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After several years of struggling to find sufficient crew for overnight races on our J/44, I decided to do a few things last winter to make the boat easier to race doublehanded. In addition to modifying the racing headsails to fit on the furler, I added a luff line to the mainsail and replaced the autopilot.
The first test of the new configuration was to be the 186-mile Block Island Race, which is run annually by the Storm Trysail Club from Stamford, Connecticut, around Block Island and back. Starting the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend, this event is well known for breezy conditions, with cold water and lots of wind shear. Indeed, during the first 18 hours of the race, we saw fast reaching, a stormy midnight beat down the east coast of Block Island, and several patches of light-air drifting. This being more of a sprint than a marathon, neither I, nor my co-skipper, Todd, slept more than an hour or so.
By mid-afternoon Saturday, we were not more than 10 miles from Stamford Harbor in light winds, reaching in 5-8 knots under A1 and full mainsail. As we worked to keep the boat moving and keep track of the fleet consolidating near the finish, we noticed a band of dark clouds approaching over Long Island. This was not unexpected, as we knew a front would bring clearing weather and easterlies the next day.
As the leading edge of the front approached, it became clear that several boats in front of us were struggling to get sail in, and we decided we ought to do the same ourselves. Springing into action, we raised the genoa (the Number 1 was ready on the foredeck, having been dropped despite the roller furling) and moved to douse the spinnaker. No sooner had we attempted to trip the tack line (which failed) than we were hit with a 65-knot gust (as measured by a nearby still-upright competitor) and driving rain.
The boat went immediately over on its side, as the autopilot tried in vain to stay on course. At the time, I was caught outside the lifelines standing on the bowsprit trying to manually release the tack, and Todd was struggling in the cockpit to release sheets and disengage the autopilot. When I did finally release the tack, the sail, by that time in ribbons, was streaming far behind the boat with much more force than we could possibly overcome to bring it back aboard. Knowing we had no alternative, we released the halyard, which ran out through the masthead and allowed the sail to rest on the water.
By the time we dragged it and 150 feet of halyard back aboard, the squall was beginning to pass and we were able to slowly bring the boat back up and regain way. Although bruised and embarrassed, we were thankful to have escaped worse damage…
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