Newport - Bermuda 2000

As an amateur to the navigation end of the equation, I first learned to ask questions of anyone who might help me avoid total embarrassment. Avoiding embarrassment and seasickness were my primary goals of the first race. So, three years ago I spent a day with Jen Clark down in D.C., learning how interesting and important the Gulf Stream is. During this year's race, I would estimate that we had some type of current over nearly 75% of the race. Her advice and knowledge, as well as that of her colleague Mike Crowley were invaluable to our strategy. At about the same time I also took a two-day weather course offered by Michael Carr, then of Ocean Navigator. Clearly weather is just as important a variable in this race and I learned enough to appreciate that this fascinating subject also requires tremendous expertise and skill. I also learned to rely on someone else's predictions - it is much safer to blame someone who is 750 miles away when you hit a hole. In this regard, we have been long-standing clients of Commanders' Weather -- and I must say that they were virtually 100% on target with this year's predictions! So my first observation is that I have found it imperative to break down race strategy into its component pieces. Try, wherever possible to rely on experts in their field for the best possible advice on the objective observations and subjective assessments. After all, there are only so many decisions that you can make in a race, and it is definitely a mistake to bundle too many of them together at the same time. Get the raw data early, assimilate it into a strategy based upon an analysis of risk and return, and if all works as planned, stick to your strategy.

Obviously, advance preparation is critical to every race and in that regard, I believe that our medical emergency preparations were second to none. The evening before the race, we had a detailed briefing from the ship's resident physician -- "Dr. Wally"on the contents of our medical kit. Suffice it to say that we were all very comforted by this dialog and afterwards, most would guess that we had more drugs and equipment on-board than the entire set of "Chicago Hope." The "talking defibrillator"was the final stroke. I believe that we were the only boat in the fleet to have one. As designed, it speaks to you through the entire procedure and will only deliver a shock if it independently determines that the body's metabolism corresponds to the correct condition -- a limitation, I must say, that was at times frustrating when one crewman or another had irritated me to the level where electric stimulus might have been useful.

There is no question that we benefited greatly from having a well-diversified group. Starting with a core crew of three Aussies, we added two Bermudians to the rest of our "Americas"based group. Getting the watches straight was certainly key - constant communicators with other constant communicators while quiet focused types sailed with other quiet focused types. In the end, I think we got lucky a bit since each watch worked extremely well together.

With regard to specific tactics, in 1998, I stunned Jimmie about a month before the race by predicting that "it might make sense"to go right of rhumb into the Gulf Stream. As he hurriedly began phoning around for alternative navigators, he kindly reminded me that in the last 40 or so races, the winners had ALWAYS GONE WEST prior to the stream. Well, since I had no credibility going into that race, luckily, none could be destroyed. In the end, we did wind up going into the stream east of rhumb but our strategy fell apart as the winds disappeared and finding any speed in any direction became the directive for that race. This time, early stream data was inconclusive so we had a west of rhumb and an east of rhumb strategy in place before the final briefing. As we listened to that discussion and analyzed the significant effects of the likely current, we made the final call to go east again. In this race, we did a good job of agreeing to our strategy in advance and the wind gods complied to make it a more interesting race for both the sailors and the navigator.

Our first priority before the stream was to avoid any potential adverse current anticipated from an easterly movement of the warm ring at 39o 30'N by 70o 45'W that was oddly rotating in a counter-clockwise direction. Next, while there might have been some benefit from trying to reach the favorable current on the right edge of the large warm eddy centered around 39o 20'N by 69o 45'W, we judged the distance to the east necessary to achieve that advantage to be too far to incorporate into a specific strategy. At the same time, we felt that the 15 to 25 kt. southwesterly breezes would prevail for the early part of the race so this allowed us to stay on or close to rhumb for the first 100 miles or so. Our jib top reacher, (recently fabricated by Steve Benjamin) was the clear winner from a sail plan perspective, especially when the heavy #1 was damaged when a wave filled the foot with water and was pierced by a stanchion while reaching out of Newport. Boat speed started at 8 plus knots and grew over the course of the first 36 to 40 hours up into the 12-knot range. So again, in conflict with the traditional strategy, we decided to try to enter the Gulf Stream on or slightly east of the rhumbline. We did this for two reasons. First, the jib top reacher seemed to be just a bit happier cracked off a few degrees rather than staying right on rhumb and second we hoped that we would hit warm water (and a favorable southeasterly current) early as the "knuckle"we had seen on Jen's charts (at 38o 15'N by 69o 30' W) moved to the east. When we noticed a fishing trawler about 50 miles north of the expected wall of the stream we felt that we might have been lucky enough to hit that knuckle and get some favorable current early. We had initially wanted to go about 10 miles east of rhumb, but due to the jib top and wind velocity we ended up about 30 miles east where we found the favorable Sargasso currents. From there, well into the Sargasso Sea, we experienced strong favorable currents topping out at about 4 knots. The Gulf Stream crossing at night was amazing! As we crossed the main portion of the stream, the wind veered to 266o so with our jib top we were able to sail back toward rhumb at 12+ knots, steering by the stars. The next opportunity was to try to pick up the favorable left edge of the cold eddy at 36o 15'N by 67o 30'W so we urged the "helmspeople"(with due deference to Mandy Wilmot our fine Australian helmswomen) to maintain fast forward but to try as best possible to work west by sailing below 165o. This we managed to do for the most part and made our way back to about 10 miles east of rhumb.

