“Love the little trade which thou hast learned, and be content there with.” — Marcus Aurelius

It was hardly a little trade Tony Parker was practicing at the helm of an America’s Cup 12 Metre in the summer of 1978 off Newport, R.I.

He’d been asked by Baron Marcel Bich to skipper the French trial horse in training for the next Cup, and was doing so well against the A team, by his own account, that its helmsman Bruno Troublé took him aside at one point and beseeched him to lighten up.

The Cup was on the verge of taking the sports world by storm with Dennis Conner, Australia II, the winged keel, ESPN and Fremantle in the wings. Parker, having finished second in three straight Congressional Cups and with a gold-plated resume from Harvard sailing, was a match-racing star in position to play a big role on yachting’s biggest stage.

But something little caught his eye across the dappled waters of Rhode Island Sound that day and changed the arc of his life.

“I saw fifty J/24s out there racing in their first national championships,” Parker says. “The class was brand new and it was exploding. All the best sailors were there. It was so competitive they couldn’t get a start off. There were no black flags or U flags back then. Everyone was over early.”

Parker couldn’t wait to get a piece of that mayhem. “I’m really, really good at infighting,” he says. So off he went to buy his first J/24 and set the stage for the next 47 years, when he’d get his jollies banging away at the top of the fleet in the quirky turtle boats.

All of it came to fruition this fall in a gutsy performance in another fleet of 50, this time at the J/24 World Championships in Plymouth, U.K., where the wind blew the oysters off the rocks. When they sorted out the wreckage after five days at 20-plus knots, Parker’s Bangor Packet stood a stunning second. It marked the fourth time he’d made the podium at the Worlds over the decades, with two thirds and two seconds, but not yet the gold.

The dean of the class, however, was able to mount the stage and accept his trophy just three days shy of his 80th birthday. Parker and his teammates on Bangor Packet finished 7 points behind Headcase, whose Irish skipper Cillian Dickson is Parker’s junior by 47 years.

“It’s absolutely remarkable that he’s stuck with it and does that well at his age,” says one of Parker’s contemporaries, Scott Allen, an ex-Olympian who raced with and against him for years and now lives across the creek from his old rival in Annapolis.

“I think he just really likes the boat, he knows it and he’s comfortable with it,” says Will Welles, of North Sails, who sailed with Parker in all the major events leading up to the Plymouth worlds. “He’s been at it so long, and at the top the fleet, that he does a bit of a legend status. He keeps a young crew to keep him excited, he just loves the sport—he loves to talk about it and thinks about it all the time.

“But what’s really amazing is that he has this drive to keep getting better, and he has no ego whatsoever.”

Of course, the J/24 Worlds no longer attracts the hottest sailors on the planet. Still, Parker’s achievement had the racing crowd back home on edge, monitoring the internet as the regatta wound to a windy conclusion. He was in range of winning till the very end, 4 points back on the last day, when he finished 3-2 to Dickson’s 2-1, with a Japanese team 20 points back in third overall.

By all accounts the regatta was a daily grind, with winds of 20 to 30 and foaming grey seas breaking all around. In one race, Dickson’s boat, well ahead, broached so badly on the last downwind run that the spreaders hit the water, yet the crew managed to get the mess cleared up before the fleet caught up, and they still won the race. “How often do you see that in a world championship?” Parker marvels.

He, by contrast, is a light-to-moderate air specialist, as befits a denizen of the Chesapeake. He attributes his success at Plymouth to a young, athletic crew of sailing pros and a week of practice onsite before the festivities began. “We were lucky that it blew just as hard for practice as it did for the racing,” he says.

He had a veteran team—Emmett Todd, James Niblock and Will Bomar working the front half of the boat and Welles calling tactics.

Still, it was unfamiliar territory. “Sometimes I was steering with both hands on the tiller,” he says. “Six of the (nine) races we had to use the little jib, which we hadn’t had out in five years.”

At least the boat is familiar. He’s had the same Bangor Packet, J/24, Hull No. 58, since 2003 when he bought a steady winner from Andy Horton. Even in one-design racing, he says, some boats come off the factory line inherently faster. He’d been through two that didn’t make the cut before he got his current steed.

Welles, a two-time J/24 world champion himself, acknowledges that Parker has always been committed to having the boat immaculately race-ready. “He puts money into the boat, and that’s why he ships it to the worlds instead of chartering. He values his boat. It’s top notch, the sails are top-notch sails and he treats his crew well so they want to be there and work hard.”

To keep the boat current, Parker sends it “to the spa” at great expense every couple of years for a full treatment at the best boatyard he can find, and lets the experts do their thing. “I’m not the guy you’ll find under the boat sanding the keel,” he says.

Not that he couldn’t. His father owned and ran the marina at the mouth of the Harraseeket River in Maine that’s still in business as Brewers South Freeport Marine. He and his two brothers and sister grew up there, and all were Maine junior champions in one class or another. But by the time his shot at the America’s Cup and sailing’s big tent came along, he says, “life had intervened.” Marriage, a child, law school, a successful business career and eight years in politics as treasurer of the Republican National Committee were to follow, and it all kept him busy.

As for the elusive gold medal he has yet to claim, Parker seems none too bothered. The next J/24 Worlds are in Australia, but “I’m not going to Melbourne,” he said. “That would take a month.”

So, his next shot is October 2027, in Rochester, New York, just down the road. He’ll be 82. Don’t bet against it.

The post The Long Haul of Tony Parker appeared first on Sailing World.

In our previous column in these pages, outlining the extensive refit project of my father and his boat partner’s 1990s-vintage Melges 30, we went in depth about the deck hardware and running rigging choices we made with the help of Harken and Marlow. The next and final phase involved slightly more sophisticated steps: the electronics and then the deck detailing, which brought the boat to its current status as one fine handicap race yacht.

We decided not to invest in the older instruments that came with the boat. It was an opportunity for new technology.  Not an inexpensive proposition but a necessary one. Our goal as a 30-foot sportboat is mainly local PHRF racing with some traveling in the future. As such, we wanted good instruments, but we didn’t need a TP52 set up. Matt Fries, the go-to at B&G and Navico instruments worked with us closely to help develop a system that provided the information we wanted without breaking the bank.

First, the hidden items. We chose the Triton Edge Sailing processor. This unit is small and light, but more importantly it quickly and accurately processes input from multiple components. And there are plenty of other components feeding into it and the ‘backbone’. One thing I like about these new systems is the NMEA 2000 connections. It makes it very easy to add components or change out parts.

First into the backbone is the knot meter. We chose the DST-810. This is a wired paddlewheel with depth built in. As we sail in shallow water often, we thought depth would be very helpful. It is a “triducer,” meaning it is a paddle wheel, depth sensor and temperature sensor all in one. It saves us another hole in the bottom of the boat.

Second is the wind. We opted for the WS710 Wind Sensor package. We chose a wired set up as I thought it would be less prone to issues on a rig that was rarely taken down. It’s on a vertical carbon wand to get the instrument above the upwash of the rig. Along with this package you need the WS700 Wired interface. This small box converts wind data coming down from the wand into NMEA2000 so it can be plugged into the backbone.

Third is the GPS. Just as I use on the J/70, the ZG100 GPS feeds all of our GPS info to the system. It also has a compass and can provide heel and trim. However, there is an upgraded compass that I also use on the J/70 and that brings us to the fourth item into the backbone. The Precision 9 Compass is more accurate and faster than the compass that is in the ZG100. We’ve mounted both of these low in the boat under the cockpit. We’ve also tried to keep them away from any metals or magnetic items.

