Oct. 26-27. What a glorious weekend on which to be alive, particularly if that living was being done at the HOT II Regatta (above) hosted by the Lake Townsend YC near Greensboro, NC. The brilliant sunshine and pleasant sailing and water temperatures were a wondrously far cry from the three snowstorms I had traversed on the 13-hour drive down from Oakville, Ontario.

In a paroxysm of helpfulness, I was towing Tom Wharton's W300 which Ted Tewkesbury was expecting to buy after my ten days in beautiful North Carolina - two regattas and one ocean cruise that I have taken to calling Wayfarer North Carolina Week. The W300 experience unfortunately illustrated flawlessly that no good deed goes unpunished. But I digress.


Starting on Friday evening, we were regularly and very nicely fed and beered by hard-working volunteers in the LTYC chalet until the regatta wound up on Sunday afternoon with awards and results of the silent auction and raffle that raised additional money for earlier.org, a charity that funds research into earlier detection of breast cancer.

And then there was the sailing: two days of 10 to 15 knots with occasional gusts to about 20 knots and a fair number of shifts. Apparently nothing out of the ordinary for our fine race committee and rescue boats who handled everything with consummate ease and ability on our windward-leeward courses. As planned, three Saturday races were completed and then another couple on the Sunday such that we were off the water not too much after noon.

Of 21 boats that had entered, 19 actually competed, and an impressive ten of those were our beloved Wayfarers. Flying Scots made up most of the rest of the fleet with a smattering of Lasers and a solitary Lightning rounding out the armada that was being scored using the Portsmouth system.


Going into the last of the five races, the battle for overall honours in this no-drop series had basically been reduced to two Wayfarer couples: Jim and Linda Heffernan (2-2-2-2) of Chapel Hill, NC and the host club were trailing Marc Bennett and his wife, Julie Seraphinoff, (1-4-1-1) of East Lansing, Michigan by only a single point.  To the best of my admittedly distant recollection, Marc and Julie were pretty much poised to edge out the Heffernans in the finale as the two leaders neared a finish line that was fairly close to the windward shore.  But at this point, one of the very few of the weekend's dead spots was injected into the mix. Full credit to Marc and Julie who (barely) held on to win the race and the series through a number of wild fluctuations in what wind remained. Congratulations, Julie and Marc!

It was a reflection of how consistently well Jim and Linda had sailed and finished in the shifty conditions, that even their horribly unlucky 9th in the finale still left them very comfortably in the series runner-up spot. Beautifully done, guys!!!

The only boat to dent the Wayfarer domination of the top five was Flying Scot 5980 sailed by the Gundlach family, Wendel, Ann and son, Alex. The Gundlachs series high point had to be the win in race 2 which gave them the tiebreaker and series 3rd over Michigan Wayfarers, Nick Seraphinoff and Chip Cunningham. The latter had crewed Uncle Al to victory here in 2012, but could do no better than 4th with his partner of choice. Of course, Chip did not plummet down the standings nearly as far as Uncle Al, but more of that later.


Nick and Chip, too, had a great high point which they saved for the finish of the last race. After being fouled and forced to the wrong side of the leeward mark, Nick was so discouraged that he threw in the towel and headed for the haul-out ramp. Until Chip finally convinced him not to give up. So they sailed back to the course and carefully "unwound the string" before re-rounding the mark correctly. They luffed up to a close-hauled port-tack course, got a lovely breeze which took them straight from dead last to a finish as 2nd Wayfarer (above).

Nick and Chip

An unfortunate 11th after the finish debacle in race 5 dropped Richard Johnson and his wife, Michele Parish (above) of Charlotte, NC from series 3rd to series 5th (4th Wayfarer). But they sailed consistently well and showed lots of flashes of the fine form that would win the the following weekend's Old Brown Dog Regatta on their home waters.

5th among Wayfarers was the pick-up team of Mike Sigmund (LTYC)  and Jim Pedersen, son of the late and fairly legendary Frank Pedersen (W8705) of Rock Hall, Maryland. Sailing Jim Heffernan's fine composite W2458 (wooden deck), Mike and Jim hit their series peak in race 4 where they took of fine 5th (4th Wayfarer).

Sailing the cobbled together Tremaine, a Wayfarer that used to sail out of Toronto's Outer Harbour Centreboard Club, were LTYC's Alan Taylor and Jeanne Allamby who came 11th overall and were 5th among Wayfarers in the overall scoring.

Let me skip Uncle Al for the moment and proceed to Wayfarers number 8 and 9 (15th and 16th overall). Two relatively new Lake Townsend Wayfarers acquitted themselves very well in these challenging conditions and in the end, AnnMarie Covington and Susan Cole beat W rookie, Ken Butler who was introducing his daughter, Kelly Smith, to Wayfarer sailing.

