I worked for a sail maker in Costa Mesa California for two summers while I was in college (1972 and 1973). I took my OK Dinghy to California with me and met a lot of interesting people through sailing. Some of the more interesting were in the International 14 fleet. That’s how I found myself watching an I-14 regatta at the LA Yacht Club one weekend. I got drafted to crew Sunday when one of the crew woke up sick. She felt much better after the race, so I suspect she may have had an allergy to the 20 knot breezes. If you grow up sailing in southern California, a twenty knot wind looks like a hurricane.
The International 14’s of the 70’s were still true to the original design with a single trapeze, symmetrical spinnakers, and fully open non self bailing hulls. The boats were totally insane. For example, they had so much sail that you couldn’t leave the main up at the dock. The weight of the main made the boat top heavy and it would turn over if unattended. With no previous experience, I was definitely about to be thrown into the deep end.
I was pleased to discover the boat was actually not that bad going to windward. With me on the trap we were always on a plane which gave the boat some stability. We got our timing down for the tacks, and things were looking promising. At the first windward mark we actually had a boat behind us. I took this as a good sign and started getting ready to set the chute. My skipper said she didn’t want to put it up. I could understand her position. She had very little experience in this much wind and had never sailed with this crew before. On the other hand, it was time to put the chute up. We had a short “discussion”, then I over ruled her. She had rigged the boat with all the controls going to the crew, so she could yell all she wanted, but she couldn’t stop me. A smart skipper would run the halyard to the stern where she would be in charge.
We lived through the initial fill and headed off. I had no idea a 14 foot boat could go that fast and was having the time of my life. My skipper was pleased to discover that I knew how to balance the boat with the chute trim, and she may have actually forgiven me. This joy lasted about a mile before it was time to gybe. This time we both agreed there was a zero chance of pulling off a successful gybe, so I dropped the chute. We were close to the leeward mark, so I agreed to leave the chute in the bag.
The second windward leg was going well until our last tack for the windward mark. As I trimmed the jib, the sheet block came unpinned. With no way to trim the jib, we just had to limp the last few yards to the mark before I could get off the trap. As soon as we turned down wind I managed to find the clevis pin and get the block reattached. I’d spent maybe a minute with my head down in the bilge, so I was not up to speed on what was happening. Before the rounding we had agreed that with the wind now around 25 knots, I would not set the chute this time. With no chute going up, the next step was obvious to me, but not to my skipper. When I started to pull the jib to windward to go wing and wing, I was aware of some became aware of some panic in the stern of the boat. Unfortunately, my skipper’s panic made it impossible for her to form complete words at this point. When the jib filled I instantly understood. The jib’s added pressure on the windward side pulled the boat so far to windward I almost fell out of the boat. I’m betting the oscillations were close to 60 degrees each side of vertical. How we avoided the capsize is still unknown.
It was a dead run to the finish and we settled down to watch the show unfolding in front of us. The two boats in front of us were in a match race for first in the regatta. Talking to the them later, they both knew they could not successfully carry the chute to the finish, but it was a game of chicken. One boat set his, so the second boat had to match. Maybe a minute later one of the two capsized and the winner dropped his chute immediately. They were thrilled to have survived and win the regatta. We were equally happy to be in the half of the fleet that finished without a period of swimming. It was definitely one of those days of sailing that you never forget.