Also plugged into the backbone are three displays. Down below we have a chart plotter. We needed something small and chose the Zeus 7 Chartplotter. With a 7-inch color display it does everything we need. I had some issues getting the charts to populate but Paul Wilson at B&G got me sorted and up and running.

Outside on the mast we chose two different displays. The first is an amazing bright display that will show just about anything in any color that we want. It is the Nemesis 9 Sailing Display. We’ve set it up with bigger numbers that are visible from the back of the boat. Boatspeed, heading, and true wind direction, along with true wind angle and heel is our current pick. But we can set up pages with various information that is easily toggled through. This display is so customizable, I can even set the displayed numbers to change colors if they get to a certain number. For example, I can set the heel number as green and have it turn red if the boat heels more than 24 degrees.

Underneath the Nemesis 9 display is the H5000 Graphic display. This has many functions as well. We can display navigational information, set the start timer, ping the start line ends, see distance to the line. We can display all wind information, cross track info, and a graphic display of true wind angles, apparent wind angles and see set and drift which is helpful on areas of current. I find this unit intuitive and easy to learn.

As is the case with all instruments, good input equals good output. In order to calibrate them we took the time to find a place with flat water and little to no wind or current. First is the compass swing, which consists of around a 400-degree turn, not exceeding 3.5 degrees per second. Second is the boatspeed calibration. We do multiple runs and fine tune the boatspeed to match the speed over ground from the GPS. We do this in two opposite directions to ensure that there is no current impacting the calibration. Once we are happy with the boatspeed we make sure that the compass offset is matching the Course over Ground. Often, the heading needs to be offset a few degrees to make up for small installation errors. Later, we had to go in and adjust the angle of the wind instrument for similar reasons. All in all, however, it’s a robust package with seemingly endless options and possibilities.

The next item I love is the soft deck. We use these on the cockpit floors of nearly every boat I sail. Maybe I am lucky to sail in warmer climates, but I sail the small boats like the J/70 barefoot when I can. For the Melges 30, Dan Kaseler and our friends at Raptor Deck up in the Pacific Northwest helped us out. As there was no template for a Melges 30 cockpit, we had to improvise. They sent us a mylar template from a Melges 32 and I was able to cut it and tape it back together in the pattern we desired. Raptor Deck then took the template and scanned it. Voila, they were able to cut us a beautiful soft deck that matched the nonskid color of the deck above it. And if that wasn’t helpful enough, I was able to make a template of our damaged keel plate under the hull and they were able to scan it and create a proper Delrin keel plate.

For our metal work, we are blessed to have Steve Harrison in San Diego. When in need of high-end custom metal work on a racing sailboat, Harrison is a friend indeed. We wanted to beef up the stern pulpits with more support connecting to the cockpit floor like the Melges 32s. Steve was able modify them so they feel very strong when you grab them our hike against them. We also added knees to the stanchions to keep them from bending and flexing.

My father and his boat partner, Robert Plant, have had a long relationship with the folks at Ullman Sails Newport Beach. Kenny Cooper who runs the plotter at the loft also sails with them regularly as the primary upwind trimmer so it made sense to get a couple of sails from Ullman. The boat came with a new running kite but the reaching kites needed to be replaced. We got a 1.5A for light air VMG sailing and a 3A for the windier reaching. In addition, we got a couple of staysails to help that random leg reach speed.

Another area with a lot of clever thinking was the outboard storage. Like many small raceboats, we have an outboard that needs to be stored below when not on the transom. We didn’t like the idea of cutting a hole on the cockpit floor and adding a hatch. The solution was to splice a Dyneema bridle around the engine so we could hook a halyard to it and pick the engine up off the stern. This system also makes it incredibly easy to lower the outboard into the interior. My father and his partner also built a trolley of sorts under the companionway that the outboard lays on. Recycling boat parts is a favorite pastime of my father, so the trolley consists of a pair of old Harken sheaves from an old IOR 50-footer. When stowing the outboard, the halyard is eased until the head of the engine rests in a mesh basket. The system works well and saves the crew from that back breaking agony of moving a 40-pound engine around down below.

After sailing the boat a half-dozen times, it was a relief to not experience any major issues. My father and Robert have really enjoyed getting back out on the water with their friends as well as being competitive. They have enjoyed the process of the rebuild, the creativity required to mess around and develop systems, and the friendship they’ve shared over the years. It certainly helps to have great friends in the industry. We were able to ask a lot of questions and gather ideas from all over. As it was a labor of love, there was no real timeline and time could be taken to “measure twice and cut once.” This is a pace I highly recommend to anyone embarking on an extensive refit. It can be tempting to rush a project in order to be ready for the next season, but it’s better to have it done right come race day than troubleshooting mistakes mid-season.

The icing on the cake was qualifying for and then winning our local 2025 Dana Point Harbor Championships. The boat performed great and all systems worked as designed. Proof again that the hard work is worth the rewards, and more importantly, that old raceboats can definitely enjoy a second life and we have a great industry with all the tools and solutions to make it happen one way or the other.

The post <i>Still Crazy</i>’s Sportboat Rehab: The Final Touches appeared first on Sailing World.

Randy Hecht got the call while racing at the International Knarr Championship, in Copenhagen, Denmark. The good news? His boat had made the 2,600-mile journey from San Francisco to Toronto in time for the 2025 J/105 North Americans. The bad news? The boatyard in Toronto accidentally broke the mast. With barely two weeks to spare before the start of the championship, his two-week Danish regatta swiftly became fraught with faraway logistics.

“I was confronted with both finding a replacement mast—you cannot just go to a store to buy an immediate replacement—and also finding a skilled rigger to get a replacement mast ready for the boat,” Hecht says. “I was close to throwing in the towel and towing the boat and the broken mast home.”

Hecht, however, was on a mission to win his third J/105 North American title with his talent-stacked crew that included Russ Silvestri (tactician and main), Maggie Bacon (pit), Ethan Doyle (trimmer and strategist), David Janinis (mast), and Steve Marsh (bow). In 2022, racing the boat for the first time, Team Niuhi won the J/105 North American title in San Francisco, and did so again in Rye, New York, in 2023. The team did not race the 2024 edition but Hecht was always committed to Toronto for the opportunity to race against Terry McLaughlin, a four-time North American J/105 champion, Canadian Olympic silver medalist and America’s Cup skipper for Canada.

“This was an opportunity to test ourselves against arguably the best J/105 sailor and team ever,” Hecht says. “We also wanted to sail against a completely different fleet of 105s than what we had faced in San Francisco and Rye.”

Team Niuhi got a lucky break; it was able to borrow a good mast from a local youth sailing charity and found a local rigger to fit it to their boat. Niuhi then went on to win its third J/105 North American title in slam-dunk fashion, finishing with a net score of 25 points after 12 races, including six race wins.

In a regatta post-mortem, McLaughlin, a fierce competitor who has been sailing Mandate with his J/105 partner Rob Wilmer for 13 years, shares his observations: “They are fast and I guess they have been fast for years,” he says. “They also have a very good crew; they seem able to get mediocre starts and come out of those better than anyone else.”

Hecht, who resides in the San Francisco Bay Area, got into the class because he wanted to gain more experience starting a keelboat in bigger fleets. He was also looking for a boat to sail in the Rolex Big Boat Series, and he liked the idea of competing in the 2022 J/105 North Americans, which were being held on the Bay. Hecht had never sailed a J/105 before, but he liked it.