To my amazement, the aft half of the ancient and sun-rotted cover was to all intents and purposes gone. Still, all the gear we had put into the boat was still there and I tied it down a bit to keep it with us. It never occurred to me to tie down the trailer lights board which on W3854 is locked on to the boat's gudgeon and pintle with a pintle lock. The next time I stopped for gas, somewhere in West Virginia?, I discovered my rather battered lights board hanging off the transom by its wires. This time, I did tie on its remains.

I had been warned that the compound on which the club is located got locked up for the night at 7 PM by the Park's employees, and soon the rest of my drive became a race against that deadline. As I got my last fill-up of the drive at about 4 PM, my car GPS, Sheila the Squeala, had me arriving at the LTYC at about 7:09 PM. I had actually reduced that ETA to about 6:56 before I hit Friday night traffic on Thursday night.

My thoughts began to drift to how safe it might be to leave an uncovered, gear-filled Wayfarer outside the compound. In the event, it was already 7:06 PM as I turned down the last little road towards the compound's gates. Suddenly there was a flash of light down a small path on my left. Seeing the "No Firearms" sign, I now recalled this as the back way in to the LTYC chalet. As cautiously as 13 hours on the road would let me, I backed up and joyfully noted two things: that gate was still open, and a flashlight illuminating that boat that Chip had towed down (for Alan Taylor to use).

Chip and I were to be guests in the Heffernans' Chapel Hill home all weekend and Chip remembered the house key's fiendishly clever secret location so that we got access on Thursday night, one night before Jim and Linda would return from visiting a son.

Friday was a day on which, in retrospect, I should have tested out W300 and her gear. Instead, I poorly arranged for a repair of my trailer lights board by a garage not too far from Jim's place in Chapel Hill. In hindsight, that was a poor choice, not because the mechanic did not do a fine repair job but because it necessitated two more lengthy Friday drives from LTYC to Chapel Hill and back. Though I did cleverly remember to find a Lowe's where I bought some serious weather stripping to replace the thin and gap-filled stuff on the "improved" aft hatch cover Tom had thrown in at the last minute. Little did I know, just how important that fix (kindly effected by Chip!! Thanks!!) would turn out to be. Little things - but they nickel and dime you to death. Certainly no time or inclination for a practice sail.


Saturday began on an auspicious note: my crew, Holly, arrived even before I did. There were lovely frost patterns on W300 (above) but word was that the day would warm up to be very pleasant. And the word was indeed correct. 

W300, how do I not love thee, let me count the ways!

Bailers closed before launch! Oh, they are the ancient very small Elvstrøm bailers, and one of the bales is attached backwards. Had to immerse my car's exhaust pipe to get W300 to float off its solid, new but non-tilt-bed trailer. Now, would the centreboard brake need tightening? Probably, since Tom and Hans had found it to be a loose fit as we moved boat from dolly to trailer. Surprise! It took me and my still excellent shoulder and arm strength major effort to get the board down - though the last quarter of it went smoothly. Rinse, etc. in case anything had gotten inside the box or onto the board. No luck. It was all but impossible to raise the board more than a quarter of the way. We ended up sailing the whole event with the board mostly or all down. I certainly had no desire to risk getting it stuck in the full-up position!!

Back to Saturday morning. After several minutes of fiddling, I finally got the main to go all the way up, and Holly and I headed out to do battle. She soon discovered that the jib sheet was all but impossible to cleat into the bent down cleats fittings. The mainsheet swivel cleat was - to make up for Holly's cleats - angled higher than I was  used to and got blamed for several of my near-capsizes on the Saturday.

And so we set off down the first beat. Uncle Al sadly misjudged the start and arrived  nearly a minute late, but apart from sails, a bridle and a vang that looked anywhere from not quite right to grotesque, things were going OK. Until our first or second tack when the extension tiller snapped off. Our first tack without the extension was intended to take us across the bows of two starboard Scots. Alas I lost the tiller and by the time we were back on our port-tack course, I saw that we had little hope of still crossing. So I crash-tacked back to starboard where a few seconds later, I got a helpful "nudge" one of the Scots. Holly thought we should do turns. I disagreed. But not wanting to shatter her image of Uncle Al, the good sport, I took advantage of HOT's two-for-the-price-of-one turns deal, even though I was certain that the Scot had had ample time to bear away or luff up the 3 feet it would have taken to miss us. In any case, I was feeling bad for the Scot whom I had inconvenienced with my flawed seamanship so the turn seemed a suitable penance. I had not had an extension snap off since the 1980's on London's Fanshawe Lake, but put my background as Mr. Jury Rig to good use by clove-hitching a short piece of thin line to the tiller and sailing with enough heel to maintain weather helm and thus keep tension on the line for (most of) the rest of the day.

