Imagine butterflies metamorphosing –– but in reverse. One by one, brightly-colored creatures alight and begin removing their orange and yellow vests, their chartreuse-and-black drysuits, scarlet wetsuits, gloves, booties.
They are encrusted with salt. Their swollen, water-softened hands quiver. They struggle with zips and buckles, sometimes having to stop for a revivifying sip of nectar.
But they finally peel their waterproofing cocoons and emerge at Key Largo: smaller, barer, larval. The transformation needs only a blast of the hot shower and some hours of sleep before, voilá! they transform into human caterpillars again, full of stories and potential, committed to mowing some vittles.
Off Cape Sable, as Spawn of Frankenscot skitters along under spinnaker a, a 5-foot-long tarpon lifts itself clear of the surface –– four or five feet out of the water –– big jaws agape, sides shining like a mirror, and splashes down just shy of the boat's port water-wing.
A near miss to a legendary fish story. Moresailesaid, from the other side of the boat, "What the hell was that?"
At Checkpoint 2, Bill Wright is the volunteer in charge of the administration of the race. Under Bill's watch, the duties include gleefully filming the technique of each team as they navigate the viscous grey mud that separates water from shore at low tide.
His videos are accompanied by an evil chuckle worthy of a Bond villain.
Stumbling Thunder recounted the singular joy of sailing out Murray Channel to find a –– is it a congress of manatee?–– manateeing around.
He also said he was surprised by the number of porpoises that swam up to the boat to give the program the side-eye, as if to say, "Y'all crazy!" Mind you, he and JustAnotherSailor were on a 2-hour watch system, so they were not as sleep-deprived on the mighty Dovekie as might others have been on their various other kooky vessels.
Afterword
So, my favorite skipper, TwoBeers along with Moresailesaid sailed in the kind of conditions that are hard to top for Spawn racing down the coast: good breeze, mostly NNE, with favorable tides and excellent luck.
"We've never pancaked so much," announced TwoBeers, meaning that the boat was skim-boarding along large swaths of the racecourse, occasionally outrunning the scrim of water and belly-flopping into the soft sandy mud. The new gasket he'd installed along the centerboard worked well, but sadly, they forgot to close the automatic bailer. Hello Old Faithful of stinky mudflat mud. The team crossed Florida Bay in an astounding 4 hours moving like a scalded cat under reefed main and jib. The water-ballast and trapezes came into play on and off. As they often express, they got their wish to finish before the second sunset, each sailor getting a couple of hours' worth of naps as the boat planed off on a (port) run. In fact, the vast majority of the Challenge was completed on port, aside from the odd tack and jibe through passes.
Prudent superstition did not permit them to utter the words "record" until they were safely ashore in Key Largo, but they finished in something like 33 hours, breaking their own course monohull record from a few years ago by a smashing three hours.
We stretched out the clean-up and putting away of gear for a few days in Key Largo so that we could share in the triumph of other finishers; the event passes so quickly! ​Until next year...
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Crossing the Sunshine Skyway as playful gusts of wind nudge my RV from one side of the lane to the other, I dart a quick look to my right.
Of course the fleet of adventure racers is long over the horizon. Even knowing that my TwoBeers and Moresailesaid are sporting fine Gortex® waterproofs, I knock wood that they're hauling (dry) butt ahead of the rain.
​Rain that is just starting to ping against the windshield. When my favorite skipper and Moresailesaid push Spawn off the beach for the Everglades Challenge each March, their focus is 100% on getting to Key Largo. The event is an "unsupported" adventure race, which means the racers carry whatever they expect to need. Preparation is key: for months, I'll find lists of how many AA and AAA batteries, of food ideas, of which things need fixing. ​There are long looong phone calls about how best to stow gear.
I stay out of most of it. I consider myself a quartermaster rather than a chef d'équipe for the team. I obtain and make stuff in advance of the event.