“The feeling of crossing the finish line in first, just nipping a group of other boats, the teamwork needed to adapt to a rapidly changing situation, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, and whether disaster strikes or disaster is avoided, I’ve found it all in the 105,” he says.

Hecht is the kind of guy who owns the room; he’s a commanding presence with his athletic and towering physique at 6 feet 5 inches. He’s intense and tough, having finessed his sailing skills in his early 20s racing Tempests, including the 1972 Olympic Trials. He’s also a 20-year leukemia survivor so his fight or flight instincts may be stronger than those of most others. Hecht also campaigns a 30-foot Knarr and an 18-foot Mercury, which are both competitive fleets with excellent sailors. All of his boats are aptly named Niuhi—Hawaiian for “large man-eating shark” as aptly illustrated on his J/105 mainsail and spinnaker.

Over the years he and Silvestri have put together a crew of sailors to sail the three boats which are all part of Team Niuhi. “We have a process that we use to select crew,” Hecht explains. “First, someone on the crew has to recommend you for the job needed, and everyone on the team understands what we are looking for. We want crew that are responsible, committed for the long term, team-oriented, skilled at their job, likeable, passionate about racing and improving, and have the ability to perform under pressure. Our objective is to win big regattas as a team and that’s how we attract top talent.”

Doyle, Niuhi’s trimmer and strategist, has sailed with Hecht for eight years and thrives on the competitive environment and team philosophy that Hecht embraces. “We went to Toronto with one objective: to win,” Doyle says. “That all-or-none attitude creates an emotionally high-stakes vibe and it is immensely satisfying to be part of a team that gels and thrives under that competitive pressure. Randy is a leader that has an intense focus on success. That level of competitive intensity is not for everyone but leading by example, he’s done an amazing job of putting together a team that embraces that philosophy.”

While Team Niuhi’s success on the racecourse is seemingly a guarantee while Hecht is behind the wheel with his tight crew, he’s a fan of making sure the balance of work versus fun is in check, whether it is a beer can race at home or one on the road, and part of that is having a mix of younger but very skilled sailors on the boat.

“I love the mix of young and older people and how well that can work on a racing sailboat,” he says. “One of our young sailors started a process of playing music as we leave the dock and now we play music all the way to the racecourse—we found that we would all relax and laugh pre-race when listening to music.”

Since his debut in the J/105 fleet, Hecht has been proactive in helping other teams improve, fully aware that keeping a fleet strong does benefit everyone in it. “We try to be an open book on how we make our boat go fast,” Hecht says. “I will take the time to talk to anyone about J/105 speed questions and I will also invite skippers to sail with us for Friday night beer can racing. Without a doubt, it is also helpful to have a local sailmaker who can spend a lot of time with the fleet and act in a teaching role.”

Hecht also takes immense pleasure in the widespread nature of the J/105 class, which he notes has many fleets in wonderful places, with benefits that include a broader group of sailing friends, learning a new racetrack, and experiencing other competitive fleets. He’s a fan of getting on the road once in a while to mix things up, acknowledging that while the coordination around trailering a bigger boat to a new location can be taxing. But the rewards, he says, are worth the bumps.

“We always rent a house for the entire crew which has become a terrific bonding experience for all of us,” he says, “from making meals together, playing pingpong or spending time in the pool discussing how to improve on the racecourse the next day.”

The J/105 North Americans will be in Seattle next year and Hecht is hopeful that there will be a strong contingent from his Bay Area fleet. And speaking from experience, his recommendation to owners and skippers looking for an economic solution to destination racing with a bigger boat is to charter one that is not being used in the local fleet. “The cost and effort,” he says, “is usually less than taking one’s own boat and it comes with fewer challenges.”

The post These J/105 Champs Win on the Road appeared first on Sailing World.

The deck is still wet with dew as the crew arrives one by one for boat call. The stillness of the sunny morning is broken by sailbags heaved onboard and dragged across the non-skid. Trimmers stroll from bow to stern leading tapered sheets and guys through and blocks. It’s the regular busy work of getting a 12-Metre off the dock and racing and it’s the first day of the 12 Meter North, Americans in Newport, Rhode Island. It’s also Weatherly’s big day.

The boat’s owner Steve Eddleston eventually arrives with the sandwiches. He’s got a cup of coffee and a big smile as he admires all the activity from the aft deck. We’ve never met, and he’s invited me aboard for the day’s races. I’ve got GoPros and microphones, and thankfully, he’s a natural on camera, an animated storyteller who effortlessly rolls from one life yarn to the next. He’s got a strong Yankee accent with a raspy Down Easter twang. But he’s a Kiwi, his wife is Mexican, and now, of all things, he owns a 12 Metre.

Eddleston’s is a wonderful success story. As a young adult he was a hardworking software engineer who traveled the world, selling, building and servicing those big old-school mainframe servers from back in the day. Work took him to Mexico, where he met his wife—another fun story of persistence. He made a name, a family and a fortune, retired, served on boards and then bought a Planet Fitness franchise—covering the entire state of Rhode Island. Somewhere in there he was a hardcore distance runner, too, which is all to safely say he’s got energy, wisdom and vision. Which brings him today to Bristol, Rhode Island, Cap’n Nat country. Somehow in his life story arc, his ownership of a classic 12 Metre makes total sense.

His path to Weatherly’s helm started in Maine, where he taught himself to sail on a Hobie Cat he found in the classifieds. No mentor, no program, no junior sailing instructor—just curiosity and stubbornness. “I can figure this out,” he said when he bought the Hobie. He did figure it out, and it wasn’t pretty, but then came years of solo hotdogging on the Hobie.

Fast forward to 2002. At a corporate planning conference in Newport, the company had chartered Weatherly for an afternoon group outing. Eddleston was the only real sailor among them, so he didn’t hesitate when offered the wheel. “It’s the most incredible feeling,” he says, closing his eyes and reliving the moment. “She’s 30 tons and when she first takes the load of the wind…it’s just incredible.”

In the early days of COVID, when he started looking seriously at classic boats, a surveyor suggested Weatherly to him. He met George Hill, its previous caretaker (Hill’s is also a long and inspiring story), and so it began. “George told me, ‘Steve, this has been my livelihood for 36 years. I’ve made my living with this boat, and I’m ready to retire and move on. I’m looking for another caretaker.’”

When he finally purchased it, he told his wife, “This may be the best thing I ever do or I’ll be trying to sell her in 12 months.”

He was no fool, however. He did calculate his decision with trepidation at first. The risk, the maintenance, the unknowns—they didn’t immediately appeal to his practical side. But the plan was simple: He would keep doing what Hill had done so well. The boat was in good shape and everything worked. He went into it thinking he wouldn’t change much, but after a few years, that philosophy changed.

He checked Weatherly into the spa for a 22-month deep-tissue treatment.

“It started with, ‘Let’s paint the deck,’” Eddleston says. Then it went deeper, all the way to a full structural review and a lot of craftsmanship to get it tight and solid. “So yeah, it became a big project.”

The deck came off and they got in under the skin of the boat, into the frames and the structure. The loads are enormous on a 12 Metre, so he and his boat captain agreed it was best to fix for the future. “The powers and the loads on these boats are phenomenal,” Eddleston says, “so it doesn’t do any harm to go in there and triple-check that everything is Bristol.”

Weatherly went into the spa as a 68-year-old and came out as an 18-year-old, he likes to say, “so she’s good for another 60 years for the next caretaker.”

