Sixty miles a beer for the winner

The pandemic-induced closure along the Canada-USA border impacted those events that cross that line, leading to the birth of the WA360, a normally insane 360 nm course through the Puget Sound ponds of the Pacific Northwest.

Starting June 7, sailing entrants signed up for either the speedy Go Fast class or the cruisey Go Hard class, and while they all can include human power, only the Human Power class is pure human power. Otherwise, the only caveats is to do it without planned support or an engine, and within two weeks.

Beyond all the “it’s the journey, not the destination” crapola, the finish line got crossed on June 10 in a most unprobable way. The event organizers at Northwest Maritime Center attempt to explain a day after, and we like their style:

Against our better judgment, we’re going to lead with the conclusion: humans are dumb, especially us, and probably you too.

Don’t get mad. Trust us, it’s a lot to take in after a lifetime of not knowing how dumb you are. Relax. Take a deep breath and a beta blocker. This isn’t personal, count to 10. Think of puppies and breathe into your flaws. We were all wrong.

Before the last 30 seconds when your huffed up and wounded insecurities decided to fax us your SAT scores/MENSA membership/photo grab of that Yahtzee scorecard from ’05 when you broke 300 and decided you earned the “Johnny Bigtime” nickname you’ve always wanted—go back to that time before rage, hit pause, and hear us out: Whatever you were thinking whenever you went to sleep on June 9, you were wrong.

No shame, we were wrong too.

There are so many versions of how wrong we all were:

• Did you think the cyborg overlord kayak paddlers of Team BendRacing couldn’t possibly break camp and accelerate for two days through sleep deprivation and hold the lead? WRONG.
• Did you think that Team Big Broderna (Corsair 31r tri) would build on the hard-earned and comfortable lead they grunted out over the first three days and coast in for a victory? WRONG.
• Did you think that the wind would hold and then build in the Strait in the afternoon (like it ALWAYS does)? WRONG.
• Did you tell your whole media team that they needed to get up at 4am because the closing speed of the presumptive first place finishers would put them in Port Townsend at Oh-My-God O’clock in the morning? Us either.

The past 24 hours have been riveting and humbling, at least for us, probably for you too, and definitely for six or so teams that finished way closer than they should have after 360 miles.

When we went to bed on June 9, we were sure. We’ve seen a race or two—and by that we’re talking the Race to Alaska. R2-mother-loving-K, Johnny Bigtime, not this WA360 lap around the lake we have here. We know how these things play out. We’re important.

When R2AK-hardened Team Big Broderna took the lead from the sleep-proof paddle mutants on Team BendRacing, we checked weather and tide predictions, pre-wrote this update, set the alarm and went to bed, cozy in a blanket woven from our own arrogance. Broderna for the win, as god intended.

Team Big Broderna did exactly what we predicted, and exactly what we would have done. By that night they had a commanding lead and a trimaran—a far faster boat than any of the sailboats who trailed them by over 15 miles, and light years faster than anyone shoveling water.

The Bros were an Anacortes team with mad race skills, street cred from 1st and 2nd place finishes in Swiftsure and R2AK, respectively. They were about to sail through their backyard, on the fastest boat, with a 15-mile lead. This. Was in. The bag.

They made the choice anyone with all of those hole cards would: rather than take the straight-line option and thread the needle through the variable winds of the San Juan Islands, they chose the longer route with predictably better current and cleaner wind — plenty of chance for them to stretch their legs and fly a hull to make the finish line in time for their reservation at any number of Port Townsend’s legendary bruncheries.

Yep, if there was wind to be had, it would be in the wide expanses of Boundary Pass and Haro Strait. How sure were we? Knowing nods from sailors around the world strained necks and caused a momentary bubble in the market for Chiropractic Futures. (Yes, a lie…but it feels true.) This was the only way.

In sailing, there is a catch phrase: “Local knowledge.” It’s the recognition that in any sailing race, there’s a home field advantage for knowing the particular wind and current patterns in that area.

Local knowledge sailors from the portion of the course NOAA weather radio calls “Northern Inland Waters Including the San Juan Islands” know that sometimes the race isn’t about finding the route with the shortest total distance, but the sum total of likely wind conditions and currents, and at least in this race the currents play such a huge role.

Neil deGrasse Tyson we ain’t, but it works like this: the moon and sun have gravity, and that gravity pulls a bulge of water around the earth as it rotates. That water bulge sloshes in and out of the rock strainer of San Juan Islands more or less two times a day, causing itinerant rivers and whirlpools that build, then fade, then change direction every six hours or so. It’s complicated, confusing, and PNW AF.