But when they take off at 7 am on the first Saturday in March, my focus changes. I'm ground control, so I keep an eagle eye on their SPOT track. And another eagle eye on the weather news. And another on the WaterTribe tracking page and on the RaceOwl page when the WaterTribe page gets bogged down. Plus one more on what's shaking on the social networks. Oh, and maybe a peek at the weather radar. How many eyes is that? (Whatever you do, do NOT Google "eagle spider." Jayshusmaryandjoseph)
Among the many management challenges of the Everglades Challenge each year, the only thing tougher than organizing batteries and gear and the boys' socks –– for me –– is keeping a lid on worry.
Knocking wood and crossing fingers and so on.
For the full history of the Spawn program, browse around on the blog. The event is marked by thrills, spills, no frills, and saltwater crocs. Plus sleep deprivation (for those on the water and for us on shore keeping an eye on them) and a fixation on the weather. Each boat is equipped with a satelite tracker as well as a cartload of safety gear. The naturally socially-distanced event selects for mad-scientists and salty mariner types alike. Still, my own Dr. Frankenstein made only a few small adjustments to his program for 2021. He rewired the water-ballast pumps and beefed up the battery situation. He added hinges and latches to the ports leading to the forward "stateroom." He rejiggered the storage bags. He shaved a few inches from the rudders and added tent-poles to make roomier camping accommodations. The race begins at sunrise on Saturday, March 6, 2021. Click on the map below for a link to the WaterTribe tracking map. BTW, that site is sometimes overloaded during the event. Additionally, I will try to update the Spawn Facebook page with news as the event unfolds over the weekend.
Fingers crossed and knocking wood...
It was a decent warm-up, as the team remembered (when prompted by text by an alert ground control) to turn on their dang SPOT tracker when they were already halfway down the Bay. Which is why their track looks like a point-to-point sail rather than the actual circle route that it was. Fans of the team will be surprised to know that zero major innovations are planned for the 2021 event (starts the first Saturday in March at dawn at Fort Desoto Beach! Bring bagpipes!). Of course three months does leave room for all sorts of shenanigans. We'll see.
Thanks to Dave Helmick, Dave Clement, Andy Hayward, and Nate Villardebo, most excellent WaterTribesmen, who offered help, companionship, and a place to park. Good luck in the most challenging part of the Challenge: getting to the beach. *Time of year coming up...when armchair adventurers and make-it-real dreamers to prepare to participate in (or just watch) adventure: human powered watercraft (from kayaks to SUPs to catamarans, etc.) take an unsupported 300-mile-long voyage south along Florida's west coast. The event offers both genuine danger (the waiver spells it out: "You could die") and possibilities within a budget's reach (a couple hundred bucks worth of required equipment, a little boat, ten days of vacation...). The starting line –– the high tide line on the beach –– offers an astonishing vision of people living their dreams. And alarming, of course.
The event begins on the first Saturday in March from the beach at Fort DeSoto in St. Petersburg. This year, because of the small craft advisory in place for breeze, the race started under a weather hold and Plan B –– which meant that instead of having the 100+ paddle-craft, catamarans, sailing vessels, SUPs, and windsurfers scamper into the sea at sunrise to the majestic caterwauling of bagpipes, not much happened for a couple of hours. The sun also rose. As it does. People wandered around and chattered. Some Watertribefolk packed vessels onto cars and drove off to launch anywhere south of the Tampa Bay shipping channel. They can do that. It's a quirky event, with a certain fluidity to the rules of play. But by 10:15 or so, after that final freighter cleared the racecourse, boats belly-flopped from the high-tide line into the salt water. Cheering was heard. Good-bye kisses were thrown about with abandon. A few moments later, the remaining spectators shrugged to one another and drove their separate ways elsewhere. The incessant checking of the tracker began, somewhat less frantically for me this year as our dear friend Charli Clifton had taken on the on-shore chase-car driver duties. He had the trailer in tow and would be picking up the boat and team at the end of their trip –– we hoped in Key Largo. Spawn had many miles to go before sleep, many miles, but also promises to keep. JT(Jahn Tihansky, aka Moresailhesaid) and my favorite skipper Jeff "TwoBeers" Linton