His last word strikes me. We typically refer to raceboat owners as “owners.” I had never thought of caretaker as a term for classic yachties the likes of Eddleston and so many others. But it’s perfect. Weatherly is not just another pretty 12 Metre for sunset sails and the occasional race; the longer she sails, the more souls she touches. The more she sails the larger her community of admirers grows. No one forgets their first sail on Weatherly.

Over the boat’s long career, Eddleston says, “People married aboard her, renewed their vows, and celebrated milestones on her deck.” A surprising number of women in New England bear the name Weatherly, he adds matter-of-factly, because their parents were inspired by the boat’s America’s Cup victory in 1962.

At a recent regatta, Eddleston met one such woman—her mother, pregnant during that Cup summer, felt it was the natural name for her daughter after Weatherly’s win.

In Eddleston’s heart Weatherly is more than a classic racing yacht and relic of the Cup. She is a kind of floating town, with citizens, fans and more than six decades of history that took her to Seattle for the Boy Scouts, through the Panama Canal, and to the bottom of Long Island Sound. US-12 is one of a unique club of the other famous traditional 12’s still sailing in Newport: American Eagle, Intrepid and Columbia. They each have their own loyal population, and it grows with every sailor that steps on a deck or turns a coffee grinder.

The 12 Metre crew scene is a tight-knit one in Newport, and if there was one thing that worried Eddleston initially, it was finding 16 reliable mates every time he wanted to go for a sail. As a solo Hobie guy, his Rolodex was pretty thin. But it didn’t take long to string a starting team together. As soon as word got out that Weatherly had a new owner, experienced sailors began to appear, introducing themselves, offering their services as crew. Within a short time, he says, he found himself with a call list of 50 to 60 people, plenty to staff the boat for racing and events.

For several years, he personally managed the crew boss role—deciding who sailed when, where new sailors should be placed, who might need to step back for a while if they couldn’t reliably make boat-calls. Over time, he began handing that job to others as part of their own development, recognizing that building a racing program means building leaders, not just followers. Spoken like a truly successful franchise owner.

He’s also now the de-facto commodore of the Newport fleet, which itself is so iconic that the city’s manhole covers and public works vehicles now sport a logo of two 12s, hard on the wind. He helped rally enough boats and enthusiasm to stage the 12 Metre Worlds in 2023, drawing 10 boats—five classics and five moderns. It was a sight to behold and one he hopes to recreate again.

Eddleston’s racing plans for the boat include the 12 Metre World Championships in 2028, so he’s got a long way to go, with more boatwork, a better mast, new sails and mechanical upgrades to get the boat around the buoys better. Straight-line speed, perfect sets, dip-pole jibes and douses is what 12 Metre crewwork is all about.

“The power and beauty of these boats when they’re on the wind and the crew is working—it’s like an orchestra,” he says. Everybody knows what they’ve got to do at the right moment. It’s the most enchanting and powerful form of sailing I know.”

Now that Weatherly is properly marinated and the crewwork improving race by race, Eddleston’s aspirations are both pragmatic and idealistic. On the water, he is clear: under his watch, Weatherly is “first and foremost, a racing boat.” Charters still matter because he loves that the general public can experience the same sensation of sailing a 12 Metre that captured him. But the core of the program is competition. The North Americans and local regattas are not for trophies, but as check-ins for the Worlds.

And when the time comes to pass on his caretaker role, he says, he’ll be pleased to have passed on a boat that is better, stronger and faster than when he found her—just as Hill did. He happily imagines Weatherly sailing another half-century and beyond, still racing, still teaching, still thrilling people who have never stepped on a race boat before.

The post The Caretaker and His Classic 12 appeared first on Sailing World.

The New York YC’s American Magic was 0-2 with its America’s Cup challenges, and given its early eliminations from AC36 and AC37, the money burn rate was high and the return on investment low. It’s all par for the course with the America’s Cup. After decamping from Barcelona to the team’s base in Pensacola, Florida, there was plenty of lip service about another go at the Cup in Naples, Italy in 2028, but in October, what was a hard maybe became a hard pass.

They didn’t agree with the final Protocol or the defender’s proposed scheme to take management of the regatta out of the hands of Emirates Team New Zealand and into the hands of a quasi-independent governing body called the “America’s Cup Partnership.” With American Magic’s exit, for the first time in Cup history, there may be no American syndicate.

“After extensive engagement with the Defender, Challenger of Record and fellow teams, we’ve concluded that the present structure does not provide the framework for American Magic to operate a highly competitive and financially sustainable campaign for the 38th America’s Cup,” said Doug DeVos, American Magic owner, in a team statement. “We care deeply about the America’s Cup and what it represents. However, for a team committed to long-term excellence, alignment around financial viability and competitive performance is essential. At this time, we don’t believe those conditions are in place for American Magic to challenge.”

Terry Hutchinson, the team’s sailing director, says American Magic’s exit is more of a “hiatus” that will allow them to instead prioritize building “a sustainable platform for high-performance sailing in the United States.” While winning the America’s Cup was always the goal, Hutchinson says they can now focus on their parallel effort to build what they envision as a pipeline of top-level American sailors, designers, engineers and boatbuilders. The shift in priorities, Hutchinson adds, will also allow them to bolster the underperforming U.S. Olympic sailing program by diverting funds and resources to private organizations supporting athletes, including AmericaOne Racing and the Sailing Foundation of New York.

According to Hutchinson, American Magic’s issues with the Protocol and the America’s Cup Partnership primarily revolved around concerns with the event’s commercial structure and future governance, and specifically, what the team felt was the lack of a clear and sustainable financial model. American Magic sought a structure where investors could reasonably expect to recoup their investments within a couple of cycles, but found the proposed model too risky and not conducive to such a goal. The model, Hutchinson says, would require ongoing support from private individuals and yacht club members rather than evolving into a self-sustaining, profitable sporting entity.

SailGP, he says, has the right model, borrowing many of its elements straight from Formula 1’s playbook. And SailGP may well be in the team’s future.

The focus for American Magic and its skeleton crew of engineers, boat builders and sailors in Pensacola is to now take a measured and strategic approach to winding down its America’s Cup operations and assets. Hutchinson says that process includes evaluating the potential to support another American team, should one step up to fill the void, which is not likely at this point. “We would always be open to supporting another American team if somebody wanted to step forward and take it on,” he says. “But it’s not a small undertaking.”

Still, they’re not rushing to fire sale all of their AC assets either, which include a pair each of AC75 and AC40s, containers full of parts and spares, assorted gear and foil sets, not to mention priceless design and performance data and intellectual property. While now officially out of AC38, Hutchinson says they remain cautious and “prefer not to make hasty decisions that could close doors to future America’s Cup involvement.”

Instead, Hutchinson says, they intend to keep their foot wedged in the America’s Cup door and would conceivably field teams into the planned Women’s and Youth America’s Cup AC40 regattas—should American Magic be invited to race. “We want to be good stewards for the America’s Cup,” he says, so the plan is to wait, observe how the event evolves and keep the possibility open for a future return.

For now however, the Olympics, and custom boatbuilding, take precedence, and for this, there are ample resources at American Magic’s Pensacola base. Hutchinson stresses that the goal is to build on existing Olympic systems already in place with US Sailing and elsewhere, rather than disrupting them.

“I think the first way to make the connection is to not impede progress that is already happening,” he says. “There’s a great system already in place, so our role over the next two and a half years is to learn the system that they have and support it where we can. We should make sure that every US sailor that goes to the Olympics in a boat that is immaculately prepared and perfect.”

The post American Magic Shifts From the Cup to Cultivation appeared first on Sailing World.