Sometimes you just get lucky too. About two days before the race, Mike Crowley left a message on my answering machine to tell me that the meeting place for Jen Clark's briefing had changed for Friday morning. I gave him a call back to discuss the details and, of course, I asked how he saw the Gulf Stream at this point. Well, when a PhD gets excited about something, you have to listen. Satellite information had been spotty recently and Mike was excited to have confirmed the presence of an anomalous warm eddy south of the stream at 34o 30'N by 66 o 45'W, providing favorable current along and to the east of rhumb. I don't recall much discussion of it at the pre race briefing on Friday, but we remembered that it was there and I think we saw some benefit from it. By staying east for most of the race we had discovered favorable current for pretty much the whole way.

In this day and age, technology is becoming vitally important. The last time we sailed the race, we spent many hours working on the weather fax. I am confident that the information we received regarding the Gulf of Mexico during that trip aided our success greatly. In addition to weather fax, I have also become a great fan of the marine SSB. When combined, these are technologies right up there with the marine head for ease of use and reliability. But seriously, when you have a confused afterguard that desperately needs to make the "right"decision, technology can be critical. So this year, in order to avoid random decision making, I decided to bring a satellite telephone aboard, capable of data interface with our computer and full access to the internet. It was a bargain at $295 for two weeks plus $3.95 per minute and enabled me to give the "proper"advice to the Skipper on numerous occasions. I'm sure that for another $3,000 I might actually have gotten some useful data out of the machine, but I was able to call my kids at their grandparent's house in Charleston from the docks in Newport, so I don't think it was a complete waste.

Another thing I observed during the race is the intense interaction between watches. At the end of the day, some healthy competition helps to keep each group motivated as the race against other boats (which after 24 hours you cannot even see) is replaced with the race between A watch and B watch. Initial competitive zeal in the form of who went faster, farther, however, is often replaced with frustration over transitions that are deemed too slow, too late, too much talking on deck, untrimmed sails rattling while we are trying to sleep, etc. And as is the case in any long distance race, there comes a time when this fatigue takes its toll on even the most fastidious crewmember. Here is when a simple comment from the nav-psychologist as the watches shift can have great affect. For example, at one point when it was clear that we were losing a little of our edge, as the watches were transitioning I commented rather clinically, "gee, I think the last guys hit 12 knots on that shift², leading to a major adrenalin surge in the oncoming watch, near constant sail tweaking and shrieks of glee as they counted up the speedo from 12.0 to 12.5, 12.5 to 13 and finally our talented Bermudian helmsman Rick Thompson hit 13.5 and a new race record was set.

With regard to weather information, this was a major transition year for utilization of the internet for weather data. With a relatively modest investment, next time we should all have more info than we need through real time internet connections. In this race, however, in addition to the predicted weather (which seemed spot on) and weather-fax data (when available), we diligently listened to "Southbound Herb"rotating through the Atlantic with real time data from cruisers winding their way to one place or another. In addition, once you are about 70 miles out, you can also pick up Bermuda Harbor radio on VHF Channel 27, which this year was helpful in confirming that the breezes were "light and variable"over that last 50 miles (as if we didn't know that by then!!)

About the only time that I felt I had lost credibility was in the last 10 hours of the race. Of course, that last ten hours came as a prediction when we were 70 miles out doing 7 knots, and was followed with another "10 hours left"prediction an hour and a half later when we were 60 miles out and doing 6 knots. Well, as you might have guessed, I managed to work this scenario down in a linear fashion (50 miles/5kts, 40 miles/4kts, 30 miles/3kts) such that when we were finally 20 miles out doing 2 knots and I offered some updated information, I thought I was going to be lynched! Hey, it wasn't my fault!

