Here’s an idea. Let’s take everyone’s idea of a normal sailboat race and turn it on its head. First thing we’ll do is have it in the middle of winter. On the coldest day, in fact. Next, let’s get rid of anything hoity-toity-yachty. We’ll invite everyone, from owners of heavy, gaff-rigged non-racing boats to dinghies and board-boats, and no protests are allowed. So, you might see a dainty 20-footer named Underdog nipping at the heels of a 49-foot sled named Sir Isaac whose skipper, winning for the fourth time, quips, “I guess I’m just doomed to win.” Let’s get race committee members acting as judges to position their two rigid inflatables at various marks to watch for spinnaker wraps and other mishaps while commenting, “Ahhhh, carnage, nice.”

Now for the prizes. Instead of a silver winner’s cup, let’s have a genuine wooden peg leg for first place and require the winner to wear it as a handicap in next year’s race. Finally, let’s all have free beer and pizza afterward, at the Northwest Maritime Center. Sound good?

The annual Shipwright’s Regatta on February 25th saw 30 boats tacking and gybing hither and yon, with a few occasionally asking where the course was, or saying things like, “I thought we’d just keep going around until everyone else stopped.” That little gem won the gaff schooner Emerald the Whak-O-Matic Award, for the best use of misspent energy. The five souls who womanned the lovely but low-in-the-water double-ender Havhasten richly deserved the Golden Trident Award for saltiest crew.

One of the more difficult tasks for the race committee was deciding on who should win the Directional Helmet Award, for the boat that missed a mark or otherwise had trouble navigating the course, but Erin came through in fine style. If we had an award for the most starts, she’d get it. Amid some confusion at the line, she started once, decided to re-start, then came back just to make sure, and ended up (we think) racing in a class all her own. Well done, lads. There was much more jollity, but the solo skipper of the almost-submarine Orange Soda summed up the spirit of the regatta when asked, what kind of boat is that? He said “I don’t know!” And promptly won the Wet Ass Award.

As a 20-foot Flicka skipper put it, “It’s the race that most resonates with me.”

by Karen Sullivan