There’s one moment from the 2023 Mini Transat Race that is seared into my memory. I was six days into the Atlantic, crossing alone on my 21-footer Terminal Leave. The trade winds were cranking and the boat was surfing along. I remember it vividly—tiller in one hand, mainsheet in the other, appendages humming as the boat accelerated down each wave. Nothing but wave tops and open sea in front of me. For hours everything felt perfectly in flow.

And then, in one explosive moment one of my rudders sheared off the transom. The boat rounded up violently, and I was suddenly in survival mode. Once I discovered that there was no water coming into the boat, I focused on the repair and diverted 300 nautical miles further south to Cabo Verde for a technical stopover. Without a satellite communication link to my shore team, it was on me and my Pilot book to find a port. Fortunately, or maybe through telepathy, I arrived at the correct dock that my girlfriend coordinated to have help available on a Saturday morning.

With the rudder repaired and remounted, I got back to it. Once at sea, alone again, I was reflecting on the previous 48 hours and reminded myself that I was racing for a larger purpose. Sure, getting to the finish was the point, but I was really out there to raise awareness for U.S. Patriot Sailing, the dear-to-my-heart non-profit that supports the veteran community navigate much bigger challenges than I could ever experience in my little boat.

The three years of commitment to that race was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I am truly grateful I had the opportunity to race amongst the now and future legends of the French solo offshore racing scene. I am frothing, ready to take it on again. But this time, I’m attacking the race with the most advanced boat I can get my hands on. A focused mindset and a renewed sense of purpose is driving me every day.

The Mini 6.50 fleet used for the race has evolved dramatically from its origin in 1977. Racing across the Atlantic every other year since has led to radical design advancements that eventually make their way to the larger IMOCA 60s of the Vendée Globe. The newest generation of foiling ocean-racing sailboats are rewriting what is known to be possible. Consider this: Nicomatic-Petit Bateau, a foiling Mini 6.50 Proto, broke a new distance record for 352.59 nautical miles in 24 hours during this year’s race. That confirms what many of us already know—the foiling Mini generation is an open invitation to blitz the course.

While I’ve been thinking a lot about what it would mean to participate in this race again from a performance perspective, rather than a mere participant, I’ve also thought about what the race represents for me. After a decade on active duty in the Marine Corps, the last Mini campaign was a bridge that helped me transition back into civilian life. Through that experience, U.S. Patriot Sailing was central to my journey. While my first campaign was about raising awareness for the organization, this next one is about expanding support so more veterans can access the same community that helped me.

When I began exploring what a second campaign might look like, one name kept surfacing: Samuel Manuard. Manuard is one of the most influential and forward-thinking French naval architects today, with a specialty in offshore shorthanded sailing. His designs range from Class40s, to the winning IMOCA in the recent Transat Café L’Or, and even the new generation of planing performance production boats for Beneteau. Simply put: His boats are fast.

In addition to his legendary designs, Manuard is approachable and responsive. Our relationship began with a simple e-mail, in English, and no introduction. From the outset, he believed in me and was transparent about the design process. In November 2024, we finally met in person, on the famous Vendée Globe pontoon next to Charal 2, just days before it was to set off on its non-stop race around the world. From that initial handshake, we were committed to working together. It was a surreal moment as I locked in this incredible yacht designer and knew I would be one day crossing the starting line on the newest generation Classe Mini 6.50.

In the Spring of 2025, my partner, Jane Millman, and I met again with Manuard in France where we spent hours talking through the design options. As he sketched what he thought the boat would look like, we talked through the pros and cons of specific features—and there are many. The campaign is now launched and construction is underway at JPS Production, in La Trinité-sur-Mer. It will be a state-of-the-art carbon flyer. This new prototype is the next evolution of Manuard’s foiling design, with a scow bow, large foils, twin T-foil rudders, a canting keel, rotating wing mast and deck sweeping mainsail.

There were certainly reservations and reflective moments as I committed to this project. A foiling Mini is an entirely different experience from my older RG 650. The learning curve will be steep. Mistakes will be obvious and costly. The speeds will be higher, the loads greater, and everything far more extreme. It’s more boat, more power, and more responsibility. But that’s also what makes this next chapter so exciting. The goal isn’t to simply complete the race; it’s to push the boundaries of design and maximize performance. Ultimately, my new mission is to win the Mini Transat.

The race starts in two years, but the race to get to the starting line began long ago. The build, testing, training, qualification races, preparation, and refinements will be wrapped into a relentless campaign. This time, I understand the process better. I know what weeks at sea alone feels like and how fatigue creeps into decision making. I am far more mature and know how to stay disciplined when the weather doesn’t cooperate or a routing choice doesn’t pan out.

My expectations are high but grounded. I know I will need to adapt to this new foiling platform, refine my boathandling and understand the complex systems on this boat. I’m ready to put in the work as I focus on this campaign full time and bring onboard with me the more than 700 U.S. Patriot Sailing participants across multiple states. With locations on both coasts, and two new teams located in Seattle and Tacoma, Washington, the impact and reach of this organization continues to expand. The organization continues to provide veterans with community and a renewed sense of purpose supporting each other, which often disappears after taking off the uniform. While solo sailing is a lonely challenge, the difficulties faced after returning from combat deployments or transitioning to civilian life are far more isolating for many veterans.

The foiling element is fitting, for this new campaign is an opportunity to give back at a higher level. It is a platform to raise awareness and to increase support. By helping the organization expand programs and create new opportunities for veterans, there is a bright future for the veteran community this team supports. If I have learned anything over the past few years, it’s that purpose is what gets me through tough miles.

The next two years will be demanding, humbling and exhilarating, but all of it will be worth it. While I’m excited for the race to come, I’m more eager to share the highs and lows, and to inspire. In two years, I will be at sea, savoring my victories and facing my failures. I will be alone in my foiler, propelled by wind and a patriot’s purpose.

The post The American Sailor Intent on Foiling Across the Atlantic appeared first on Sailing World.

As I’ve traveled around the country over the years visiting yacht clubs and community sailing centers big and small, I’ve observed an extraordinary amount of perfectly good raceboats sitting idle on their trailers, racks and moorings. It’s easy to tell which ones don’t get used very often, their owners likely at home and thinking about the happier times when they bought the boat with aspirations of using it frequently and maybe even winning a few races.

Either life gets in the way, or in the case of many older one-designs, when new classes come on to the scene, older ones tend to fade away. Too often, remaining boats don’t have a place on the racing schedule, a spark plug to keep the fleet active or a community to rally. This sad and all too common sight of lonely crafts is often a result of too many types of boats in one area but access to the water and easy storage and launching are other barriers that I often hear about.

But there is an easy remedy to get small boats and their owners back on the water, and it’s been available to us for a long time. I am, of course, talking about Portsmouth Yardstick handicap racing. It’s a fundamental tool that can be used to rejuvenate a local fleet of small boats, and it’s an important step in helping to keep dinghy racing alive in the U.S.

Keelboats of different designs race successfully using a variety of handicap rules. Currently in the US, we have Offshore Rating Council (ORC), Performance Handicap Racing Fleet (PHRF), Offshore Rating Rule (ORR) and a few other options. These handicap rules are primarily suited for larger keelboats, but not smaller one-designs or one-offs. These empirical rules are easy to use and are based on experience and observation and handicaps are calculated by using the performance results of different boats. A yacht club or sailing association looking to get more small boats on the water should try using the empirical Portsmouth handicap system to encourage sailors to get their lonely boats back racing.

