is coming up soon, I thought I'd give you a preview of the Summer's latest in foul weather fashion!

Coming soon to a foredeck near you.

The things sailors do....

I don't like to make fun of people.  In person that is.  On this blog?  Well, that's another story.  But this particular sailor knew he had it coming the second he emerged from the companionway dressed like this.

Granted, it was windy and everyone knew it was going to be a cold night.  And, doubly granted, every boat has one guy who has a hat like this.  But, the lobster claw?  Why would you steer a boat with lobster claws?  Strike that, HOW do you steer a boat with lobster claws?

Keith was warmer than most of us that night.  But at what cost?

Ocean Racing: Spinnaker Cup to Monterey

I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to write about for the Spinnaker Cup.  24 hours of ocean racing doesn't really condense into a blog post.  The Pac Cup is easy, each day is like a chapter and the world as you know it is evolving each day as you go through different climates and stages of fatigue.  Plus you catch fish.  On the Spinnaker Cup, you're basically sprinting down to a wind hole as fast as you can and then drifting for a while.

The most important aspect for me was that I've now sailed with everyone on the Pac Cup crew.  If I had to pick a watchmate at this point, I couldn't.  I'd be happy spending 4 hours on watch with any of them.  I'd even sail with the two guys on the boat who couldn't make the Pac Cup due to other commitments.  Now that I think about it, I guess I'd sail with just about anyone.  Except that Bertranbd guy, not sure how that would work given our acrimonious history.

So let's go with highlights from here.  The start was delayed by over an hour due to light wind and a raging flood.  Thanks to that flood, when the race finally started, it took us 15 minutes to get over the line.  Though Valis sails like a freight train at times, she is not a freight train that points into the wind very well.  I shudder to think what our start would have looked like if I'd been driving; I'm just glad that didn't happen. 

You can see from some the track that thanks to the flood, we were not exactly tacking through ninety degrees.  So we ended up behind a lot of boats that could outpoint us leaving the Gate.  Our main competition was a pilothouse attached to a boat that we battled most of the way down the coast.

When we finally were able to put up the kite magical things happened.  Valis was roaring along, keeping a steady 9 knots as the wind built from the NW.  I'm not sure what we were thinking but we kept the all purpose kite up as the wind kept building and before we knew it, it was getting dark, we were blasting along at 9+ knots and the wind had built to a steady 25 with gusts to 30.  By this point, we were just trying to keep the beast tamed enough to maintain an upright mast.

But, instead, we learned how to crash the boat quite well, succeeding in laying her over on her side three times.   I am honestly quite thankful for that; I had never been in a complete roundup before and I feel a lot better about how Valis handles it and what we need to do to bring her back upright.  What I didn't like about sitting in a cockpit filled with water is that your boots fill up if you haven't velcro'd your foulies properly.  I don't think my socks have dried yet, four days later.

We finally realized that putting the boom in the water every 15 minutes was a bad idea so we pulled the kite down and got back to sailing to Monterey.  Everyone but Jack and Keith went to sleep and they continued the effort to sail us to the finish line.  Don't know why we let them be in charge because they must have forgotten to put coins in the wind meter and it just shut down.  I woke up, saw land and asked how far we had to go.  They pointed about 2 miles away and explained that we were slowly drifting away from the finish and hadn't made headway in a couple of hours.

Since it's impossible to make the next five hours of drifting exciting, I'll leave you with the reason we sail on the ocean:

That spec on the horizon is GalaxSea, our closest companion the whole race.