are busy guys. JT had airline reservations while Jeff's next sailing engagement started the following Wednesday (ooh! Merlin to Eleuthra!). They hoped that the northerly winds would hold and catapult them all the way down. But if wishes were horses, and horses could fly? You'd have to really watch your step. As they tracked down the coast, conditions continued freshy-freshy in the low-20's. Spawn beelined across Tampa Bay with a reefed main and jib, and then threaded the needle of Passage Key and Anna Maria, hugging the shore. Some swim-bouys may have been seen on the seaward side of Spawn. Oopsie! On the long swoop south east along the coast, the boys crossed tacks with stable-mates DC and SailorEd. Each team tried to gauge whether the breeze was better by shore or farther out. The jury never really settled on a side. Because the conditions were so up and down, with the wind dying and then puffing a LOT, the Spawnsters set up their "triple rig." In the three or so minutes when the wind was lighter, JT and Jeff deployed the screetcher (a big, roller-furling jib with a free luff, ideal for either light air upwind, or off-wind work), and then as a black-beauty puff came barreling down on them, they'd quickly roll up the screecher and sail on reefed main and jib alone. When the puff passed, out came the screecher again...all the way to Gasparilla Pass (almost to Boca Grande). Like downshifting for hills. With the sun setting, the breeze evened out, and the team continued with the more conservative jib and (still) reefed main. They cleared Channel marker #4 –– Boca Grande –– and hardened up for the left-hand turn to clear the tip of Sanibel. Then came the fast but very wet portion of their ride. So wet that the boys could only offer a weary laugh at the ridiculousness of the wetness. Drenching conditions: airborne water stinging right into your face. Ploughing into waves, spray fire-hosing completely through Mr. Linton's dry suit. Soi-disant dry-suit! That particular garment did not make the return trip in the van. Under a shining full moon, Spawn crashed and splashed to Cape Romano –– Caxambas Pass –– around 11 at night, well ahead of their previous best time. Then to Indian Key on a jib-reach, doing 10-12 knots. Going up Indian Channel to Chokoloskee, a foul current and the lee of the mangroves led to the need for oars. The team rowed and sailed ("power-sailed") for about an hour... They met with a very considerate crab boat that neither chased them out of the channel nor waked them. Hurrah for humanity! Into Chockloskee at low tide meant an Abbot and Costello routine involving JT, knee-deep mud, a lost (and found!) shoe, and an attempt to check in without having a check-in box in play. A 100-foot trek through stinking saltwater mud for essentially naught. The text he sent is telling: "Just left Chok. No lockbox ." So many words go in that space between the x and the period! While JT was so employed, Jeff slowly and cautiously walked in the mud to turn Spawn around ("to get the weather gauge") for departure. Once they got JT back aboard and mostly de-mudded, our doughty crew shook out the reef, and proceeded with a favorable current and a tailwind. As a cheerful change of habit, no oyster bars jumped out and bit them. At around 5, predawn, the leg to Cape Sable turned kindly. The boys were able to dry off and snatch a bit of shut eye. They call it Cape Sable, but it's made up of three small bumps along the coast, each unnamed except as they relate to a person's progress (first, second, third...). At the first cape, the wind was out of the northeast at around 8 knots. At the second, Northeast at 12. By the third, KATIE BAR THE DOOR! The wind was blowing around 25 knots right out of the east. We often remark on the speed at which the weather changes. For Spawn, in the course of 20 minutes, the conditions went from idle pleasure cruise to very heavy sailing indeed. Knowing that they had the tide at least with them into Flamingo, the Spawnsters beached the boat before rounding the third cape. They took down the jib and put up the smaller storm jib. They put the reef back in to the main. They reapplied unguent to their sit-upons and girded up their loins. It took something like 5 hours to travel that final 10 miles to Checkpoint 3. The wind was howling from exactly the direction they wanted to travel. The tide running against that wind made for yet another agitate cycle in their washing machine. They ultimately decided to overstand the mark, sailing beyond Flamingo and then trying to skate downwind into the harbor rather than short-tacking up the coast. Once they got to windward of Flamingo, they had a sort of slalom downwind course between mangrove islands. Shooting along, hoping to reach