I am now 71.3 years old. Claudia is, of course, much younger . She was a child bride. I had skirted the Mann Act with some sophisticated but legal moves. We married after a torrid six week courtship. That was forty seven years ago. When asked about the secret of this long association, Claudia will reply, " We both are in love with the same man." The reality is , however, that we both have a mutual love for sailing. Sailing has been an important part of our lives. In fact it was our top priority. We worked in order to sail.
The year was 1963. We were living on a mountain side in San Carlos, CA (the north end of Silicon Valley). The view from our back deck covered the South Bay. We had both noticed large numbers of small sailboats cavorting about in the Redwood City inner harbor. The San Francisco Bay, Small Boat Racing Association, was holding a regatta ... We investigated. People were having fun.
That experience led to the immediate purchase of a "How to Sail" booklet published by Sports Illustrated. Then, after two weeks of intense study, we returned to the harbor, rented an O’day Daysailer, raised sails, shoved off, planed down the harbor, and ran aground. But it was fun.
We had to have our own boat. Our search produced a 14 foot Blue Buoy class dinghy. We bought it with no hesitation, joined the Lake Merced Sailing Club in San Francisco, and started to race.
Racing was harder than anticipated … There was a problem. We could not finish the first race before the start of the second race, but it was still fun. Sorta.
After a few years we "got the hang of the old Blue Buoy", but the challenge had faded so we stepped up to the International 505 dinghy class. Now this was a big goddam (small g is OK) change. What was this spinnaker for? All of these fittings and strings were scary. The mast bent, on purpose!! No longer were we concerned about being last. Now we were concerned about staying afloat. We were lucky to finish a race let alone be last. They raced in the ocean. These people were goddam (small g) crazy, but we felt at home. We did fit- in, and I will always love that boat. None better.
OK, so now with that background, we retreat to last May. We spent our usual week at Ocrakoke. Shopping. Riding our bikes Eating . Drinking . Sleeping. A nice time. The weather finally changed and a nice breeze from the northeast developed. The following wind meant that it was time to sail home across Pamlico Sound.
The Crab Crusher (Irwin 43) cleared the so-called new channel and we set sail with a steady 25 knot following breeze. The Crusher began to slide through the waves. Eight knots. Then a sustained nine knots ... Then an occasional ten knots. Knocking aside the waves. Moving steady, like a rattling old steam locomotive. CA and I were both acting like kids. It was still fun. The Crusher covered th 45 miles across Pamlico Sound in just over five hours. A trip to remember. One hell-of-an afternoon.
I remember a similar voyage that occurred thirty five years ago. The 505 fleet raced from Sausalito to Palo Alto. Forty five miles down the length of San Francisco Bay. The course was Alcatraz to port. The time was faster than our return from Ocracoke; ie., three hours and 21 minutes. A record that still stands.
Somewhere near the SF airport Claudia fell overboard while on the trapeze. There was a large shock cord between the trapeze and the boat to keep the hardware from knocking your teeth out. I was truly amazed to see, with my own eyes, how far that cord stretched, with Claudia still hooked to it ... Trolling came to mind. The only way to stop the boat with the spinnaker and all of the other sails flying was to capsize ... So I did. The cord began to reel Claudia back to the boat. We got the boat up, sorted out all the stuff, and took off again.
Then, at the Dunbarton Draw Bridge, thirty boats (after 40 miles) all came together in the narrow approach channel. The fleet had outrun the flood tide. The bridge operator froze. This time we capsized without trying. The water was only three feet deep and we floated, dragged, floundered under the bridge sideways. The rest of the fleet quickly followed, The Rules of the Road did not seem workable … The scene could easily have been confused with the shot of wildebeest action forging that river in Africa. We righted the boat and resumed speed. That was a race to remember. Who won you ask? We didn’t, but it was a hell-of-an-afternoon.
Sail On,
Claudia and Mat