About a year ago we purchased a 42 Lagoon, a sailing catamaran more commonly associated with a recreational vehicle than the America’s Cup. It’s comfortable, made for company, and really good at Catalina. We had no intention of racing.
Recently, we received an email from our marina indicating that they were co-sponsoring a race in San Diego Bay, and they were having a catamaran division. What the heck, I used to be foredeck on a J-105 for several years of beer can races (20 years ago). I was out of the country for the captain’s meeting and the only racing instructions I received were a plastic chart with the course outlined and the approximate start time. The course outline included the start/finish line (drawn as one line), the windward buoy, and the leeward buoy for our class. (Sorry, no glossary of terms included for non-sailors).
I asked my friend and fellow marine surveyor Dean Ford if he wanted to come along, little did I know he was a Whitbread Veteran (if you don’t know that race, Google it). He, his wife, and a few other friends happily joined for a lovely day of sailing.
The race started near Island Prime on Harbor Island; we got off to a reasonable start, but quickly fell behind two of the four catamarans. The fourth catamaran disappeared (maybe they went to Bali Hai?). The first leg was upwind and the other two boats were faster. We rounded the mark well behind, but then deployed our secret weapon, a Code Zero sail. We made up distance going downwind and, to our surprise, the second place boat took a wrong turn and we wound up tied rounding the leeward mark.
All seemed well until I stalled the vessel, much to the chagrin of Dean. The second place boat regained a substantial lead, but turned before they could lay the finish line. Dean and I agreed to sail until we could lay the line, which put us tacking right at the barriers to the aircraft carriers.
As we approached the line, it looked like it was going to be a tight race. The second place catamaran was near the rocks by Island Prime, and we began to have hope. As we approached the finish line, I noticed a group of small boats starting their second race. We (myself and Dean) agreed we would continue through the finish line, barging in front of this fleet of boats, who of course easily avoided us, while expressing their… feelings clearly.
Then came the dressing-down. The race chairman hailed us and told us we had not finished the race, as the finish line was between the committee boat and the rocks. We were instructed to turn around, go back through the start line, do our penalty turns, and finish the race on the proper side of the committee boat. I looked at Dean, “Nah.”
I looked at the course that was provided, it did not differentiate between the start and finish lines. Though it had been two decades since I participated in a sailing race, and we had never participated in a race where the finish line was different from the start line.
Shortly after docking I asked a group of racers about this event, they said that this is the way the local races are run, and have been for years. It makes sense if you’re starting races while other boats are finishing, it is logical and safe. I support the decision and think it is a great idea.
“You know what they say about catamarans”, commented one of the monohull sailors, “twice the boat and half the brains.”
The after-race party was as fun as I remembered. The marina had hired the Paella Catering Company, beverages flowed, and none of the partygoers sought us out to reinforce the local rules and the location of the finish line. I suppose they were able to release their emotions adequately in real time.
If you happen to be reading this and you were in that group, my sincere apologies, and I owe you a drink. And, of course, a Christian and Company Marine Surveyors wine opener.