Friday, August 10, 2012

Pac Cup, Neanderthal Style

Starting about day 7 anything that was at all optional onboard Lightspeed pretty much ground to a halt, which is why there were no more blog posts. There's a lot to say from that part of the race, so I'll try to capture some of it in this post so the account isn't left too incomplete.

First a bit of background. We chose to do the race onboard Lightspeed with only 4 people, as opposed to the 5-7 people that might more frequently be found on a boat this size. This decision was made in part because Lightspeed is limited in the number of feasible sea-berths it has, and in part because Paul (our very experienced navigator) estimates each additional crew member adds about 800lbs to the boat with their gear, water, and food. This weight adds up quickly, so we decided to try the lean and mean approach.

Unfortunately, the boat and crew preparation leading up to the race was ridiculously behind schedule for a variety of reasons, and as early as a week before the start significant fiberglass work was still underway on the boat. This lack of preparation and shakedown led to some of the aforementioned surprises (water and holding tanks leaking, and other misc. plumbing issues), as well as other problems such as the autopilot not working. With a crew of only 4, having a functioning autopilot was a pretty critical piece of the strategy, and without it we were forced to hand steer the entire trip.

Hand steering was not too taxing for the first part of the race, where conditions were mild and one person could handle the boat easily on their own. However two critical things changed for the second half of the race. First is that we needed two people on deck at all times to help manage the spinnaker, cutting into our off watch time, and second (and more importantly) we discovered that one member of the crew couldn't safely drive the boat at night in the squally conditions. Being down to 3 night drivers drastically threw off our watch schedule, and we never really recovered from it.

We managed OK with three drivers for a couple days after the half way point until one of our night drivers had a breakdown from lack of sleep, and was so exhausted he couldn't even safely be up on deck. At that point the two of us who remained capable of night driving essentially made the decision that in order to finish the race we would need to be the primary watchstanders all night for the remaining nights of the trip. This meant spending all night switching off every hour on the helm, with the 'off-driver' sitting or trying to sleep in the cockpit next to the spinnaker sheet. I can't count the number of times I woke up mid-round up already fumbling to release the spinnaker sheet. It doesn't make for restful sleep.

There are some other disjointed memories from this time frame. Sitting by the mast, getting firehosed by the spray for hours at a time, all hands on deck, ready to douse at a moments notice as we reeled off some enormous boat speed numbers. Driving the boat on a full plane, when the main electrical breaker was kicked off, turned back on, and then having the (non-functional) autopilot turn itself on forcing us straight into a middle of the night round down. Countless spinnaker douses, sail changes, repacks, resets, and mostly hours and hours of high speed driving through and around squalls. I remember Paul asking me if everything was ok as I drove through a particularly mean squall with boatspeeds sitting in the 16+ kt range. "Everything's fine, but it's only a matter of time until this house of cards falls apart," was my response. Probably a good way of describing the entire last half of the race.

By the end of the trip, after close to 72 hours with only brief snatches of sleep (in full foulies), I was so sleep deprived I lay in my bunk puzzling over our 5th crew member. 'Where is that guy? Where on the boat is he sleeping, and what watches is he taking?". I thought seriously about these questions for a good long while, but wasn't able to come up with any satisfactory answers. Later that night I had an extended conversation with Noah, someone who I've known for years, while trying to figure out the whole time, 'who is this guy?! I know him from somewhere.'

In the end, we arrived in Kaneohe in 12d 01:04:30, with a longest single day run of 211 nm, and a boat speed record of over 20 kts. Not bad, especially considering that we only made about 30 miles in the entire first day of very light winds. It was also enough to make us the first to finish, and first place, boat in our division.

It's worth acknowledging, and remaining humble about, the fact that Lightspeed had a generous rating that certainly helped contribute to our win. We sailed for about 5 days in sight of Kotuku, a very well sailed Farr 1220, that rated 27 seconds a mile faster than us...fun for us to have friends and competitors nearby, but frustrating for them as their rating would suggest they should pass right by us.  The rating game is a necessary evil in the sport, and it always makes for a lively discussion, usually based on the impossible premise that everyone except one particular boat's ratings are correct. Despite all the above caveats, I know we sailed as hard a race as we could. We kept the crew and boat weight down to a minimum, we ate only freeze dried food, used a bucket as a head, and we never once took our foot off the gas pedal, despite what common sense and exhaustion might have suggested. We half-joked that we had devolved to some primitive state of existence, and when we got to Kaneohe we had nothing left to give.

Arriving was quite overwhelming. After close to two weeks at sea, you are suddenly faced with a good sized crowd of cheering family, friends, and strangers. Immediately upon mooring you have to do a safety inspection as well as complete customs paperwork. All the while a bunch of people are staring at you, and you can't even get off the boat to give your loved ones a hug. Finally, they hand you a Mai Tai and some fresh pineapple (absolutely mind blowing after 12 days of freeze dried food), line you up at the transom for an arrival photo, and finally you are really done and can get off the boat. I know I was totally shellshocked at this point, and Julia had to pretty much lead me around the rest of the day until finally I was pointed at a bed where I fell immediately asleep.

I've got some additional thoughts from the experience, about how I would do things differently if I get the opportunity again, strategies to make the boat more manageable, etc. But, this post is already incredibly long, so I'll just leave you with this, a short video captured during the trip: