BYC Beringer Bowl -- Marblehead-Provincetown -- July 16-17, 2010

Boston Yacht Club, Marblehead MA

by Jeff Dieffenbach (dieffenbach @ alum.mit.edu) click here for slide show | back to portfolio | back to deepbrook home In some sense, the 2010 Beringer really started in 2008. Reports from the Chariad crew for that year and 2009 painted a fairly bleak picture. Calm seas? Uh, no. Warm weather. Nah. Clear skies? Not really. Comfortable? Decidely not. The last weather report I'd checked before the 2010 edition (a few days before the Friday start) looked substantially more favorable, but those hopes dimmed a bit while waiting for the skipper's meeting, as two sailors from another boat discussed the deteriorating forecast. You might be wondering why I was attending the skipper's meeting in place of Chariad's owner, Rick. So let's rewind a bit. More and more, my activities seem to be taking on a more involved logistics burden, and the Beringer was no exception. Needing to be back in Boston early Saturday afternoon, and with the rest of the crew sailing or otherwise returning on Sunday, I planned for the Provincetown-Boston Fast Ferry. While reservations are recommended, who in their right mind would be leaving Provincetown Saturday morning? I'd simply book my passage right before boarding. So, I needed to leave a car within walking distance of the ferry dock in Boston's Seaport area. Using the fantastic "Best Parking" site for Boston, I quickly found an inexpensive ($17) lot on Necco Street. My next challenge was figuring out how to get from Necco Street up to Marblehead for the Friday 5pm dock time. An email to the crew list prompted a response from John B,, who informed me that he'd be picking up two other crew members at 3pm at Boston's South Station. Bingo. As it happens, South Station is a short walk from Necco Street. My employer, educational publisher Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, has a sensible summer policy that allows employees to work additional hours earlier in the week in exchange for a Friday 2pm end time. The stars had aligned. The plan went according to, well, plan, the four of us (Marek and Peter being the other two) arriving at Boston Yacht Club about 4:15pm. Plenty of time for what I'd heard was the traditional pre-race burger, a tradition I soon learned had started all the way back in 2009. We sat on the deck eating and waiting for the rest of the crew to arrive. And waited. And waited. For the uninitiated, Chariad, a Farr 37, is ideally crewed with 9-10. That allows for each of the positions--helm, main, grinder 1, grinder 2, pit, mast 1, mast 2, foredeck, and navigator--to be filled, perhaps with a roving problem solver for the rare occasion when the fates don't smile kindly on the boat handling. Now, in lighter winds, it's both possible and desirable (for weight reasons) to go with 8. For a night race, though, the higher number is preferable. Of course, we had 8. Until a last minute (minor, we hope) medical cancellation dropped us to 7 (the remaining 3 being Rick, Sandy, and John P., all of whom were what might delicately be called "in transit"). With the clock running out, however, we had only amassed 4 and were considering changing to the non-spinnaker cruising class. So in we trundled to the skipper's meeting to hear the pre-race instructions. Nothing of major note, so we prepared to hop the launch out to Chariad to begin setting up for racing. Even that straightforward task was hindered, however, by our not having the hatch lock combination. Modern cellular technology allowed us to get that small but important bit of information from Rick, and out we went. After all the heavy lifting was done, Rick and Sandy magically appeared with what appeared to be a week's worth of provisions and belongings. We helped them aboard, did a head count, and only made it to 6. With the clock winding down on our needing to head out to the starting line, however, the launch appeared again, this time bearing John P. (of horrendous 3 hour traffic newfound fame), and our number was as complete as it was going to get. The motor out to the line was uneventful, and while we didn't have an excess of time to get our act together, we found our starting sequence, managed to get a great slot at the favored Committee Boat end, and tacked onto port to take advantage of current favoring an inshore route towards Boston. Lest you attribute our position to strategy, please be assured that the "current explanation" was after the fact--we went right first, rationalized later. [Ed. note: I have it on good account from John P. that the "go inside" decision was made in advance of the race, and that real-world considerations were used and not a coin flip.] As it turned out, the wind favored going inshore as well, and we found ourselves favorably headed on the far right side of the fleet. After we finally tacked onto Starboard reasonably well below the layline to the turning mark at Hull, a continuing lift brought us up to and then slightly over the layline. We reached the mark in great position relative to our fleet, our PHRF rating of 87 sitting more or less in the middle of the 72-99 range. The sky having turned dark, so too did our luck. With good speed under genny, we took our time launching the chute. It went up fine, but on a tight reach, we didn't find a setup that we could