As an overriding principle, I layer this modest micromanaging of navigational tactics over two critical themes. First, always try to sail fast. I have to admit that sailing fast is generally more important than all but the most crucial of navigational issues, at least for the first two-thirds of the race. Every helmsperson wants to know the bearing to Bermuda, but over 635 miles, being off 5o to 10o or so is irrelevant over a 1 or 2 hour time period. So micromanaging heading at a cost of speed is probably not worth it. At one point, heading off 10 degrees brought us three quarters of a knot better boat speed. The crew were worried that we would sail right past Bermuda but it really didn't matter that much for a few hours (at 500 miles away from the island!) So my first observation is to sail "fast forward"as much as possible. Secondly, sail toward the finish. OK, I know it is a little obvious, but - all else being equal (and since we are not Whitbread racers trying to find hurricanes over 2,500 mile runs), sail the shortest route possible. This became very relevant to us at least in the last 50 miles, where tactics did override pure boat speed. And as you get closer to the finish, the "old rhumb"is sometimes less relevant -- you need to recalculate the "new rhumb"to the finish (or the northeast edge of the reef in this instance.) Chart plotting computers are certainly great for this - and in addition, they let you be the only person on board who can play solitaire during the slow periods.

Let's spend just a minute on that last 50 miles. First of all, our crew rotation system completely disintegrated at that point due to a lack of anything exciting for anyone to do on either shift. People ate, slept or sailed as they saw fit, and discipline fell to near zero. You know things are going badly when the Aussies have worked through their full repertoire of jokes and you are down to those centered on the sex life of crustaceans! We had to rally the troops together to regain focus. We reminded everyone that this was still a race and our continued focus was important. At this point, we had seen the benefit of a modest westerly current (which had allowed us to "sail fast"even though the course heading seemed too far east) and we had moved back closer to the "old rhumb². The tough call was to assess where the final breeze would shift to around Bermuda. Our predictions called for 5 knot breezes from the South and Southeast, so one tactical decision might have been to go further West. At the same time, however, we were concerned that we might see a big shift (as had been predicted by some sources) all the way to 90o, which might have suggested that we try to work to the East. At the end of the day, we positioned this last portion of the race as simply a long final upwind leg -- just like a "round-the-buoys"race. So we sailed it accordingly. We hoped that we were between the rest of the J-44 fleet and the finish, so we decided the risk/return from straying to either "corner"was too high and we just continued tacking down the rhumb. We wound up working 20o to 40o shifts that oscillated in roughly 10 to 20 minute cycles -- pretty challenging for the helmsmen over many hours in the dark unlit night.

In closing, I'd like to leave you with one final observation on this great ocean race. Many have described this event as a race in three parts: first, a race from Newport to the Gulf Stream; second, one across the stream; and finally the last leg to Bermuda. After two very close races, however, I have concluded that in the J-44 class, at least, there will always be a final, desperately nerve racking leg -- that being the last five miles from North East Breaker Beacon to the finish line at St. David's. In each of the last two races, these last five miles of racing provided a solid test of intestinal fortitude. In 1998, while we were stuck in a hole only 2 miles from the finish and I was watching our simulated boat on the computer begin to sail back towards Newport in a desperate effort to find some breeze, I panicked as I watched "Maxine², just behind us on the course, full spinnaker flying, in a beautiful breeze line just 1,000 yards to our east. The fear of sudden doom was immense. As fate would have it, our "hole"was wide enough to catch her as well. And in this year's race, as the sun came up over a beautiful morning in Bermuda, there off our stern was a familiar looking sail plan with a hull color that seemed to match the beautiful waters surrounding us. Well, anything can happen in a 5 mile beat, so here we were again -- at risk of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory! Luckily, the breeze gods had whispered into the ears of our Bermudian team and we held on to our very slim lead by favoring the reef/shore side of the course, which seemed to have slightly better wind conditions. It was a great race between many talented competitors - probably with an equal balance of skill and luck determining the outcome. At the same time, however, I can't help thinking that we may be the only boat in the fleet that has figured out that the best way to scare a "Gold Digger"out of town is with a "Stampede!²

Mark E. Brefka

July 4, 2000

Mark Brefka is an investment banker who took up J-44 navigation so he would be invited to more parties aboard Coastal Queen. He resides in Greenwich, CT and sails a J-120 out of American Yacht Club - but only to places he can see with the naked eye -- from the safety of his home dock.