Chris, who owns Ragtime is a guy with tremendous ambition and the resources to support it.  This is not a bad thing.  In fact, I have huge respect for what he has done.  Several years ago he rescued a boat from impound called Ragtime.  Chained to a dock she was on a fast slide to oblivion.  Truly, one of the great classics of sailing, she carries with her two generations of sailing progress.

Built over 40 years ago, she is the first of a genre called "Ultra Light Displacement Boats".  When she was built she weighed less than half of what her similarly sized contemporaries weighed.  It is for this reason that the boat, then called "Infidel" was banned from the race she was designed to do: Sydney-Hobart.  Without a home, she was shipped to the states and became "Ragtime". 

In the US, she found a home.  More than that, she gave true meaning to a race I love: Transpac.  Her light displacement made her perfect for this downwind sleigh ride to Hawaii.  Out of her genes came two generations of boats that changed the face of sailing as we know it.  Because of her, we learned that light, very fast boats are extremely safe.

XL can trace her genes back to Ragtime.  She is a ULDB, she has chines, she is fast. 

So, earlier this year, Chris decided to do Sydney-Hobart.  He entered and was accepted as a competitor and low and behold, 40+ years later, he took the boat home to do the race she was designed to do.  Here is his story of the race:

Sydney-Hobart deserves it reputation as one of the great races in the world. Strong turnouts, incredible crowd interest, an interesting race course and set of challenges, and scenic overflow on both ends of the race course. sailing on Sydney Harbor alone is a lifetime experience - just gorgeous.

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The start in Sydney Harbor can not be described. The fleet is split in two lines, but not right and left - a big boat first line and the balance of the fleet on the second line, 500 yards back. This leaves the first line fleet circling in a small box. In four years of starting Ragtime at various events, nothing has been as adrenaline charged, scary fast, and over the top. . This is the crystal meth of yachting starts. Wild Oats and Skandia searing through the big boat fleet at 10-15 knots, huge easing and groaning sounds in 15 knots of breeze. Long bowsprits swing like scythes, and many of the mini speedsters have weapons too, but Ragtime is weaponless - no bumping or contact allowed. We're mid-line and early, and in range of Skandia's swinging blade. Blackjack (ex-SRM) is always startlingly fast around us. And a spectator fleet lined up tooth and jowl pressing against the yellow buoy lines on both sides fo the course. So many spectators that their ranks are impenetrable like a seawall.

 

After the start, the chaos starts to find order, at least on the race course. Relatively short tacking, aware of the reef centered in the channel ahead, and favoring the right side to avoid getting pinned to the left side of the tight course by the steady stream of starboard tackers. A dip could easily turn into dipping ten or twelve boats. 

Outside the spectator line, chaos continues though - thousands of power boats are half on a plane, coursing along to watch, like blood cells in an artery - at first, it looks like one thing, and as your get closer, you realize it is hundreds of smaller particles, all surging forward together. Chants of U-S-A, U-S-A because I have chosen to leave the flag flying for the first few miles of the start. 

Chapman's may be offended, but damn it, we've come along way to be here and let's let them know we are here.

 

The driving starts to settle from the washing machine of wakes inside the harbor. The first mark is a turning mark to the harbor exit, the second is outside where you turn south for Tasmania. This was the first area where I could evaluate our start and feel pretty good - faster boats are around us as we round, we had no collisions, and the battle to get through the logistics of the whole event has been won - we are on our way. And we've won our first gamble, rating without the

1 genoa to get an advantage. Half as much wind and we would have felt the pain of being underpowered in the wakes.

 

The breeze was solid from the Northeast, and with chutes set we are on our way south, on rhumbline. Good pace, 10-12 knots. Settling in to start navigating, picking a line to maximize the benefit of the southerly currents. By nightfall, the fleet has aired out, and our watch schedule kicks in. We are surrounded by boats in the fleet above us, a good sign. Suddenly, a all hands call - a red flare has gone off to weather. Radio volume up and we hear the yacht Georgia is in distress, sinking, her navigator already waist deep in water. They are close and we instantly agree that we need to turn and render aid, along with the Volvo 60 Merit. Coordinating through race control it is decided Merit will take the crew of 14 on, and Ragtime will stand by. 

