I HATE SHOES

I spent the past two weekends racing Weatherly  in Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. It was really my first introduction to racing at that level, and what an introduction it was. We had a lot of wind in the Vineyard and managed to break two halyards and sheared a 1/2" diameter steel bolt that was holding the boom vang to the mast. I was in the bow, which was tough, wet work, with multiple headsail changes, flying and packing the spinnaker and a ton of coordination between it all. Upshots were that I learned a ton, attended some pretty high-brow dinners and parties and had a raucous time getting to know my fellow sailors on the other 12 meters. Here are some photos, in the first one, I'm the one on Weatherly (US 17, the one leading) hanging over the side in the red jacket. In the second, again in the red jacket tending some winches. There are a ton more pictures on the website, check them out!

After I managed to get Soveraine  to Newport, I needed to find a job for the remainder of the season. I applied to be a launch driver for the New York Yacht Club at Harbor Court (which you have to say with your teeth clenched to get the full effect), but the pay was lousy, I wouldn't be sailing and not allowed to accept tips! A friend who worked on another 12 meter told me a spot had just opened up on Weatherly , whos claim to fame is winning the 1962 America's Cup. I sent in my resume and within two days was sailing with them and offered a full time position for the remainder of the season. Somehow, I always manage to land on my feet. Either through tenacity, a positive attitude, sheer dumb luck, or most likely a combination of the three, it works out. Weatherly  was designed by Phillip Rhodes, who also designed the Rhodes 19 which was the boat I learned to sail on in Boston Harbor. It was the only 12 meter to win the America's Cup designed by him (the rest by Sparkman a

I've gotten myself into some hairy situations with my past dinghies. From breaking free at sea, breaking free at anchor, sinking/resurrection, theft, rowing in 20 knots of breeze with a 5 knot crosscurrent, etc. I have a new one to add to the list today: a clan of three of Newport's finest. I left the local pub Benjamin's at about midnight this past Monday. It was a short walk to the Ann Street dinghy dock a quarter of a mile away and, unbeknownst to me at the time, I was being followed. When I arrived at my humble chariot, I pumped out the water, pumped up the port side tube that never stays inflated, hopped in and pushed away from the dock to start the engine. Within seconds, three bright beams of light illuminated me, in front of a stern voice instructing me to return to the dock. I didn't panic though, that's exactly what they want you to do. They're looking for a reason to throw the book at you, the trick is to never give them the opportunity. I obliged,