Three-Peat
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THREE-PEAT
by Robert Vickery As I look back over my shoulder it appears the gates of hell have opened. The sky is black and the water a foaming, angry green with wave tops being blown away in a spray as fingers of lighting reach down from the heavens. It is Monday morning of the 2006 Chicago Mac race. Our current position is just north of the Manitou Passage. We are working hard to maintain control as we broad reach under heavy spinnaker. The wind had been building for the past five hours and is now howling a steady 30 knots. Our crew is tethered to lifelines as the boat leaps over six foot waves maintaining an exhilarating 16 knots. This is the indelible image I recall when thinking of this race.
The challenge at this point is to keep the bow from nosing into the next wave. In these conditions the consequence of plowing into a wave starts a chain reaction that is referred to as a broach. As the bow plows into a wave and stops momentum, the stern spins out so that the boat becomes perpendicular to the wind and waves. The profile of the boat becomes totally out of balance to the force of the wind, then heels over so far that the mast and sails are lying in the water. Not good. Things break and crew members can get hurt. Priority one, don't broach!
My crew is a seasoned group of excellent sailors and they are handling these conditions well. We've already successfully completed three gybes in wind above 25 knots and maintained control while boats around us couldn't. The forecast called for a line of storm cells to continue through mid morning and for this breeze to hold through evening.
Our entire crew is on deck prepared to make the remaining eighty-five miles a sprint to the finish. I glance back a second time and am greeted with an image that takes my breath away. A powerful gust swept over the boats painting the horizon with spectacular broaches and exploding spinnakers. Crews were busy trying to gain control and lower their sails. Before I could say a word the gust hit us. Our entire boat shuddered for a second then lifted over the next two waves as it pushed us to the brink of disaster. I caught a glance of the wind gauge as it displayed 42 knots. "Let's get this sail down now!" I yell and struggle with the helm to prevent burying the bow into the next wave. The crew jumped into action and brought the sail down in a matter of seconds as the sky let loose with a torrent of rain and hail.
Continuing under mainsail alone we held 12 knots of boat speed. I handed the helm over and went below to plot strategy. This is a tricky part of the lake. Between here and Grays Reef are numerous shoals, reefs and shallows. Convinced that we were in safe water for the moment, my bunk seduced me with its promise of warm, dry comfort. It is interesting how keen your senses become to sounds and motion, even while in a light sleep. The water rushing along the hull took a different rhythm and nudged me out of my bunk. Looking into the cockpit from the window in my cabin I see the bustle of activity. "Hey John, what's going on?" I ask. "The wind is under thirty and we think it's time to put the spinnaker back up," he answered as he cleared sheets and made the cockpit ready. These guys are really good.
With the spinnaker up and the boat under control, I find myself at the navigation station pondering our progress since the start and thinking about a strategy to win. This race has special meaning for us. We won our section in each of the previous two years, which is not a particularly easy task among a group of identical boats. A win this year will set a new Mac record.
The race started 42 hours ago in light northerly breeze's, which pushed nearly every boat off on port tack, heading northeast. Smaller boats started first. The larger and faster boats chase with the chore of weaving through the congestion and disturbed air. Further complicating this scenario is the fact that light breezes tend to lift over boats grouped together, leaving them in noticeably lighter wind.
We started at 1:30 in the afternoon, exactly in the middle of the 3-hour starting sequence. There are 16 Beneteau 40.7's in our section and these boats are amazingly equal. A speed advantage in this group is a boat length of distance over several miles sailed. As though choreographed by a Broadway director, our fleet crosses the starting line together on starboard tack and then starts peeling off to port so that after three minutes all sixteen boats are pointed northeast on a heading of 060 degrees.
Half of our crew is sitting on the lee side to induce heel as we churn along, sailing into the congestion of previous starters. Forty minutes into the race, and I feel totally suffocated. "Stand by to come about" I say in frustration. "We've got to get out of here. This is a slow road to death if we stay in this pack".
The crew slides into position and we tack away. Almost immediately I feel better. The wind speed, which was 8 knots before we tacked, is already reading 12 as we sail away from the congestion. What an eerie feeling to be the lone boat sailing away from the fleet. No one can deny that the boat feels better. We have almost everyone on the windward rail, but the crew is quiet. Our heading is 330 degrees, which will take us along the west shore. While this course is moving us up the lake, the forecast was specific in stating that boats should not find themselves within 10 miles of the west shore Saturday evening.
These cautionary words keep running through my mind and I am looking for a reason to tack back to port and parallel the fleet. We have been sailing alone on starboard for an hour and the questions directed aft all had a nervous tone to them. "No one else is on starboard, do you want to tack over and cover the fleet?" (The crew was taking the polite approach.) A couple of minutes later came this report; "Hey skipper, the forecast said not to get too close to the west shore and this course puts us on the beach at the end of the afternoon. Wanna tack?" I couldn't argue with their emotion. Hell yes, I wanna tack, just not yet.