a minuscule powerboat channel, they sailed right up to some standing seabirds working along the backside of some mangroves. Standing seabirds –– as any boater will tell you –– is a sure sign of impending land. As soon as Spawn reached the lee of the trees, the boat came off its plane and snuggled into the mud. Stinky saltwater mud oozed out of the centerboard trunk. The birds waded on, nonplussed. Unfurling the storm jib, the boys caught a puff and escaped certain quick-sandy doom. "Looks like your bed got ruined," TwoBeers remarked, as the mud found its level all over the cockpit of the boat. Again. Reaching Flamingo, finally, at around 4:30 in the afternoon Sunday, the team tied up next to the Tenzan and MidNightCrew, a Hobie 16 team.The wind continued to howl out of the east. After careful calculation, the soonest our team figured they could reach Key Largo would be Tuesday night. With a 6 am start scheduled for Wednesday morning in Fort Lauderdale, TwoBeers pulled the plug. Reportedly, Moresailesaid was both incredulous and enthusiastic about the decision. They called their ground crew –– Yay Charli! –– who had just reached Key Largo and asked him to come fetch them. By eleven, the team was tucked, likely snoring, into their hotel room back in Key Largo, ready for their next adventure. Of course, in hindsight, it was a wise –– if bitter –– decision to stop early. More than half of the fleet bailed out early. In discussions afterwards, the words "epic" "gnarly" and "nightmarish" were tossed about freely. There were triumphs and actual tragedies.
But on our boat neither triumph nor tragedy, we are grateful to report. Another 24 hours of pounding upwind? The mighty Spawn never made a peep, never leaked, never balked, but the main bulkhead definitely felt the conditions. And of course, next year, the Spawnsters will be clearing their schedule to make time for a day's delay should conditions require.
But be that as it may.
Here's a link to the Watertribe Challenger Tracking site (or just click on the picture!). The event starts Saturday morning at dawn. Charlie "Gaajii" Clifton will be official shoreside support, chasing the team by land as they sprint down the state. We keep our fingers crossed... As Click and Clack Tappet used to say, "Well, it's happened again." Another eleven and a half months have passed and it's time for the annual Everglades Challenge race. Which is, as I suppose most of my dear readers know, an unsupported adventure race that sends a flotilla of human-powered water vessels down the left coast of Florida from Fort DeSoto beach in St. Petersburg all the way down and across the Everglades to Key Largo. Don't know about this? Want to waste a perfectly good period of time? Go over to the right, scroll down and click on "Everglades Challenge" and read all I've had to bibble-bable tittle-tattle about it.) My favorite skipper (and boat-builder), known as "TwoBeers," heads a team of friends who designed, built, sailed, modified, sailed, modified, sailed, and modified yet again a boat called Spawn of Frankenscot. The boat is a sloop of 22 feet designed by OH "Ningee" Rodgers. TwoBeers sails with Jahn "Moresailhesaid" Tihansky. He's supported by Amy Smith "Bookworm" Linton, Mark "EnsignRumsDOWN!" Taylor, and ––new this year!–– Charlie "Gaagii" Clifton. The sweet sloop has changed over time, but the current freshness involves the water take-up system. This chapter begins on a dark but not-too-stormy night. The setting: a fantastic oyster bar (the kind that serves beverages, not the kind that plagues our team's path to Key Largo). BTW, if you like lively viands such as oysters on the half shell, go to Eustis and check this place out: The Oyster Troff.
Next thing you know, the take-up system for Spawn's water ballast (see here and here for last year's explanation) has been finessed so that the team doesn't have to pump water into the ballast tank by hand. Instead, H2O will be scooped up by ingenious plumbing. Jamey used a 3-D printer to fashion the spring-loaded cartridge that allows our team to lower the PVC pipe so that gallons of ocean shoot right into the system. That salty goodness whooshes up a hose to the cross-beam. Then it flows into the tank, where it provides a righting moment at 8 pounds per gallon. The 35-gallon tank is roughly the equivalent of one hefty but non-complaining, non beer-drinking gurgling dude. Jamey created a super-nifty, bling-y, customized air-vent for the tanks, since, as we know, a vent can provide an unexpected way for water to make its way into the tank. If things were to get, you know, flippy-whippy, a person does NOT want water to fill one of these water wings. You might not be able to tell, but that vent is made of sparkly gold plastic.