carry. After a mild broach, we ended up stuck head to wind with the chute luffing, unable to gain the speed needed to bear off. We fought it for a bit before dropping the chute, hoisting the genny, and powering up. It wasn't clear how much time we lost, but it was certainly measured in minutes. We found our groove, and in winds that ranged from 8 to 23 knots (and only occasionally at the low end of that range), made good time towards Provincetown. An hour or so into the reach leg, I had the privilege of taking the helm, and was quickly reminded why analog continues to dominate digital. Now, I'm in no way downplaying the wonder that is the Web and all of the other one/zero-based technologies that improve our lives in so many ways. That said, humans are analog creatures, and will be for as far as most of us other than Ray Kurzweil are able to imagine. Here's the latest proof to myself. Once behind the wheel, I first attempted to use the electronics mounted on the base of the mast to hold the desired course of 144. The orange-backlit digital display was, of course, digital, but also lagging a second or two behind the motion of the boat. As a result, I was always trying to play catch up, and in the process, not holding a steady enough course. So, I shifted my gaze to the pedastal compass just forward of the wheel. The lag problem was essentially eliminated, but the disconnect from reality remained. So, I scanned the dark horizon and detected the faint glow emanating from Provincetown. Even better, I found the stern light of a boat ahead of us, and was able to use the two as a visual guide against which I could directly measure my steering and lock in. The only flaw in this plan, and it was a small one, was that I lost my night vision every time a fellow crew member lit of the sails or other gear with a flashlight beam. They were kind to limit this intrusion to once a minute or so, and on we went. Twenty miles turned to fifteen, then ten, then five. As we approached the turning mark into Provincetown Harbor, we came together with 3 or 4 other boats, and I handed the helm back to Rick. We didn't know at the time what class these other boats were, but were amazed by the convergence given how long we'd been underway. Rounding the mark, we hoisted the chute, passed a few boats, located the Committee Boat, and crossed the line uneventfully at what I recorded as 02:13:10. We cleaned up the boat, remarking again and again on how beautiful a night it had been for sailing. While we'd seen lightning behind us, and been splattered with a few drops of rain, the trek was for the most part quite comfortable: flat seas, dry weather, warm but not hot temperatures, and clear skies. For most of the middle part of the trip, we had a clear ceiling of stars overhead, and on a few occasions took time to look up in appreciation of the spectacle. We found a mooring, hooked it on the second pass, did a final cleanup pass, and brought out the beer and cocktails. By any standard, the party was tame, and one by one, we staked out spots to catch some Zs. I awoke at 7:30am to a beautiful sunny morning. I awoke again at 8:30am, the rest of the boat still asleep. I grabbed a few things and headed up to the deck, saw a fortuitous launch, hustled down to grab my duffle, and quietly disembarked. Once ashore, I stopped at the marina office to inquire about facilities. Learning that they had a shower, I braced myself for what it would cost me. As it turned out, it was without a doubt the best dollar--buying four minutes of instantly warm water--I ever spent. Clean at 9:00am, I headed over to the ferry dock to purchase a ticket for the 10:30am boat. Sold out. "3:00pm?" I asked with a bit of trepidation. Sold out. Suddenly, I realized why, resigned to grab one of the last spots on the 7:30p crossing. I'd heard and forgotten that our arrival in PTown coincided with the end of Bear Week. A greater than usual number of stout men in pairs and larger groups were already in line for the trip back. Miraculously, I turned at the sound of a voice asking if I wanted to purchase a ticket on the 10:30am boat for $40. I would have been happy to pay extra to sneak a space on the 10:30am, but instead found myself in possession of a $9 savings. That savings almost grew to $20 a bit later on, as someone was walking around asking if anyone on the 10:30am boat wanted to swap for his 11:00am ticket (and $20) on an added ferry. Unfortunately, he needed to swap two tickets, so the transaction didn't happen. I walked into town and headed down Commercial Street to Lands End Marine Supply to pick up a pair of much needed socks and some sunscreen. Next, it was over to the Portuguese Bakery for a bit of sustenance. I made my way back to the ferry, boarded without incident, made the crossing, walked to my car, and headed home, another small adventure in the record books. As for how we did, well, 7th out of 7 boats is not exactly one for the record books. I don't know how much time we lost fiddling with the chute, but we only missed 6th place by 3 minutes and 2nd place by 11. Goldeneye at 29 minutes to the good was probably untouchable no matter what we'd done. Where we ended up will be quickly forgotten. What won't go away any time soon is the pleasure of the evening and the company. click here for slide show | back to portfolio | back to deepbrook home