2009 Harvest Moon Regatta

Harvest Moon Regatta 2009

C-320 Reflection #726

 

It was a dark and stormy night. No, really.

 

The Harvest Moon Regatta had been on my bucket list for at least 10 years and finally it was finally coming true. This year the event was held October 1-3 and was its 23^rd year. I started watching the weather forecast 10 days out. Of course, the forecast changed pretty much every day early on. I obsessed about the weather. Winds are normally out of the southeast making a delightful beam reach offshore in the Gulf of Mexico all the way down to Port Aransas 150 nautical miles from the start off the Flagship Hotel in Galveston. This year however was not normal....

 

The crew consisted of my wife Pat, brothers Kirby and Erik, and next door neighbor Bob, who later became known as the Bobinator or our other brother Darrell. Bob had done the HMR several times and his knowledge turned out to be invaluable. We shoved off from the marina around 8am Thursday in order to make our 2:10pm start off Galveston. It was a veritable parade all the way down.

 

210 boats had registered, 150 non-spinnakers, then some multi-hulls, a spinnaker fleet, and the ORC class, which are big, bad-ass offshore racing monohulls. There were 50 boats in our start, the second of the race. The reason being the slow boats started in the first few groups.

 

The afternoon was nice. Partly sunny. The seas were 3-4 feet and winds were 10-15. The seas were, to say the least, nothing like the bay chop we normally experienced. Heading to the starting line Reflection would launch herself over a wave at what felt like 45 degrees but was probably 25-30 degrees. I can say that behind the wheel the horizon would momentarily disappear. An odd feeling, indeed. Then she’d slide down the wave and launch over the next. Only a few times during the race did we catch a wave that poured over the bow and got everybody wet. At this point you would expect that anybody who was going to get sick would, but I can proudly say that no one on-board chummed. I admit to being a bit concerned at first as nobody other than Bob had been offshore before in a 32 foot boat. I wasn’t sure how I would handle it but it turned out to be a big roller coaster ride. It was a blast.

 

The starting line was at least a quarter mile long. We had determined early on that we’d plan to be as close to the outer ball as possible, hopefully minimizing the number of tacks to get around the Freeport marker, our first waypoint. At the start we were right on the line about three boats from the ball. There was a Catalina 36 just to our port and because the waves were hitting us on the port side the 36 would get lifted and come towards us sideways. We stayed the course, trying to hold 210 degrees against a 180 degree wind. Amazingly, even though I was probably pinching a bit, we got out of the dirty air and passed the 36 who couldn’t hold the same line of attack.

 

 

Many boats started down on the coast by the Flagship. We never could figure out why. I guess the theory was the wind blew a bit different over there and the current would be of some benefit. They couldn’t have been more wrong. We kept a steady speed of 5-5.5 knots and were pointing remarkably well for a boat with a wing keel. 

 

I have to say that I hate having the bimini up while racing. There’s a little window above the wheel but all you can see is the arrow at the top of the mast. You can’t see the sails. So I sailed by arrow, compass, and feel after the sails were set. But I’m glad we had it for shade in the early going. It was pretty warm. And I’m glad we had it even after the storm blew all the stitching out and I managed to “repair” it by tying the corners with bungee cords attached to the frame. More on that later…

 

So we kept sailing on a port tack. As dusk approached we’d see other boats way below us around San Luis Pass tacking over to starboard. Of course they ended up behind us. Conversely, over to port, the J boats, with superior pointing ability passed us one by one. I don’t think they had to tack to get around the Freeport mark.

 

As evening turned to night we could see lightning flash where we had started. NOAA was reporting major rain in Seabrook, Kemah, and Galveston. Good thing we got away from there. The forecast was still calling for the front to pass the Matagorda area Friday afternoon. Around 7:30pm the harvest moon rose in the east.

 

The moon helped brighten the area quite a bit even though it wouldn’t be full until Sunday. But it really didn’t help spotting other boats. You just had to keep your eyes peeled for running lights. Green and white they’re crossing in front, red and white they’re crossing behind, red and green they’re coming right at you, and white only, well you’re eating their dust. Erik got some great photos of a green hulled boat that passed us right as the sun went down. I followed their stern light for quite some time until they tacked and disappeared into the night.

 

 

We stayed on that general compass heading until the GPS told us we were within a mile or two of the Freeport mark. We tacked over for a little bit until it looked like we could lay the mark, according to the GPS. We still hadn’t spotted the mark but knew we were close. The outer Freeport mark had a blinking light and a bell. But we didn’t know whether it was a low marker or a high marker. And if it was a high marker, from a distance it could easily be mistaken for a mast light. Follow the arrow on the GPS.

 

The race committee had given coordinates for the Freeport mark, the Matagorda mark, but strangely not the Port Aransas mark. Thanks to an internet search I found the coordinates and didn’t have to guess what they were on the map. Kirby had deleted all the previous waypoints on Reflection’s GPS and plugged in the ones we needed to know about. Bob and Erik plugged them into their portable GPS units. Even though mine is hardwired in the boat it is pretty rudimentary. Bob’s and Erik’s were much more sophisticated. So much so that Erik delighted in telling everyone we only had 29 hours to Port A after sailing 5 or 6 hours. A great motivator he ain’t.

