With a bit of the old "test the limits" compulsion, Laurence Kornfield, one of BAADS most experienced sailors, and I decided to enter the 1995 annual Double- Handed Farallons race. Sponsored by BAMA, the Bay Area Multihull Association, the boats, each crewed by two people, start off the Golden Gate Yacht Club, sail out to and around the Farallon Islands, and return. Covering a round trip distance of about 60 miles, this makes for a rather long day at the five and a half or six knots which we can expect of Endless Time, our beloved and reliable Ericson 27.
Race day, Saturday, April 8, we started early, arriving at the boat before 7 AM to sort and stow all the gear and to make a final check of everything we could think of, including our newly installed Trimble "Navtrax" GPS unit mounted above the chart table. Laurence had programmed the major waypoints of the race into this fancy gadget, and we hoped it would be a better backup navigation aid than the smaller, more difficult to use, handheld unit you have all seen there.
Our PHRF rating of 241 placed ET in the last division of the race. We were one of the slowest boats in our class and in the entire fleet! It has often puzzled us that this race starts the fast boats first, therefore making the longest day possible for us plodding old sailors who don't have hot racing boats. Laurence and others have spoken with the race organizers on this question and they have been reluctant to take the point, apparently feeling that starting the faster boats after the slow ones would cause a traffic jam under the mile-wide Golden Gate.
Our division was slated to start at 8:50 AM. Everyone was required to check in by radio before the warning gun for the first start at 8 AM. The radio check-in was a zoo, with some boats calling in dozens of times before being acknowledged and others getting picked up on the first try. Somebody in the race committee needs to get in touch with an experienced "Ham" radio operator who can show them how to organize a radio check-in so it works and doesn't cause such frustration.
According to the tables, the tide should have been slack after flood about 8 AM, including consideration of the heavy spring runoff from the Delta. However, upon approaching the offshore mark at the end of the starting line we, along with 40 or 50 other boats, found that a heavy flood current was setting us back strongly. We had to tack out into the middle of the Bay to make headway against the current, then tack toward the mark hoping to get there with just enough room left to tack smartly around the mark and not get set halfway back to the Bay Bridge. This was chaos, as we and other boats had to tack across the fleet several times to clear the mark. We finally crossed the starting line in the midst of our fleet almost an hour after our starting gun. There was, of course, the usual ambiguity about the number and sequence of flags and guns made good by the race committee on the Golden Gate Yacht Club race deck.
After our belated start, we beat into 10 to 15 knot west winds, taking a couple of long tacks to get through the Gate. Almost immediately, the wind began to build to 20 plus knots and we ran into the 8 to 10 foot seas so familiar to previous race participants. The wind persisted in being directly from our destination for most of our run out, and the seas varied from 4 to 10 feet and were somewhat confused as a result of the recent passage of one of this Winter's many storms. We began to feel a bit queasy after an hour or so and spent several hours in moderate discomfort until an additional dose of medication began to take effect somewhere around the "Light Bucket".
Despite the predicted rain showers, we had a surprising amount of sun, but perhaps halfway to the islands Laurence spied a large menacing black cloud approaching from the west. We furled the jib and tucked a second reef in the main. We had the hatch closed and our foul weather gear on when the squall hit -- and hit it did! The wind suddenly increased from about 25 knots to more than 40 knots. Very heavy, cold rain pelleted sideways from the west. Interestingly, the waves flattened out during this squall, which was a good thing as it was impossible to hold the boat's head into that wind with no jib and a double reefed main.
Despite the intensity of the squall it was not a frightening experience. Good old reliable Endless Time rode it out in fine style. At the helm, I kept her head up as much as possible and countered her slight tendency to wander with the wind and the wind-blown seas. We pulled our hoods down tight, turned our backs to the rain, and exulted in the power of the ocean. The feeling was almost unreal. I kept expecting myself to get tossed wildly about by wind and sea and to suddenly feel myself launched to the end of my harness tether. Nothing like that happened. ET just boiled along on a beam reach.
After 10 or 15 minutes the rain lessened and the wind dropped back to something we could sail into. We shook out the second reef, leaving all lines rigged to be ready for the next need, and gradually unrolled the jib to let us point higher and get back on course to the islands.
I'm not sure how far back we were set by the wild squall but think we could have lost as much as an hour of time to it. I, for one, wouldn't have missed the experience for even two hours delay; it was my first squall at sea and I was at the helm through nearly all of it. It made clear how confidently one can go through bad weather if one is prepared. But I would not have liked to find myself hit by such a demon of wind and rain unprepared. With all sails set, it is frightening to imagine being knocked down by that sudden onslaught of roaring wind, while trying to get things under control.
The rest of the way out to the Farallons was uneventful if such a mundane word can be applied to 6 foot confused seas and 25 knots of wind. The wind finally did back to the northwest a bit, allowing us to do much of the rest of the trip out with only a few tacks. We finally reached the eastern shore of Southeast Farallon Island about 4:30 PM, feeling tired and very glad to have made it.