Jamey claims that color plastic was the only material at hand for the 3-D printer, but I think we can all agree it looks pretty dang gangster. And that's good. After five Everglades Challenge campaigns, Team Spawn has grown, shall we say, more laid-back in the pre-race race. Oh, we expect a last-minute Amazon or Sierra Trading Post order, and for sure a midnight run to for groceries, but the process of preparing for the event seems less daunting each year. And as far as super-neat-o modifications? This year the focus has been on the water-ballast supply system. What is known in the biz as "plumbing." TwoBeers and I have spent some quality time contemplating white PVC elbows at the hardware store. TwoBeers is working with a friend from the military-industrial complex, a former youth sailor and current engineer (Hi Jamey!) to speed up and refine the pump/drain system. The Top Secret plans involve springs, 3-D printings, and the Home Depot. Glimpsed here are some of the highly technical and science-y parameters: No, seriously, it's written in Sharpie on the back on an old envelope. As we followers of Spawn have come to expect... Longing for more Everglades Challenge narrative? Have at:
Mead's story in Sail magazine. a Joachim's story in Sailing World Report from Spin Sheet David Attenborough narrates: "The first cold front rumbles through the subtropical morning, pushing rain and a chill wind across Tampa Bay in November. At long last, winter has returned. "Solitary and wary, Spawn emerges slowly from her summer den. She occupies the apex of sailing predators, but caution can be seen in every move as her protective coverings fall away. It has been a long six months of shelter away from daylight and water. "Once she is in the open, Spawn must quickly make her way into the sea. The accoutrements of speed are complex yet remarkably delicate, and each outing she makes entails a frenzy of preparation and grooming activity. "A single forgotten shackle or mis-run halyard can mean the difference between success and failure as she embarks in one of her highly anticipated adventures. "Making the ungainly transition from land to water, she begins to bob and sidle with imatience. Having gained her preferred element, her purpose in the world becomes clear. She will sail, and quickly." Of course someone has already coopted Sir David's style to narrate their part of the natural world; still, thank you! It's an unconscious thing, a tick. A habit. Take a phrase, parse it, divide it, recombine it, look for entertaining results. As I beetle around trying to restore order to the large pile of salty gear, slightly used batteries, marine electronics, and ziplock bags of snacks, I find myself turning over the wordy options: The Everchallenge Glide. The Everyglades chalice. The Challenger Everglading.
The boys on Spawn –– my favorite skipper and his pal Jahn –– are never-say-diers. They keep swinging for the fences. Always aiming higher. All sporty metaphors apply. The additions and refinements they make to the boat are all designed to eke a bit more speed, a touch more performance, a sliver more of whatever it will take for them to get to the finish line faster.
Mr. Linton installed a system of long sweeps, racing oarlocks, and a nifty sculling seat on the original boat, and has continued to refine it as time passes. The oars are a boon when the boat is bucking the current and needs a little extra oomph. It's also handy when navigable waters get too narrow for actual sailing.
Rowing kept Spawn out of the fog that socked in some racers farther north. From Sanibel to Cape Romano, they'd row a mile to reach a puff, sail for a bit, and then row through another lull. Chasing zephyrs, balancing patience with strategy in connecting one patch of wind with another.
With help from the awesome Jim Signor, the boys packed Spawn onto the trailer, stowed things for highway travel, and we made our ways North. Moresailesed had a pressing engagement with the US Naval Academy, where he coaches sailing.
The Linton-mobile cantered home across Aligator Alley, meeting up with the nasty line of weather that Spawn had managed to outrun, but which lambasted the majority of the fleet. We dodged the inexplicable traffic that plagues I75 between Fort Meyers and Sarasota and as always were grateful to arrive alive at our house. We parked and hustled bag after bag up the stairs and then stood looking at one another. Jeff spoke the immortal words, "Is it over already?" Well, for now it is. |
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