Sailing the Competitive Seas
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| by William B. Conerly |
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I picked up my beer at the yacht club's bar, then went out on
the deck to watch the last few boats come in. It had been a good
day's sailing for us: we finished the race in the middle of the
fleet, but we had a couple of new stories to tell. When John grabbed
the chair next to me, I was all set to talk about the wind shift that
had helped us at the end. John, though, had other interests.
"Tell me, Doctor, what are we going to do about these Japanese
imports?" John asked.
I sail on the weekends; Monday through Friday I'm an economist
for a local company. Even though I love economics, I didn't want to
spend the whole cocktail hour talking about it.
"Did you do the race to Drake's Bay three years ago?" I asked.
Without waiting for his answer I began my story.
"After we rounded the point and turned north, a light fog set
in. It wasn't thick enough to be dangerous, but we couldn't see the
other boats."
"I remember that one," John said. "I never did figure out where
the wind was that day, but everyone else seemed to find it. I think
I was third from last."
I continued: "After about two hours we happened to sail close
enough to another boat to see her. It was Fred's boat, which is
pretty competitive with ours. We sailed side by side, about a
hundred yards apart, and she was pulling away from us."
"You should have been able to keep up with her," John said.
"You've beaten her plenty of times."
"That's what we thought. So we started looking around and
decided to ease the Cunningham a bit."
Racking a sailboat isn't as simple as letting the wind catch the
sails and push it along. The sails are airfoils, like airplane
wings, but with an added complication: being made of fabric, the
curvature of the sails isn't fixed in place. We have thirteen
separate controls that will change the sail's shape in one way or
another. The Cunningham is one of those thirteen.
"It was hard to tell at first, but it looked like we were no
longer losing to her. We put two good fellows on the sheets -- and
we started to gain ground. We even got a little ahead of her."
John asked if we had kept our lead. We hadn't. After we got
moving a bit faster, the other boat picked up speed. It took them
20 minutes to find the trick, and I don't know what they did; but
just as we were feeling confident, they got their boat moving
definitely faster than ours.
"Rob started to look up at the mainsail. You know how he's so
quiet; he softly said, 'Maybe there's too much mast bend. Can we let
off on the backstay a bit?' The mast looked fine to me, but on the
rare occasions when Rob talks, we all listen. We eased the backstay
a little, and then watched the speedometer. We picked up a tenth of
a knot in no time, and started to gain on them."
"Sounds like a game of leapfrog," John remarked.
"It was. Pretty soon we couldn't find any more gains out of
sail trim. But watching Fred's boat helped us spot a tired helmsman
right away. I had been steering for 45 minutes when they pulled out
on us. I felt fine, or thought I did, but when Murphy took the wheel
he brought our speed right back up."
"How did you finish the race?"
"First and second. Turns out we were the only two boats to have
been in sight of anyone else for most of the race. We got the
second, which is too bad, but that was one of our best finishes the
whole summer."
"It sounds to me like you have that other boat to thank for your
good finish, even if they did beat you."
"Exactly. The speedometer tells you how fast you are going, but
it doesn't tell you how fast you could be going. You need a
competitor to tell you if you have greater potential. It's easy to
think that you're doing your best, but usually you aren't.
"Besides," I continued, "we were able to learn a trick from him.
When the wind turned light and we were wallowing in the swells, we
saw that he had vanged his boom down hard. We weren't used to doing
that, but we gave it a try and it helped.
"All the other crews thought they were doing their best, but
they couldn't see the other boats because of the fog. I know most of
the other crews and they're not lazy. It's just hard to be fast when
you're out there by yourself."
John finished his beer and stood up. "Well, Doctor, I've got to
run. Thanks for the story. But I really would like to sit down some
time and talk with you about the danger of foreign competition."
"I thought that's what we've been talking about," I replied.
Dr. Conerly is an economist in Portland, Oregon, where he races his
sailboat, Leading Indicator.