This wasn't a typical Mac race, to be out of site of every other boat only two hours after starting. However, our course was improving. Right now we are on the favored tack, heading 350. We certainly can't tack away from this course. My eyes were moving between the telltales, compass and the wind instruments. Talk about better lucky than good, the wind is doing a slow shift in our favor. Three hours into the race and we are now on course to Betsie. "Hey guys," I hail from the cockpit, "look at our heading, we're on course. If this holds, we'll be in good shape." All of the heads spin toward the compass display. One second, two seconds and there it is, smiles sweep over the entire crew. It is an instant shot of adrenaline.
We continue close to the wind for the next 24 hours, taking the favored tack with every wind shift. Sunday afternoon found us in a dying breeze off Little Sable, still beating into the wind, but now with a handful of other boats to track. Tracking is a popular crew sport on distance races, identifying other competitors as our paths cross. A myriad of information can be deduced from these encounters. Everyone knows the well-sailed boats. We hope to find ourselves among them, implying that we too are sailing well. "It's Eagle," exclaimed Lisa identifying the distant sail numbers. Eagle is one of the well-sailed boats and they carry a faster rating than us. We felt fortunate to be with them at this point of the race. Lisa was also excited because she regularly crews aboard Eagle and this would give her some leverage in the post race analysis with her friends.
My thoughts snap back to the present as we surf over a wild combination of waves and the crew yell a collective "Sixteen eight!" noting the boat speed. John is having good success driving and all of the crew's attention is in the moment. We are quickly approaching Grays Reef and it was obvious that we can't hold a spinnaker for the next leg with the wind from the South holding steady at 30 knots. The course from Grays Reef to the bridge requires a hard right turn to due east. We continue the sprint.
Jib reaching on starboard down the straits, my mind keeps toying with the unthinkable, we might have a chance to win this race overall. While plotting strategy earlier, I reviewed the times and sequences from the 45th parallel call-ins. It seems as though we are in the hunt. No boats has passed us since the Manitou's and we have reeled in Bounder, a pretty good boat from Detroit, who is abeam us by 100 yards exhibiting the same sensational wild ride that we are displaying for them.
From experience, I know that the velocity will moderate as we get closer to the bridge and the straits narrow. The crew's excitement is palpable as we ready the spinnaker. There are a handful of big boats just in front of us, and our sights are locked on them as we speed forward. We don't know how close we are in corrected time to the boats that have already finished, but we do know we have to beat Bounder across the line. They are lighter and better suited for the conditions of the last 8 hours. Ratings be damned, this is a boat race and the idea is to beat the other guy to the finish.
The wind is shifting clockwise and Bounder is heading up to maintain speed. "This is our chance guys'. Let's get the spinnaker up and bear down to the finish line!" Even after pushing hard for 47 hours, the crew snaps to task. The spinnaker rises perfectly and we seem to be making good time on Bounder, however the reputation of being well sailed doesn't come without merit; Bounder's spinnaker is up moments after ours.
We are past the bridge and the wind has softened to a meek 10 knots. Bounder is taking advantage of their light displacement and sailing lower, matching our speed and working to the north side of the channel. Our team isn't giving up either, Sue is calling wind lines and we are positioning ourselves to take maximum advantage of each one. We're in the middle of the channel and gybe to port to stay in the breeze. Bounder gybes to starboard and we are on a heading that will cross. This sequence worked well and we gain five boat lengths. Time to gybe again to stay in the breeze. Three perfect gybes keep us in the pressure and frustrate Bounder as they try to blanket our wind. They run out of racecourse as we cross the finish line first and enjoy the thunder of the cannon.
As it turns out, Eagle earned a well deserved first place overall in the Mackinac Cup, while Bounder nipped us on corrected time for second. We are happy with third overall and proud of our accomplishment as we capture section honors for the third consecutive year and with it a place in the Mac record book.
About Bob Vickery and Collaboration II
In the four years since joining |
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the Beneteau 40.7 Fleet in 2004, Bob Vickery and his boat Collaboration II have won the race to Mackinac Island three times in a row, 2004-2006. In 2007 Bob had to settle for 2nd place. As a participant with the 40.7 fleet he has also won the Verve Cup Regatta once, in 2004. Bob has taken 2nd place in 2004 and 3rd place in 2005 in the Best 40.7 on Lake Michigan competition. He also has a 3rd place in the Area III Buoy Boat of the Year in 2007, and 1st place in the Area III Long-Distance Boat of the Year competition in 2004.