So, my Dad dying yesterday, changes the hue of this race. Deeper blue.
But beautiful as beautiful can be. We are on this planet for so short a time.
Here's what I would like you all to do, those that know my Dad, Howard W. Wright Jr.
I would like you to post a narrative about Dad.
On the web page.
Because now that he is no longer my dying father through my eyes, I would like to know more about who he was through the eyes of others.
Here's an example story (they don't have to be sailing stories for you, but they do for me).
Back in the 80's, I sailed on Al Martin's Sumatra in the now-defunct Los Angeles to Mazatlan race. Dad and his friend Willard Bell (one of the saltiest warmhearts on this planet). Dad, Willard and I were one watch; Willie Bell(Willard's son), Howard (my brother), and Doug Jorgensen on the other. Al floated onto all the watches. Rosie Bell (Willard's daughter) was cook.
So I thoroughly enjoyed being on watch with Willard and Dad. We sailed hard, and had a good time. Willard and Dad both smoked cigars at the time, and they weren't allowed to do it down below, so naturally they did while we were on watch. Luckily it wasn't too rough, or I would have puked, for sure. There wasn't much wind, so we were doing very poorly (last third of the fleet) going into Cabo San Lucas, on the tip of Baja. Now for those of you that don't know, Cabo San Lucas has a hole many times larger than the one I described at the east end of Catalina in an earlier blog. It is HUGE. It takes infinite patience to get through it.
The best way through the lee, is to have "one foot on the shore." In other words, sail as absolutely close to the shore as you dare. So in we roared from the Pacific Ocean into the hole at Cabo San Lucas. There, we found many tens of sailboats, all previously ahead of us, trying desperately to sail through the hole. It was just starting to be evening as we came into the cape, and added our boat to the frustrated fleet trying to get through to the wind some 15 miles east.
We had three things in our favor. A good fathometer, to tell how deep it was, and a desperate set of helmsmen willing to sail the boat closer to shore than any other boat. But the REAL secret weapon was Willard and Dad's cigars.
Why, you might ask?
Because the wind was so light that it wouldn't affect a tell-tale ribbon. It couldn't be felt on your face. In short, it was almost impossible to detect where this tiniest wisps of air movement were coming from.
Unless you smoked a cigar. So Willard and Dad traded off smoking cigars for our entire 4 hour watch. We sailed the boat SOO close to shore, any of us could easily have swum to it at any time. Water depth got as shallow as 15 feet. NOBODY else dared sail that close to shore.
But, in addition to this daredevil approach to the sea-land interface, we also knew much more precisely than the other boats, where the wind was coming from.
The cigar smoke was an unequivocal read-out of these air wisps, and even though we couldn't feel air, we adjusted the sails according to the smoke read out. It was always right, and we ghosted by virtually every boat in the hole. We got to the Northerlies in the gulf before most of the other boats, and ended up 3rd in our class.
One final note. All that smoking made Willard and Dad snore like buzz-saws.
In unison. Dougie has a tape recording to prove it. My brother Howard had his harmonica with him, and played "On top of old smokie" in time with their snores.
The need for cigar smoke is far behind us on Psyche as I write. We sailed just slightly south of our course to Hawaii, yesterday, pretty much giving up on our plan to get farther south than Farfar. The reason for this is that the tropical depression is breaking up much faster than anticipated, so the intensification of the trade winds is much smaller than we thought. They reported themselves 15 miles ahead of us, but instead of being 13 miles south of us, they were only 3 miles south. And ahead. We need to pour on more coal!
But beautiful as beautiful can be. We are on this planet for so short a time.
Here's what I would like you all to do, those that know my Dad, Howard W. Wright Jr.
I would like you to post a narrative about Dad.
On the web page.
Because now that he is no longer my dying father through my eyes, I would like to know more about who he was through the eyes of others.
Here's an example story (they don't have to be sailing stories for you, but they do for me).
Back in the 80's, I sailed on Al Martin's Sumatra in the now-defunct Los Angeles to Mazatlan race. Dad and his friend Willard Bell (one of the saltiest warmhearts on this planet). Dad, Willard and I were one watch; Willie Bell(Willard's son), Howard (my brother), and Doug Jorgensen on the other. Al floated onto all the watches. Rosie Bell (Willard's daughter) was cook.
So I thoroughly enjoyed being on watch with Willard and Dad. We sailed hard, and had a good time. Willard and Dad both smoked cigars at the time, and they weren't allowed to do it down below, so naturally they did while we were on watch. Luckily it wasn't too rough, or I would have puked, for sure. There wasn't much wind, so we were doing very poorly (last third of the fleet) going into Cabo San Lucas, on the tip of Baja. Now for those of you that don't know, Cabo San Lucas has a hole many times larger than the one I described at the east end of Catalina in an earlier blog. It is HUGE. It takes infinite patience to get through it.
The best way through the lee, is to have "one foot on the shore." In other words, sail as absolutely close to the shore as you dare. So in we roared from the Pacific Ocean into the hole at Cabo San Lucas. There, we found many tens of sailboats, all previously ahead of us, trying desperately to sail through the hole. It was just starting to be evening as we came into the cape, and added our boat to the frustrated fleet trying to get through to the wind some 15 miles east.
We had three things in our favor. A good fathometer, to tell how deep it was, and a desperate set of helmsmen willing to sail the boat closer to shore than any other boat. But the REAL secret weapon was Willard and Dad's cigars.
Why, you might ask?
Because the wind was so light that it wouldn't affect a tell-tale ribbon. It couldn't be felt on your face. In short, it was almost impossible to detect where this tiniest wisps of air movement were coming from.
Unless you smoked a cigar. So Willard and Dad traded off smoking cigars for our entire 4 hour watch. We sailed the boat SOO close to shore, any of us could easily have swum to it at any time. Water depth got as shallow as 15 feet. NOBODY else dared sail that close to shore.
But, in addition to this daredevil approach to the sea-land interface, we also knew much more precisely than the other boats, where the wind was coming from.
The cigar smoke was an unequivocal read-out of these air wisps, and even though we couldn't feel air, we adjusted the sails according to the smoke read out. It was always right, and we ghosted by virtually every boat in the hole. We got to the Northerlies in the gulf before most of the other boats, and ended up 3rd in our class.
One final note. All that smoking made Willard and Dad snore like buzz-saws.
In unison. Dougie has a tape recording to prove it. My brother Howard had his harmonica with him, and played "On top of old smokie" in time with their snores.
The need for cigar smoke is far behind us on Psyche as I write. We sailed just slightly south of our course to Hawaii, yesterday, pretty much giving up on our plan to get farther south than Farfar. The reason for this is that the tropical depression is breaking up much faster than anticipated, so the intensification of the trade winds is much smaller than we thought. They reported themselves 15 miles ahead of us, but instead of being 13 miles south of us, they were only 3 miles south. And ahead. We need to pour on more coal!
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