I decided not to push things down the first, rather gusty run, and had Holly wing the jib and use the waterproof camera rather than the spinnaker. Grabbing the camera was easier than usual since it was wedged into assorted wet gear at my feet rather than into one of those lovely Hans Gottschling spinnaker bags or the lovely green mini-bags Julia has installed below the thwart on W3854.

But all good things must end and finally we did have to risk the spinnaker. Holly rose to the occasion nobly but the electric blue Proctor pole ramp did not. This same ramp type worked fine on W3854 but here, perhaps due to a larger pole eye on the mast that permitted more pole twist? our uphaul invariably slid back to the mast, more or less burying the outer end of the pole in the water. This was to be spi flying training for Holly who had hoisted and lowered aboard her dad's Scot but not done much trimming. It turned out to be a very difficult beginning, but even with the extra challenge of flying the chute without a pole in shifty winds, Holly managed very nicely (above). A bit like swinging a ball bat with the lead doughnuts, was this spi practice for Holly who should find regular spi trimming, with its fixed tack, a veritable breeze after this.

Oh, did I mention the bow sprit? Or the lack of this little piece of hose or coat hanger, etc. sticking out from the bow at deck level to keep the spi sheet from going under the boat while dousing the chute. Well, we sailed over the sheet only once, and the always down board actually came in handy as the sheet only had to be brought back to the bow from half-way aft.

By Sunday morning, Nick had loaned us a lovely extension tiller, and the 3854 sails, gratefully received back from Jon, were bent on (as they say ... in England?). The weather was warmer and the winds perhaps a bit gustier as we beat our way towards the start area for race #4. I saw that we would need a jib cunningham for my jib. I handed the tiller to Holly who was game and went onto the foredeck to create us a cunningham.

All too soon, she found out just how hard that main was to uncleat, and that perhaps I really was not one of the Three Stooges back there and that I was getting some help in looking stupid. Not that Holly was anything but the perfectly polite Southern belle: she never once complained or even snickered. A major gust came along as I was perched on the foredeck and the boat heeled accordingly. I think/hope this was the only time I yelled as I invited Holly to ease the main. To no avail, alas. And so, Holly experienced her first capsize in anything bigger than a Laser.

Quick to seize the opportunity, Al directed Holly to the inside of the boat while he slithered aft along the hull's topside to the centreboard. This would be Al's first try at the scoop method. And who better to scoop than the petite Holly. Aha! The main was still cleated, and there was Holly in perfect position to remedy that. The boat righted like a dream, so fast in fact that I missed my best chance to flop aboard as the boat was righting itself. Still, it was an opportunity to show Holly how, with sails ragged and the boat not moving forward through the water, it was perfectly safe to heel the boat and immerse the rubrail on my side in the water so that, with only minimal but much appreciated help from Holly, I was able to slide back aboard.

I had not brought the bucket in which the anchor was stowed, and now had to return to the launch area where a kind gentleman (Holly, do you know his name?) was eager to help, by finding us a bailing bucket. Holly did most of the bailing. Meanwhile our "shore team" asked how he could help. I had noticed the forestay flopping around, its boat end having come untied. I asked him to tie it on with any secure knot he could tie. Well, man, did he do a good job or what? Just how good we were soon to discover in a novel manner.

We made it out nicely in time for race 5 and were doing reasonably well off the first beat. No need to raise the board so it was a quick gybe and a windward hoist. And there it was, the obligatory hourglass!! But this seemed harder to fix than usual. Even after many years of disaster experience, I discovered something new on this day: the forestay had been tied outside the spinnaker sheet. I sent Holly forward to untie the forestay but our helper had really done a job with his knot, so we pulled out some slack and had Holly hold the guy (windward sheet) while I took the (leeward) sheet.

Which brings us back to the finish of race 5, the one with all the dead spots and shifts. When the dust had settled, we had taken Wayfarer 3rd (8th overall) in the finale, which moved us up to a glorious 14th for the series. But ... wait for it, Holly!! You know that guy, Alan Taylor, whom we were always so eager to beat but rarely did? Well, he placed 11th, four points ahead of us. So-o-o-o??? I hear you wonder. Hah! Well when you rescore the Wayfarers as a separate fleet, we beat that dastardly Alan by one point and were only one point out of series 5th as well.


Anyway, thanks for sailing with me, Holly. You coped very well with trying circumstances, and it was a pleasure to sail with you. I do hope we can sail as a team in the future some time where I will introduce you to SHADES a.k.a. Glory Days, the only Wayfarer with an alias (photo above)!!