At a recent regatta, Charlie Enright, the new chief executive officer of US Sailing, witnessed the potential of Portsmouth racing and agreed more can be done to showcase and embrace it.

“At the Archipelago Rally in Rhode Island you show up with your boat and the ‘rating czar’ assigns you a rating associated with the Portsmouth Yardstick,” Enright says. “It’s a pursuit race with a staggered start that allows people with all kinds of boats to race together on the same racecourse in a fun and meaningful way.

“No one complained about their handicap because it was more about participation. You would be surprised how often it is used on lakes and in Middle America. We (US Sailing) are trying to gather data on how many people use it.”

US Sailing publishes a North American edition of the Portsmouth Yardstick Rating Rule booklet (available online) featuring the ratings of a wide variety of sailing craft and Henry Brauer, president of US Sailing, says the organization already has the tools in place. “The Portsmouth system is ready to go for most one-design boats,” he says. “We are encouraging orphan one-design boats that are no longer supported to give Portsmouth a try. We have to make it easy for sailors to participate.”

The Portsmouth Yardstick system has been in place since 1946. It was first developed in England for racing dinghies. The title “Portsmouth” refers to the Portsmouth Harbour Racing and Sailing Association, which supported the work of Stanley Milledge, the local handicapper. At the time, regatta results were tabulated by the Royal Yachting Association, giving each class a handicap based on the collective performance of boats over the course of a season. The word “yardstick” is used to define the time allowance between a designated boat compared with a variety of other classes.

In “The Centennial History of the United States Sailing Association,” published in 1997, Commodore Harry Anderson wrote, “Portsmouth Numbers were imported from Great Britain in the early 1960s. The Thistle Class was used as the yardstick to compare its performance to other classes.” In the publication Anderson also notes that a mix of one-designs can race together using the Portsmouth Numbers (PN). “Imported from the British and adapted for North American (weather) conditions the PN handicaps classes for one-of-kind boats based on the submission of race results by clubs and fleets.”

The perennial challenge for sailing administrators, however, is how to handicap sailboats without factoring in the ability of the skippers and crews. In other sports, such as golf, handicaps are determined by a golfer’s score. In golf it is the athlete that is rated, while in sailing it is the boat that is handicapped. Empirical handicapping, however, does work when you average out the results of many boats over time. The different skill levels of sailors are evened out by using a large sample.

Yacht clubs and regatta organizers can easily add a Portsmouth division to a scheduled regatta or for a weeknight or frostbite series. The result could be a starting line filled with an eclectic fleet of boats raced by enthusiastic sailors. A sailor would not have to buy the latest equipment and spend a large sum to be competitive. Just dust off the old boat and head out on to the racecourse.

In the 1960s and 1970s, Yachting magazine hosted its “One-of-a-Kind Regatta,” which compared the performance of a wide variety of boats. It was quite a scene to observe a fleet of dinghies charging off a starting line with every boat different from the others. Performance capabilities and differences were soon apparent.

The racing was fascinating, whereas every boat seemed to have strong points and often an obvious weakness. Some boats were better in light wind, others in a stiff breeze. Some boats excelled upwind while others thrived when sailing downwind. The event was intriguing because the sailors learned how their boat performed relative to other craft. After racing, discussions among the sailors comparing notes were always interesting. There was no handicap allowance. Bragging rights belonged to the boat that finished first.

While the US Sailing Portsmouth Yardstick booklet lists dozens of classes and PN numbers that have been in existence for ages, creating an equitable handicap for newer and more modern designs is difficult. Recognizing that all boats perform differently, depending on the breeze, handicap ratings are adjusted for wind strength. Each class is listed in the handbook with a Time Correction Factor. A “time-on-time” scoring system is used. In the U.S., the scale is the number 100. Corrected time is calculated by multiplying elapsed time by the scale, and that result is divided by the assigned Time Correction Factor (which is listed in the US Sailing booklet). For those who appreciate a simple formula, Portsmouth’s is simply: Corrected time equals elapsed time multiplied by the Scale/Handicap.

The desire to create fair handicap rating systems has been elusive, but since 1906 there have been many attempts to fairly handicap boats of different sizes. The perfect system may never be found, yet sailors must continue to optimize their boats and sail perfect races. This is what brings everyone to the starting line.

Handicap rules that are based on velocity prediction programs and complex formulas are difficult to administer. Consequently, owners have spent fortunes trying to gain an edge over the competition. The advantage of an empirical rating system is that the handicap is based on actual performance and this is why PHRF and Portsmouth Yardstick have remained popular over the decades. Still, while PHRF is well known, Portsmouth remains under the radar.

Two books have helped me unravel the handicap rating conundrum. One of them is “Men Against the Rule: A Century of Progress in Yacht Design” by Dr. Charles Lane Poor, The Derrydale Press. First published in 1937 as a limited edition of 950 copies that dissected the handicap rating rules of the era, Dr. Poor provides the reader with multiple stories of yacht owners commissioning naval architects to find “loopholes” in the rules to gain an advantage. It is fascinating to read about the triumphs and failures of design.

In 1997, author Peter Johnson published “Yacht Racing: 170 Years of Speed, Success and Failure Against Competitors—and the Clock.” In the book, Johnson expounds upon Dr. Poor’s narrative: “It is a story that produces classic racing winners, distorted freaks, sharp controversy and disputed results, but always fascination for the participant in, and the observer of, yacht racing.”

With the help of years of race results and data, the Portsmouth Yardstick system works well today, so sailors should embrace the opportunity to race—or simply just sail their boats with fellow like-minded small-craft sailors.

I am personally fascinated with racing boats of different sizes and shapes. I appreciate that, if my boat is slower on handicap, then my tactics revolve around finding clear air and avoiding being blanketed by larger boats. On the other hand, when I’m sailing a bigger and faster boat, I look for a clear lane and try to take advantage of puffs and wind shifts early in the race. Over the course of a season, I try to race on boats of different sizes to help me work on different strategies. I find the intellectual challenge one of the most interesting things about racing sailboats. Encourage your friends to get that neglected but back on the water.

The post Get More Racers on the Water with Portsmouth Racing appeared first on Sailing World.

“One thing that I love about distance racing is the 10-minute victories,” says Jaime Mack, a few hours into the 2025 Round the County Race.

This annual two-day event organized by the Orcas Island YC and the Friday Harbor Sailing Club circumnavigates the islands comprising Washington State’s San Juan County with a Saturday night stopover in Roche Harbor on San Juan Island. The 65 nautical-mile race regularly attracts triple-digit fleets and unfurls in early November, with even-numbered years rounding clockwise and odd-numbered years taking a counterclockwise course.

The direction matters, of course, because the waters surrounding the San Juans have notoriously strong currents that can leave a fleet parked up or inverted, especially when someone forgets to ply the wind machine with enough Benjamins. Much like the 2025 race.

I consider Mack’s words as we slowly fetch Matia Island, maybe 10 miles into our 34 nautical-mile first leg. While November in the Pacific Northwest is often wet and stormy, and always dark, this particular weekend is a stunner: bluebird skies, sunshine and warm temperatures.

Better still, our skipper Justin Wolfe has assembled a great crew consisting of Ben and Jen Morgan Glass, and Andy and Jaime Mack aboard Ripple (in still water), his Paul Bieker-designed Riptide 35. We’ve never sailed together as a crew, and most of us are new to the boat, but Ripple is well-prepared, and our logistics are carefully sorted.

There are just two hiccups: foul currents and a dearth of breeze.

Still, we’ve had our wins.