 

We finally saw the Freeport mark. We knew then we wouldn’t be able to lay it. So we kept on a port tack until we got close. Meanwhile, a couple boats were closing fast. Chiron was able to point higher than the other. The rules stated that you had to hail another boat as you are rounding the mark. They would write your name and sail number down and vice versa. Chiron was close enough that we could make out her sail number. They were going to make the mark and we weren’t. We tacked over to starboard and dipped below them. Even though we had the right-of-way it was no time to get cute and force them to tack. At 9:15pm we rounded the mark. Only 100+ miles to go. 

 

We continued on a port tack. The plan was we’d sail this course until we got into about 20 feet of water then tack out to sea for an hour and do it all over again. The wind started its miserable shift west and we were heading in the vicinity of 230-240 degrees. The moon disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds. Lightning was popping in the distance over land. We tacked out to sea and the moon reappeared. A good sign. Erik reminded us we only had 25 hours to go. Sometime after midnight we decided that it was a good time to reef the main so Bob and Kirby strapped into the jack lines and went forward while Erik and Pat manned and womaned the reefing line and halyard from the cockpit. Turns out the reefing line was not rigged correctly and it took much longer to get things settled than we expected. But it was a good decision. 

 

Around 3am Friday we were still slogging uphill on a beat. Back and forth. Forth and back. At this point I must admit I was a bit despondent, perhaps delirious from being awake almost 24 hours. The wind was now out of the southwest right in line with Port A. At this rate we’d be fortunate to make the finish line by the cut-off of 1pm Saturday. I threw out a trial balloon that we could just pull into Matagorda and that would be ok. I was pretty much ignored. A great motivator he ain’t…       

 

An hour later I lay down in the cockpit to take a nap. Bob had the wheel when I went down. Kirby had it when I woke up. I still don’t know how long I was out but when I woke up it was inky black. It was 6am. The leading edge of the cold front had come over us and to the south the line of black clouds was clearly distinguishable from the remaining sky and the horizon. We listened to a one-sided conversation between Marcella, a Catalina 36 in our division, and another boat. Marcella was about to heave-to and reef the sails in preparation for the front. They must have had radar because they were describing the front as banana shaped. Marcella asked the other boat, “What do you think?” just as we got slammed by a wall of cool air.

 

I jumped up and started yelling, “cold front, cold front, cold front, ease the sails, ease, ease, aim for the arrow”. I jumped over and started easing the jib. I don’t know who had the main. Kirby was fighting the wheel trying to go down wind but Reflection didn’t want to go that way. Erik and I rolled up the jib about a quarter of the way just so we could shorten sail and gain control of the boat. The wind was howling. We found out later it was probably blowing 30-40 knots. Reflection was going so fast she was vibrating.  We couldn’t see anything except the spray as Reflection knifed through the water at 10-12 knots. Where were those unlit rigs we had heard about? 

 

Several gusts later the stitching on the bimini started separating. Bob grabbed a loose corner and Kirby later said he thought Bob was about to get flung overboard by the force of the wind. I yelled at Pat who had gone down below to hand me some bungee cords. Erik now had hold of the corner that had completely separated. The other side was still hanging on by a thread. Literally. Erik said, “Well, it could worse. At least it’s not raining”. A poor choice of words. At that instant the skies opened up and we got hammered by rain. I took a bungee cord and tightly wrapped a hunk of bimini corner and stretched it to the back frame. I’m a big believer that bungee cords and duct tape can pretty much fix anything. Erik was not so confident. When it was clear the bungee was actually going to hold I went to the other corner, tore off the remaining stitching and did the same thing. The gerry rigging provided some cover from the elements. When was it going to get light?

 

At some point I relieved Kirby at the helm. It was still dark and he was toast. Battling the wind, rain, seas, and a boat that didn’t always cooperate, he earned a well deserved break. We were still flying blind at 10 knots and it would be another 30 minutes or so until we could see where we were going. Aim for the arrow.

 

Once it got light we could relax a bit. It was still raining but not as hard and the wind was laying slightly. The seas were roiling but we didn’t really notice. Erik’s GPS was reading less than 12 hours to go. That was more like it. Looking around us the Gulf was empty. Where was everybody? It would be a couple more hours before we saw 2 boats heading toward the Matagorda jetties. We were getting goofy from the lack of sleep and the adrenaline infused rush of making it safely out of the storm.

                    

Since the wind was off our aft quarter we went wing and wing. Bob and Kirby climbed up on the foredeck to wrestle the whisker pole. 

 

 We maintained 8 knots with an occasional 10 sliding down the face of a wave. It was blowing hard enough. 

 

And so it went. We jibed a few times. Once the whisker pole fought back and popped Kirby in the mouth, bloodying his lip. Like a funnel, as we approached Port Aransas boats appeared on all sides of us, some flying spinnakers. 

 

When we were 20 miles out from the finish it was Miller time at every 5 mile increment. We rounded the Port A jetty mark and headed up the channel. As we entered the jetties I called the race committee and announced, “This is Reflection, sail #726. We are bruised and battered but not beaten”. Little did I know how prophetic that statement would be. It was just after 6:30pm Friday. We pulled into Island Moorings at dusk.

 

What an incredible adventure it was. Mother Nature threw everything she had at us, except for that elusive beam reach. The crew and Reflection were up to the challenge and surpassed all expectations. 1^st place on our division, 1^st Catalina to finish on corrected time, Cameron Cannon winner for the 1^st non-spinnaker to finish on corrected time. I’m very proud. We DROVE IT ON HOME!