FBYC History......
Last month you read here of George Wayne Anderson’s 1963 preparations to campaign his 40-ft yacht Allons in the Annapolis-Newport Race of that year. Allons was a wooden yawl with, of course, no Loran, GPS, VHS, radar, or other navigational electronics that we take for granted today. Navigation was the product of eyesight, celestial sights with a sextant and mechanical timepiece, pure dead reckoning, and luck. Needless to say, this lack of modern aids could result in some perilous, and sometimes comical, situations in blue water racing during earlier eras.

Annapolis-Newport Race George Wayne Anderson

“Bless all the B...” It was slow punching out this old sailing song in Morse Code on a flashlight, but the roar of delight that came back over a quarter of a mile of ocean made it the highlight of the Newport Race. Earlier Parke Smith had shone a light at the Navy yawl Annie D just to see if we could possibly see her and, before we knew it, they were snapping at us with an Aldis lamp. We started off with sailing song titles and, before long, had a real conversation going.

Allon - 1965

For three days, the Atlantic has been glassy and we needed some diversion from the constant sail changes. Earlier that Tuesday afternoon, we had drifted past the Annie D and asked them to join us at happy hour if they could catch us. Judy Beaty, chief of the galley, got a deserved chorus of whistles when she appeared on deck, for then, the boats were not fifty feet apart. It was the beginning of a friendship that should prove lasting.

My thumb had gotten tired and the conversation had drifted off, when our attention was attracted to some lights coming up from behind. This thing was really moving, and within a couple of minutes, it was there – not more than one hundred yards away. It was somewhat akin to having New York City drive by at about thirty miles and hour. Probably the Queen of Bermuda, but she didn’t stop for formalities. She was quite a sight to see and even the Annie D was back with her Aldis, wanting to know what it was. We hardly had time to translate the message before the wake hit, and it took a good fifteen minutes to get everything back together again. We hung on for dear life as sails went everywhere. The spinnaker tore loose but, luckily, no damage was done.

As you know, the race began in Annapolis Saturday June 22nd and, on the insistence of Commodore Pratt of the New York Yacht Club, a reverse start was used. Many have held the feeling that the Annapolis to Newport was really two races rolled into one, and Commodore Pratt felt that such a start was a way toward equalizing the boats. The smallest boats started at 10:00 AM Saturday morning with larger ones following at hourly intervals. The largest got the gun at 5:00 PM, seven hours later. In theory, all boats would get to the Chesapeake Lightship at the same time and, lo and behold, if it didn’t happen. Unfortunately there was no wind at the Lightship, or elsewhere for that matter, but one rarely sees such a populated piece of ocean. Eight-eight boats with multi-colored spinnakers under a beautiful blue sky rival a Hollywood spectacular.

It had been slow in the Bay, but still we got around the Lightship 7 hours ahead of our time two years ago, and everything augured for a delightful downhill slide. That is, until someone turned off the fan. To call it a race from that point on was wishful thinking. To see our crew work would have done an old salt’s heart good. No one ever sat still. If the wind did not fill the sails, they were held out by hand to catch the slightest zephyr. It is unbelievable, but for four days in the Ocean, we sailed from cat’s paw to cat’ paw. Our only breezes came in the late afternoon or night and in one twenty-four hour period, I believe we turned in a resounding 25 miles. At one point, Andy Sinnickson dropped a match off the bow and timed its progress to the stern. After a little multiplication and division, he came up with the cheering news that we would arrive in Newport in 15 days.

Allons carries a fantastic number of lines when all of her light sails are flying and the Port Watch under Doug Gordon took a fantastic glee in securing them in the most impossible places, especially before the watch changed at 2:00 AM. We would come on half-awake in the pitch blackness to be greeted by howls of glee as we tried to trace down the lines. Sheets that were normally sheeted aft we found tied to the mast or the pulpit. They even invented two new terms that should be added to your nautical dictionary: a “fang” and a “poop vang.” Of course, your voice should crack on “poop” if you wish to give it its proper inflection. A fang is a vang that leads forward, and a poop vang, obviously, is a vang that leads aft, towards the poop deck. Brilliant tacticians that Port Watch! However, one member of that group of geniuses did break up the boat with one of his antics. The spinnaker sheet was always hand held so it could be trimmed on a moment’s notice. Obviously, this was a confining activity and not one of the most sought-after jobs. Well, at one point, the spinnaker started to curl and the helmsman called for trimming. Nothing happened, and the cry went up to trim the spinnaker. Not only couldn’t we find the man on the sheet, we couldn’t even find the sheet. After a moment, an innocent face appeared in the companionway and asked what was wrong. When told, the face said, “Oh”, and gave a tug on the line he held in his hand. Our Chief Medical Officer and current spinnaker trimmer, Sonny Wells, had gone below to get something to eat taking the sheet with him. He saw nothing unusual about it, but we enjoyed his embarrassment immensely.

Passing Block Island Wednesday night, we had probably the best sail of the Race and our only excitement. We had a beautiful breeze off our port beam and were boiling along under the spinnaker. Point Judith was ahead and its lights were confusing us. They were so bright that we had trouble identifying the navigational aids. Added to this was a tug with two lights on its masthead, indicating a tow. Where was the tow? The tug crossed our bow, but no tow. Hitting the cable at that speed would be no fun even if it didn’t take the masts with it, so up into the wind we came. Whether the guy had a tow or not, we’ll never know, but the spinnaker almost ripped the boat to pieces while we were waiting to find out.

Dawn found us just off the finish line in an ocean that resembled a picket fence. Everyone was charging to the line, but once they got there, they seemed to stop. We soon found out why. One hundred yards from the line was a line of calm and a foul tide. We were fortunate; it only took us 20 minutes to cover the distance. An earlier boat had taken well over an hour. Ocean racing has its frustrations. It also has its challenges. As you face them, you see your fellow crewmen as they really are and know them better. When the gun booms in 1965, we will be there.