In the 70s, when our Wayfarer fleet in Michigan was going strong, there was, every year, a large influx of new boat owners, many of whom were hot to become racers. The same way an addict will try to hook as many of his friends as possible, we did all we could to plunge them into our addiction. One of our methods was a yearly event called The New Skippers' Race.

The new owner would bring his boat out, and an experienced racer would help him set it up and then crew for him in a race. It was a good idea and probably ruined many little league baseball and soccer careers since we did manage to hook quite a few potentially good parents. Although I have noticed that my grown-up children who are all avid little league and soccer parents, are always suffering from colds and flu that their kids bring home. On the other hand, it is almost impossible to catch anything from your kids if you are out on the race course and they are where they belong, on shore playing or doing God knows what with the other Wayfarer kids. Who knows how many people we saved from shots and lost days of work by addicting them to sailing.


Rigging the boat went fine, but we left the dock a little late for the race and didn't have much time to sail together before the race. I explained my starting tactics to Ken, and told him what things I thought worked for me and what didn't. In retrospect, one of the things I should have mentioned was how important it is to spill wind from the main if a puff hits you unexpectedly. As we all know, the Wayfarer is not an all-out racing machine, but things can happen fast on a gusty day. Well, guess what, we capsized one minute before the start with our mainsheet cleated all the way in. The fleet sailed away without so much as a "by your leave".


The windward leg must have been pretty uneventful since I don't remember much of it other than diving for the mainsheet a couple of times when puffs hit us. It's amazing how much Ken sharpened me up in such a short time. Back in those days, we always sailed triangles, and to this day, I blame my penchant for capsizing on those spinnaker reaches. And I seemed to have brought along my capsize talents that day, too. Today's reaches would, thank God, be spinnaker-less, and I was looking forward to them also being uneventful.

Good old Ken, however, found a way around that! We rounded the weather mark, and settled into a racy beam reach. I noticed that the wind had picked up some and we were just on the edge of planing. I was hoping that the wind would not continue to build since I didn't think I needed my new skipper screaming around those reaches on an all-out plane. As I said, I was only 33, and you really don't know much fear at that age. But remember: In life we don't grow old from the good times, it is the bad times that make us age. I didn't know it, but Ken was about to send me to my next level of maturity in a few short minutes.

We were charging towards the gybe mark at an exciting pace, and as we drew closer, I could see a Laser capsized near the mark with its young skipper swimming around, sorting things out. With this impending obstacle ahead, I began coaching Ken on the safe way to pass it. I explained that it is always safer to pass to windward of an obstacle. That way, if a gust should hit you unexpectedly and the boat begins rounding up on you, you will simply pass further to windward of the obstacle and not be in danger of hitting it. Despite my words of wisdom, we were still heading straight at the capsized Laser and nothing was changing. So I decided that my coaching should take another tack, since perhaps Ken was intending to pass to leeward of the Laser. With a note of increasing urgency, I pointed out, "You can of course also pass to leeward of the obstacle, but will need to be really quick to spill wind from the main if a gust hits us." A manoeuvre that we had already shown ourselves to be less than adept at! Still no reaction from Ken. We remained headed right at the Laser!

I immediately decided that I was going to very quickly have to institute some radical changes in my coaching methods. Maybe I should focus my efforts on things I could change. "I know," I said to myself, "I will bestow some of my coaching wisdom on that young Laser skipper." "Look out!!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. The young sailor was far more receptive to my coaching efforts. He looked up, his eyes got as big as saucers, and he immediately swam the few feet necessary to prevent his back from being sliced open by our bow. God, how I love a quick learner!

We brushed by him, and it was then that I began to realize that Ken did have a plan. He was preparing to gybe around the mark by coming in wide, which would make for a nice, tight rounding, in case some rascal was there to slip between us and the mark. Of course I hadn't seen anyone for quite a while, but the thought was there. This all looked great - except for the Laser hanging from our starboard shroud by its rudder. Yes, and not only was the Laser coming along with us, but so was its plucky little skipper - that slight, blond-haired, blue-eyed kid with the small scar just above his left eyebrow. I felt I was getting to know him well by now - my prize student - and I knew he had better keep a tight grip on his ship or it was going to leave without him.

Knowing full well that coaching Ken was going to be my full-time job and that I would have no time to give the young Laser sailor any further wisdom beyond my "Look out!!!" I decided that he could no longer continue to race with us. Quickly, I sprang into action. (At 33, you can do that.) I reached behind me and quickly snapped the jib sheet loose, and in the same fluid motion, reached down and uncleated the main. I was confident that my work would be done before Ken could sheet back in, and thus jumped to the low side of the boat without fear. Sure enough, I had picked the Laser off our shroud, had thrown it and its young captain out to sea, and was back on the high side just as Ken finished cranking in the last of the mainsheet, thereby becoming, once again, a danger to my well-being.

The remainder of the race turned out to be uneventful. When we reached shore, I told Ken that he had the kind of focus that would make him a very good sailboat racer. "In fact, " I said, "I have raced against people just like you for years."