As we reviewed our plan to circumnavigate the island, Laurence again looked to west and saw yet more squalls approaching. We considered our fatigue, the lateness of the hour, and most importantly, the prospect of being caught on the lee shore of those rocky islands in the teeth of another squall. We did the prudent thing and headed back before rounding the Southeast Farallon Island as required in the race instructions. This would mean, of course, that we would not officially finish the race. However, in this case prudence seemed the very large part of valor, or at least good sense. We headed home on a broad reach under a single reefed main and our 98% jib. The ride back was quieter and smoother, although still very windy.
About 6:00 PM I contacted my wife Sue via amateur radio walkie-talkie using a repeater station belonging to the San Francisco Radio Club. This repeater, located on Mt. San Bruno, allows the range of small, low powered hand-held radios to be increased to 30 to 40 miles, and gives Ham radio a solid edge over the marine "VHF" radios. I had talked to Sue once on our way out and it was good to know that she was aware of our well-being and progress.
The rest of the trip back was not much varied. Laurence hooked up the power joy-stick tiller control for quite a while and had no difficulty keeping the boat on course with very much less effort than by man-handling the helm. We shared the steering and other tasks, like trying to talk enough to stay awake.
Laurence was below for 10 or more minutes at a stretch at several times during the trip to make hot drinks or check our navigation and update the log. I had, during those times, the unrivaled thrill of knowing that I was in charge of a sailboat on the Pacific Ocean!
How strange that, following the rush, chaos and howl of the wind and water, sudden lulls would occur when the world became quiet and there seems to be almost no wind at all. I found that I could easily convince myself that I was far off course during these lulls. I wasn't off course at all, but it was a strange effect that will take some practice to become familiar with. The lulls gave a heightened sense of the magic and sheer wonder of the sea.
As we approached within a few miles of the Gate, the seas began to build toward 8 feet again and the wind picked up, giving us rather more of a ride toward the finish than we might have wished. It was a relief to get to the calmer waters of the Bay. We picked up a heavy flood tide which help speed us back to our berth at South Beach Harbor. The wind died just past pier 39, so we had to crank up the iron jenny while I dropped the main. About that time we came across a range of chop that jostled us about quite a bit, In my tired state, I had to keep my wits about me while climbing up topside to drop the sail and get it roughly flaked and tied. I felt like a real sailor while keeping one hand and my belly for holding on to the boom, and the other hand for the sail ties.
We tied up at just past 10:00 PM. God, we were tired. We finished the day at Laurence's home with a hot mug of soup, a few crackers and a well deserved and much needed night's sleep.
I learned again that BAADS allows us to have fantastic experiences. As I have been heard to say at the end of a fine sail these are days out of a dream! We find ourselves doing exciting, adventurous, fun, challenging things that few people, disabled or able-bodied, ever get a chance to do. And we do them in the company of some of the finest friends we could ever have.
What is your sailing dream? Cruising to Hawaii or learning to sail a straight course on a light wind day on a calm bay, your dream is yours to live. BAADS gives you the opportunity to make it come true, and to make dreams come true that you haven't even dreamed yet. The only price you need pay, beside minimal membership cost, is whatever you can do to help BAADS keep sailing.
[Note: The squall described in this story dismasted two boats and capsized a third, the trimaran Aotea, in this race. It also damaged a large fishing vessel and overturned and drove ashore an inflatable boat with the loss of one life.]
BAADS and the ASA: As far as we know, BAADS is the first organization to offer ASA certification to disabled sailors on a fairly regular basis. Although several disabled sailors have previously gained certification at a variety of locations our program is being tailored into a relatively regular series of classes which will allow us to built the techniques necessary to learn how to train people with a wide variety of disabilities to get the most out of sailing.
As a member of BAADS first ASA class, held between October 1993 and February 1994, with the cooperation and assistance of Spinnaker Sailing of Pier 40 in San Francisco, I, my wife Sue, and 4 other sailors helped establish the ASA standard of "Certification with assistance". This forward looking idea means that although I, as a blind sailor, can most probably not solo a boat on San Francisco bay, I am an ASA certified skipper, and can take command of a boat using assistance from people of my! choice! The responsibility is MINE! and the decisions about the qualifications of those who crew for me is mine!. Although it would be foolish of me to sail with people who don't have the experience to spot and warn me of traffic and obstacles, and the knowledge of the bay needed to get us back in one piece, I can do so if I wish, just like anybody else.
This training, and the resulting experiences like the one in the above story lead not only to the finest hobby the world has to offer, especially when shared with my wife, but give me an avenue to a very rare thing, an area in which I can fully share the responsibility for my own fate without asking an agency or a bureaucrat. Another of those rare parts of life where I can be a major player in decisions about how I want to live. Thank you BAADS and ASA.
We end with a bit of OCR (Optical Character Recognition) humor. Apparently we scanned our article in its printed Ahoy newsletter version and then had the 1995-era OCR try to interpret into text. The following was one result (read especially the words in parentheses).
The rest of the trip back was not much varied. Laurence hooked up the power (joy-stick beer control for quite a while [Oh, good. Thanks, Arkenstone!]) joy-stick tiller control for quite a while and had no difficulty keeping the boat on course with very much less effort than by man-handling the helm. We shared the steering and other tasks, like trying to talk enough to stay awake.
Sue's painting from photo: ET with Tom and Laurence leaving Pier 40 dock for Double-Handed Farallons Race 1995
Updated 2-18-1999 and 6-20-2005. Photo added 8-24-2020.