CITY Issue 57

56 CITY TY WHITEHAWK: PHOTO BY CORY SILKEN. RENDEZVOUS BAY AND SAILOR: PHOTOS BY VANESSA ABLE. ship only, the boats competing he e a e all diﬀe ent. Velsheda, fo instance, is a monst ous -foot J Class Sloop while Sp ingtide is me ely a foote . To even the playing ﬁeld, each vessel is given a ating o what in golf might be called a handicap. This depends, among othe facto s, on the size of the mast, the ship’s age, the maximum speed, the beam, the weight, and the d aught of the ship. But what actually goes into a ating, which is decided upon by some wiza d at the yacht club, is myste ious. “The e’s a fo mula but we’ e neve quite su e what it is,” says LT. Each type of ship has a slightly diﬀe ent sta t time. The Classic ’s, which we a e, sta t an hou a e the smallest vessels. In many ways, the moments befo e the ace a e the most impo tant. Unlike a ho se ace, the e’s no gate to jump out of. nd unlike N SC R, the e’s no easy way to eve se a massive ship. pp oaching the sta ting line, dema cated by two ﬂoating buoys, is an exe cise in patience and calculation. t : a.m., the c ew of the Whitehawk is panicking. We’ve app oached the sta t too ea ly. LT stands aba , shouting at us to loosen the sails. Mattjis stands at the f ont, counting boat lengths with his ﬁ nge s. Two. One. It’s no use. Ou sails a e as slack as can be. Ou ste n b eaches the imagina y plane moments befo e a shot ings out into the ai . LT holle s: “T im the sails! T im the sails!” Immediately all hands begin to tighten the canvas against the wind. The massive ship begins to gathe speed. s she does, the ship begins to tilt along its side. When a ship is at its best, it ides along aked, like a debonai gentleman’s hat. The c ew not manning the sail lines hu y to the high side of the ship to counte balance the wind. PDeS, still chomping on that ciga , calls out gene al commands. Louis the Chihuahua doesn’t seem to notice a ace is on. Though it’s ha d to detect, just beneath the su face, the e is feve ish computation happening. Lucas the tactician and LT the captain wo y about di ty ai , that is, wind that has been sapped of its st ength by an upwind ship. We don’t want it but we do want to give it to othe s. LT keeps a sha p eye on the speed and the wind. s they both lull, he o de s that we hoist a jib sail to the fo emast to catch mo e wind. We sc amble to untie the canvas and ha ness the luﬀ — the leading edge of the sail — to the mast. The lines go taut and once again, Whitehawk lu ches to the ho izon anew. We speed down the cou se, unning high of the layline to avoid di ty ai . s we pass othe ships, we wave. They wave. It’s all ve y f iendly. Some c ews seem intent on thei wo k, hunched fo wa d facing the wind like a dog with his head out the window. Windb eake s swoon like sails behind them. Othe c ews have al eady c acked open bottles of Wadadli, an ntiguan bee , and jollily ﬂash us the peace sign as we pass. The e a e only th ee eal moments of d ama in the ace. Each time the ships clump up to jibe a ound the six-mile ma k and change di ection the e’s a f enzy of action. Tu ns a e whe e aces, gene ally, a e won. The t ick is to cut as close to the buoy in the sha pest tu n possible. Needless-tosay, the e’s much jostling fo position. few yea s ago, a -foot schoone ammed into the back of -foot ketch named spa a, sending he mizzenmast ove boa d. s the Whiteha jibes and we head back towa d the ma ina, the boom desc ibes a quick a c close above ou heads. The ship g oans and olls ove on its othe side. The c ew amidship scu ies unde the dange ous wood to the othe side. Fo a moment the sails slacken and then the wind tightens them again and we’ e oﬀ. We finish well, though the p ematu e-sta t penalty sinks us out of the unning fo the watch. No one seems that upset. The e’s a Concou s D’Elegance in a nea by ha bo . ll the ships sail past an assembled c owd on the dock. We line up to face them and wave, and then, as each of ou fellow ships pass us, the c ews lined up on deck to applaud us and each othe . n announce with a posh English accent sitting in a dockside booth manages to get the name of nea ly eve y ship w ong. “This guy’s a classic,” Lucas says. “He neve gets anything ight.” n ancient old man d essed in a pe iwinkle tuxedo and a top hat stands up in an inﬂatable dingy and waves to us toothlessly. Back in the ma ina, we wipe down the deck with chamoise cloths — sea wate i onically kills boats — and sit a ound d inking Heineken. DeSava y has headed down below. The sun t acks its way ac oss the sky until the blue tu ns to pink and the mountains fade f om g een to black silhouettes. The bee s keep ﬂowing and we move the pa ty to the dockside ba , the Last Lemming, whe e the sailo s f om all the ships join us. Most

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City Issue 57 Contents Letter from City Our Friends Action Wanted City Moment Temporary Contemporary In Rouge Fast Food The Amused Bouche How We Live/The Kitchen Taste Test Dessert Wine Going Local Expert Opinion Travel Employees Only Summer Showers Wild Things Be There at 10 P.M. Sharp If... Where To Buy It Icon

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