For boats, currents are the conveyor belts of the San Juans. Get on the right one and you’re on the moving sidewalk towards your destination. The wrong one and you’re that kid in the airport that thinks it’s hilarious that they are walking forward and going nowhere. True fact: it’s not hilarious, especially if you are rowing or pedaling, more so if your competition is catching up on the down escalator while you are fighting to climb it.

If you’re like us, you were today years old when you learned that WA360 isn’t a sailing race. At least this year for the leaders, it was a floating bike race punctuated by spinnaker runs that lasted as long as 5 hours but as little as 200 yards. Team Broderna made the right call for a sailing race: go for wind.

The Strait (of Juan De Fuca) has predictable, bankable winds that tend to rise west to east as the day progresses. Always, except when it doesn’t, like yesterday when you find yourself in a warp speed sailboat without wind, on the wrong conveyor belt, and you spend hours in light air getting pushed farther and farther to the west and away from the finish line.

You’re the kid in the airport going the wrong way from the final boarding call. Dammit.

In the critical moments of Thursday morning on June 10, the currents flexed hard. The same current conveyor belt that was sweeping Big Broderna towards Japan was sweeping the chase pack down the west side of Whidbey Island and closer to the turn for the home stretch. By 10am, wind and tide had transformed the race from having a presumptive winner to a six-way race for first place.

In eight hours the tide had carried the race from ‘Game over’ to ‘Game on,’ and after an overnight of hard sailing, all of a sudden five teams were vying for sailing’s first heavyweight championship belt. The run for the bling quickly became a cause of internet speculation.

Port Townsend locals held prayer circles (unconfirmed), sailors worldwide whistled on deck and scratched the backstays hoping for wind (unconfirmed), at least one new agey alter was created and shared via social media, there was incense (confirmed), and the chase pack hailed each other in the dawn’s early light. It was the stuff of legend.

Farther back there were dismastings and mayhem (such as the Olson 30 Gulls On Buoys), but the finale of the bike race that was the inaugural WA360 favored the uncomplicated straight line on the down escalator.

The chase pack of Teams Trickster (Cosair F28R), First Fed’s Sail Like a Girl (Melges 32), Lake Pend Oreille Yacht Club (Corsair F27), Fressure (Merit 28), and High Seas Drifters (Olson 30) worked the near-shore current off of Whidbey Island and lined themselves up for working the last miles with the winds that built out of the south, not the west—which local knowledge will tell you never happens, except when it does.

Team High Seas Drifters (photo above) crossed the line a minute shy of 1300. An Olsen 30, S/V Dark Horse lived up to its name with a hardly probable, come-from-behind win. A day before, they were out of the running. but now they were the unlikely victorious crew of Montanans who bested all comers—including trimarans, hopped up monohulls with teams of seasoned sailors, the Seattle sailing mafia, and the robo-mutant kayakers.

Despite all of the certainty, boat speed, and local knowledge; elite athletes, R2AK darlings, and the Seattle sailing in-crowd were treated to the transom view of the Montanans at the finish line. Right behind was Olympia’s Team Fessure who crossed the line seven minutes later.

Seven minutes! Over 360 miles that’s like a photo finish in the Kentucky Derby, if the second place horse crossed the finish line smoking a cigarette with an open bottle of tequila.

Lake Pend Oreille Yacht Club claimed third a scant 12 minutes later and were as amazed by their bronze medal finish as they were of the currents. “We’re lake sailors…that was crazy!” All three teams rose from, “Who are they?” to household names in a matter of hours, and 1-2-3 finished all within 19 minutes of each other in the most competitive race we could have ever imagined.

All told 12 teams came in rapid-fire in the hours since first place. All hit the dock in the adrenaline state between elated and exhausted. They hit the dock, rang the bell, hugged the earth and/or their loved ones, and accepted the ceremonial six-pack with appreciation and chagrin. One team put it best: “That’s 60 miles a beer.”

The WA360 began in Port Townsend, and from there it’s a dash south to Olympia, back up to Skagit Bay—where you must choose the rapids of Deception Pass or the shifting mud of the Swinomish Channel.

After rounding a buoy in Bellingham Bay and running past the most northern Washington territory of Point Roberts, the course turns south through the San Juan Islands to cross the finish line in Port Townsend.

Race details – Tracker – Entrants – Facebook