My Skipper on Top the World

Okay, okay, I know. What world are we talking?

It might be a wide world of sports, but that's still a tiny globe compared to everything else. And sailing is a minuscule sporting world, compared to other sports. Never mind how each specific class of boat makes it a smaller world yet.  But still.

A world champion.  

It's actually his fourth world title, but I am here to tell you the thrill does not fade. When you're on the podium and the national anthem pipes up? Waterworks, baby.

So my favorite skipper has been racing the 2.4Meter class for a few years.

​The boat looks like a classic America's Cup yacht that got hit with a shrink-ray.

Jeff is in the water, wiping algae and what-not from his boat, as well as giving his neighbor Alain Dubuc's boat a scrub as well.

When at the wheel of the 2.4Meter, (figure of nautical speech: the boats are rigged to have either a joy-stick style tiller or foot pedals for steering), the sailor is like an iceberg, with the majority of his or her person beneath the surface. Water rushes by at just about eye-level.

This little yacht has a heavy keel for stability. It runs about 14 feet long. Which makes it roughly the length of a classic VW bug. Or, if you prefer, twice the distance between dartboard and tosser. 
I mean thrower. Or is it shooter?

The point is that the 2.4M is not big. And, fabulously, the vessel permits people with physical challenges to compete on a level playing field with able-bodied folks. Which expands the wide world of sailing in the best of ways.  

A tight bond has firmed up the North American contingent: sailors compete and train in the winter in Port Charlotte for the Can-Am series, as well as continuing the practice over the summer in Toronto.

The Canadian-American gang clubbed together to send nine boats to Lake Garda, Italy this year for the Inclusive World Championships.

​Lake Garda.

This is a jewel of a lake, set among the dramatic Italian Alps. 

View of the racecourse from the clubhouse at Fraglia Vela Malcesine.

Honest to Pete, this place is almost sarcastically gorgeous.

And we have the great good fortune of having generous friends in cool places.  Annukka and Mike lived above Lake Garda for years, and having known Jeff from Etchells sailing, they gave us keys and excellent driving directions.  

A person could get used to this morning coffee view.

Naturally, Jeff did his sailing homework: not just lots of practice, but also making sure that the practice might parallel the conditions expected on Lake Garda: namely, breezy, chilly freshwater sailing at altitude. 

According to all predictions, the wind runs down into the valley in the morning and then sweeps up into the hills in the afternoon. It's a pattern that makes the place Mecca for hang-gliders, foiling Moths, windsurfers—all the high-octane wind-driven boats.

Which brings us to the universal truth of all world championships: "It's never like this here."

Coming back to the dock after a long day's racing.

Sailing under sunny skies, Jeff came out of the gate strong, with a wire-to-wire lead in the first race over the nearly 60 boats on the line.  

Lake Garda never offered howling windy days, but a dry suit (as Jeff learned on the practice day) is recommended. 

For those keeping track at home, the series had 11 races scheduled (ten sailed, thanks to strong-willed race management) with two throw-outs. Making the match (and the math) even more exciting. ("One plus four, drop the 57, carry the..." ​

While waiting for the afternoon winds to fill in, oh, look! Another capresi salad and the local white wine.

After a day or two, one of the other competitors approached Jeff on the dock and spoke with Germanic frankness, "I Googled you."

I take that as highest praise from a competitor in 2025. Being Googleworthy.

Jeff, Tony, and Julio making repairs at dawn.

Mr. Linton claims that fate holds the cards at events like these. You prepare as best you can, but winning is equally a matter of everything just lining up.

And so it seemed: despite the various bumps in the road (our Thursday flight cancelled so we arrived on Sunday, the container of boats showing up only in the nick of time on Monday, that broken headstay on Day 2, the U-flag starts that caught Jeff once for a 57th place finish, etc.) things worked out.

We and our luggage (sorry Julio, about your stuff vacationing solo in Dublin!) arrived alive, the boats turned up undamaged, the broken headstay happened in light air on race 3 of the day, and Jeff is good at calculating the math of finishes. 

Did it hurt that we earned the grudging approval of this sister? Never underestimate the power of kindness and shared snacks on public transport. I learned that from fairy tales.

It was all over too soon.

The gang packed all their toys back into the container they bought (a purchase that should mean I can paint a mural on it!), enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of closing ceremonies, and made plans for the next one.

And then some of us betook ourselves to Venice. About that, anon...