This past weekend, I did something I’ve been dreaming about: I raced on Running Tide. After hearing in almost every interview that she was “the best boat I’ve ever sailed on,” I was eager to experience that for myself. (And I could call it research.)
The regatta was Annapolis Yacht Club’s Fall Series, which in Tide’s heyday 50 years ago was a VERY big deal. All the big race boats would stop in on their way south, eager to even up any outstanding summer rivalries—and to test their speed and skills before the next Southern Ocean Racing Conference. (In the 70s and 80s, that weeks-long Florida circuit was the most important series of the year.)
Nowadays, Tide is the only 60-foot race boat in Annapolis; the rest of the fleet motoring out of the harbor on Saturday morning was newer, smaller, lighter. But I’m betting none of those (admittedly faster) boats inspired any older sailors to yell over, “I sailed on that boat back in the 70s!” Which then inspired Tide‘s owner/skipper and three veteran crewmembers to weigh in on whether that was truth or (more likely) wishful fantasy.
For Saturday’s two windward-leeward races, light air severely limited our tactical options; in less than ten knots of breeze, Tide slows down almost two knots every time she tacks or jibes. The final disappointment was when the wind faded off to nothing on the last leg of the second race, and then filled back in from the opposite side of the race course; there was nothing we could do but watch as the rest of the fleet sailed around us to the finish.
Our course back into the harbor took us right past the waiting Snipe fleet, so I waved to several familiar faces (and was later told how small I looked). “Are those your little boats?” someone asked me—and it was quite funny to realize that my usual ride is only a few inches longer than the width of Tide’s deck, which I’d crossed for every tack and jibe that day.
Fortunately our disappointing results didn’t interfere with the stated goal for Saturday: honing short-course boathandling for a crew accustomed to distance racing. After a few discussions about how to improve specific maneuvers, it was all smiles during the tasty team dinner. And everybody was excited by the far more Tide-friendly winds forecasted for the next day.
Not so exciting? The remnants of Hurricane Isaias also brought pissing-down rain. Several other teams (and the Snipe fleet) stayed ashore, but (after waiting a few extra minutes to see if the race committee would call it off) we were the first boat to leave the dock. “It would’ve been embarrassing if Tide hadn’t gone out,” the owner later declared.
A tasty 15-knot northeasterly for the day’s single race inspired a stretched-out triangular “navigator’s” course: upwind to a government mark near the Bay Bridge, beam reach to another buoy over near Kent Island, broad reach (through the anchored tankers) to finish at the mouth of the Severn River. After nailing a boat end start, we powered upwind through the smaller boats that had started first. The team was gelling, and by the time we bore off around the first mark I was grinning at the sheer joy of sailing a boat well.
It was on that first reach that Tide really came alive. “You can see why I’m so into this boat,” one of the veterans told me, as we perched on the rail. Despite the rain needling our faces (and at times making it hard to call the breeze, my official job), sixty-plus feet of powerful rumble—as if Tide was saying, “this is what I was born to do”—kept me smiling. And I was not alone in appreciating her classic beauty; as we passed a smaller boat to leeward, one of the crew waved and called out, “We’ve been waiting for you.”
For the final leg the foredeck crew set the Code Zero. Between puff-calls, I swiveled my head forward to check the double-digit speed readout and then aft to admire the huge stern wake . . . until about twenty minutes from the finish, when the squally breeze died away. Thought we worked hard to keep the boat moving, all those smaller (lighter) boats managed to catch up enough to beat us on handicap (again). Damn!
But as we motored back into the harbor, coiling lines and packing sails, I was still reveling in that feeling of raw power: the certainty that Running Tide is still happily doing exactly what she was designed and built to do, 56 years ago. I feel so lucky to have experienced the sailing awe that all my interviewees raved about—and I wasn’t even jealous of my friends on those “little” Snipes, who chose to hoist the brunch flag instead of racing on a very damp Sunday. (“You have a downstairs,” one friend reminded me.)
So here’s to old boats, new friends, and the chance to go sailing as research. And thanks to the Big Black Boat and the entire Running Tide family for including me. Even though you do make me look small!
See more of Will Keyworth’s photos from Saturday