Take, for example, the first “chapter” from the starting area at Lydia Shoal, in Rosario Strait, to Point Lawrence, Orcas Island’s northeastern-most point. The smart money, at least temporarily, wagers on the course’s western edge, while we find ourselves milking a thin kelp- and rock-dodging breeze that carries us east, then north.

Flash forward two hours, and we’re slatting in lumpy waves next to other boats that started with us, temporarily looked smarter, only to be (closely) examining our sheer line or transom at this next restart.

I savor this 10-minute victory, as the rest of the day looks challenging.

The Round the County Race has a long history of temperamental winds, so the Sailing Instructions require boats to record their times at the legs’ halfway points, perchance it becomes impossible to finish the complete legs by the 1800 cutoff.

Such is our fate aboard Ripple, as it becomes clear by 1430 that our objective is evolving from finishing the leg to fetching the halfway mark by its 1600 deadline.

Still, math is math, and the VHF calls start at around 1530. We aren’t happy to announce our own retirement 10 minutes later, but the last 2 miles will be someone else’s 10-minute victory.

We tuck Ripple into its berth three hours later, and the reason for the race’s strong local following refocuses: Sailors, bundled in winter jackets, mingle on the docks with libations and victuals. There are a few groans about the day’s breeze, of course, but most scuttlebutt that I overhear involves sunshine and warm temperatures. This is my fifth time doing this race, and every year is different, from torrential rains to big breeze to frigid temperatures, but the race is (usually) good sailing, has a laid-back vibe, and the chance to hang with friends in Roche Harbor are—for me—its gravity.

We nail our boat-end start the following morning, and we assume a windward lane as we reach toward San Juan Island’s Hanbury Point. Our A1.5 spinnaker is pulling, and after yesterday, 7 knots of Speed Over Ground feels big.

We shift gears several times between the J1.5 and the A1.5 and commit to an offshore lane that gives us fine views of San Juan Island’s western shoreline. Jibing Ripple’s kite is easy in the 10 to 15 knot breeze, and the boat’s water-ballast system, combined with our active crew ballasting, keeps us rumbling.

Mount Baker’s glaciated summit appears as we reach San Juan Island’s southern flanks, and, eventually, the leg’s halfway point. But as we pass Colville Island, in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the missing Benjamins again become problematic.

We push up Rosario Strait, bucking a 2-knot current and hanging onto increasingly fickle fingers of wind with Ripple’s A1.5.

Mack’s words about 10-minute victories play out again as our section of the fleet negotiates Bird Rocks. We opt for a westerly routing, but for a pregnant hour, the smart move looks to have been the easterly line. Jen Morgan Glass, our tactician, and Wolfe work some magic, linking scuffed-up stretches of brine amongst swaths of greasy-looking saline, while the rest of us keep the sails—and mood—trimmed.

It works, sort of.

Our position, which had been looking bearish, transitions into another 10-minute win, before the bottom falls out. Flow detaches from our foils, and nothing budges our SOG above zeros. Painful.

Mountaineers say the final 5 feet are the crux of any climb, and this truism resonates as we stare at the finishing line for what feels like hours. We’re talking frisbee range, but bow stems are all that matter.

And we’re not alone: the nearby fleet compresses, all of us parked, as we rifle through headsails and kites. All options hang limply as the sun slouches west.

We drift toward the finish line in a tight scrum-cum-rulebook-knowledge-melee. We finally catch the RC’s finishing whistle and clear out, making room for others who are still fighting for their final five feet.

The day’s bonnet blue sky fades to black as stars and a waning gibbous moon punctuate our delivery back to the Orcas Island YC. I burrow into my down jacket and consider how celebrating 10-minute victories helps to justify hours of hard work while also distributing the day’s dividends more widely across the fleet than mere award-ceremony hardware.

Granted, it would be nice to use some of these dividends to bribe next year’s wind machine, but it wouldn’t be a full value Round the County Race without restarts, challenging currents, kelp, and the tapping of local knowledge.

But hey, at least it didn’t rain.

The post The Allure and Agony of Seattle’s Round-the-County appeared first on Sailing World.

His tan has long since faded, but Paul Nuechterlein still can’t get the smile off his face from that time when he, his son Ross, a crew of his best mates and a mothership catamaran full of rowdy racer-chasers won the regatta of their lives.

The regatta was, of course, the Helly Hansen Sailing World Regatta Series Championship in the British Virgin Islands. Months earlier, Nuechterlein and his friends on Never Alone had won their Cal 25 division at the series’ Detroit stop, which scored them a championship berth, a 42-foot bareboat monohull from Sunsail and six days of Caribbean vacation racing.

The unknowns they had to top for the title included Jeff Padnos’ S2 7.9 aces (K2) from Holland, Michigan; Craig Roehl’s Tartan 10 Meat entourage from Chicago; Carolyn Corbett and her Elektra squad of IOD and Viper 640 sailors from Marblehead; and Brad Tindall and Greg Turman’s J/105-racing Texans on TNT. Rounding out the fleet was veteran pro George Szabo from Quantum Sails San Diego. He had nine souls crammed onboard his vessel, three of them pre-teen girls.

K2, Meat, TNT and Never Alone were each sporting motherships laden with friends, so the flotilla was indeed a grand one when it set off from Sunsail’s base in Road Town, Tortola. The itinerary for the racers was simple: Day 1, race around a bunch of islands. Day 2, race to a resort. Day 3, enjoy a lay day at said resort. Day 4, race to a pool, a deserted island and then a dance floor. Day 5, sprint to another anchorage and then buoy race through its mooring field. It would all end with awards on the beach and cannonballs from the upper deck of the legendary Willy T.

That was the plan, and the crew of Never Alone was ready for it. Upon winning their berth back in June, they did what all good race teams do: recon. They got tips on how to locally source materials for a whisker pole, how to get maximum speed from their untunable bareboat and how to get around and through the BVI’s towering islands.

“There was a lot of information available to us to find out which islands we would be sailing to and how to trick out the boat a little bit,” says Ron Sherry the greatest American iceboat racer of our time and Never Alone’s all-purpose crewmember, “what we would need to bring to make our whisker pole and trimming aids and all that kind of stuff.”

They arrived in Tortola with a veritable chandlery of hardware, tools and ropes. And lo and behold, the planning immediately paid off. They had a decent start in the first race, a circumnavigation of the islands Cooper, Ginger and Salt, which at one point had them calling for water at reefs awash.

“We had to really hug the shore with the crashing waves and there were three boats all trying to get as close to those rocks as possible,” says Ross Nuechterlein, Never Alone’s captain for the week. “That was nerve wracking.”

Overlapped as they rounded the top of Ginger Island and turned downwind toward the finish, Never Alone’s preparation was on display. The 14-foot 2×4 they’d crafted into a whisker pole was working its magic, as was its handler, Ken Swetka. They had a sophisticated contraption with multiple handy-billies that gave them multidimensional control of the floppy jib’s profile.

They almost pipped Szabo and his team at the shortened finish.

“Another couple of hundred feet,” says trimmer Tom Dawson, “and we would have had them.”

The next morning, following a morning scramble through the boulders of The Baths—the BVI’s iconic natural wonder—the race committee dispatched the sailors and motherships to their second destination: The Bitter End Yacht Club.

In preparing for this leg, Sherry had called a friend who knew the area well, and his advice was well taken. “He said, ‘just look for the puffs and stay where the pressure is,’” Sherry says.

With another decent start, Never Alone’s navigator Tom Dawson nailed the layline to the first reef, then did the same to the next set of islands—skirting their 10-foot fathom—and then called a perfect layline into Virgin Gorda Sound from a million miles out.

