Around Long Island Race- 1989

by Joe Heslin

1989

Sailin' Shoes is from Missouri and she needed to see the 1989 Round Long Island Race in order to believe. So did our crew- Ken Grabowsky, Dave Mitchener, Val Rolon, Tom Sweeney, Ed Dzioba, and the writer. We went off in division 5 in a dying light breeze and ultimately the starting line with the seventh division. It helped a little to see Mike Eagen struggling to push Kathleen out of the starting area while the current drove him backwards. A half hour later we were really pumped up as the wind picked up to three, then five, then ten, then thirteen knots. We made three headsail changes in five minutes- from the light #1 to the #2 and shortly thereafter we got the spin-naker up. This was the way it was meant to go.

The plan was to make Montauk by daybreak. The "A" team- Ken, Dave, and I- went below for four hours sleep at I 0 p.m. Around midnight we heard some chatter in the cockpit.

"It looks lousy out there."

"Do you know how to reef the main?"

"The soup is coming up on us."

"Should we get them out of the rack?" (Meaning us, the "A" team).

Meanwhile, the heroes in the sack, who could not see the trouble boiling up out of the South, offered the following comments:

"Watch boatspeed."

"Let's put the chute up."

More nervous chatter as I think, "Got to get some steep. Want to be alert at daybreak." Minutes later:

"Joe, can you tell us how to reef the main?" 

All 1, the ship's captain, could think of was "Dammit, why me?" All I wanted to do was sleep.

It is starting to blow. I'm glad I put my lifejacket below and realize that I should harness to the jacklines before I go forward. We reef the main and put up #3,the smallest headsail. Almost immediately we are slammed over on our ear. We are now crouched in the cockpit wide awake, dressed in life jackets, harnesses and fouls. Our interest concentrated. I am on the helm trying to steer a course of 95 degrees and the warm rain is so thick I can't see the compass on the bulkhead six feet away. Ed is continuously massaging the compass like a crystal ban to make it out, yelling headings: "95, 100, I 10, you're too goddamn high. 100,90,75,60, dammit we're going to wind up on Jones Beach." I'm thinking it's ten miles north, but it could happen. Then more of "Come up, stupid' (This to the Captain I 1) Lightning bolts come straight down to the left and right of us, to the front and back. We are uptight, but they do brighten up the darkness; you can see 360 degrees around after they hit. The water sizzles when you see a close bolt. The thunder sounds like the real thing, the kind you remember as a kid. It's a Hollywood thunderstorm at sea, only we're not at the movies. Another stupid thought- those movies are very realistic. We are trying to find and hold 95 degrees. Dave is calling boat speed, "7.2,8.4,8.7, 7.5. 1 see a lot of lights off our starboard been during a lightning flash. I lean over toward Dave and scream, "Look at all those boats over therel" He answers, "That's Long Island." Damn, we are screaming west at 8 knots and we should be heading east." Mean , back at the ranch, the boom vang has slammed into the check stay and cracked, the foresail is flogging itself to shreds.

We manage to come about and secure the jib sheet. Things stabilize. We are getting used to the peals of thunder and spears of light which brighten our surroundings. A while later it's over and it is very quiet.

Daybreak. We surveyed the results. Not too bad...a useless boom vang and a blown out #3 jib. We pull its remains down and see that the sewn-in battens have been ripped out by the wind. At IO:30 A.M. we passed our sister ship Elysium. We were excited at our boat speed as we overtake her in Block Island Sound, until Owen Robinson yelled over that his main boom was ripped off during the night. Another story......

Were we better off for the experience? Did it accomplish anything? Did we team anything? Continued next chapter.