Buoyed by their race win, they were intent on dominating the Hobie Wave racing at Bitter End YC (the race committee didn’t bother recording finishes), the Mount Gay Rum drink recipe contest (close, but no) and the SUP-tow surf challenge (maybe, but again “scoring issues” prevailed). Still they and the flotilla devoured all that Bitter End and Virgin Gorda offered for the lay day: snorkeling reefs, winging off the beach, windsurfing and nighttime tomfoolery.

The idle hours of the lay day, however, were torture for Szabo, who couldn’t put a finger on what was off with his boat. Naturally, he sought advice from the guy winning the regatta. It didn’t help.

“I was standing on the back of our boat at the dock and George was beside himself,” Nuechterlein recalls. “He came over and said, ‘You gotta help me out. There’s something wrong with our boat—the rudders don’t line up. They’re not parallel.’

“So, he then asks, ‘do you mind just going on your wheel and moving it back and forth?’

“I did while he was walking back and forth looking at my rudders. And then he finally says, “Hmm, yours don’t line up either.”

Never Alone carried their mojo straight into the next day’s race to the pit-stop pool at Scrub Island Resort and Marina. To get there, they had to short-tack their way out of Virgin Gorda Sound before weaving through more islands where they once again found themselves nip-and-tuck with Szabo and his family. The San Diegans got the win at Scrub, but Never Alone returned the favor with a runaway victory in afternoon’s second race to Sandy Cay.

With the overall results confirming the top three boats mere points apart, the championship’s final leg was a win-or-lose deal for the Detroiters. To win, they had to first navigate the current-and wind shift-riddled Great Thatch Cut. The Cut is divided by a tall island, so there were only two strategic choices: leave it to starboard and run the gauntlet or leave it to port and work the St. John’s shore.

The latter option rarely works, but Szabo went for it. As did Never Alone, the two of them split from the leaders as they entered the cut. Szabo, however, centered on the rhumb line too early while Never Alone kissed St. John’s and slam-dunked the fleet with truly astonishing upwind boatspeed.

They had their Sunsail 42 smoking. Having applied their own telltales to both the mainsail and the jib was crucial, as was their trimming technique and the use of their handy-billies.

“The jib tracks on these boats are too far forward and too far inboard,” Swetka says. “It’s perfect for ergonomically walking around the boat with a bathing suit on, but it’s ridiculous for racing. So, when we were going upwind I always pulled the jib outboard and back a little bit.”

Ross Nuechterlein, alone at the helm, had his work cut out keeping the boat up to speed, but his Cal 25 skills were well applied.

“Anytime you start pinching with these boats, you just completely stop,” he says. “When you load them up to get moving out of a tack you can really feel the whole boat going sideways.”

As a first-time helmsman of a 42-foot charter boat, he adds, it was especially good having his wife Karly in the middle. “On the Cal, you have two people behind you and one person right in front of you so you can hear what everyone’s saying,” he says. “But not on this boat, so it was great to have her there funneling information to me about what’s going on at the front of the boat.”

The buoy racing portion in The Bight at Norman Island was ultimately a one-race dud, but Never Alone won that one too, and so, before shot-skis, jumps and another late night with their new friends on the Meat mothership, they were crowned Caribbean Champions. And there, on the sands of Norman Island, emerged the mile-long smile that is stuck on Nuechterlein’s face.

The post How <i>Never Alone</i> Won the Caribbean Regatta Championship appeared first on Sailing World.

Here is a reason why Dragonfly owners are okay with waiting two years or more to get their hands on the new 36. Everyone that has tested it agrees: It’s a multihuller’s dream boat. “Exhilarating” is the one word that BOTY judge Monica Morgan came away with after a windy session on the 36.

“It was such a joy to sail,” she says. It was effortless to sail in 25 knots under a big main at full hoist. Proper winches and everything led correctly into the cockpit, tails disappear into lockers. “It was fast and stable, and felt so safe and bulletproof,” she adds. “It wasn’t hitting waves, it was just cruising through them. The helm felt amazingly light, and everything was just so simple, but it made sense, and it is so classy.”

Dragonfly’s Jens Quorning, a master of his craft, confidently says the Dragonfly 36  is the best they’ve ever done. “Up in the bows we have some new modern tricks with the wave-piercing center hull bow. We’ve got more buoyancy there, and more buoyancy forward in the floats. It is really hard to force it down.”

That also allows him to pile on the sail area and have fun. He’s especially keen about the electric Code Zero furler that “introduces more fun sailing and allows our owners to go out and do 20 knots, easily.”

The rig towers 60 feet above the deck, which Quorning says is “probably the tallest mast on any 36-foot production boat, for sure.” He adds that he and his like-minded owners like a lot of sail area. “With a more intelligent hull design, you want to push it hard, and especially downwind,” Quorning says. “With the right buoyancy right where you want it, you can push up the speedometer.”

Dobbs Davis, our panel’s big-boat guru, felt the same way: “It was blowing 30, the helm was so gentle and balanced. With the weather ama just kissing the wavetops, the sensation was amazing. It just wanted to keep going faster, slicing through the water really nicely.”

With a centerboard in the center hull, Davis adds, the boat tacked just as well as a monohull, and with electric winches available, the jib wind was easy. The code zero can go in and out all day, especially when the hydrogenator and solar panels are topping off the batteries.

The overall bigness of the boat and the beautiful composite work of the beams, the coamings and the interior give the immediate impression of a bigger boat. “I felt like I was on a 40-footer,” Davis says. “Part of that is stability, but it’s the center hull form as well. The whole thing is exceptionally engineered and the details beautifully executed, including the cabinetry. I know there was a lot of tooling that went into that, so what’s amazing to me is the amount of effort it takes to make that right.”

The judges noted the boat feeling light for its size. Quorning says that’s because he’s finally been able to shed the weight of heavy steel fittings in the folding system. All parts are now composite, all of it done in-house, vacuum-infused vinylester and carbon in the bulkheads and beams.

When folded, the beam is roughly 12 feet, great for storage and slip life. And liveaboard is definitely possible for extended fast getaways. And that’s why Quorning is also proud of what they’ve accomplished with the 36’s interior. They’ve managed to bump out the center hull enough to create space and accommodations that, he says, is on par with most modern 40-footers. All the sails, toys, bikes and gear go into the floats.

“There is tons of headroom, the head is lovely, and the aft cabin is really spacious,” Morgan says. “It was all so functional down below, everything had its place and fit really well.”

The engine is aft, under the cockpit, and the sail drive is not below the belly of the boat, Quorning says. “It gives us more freedom and more space in the main cabin. Less smell, less noise in the cabin.”

To its value and quality, Quorning is transparent about his Dragonflys being perceived as expensive. But building in Denmark is expensive, and quality comes with a price. “It’s a high-tech product with a lot of man-hours,” he says. “But we sell a lot of boats because people really admire our boats.”

Judge Mike Ingham would second that, and if he had the funds, he’d seriously consider buying one and giving the Scandinavian multihull racing circuit a go.

“It’s just such a classy boat, really well made, really functional, something you’d want to own, if you could afford it,” says Ingham. “Its stated purpose is to be a fast, safe, comfortable, offshore cruiser-racer, and it just knocks it out of the park in my mind.”

When we sailed with Quorning in October he shared that there were 35 owners in the queue already. And widely praised throughout Europe, the wait now extends well beyond 2028. It’s no surprise the Dragonfly 36 is in demand.

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