Georgia's crew pops a life raft and sets up to shuttle to Merit, seven at a time.  As the second raft boards Merit, Georgia has settled to decks awash, and we are released to turn south again. The Hobart has claimed another boat. Sobering to think what this would be like half way to Hawaii as there is no one to see your flare.

 

Green Cape and the Bass Straits come quickly by the next morning, and we are on the edge of downwind VMG mode - a little course diversion for speed & heat can be tolerated. First the A2, then the A4 as the wind builds to high 20's. More difficult to sail as the groove gets narrower and the seas build, but really fast, freight train surges as puffs hit, but the green water when we run into the back of steep waves. Make the move to the new A6, built for the race, and its a winner - with the smaller kite, we are as fast or faster, and the control is back, and we've taken a step back from the edge of the abyss. It's a Nantucket sleigh ride, and there's power to burn. 

Compared to the A4, the A6 lifts the bow up more, which makes for fewer submarine excursions. Ragtime starts to leapfrog waves, picking up more speed after each crest is conquered. High teens are constant, and minute rides in the 20's routine. Peak is 26.5 knots. Our second gamble, this sail, has paid big dividends, and the shift from the 4A good too - once it was down we could see the head was minutes from blowing out. Kudos to the Elliott Pattison loft for pulling the A6 and the light 3 jib (needed when we decided to leave the 1 behind) together with only five days' notice before the race.

 

The latter half of the Bass Strait turned into real Hobart conditions

- wind moving forward in the low 30's, kite down, blast reacher up, and waves becoming an issue. We're watching every hard mile go by, looking for the wind to ease back to the right and for the protection of the islands above Tasmania to start offering some protection from the biggest waves. First one reef, then a second, 65% of our mainsail area down. 3 blast reacher/jib top blows out at the top, and we move to the storm jib. All of this happens at exactly 40 degrees South; welcome to the Roaring 40's.

 

Relief comes slowly as the wind backs, the waves knock down a little, and we get the reef out and the A3 up. Then conditions turn to magic and we are back on the sleigh ride - close enough to rhumbline, making easy high teens and twenties with the mountains of Tasmania 40-50 miles to the west. The last 80 and next 100 miles are very fast, until we catch the backside of a squall ahead, and the wind does a sudden 180, next we are beating on the other tack with frequent 90 degree shifts and wind from 4 to 16 knots. This lasts for ten miles, then the breeze steadies again. We're very close to Brindabella, a mini maxi in the class ahead that has materialized out of the squall gloom.

 

Rounding Tasman Isle, a magnificent island made of granite pipes like the Devil's Postpile in Mammoth. As we round, the wind in the bay leading to the Derwent River averages 25-35, with big seas. This was supposed to be the protected area!  We are pounding hard and trouble brews with the 4 jib as it blows out of the luff groove. Trying to take it down it gets away and is trailing straight out at mast height. 

Turning downwind it started to sink down and get in reach to pull back aboard; I'm relieved as the loss of the sail would cost us a tool we need, plus the economics of losing the sail, sheets , and halyard would be annoying to say the least.

 

The gusts are frightening - I look to weather and see one gust coming down that is just tearing the white caps into the air. At about 30 knots, gravity stops affecting the spray and it swirls and lift straight up or sideways. The river of water above the cabin top stops running aft; instead it is sucked into the air wholesale. Dramatic granite bluffs all around, and a lee shore that was a bit threatening.

 

We reset the sail several times but ultimately lost it each time, and strangely, the shackle at the bottom was blowing loose too. This convinced us that maybe the shackle was the problem so we set it yet again with a strap, but it blew out again quickly. Back to the storm jib and frustratingly slow progress to weather. We know we are leading, but these setbacks are costing us dearly as each blow out means a turn downwind to get the sail aboard, and we go too fast when we point that direction - two steps forward, one step back.

 

Eventually, we round several headlands and enter the Derwent itself, in the night. It's cold, really cold (daytime high was 60 - night must be 42), and the wind is roaring enough to make talking a challenge. 

Difficult to relay the navigator's comments from below to the driver. 

Tacking back and forth we begin to look for the finish line amidst the surprising amount of city lights. Line found, we finish, sails come down, and we are led ashore for badly needed shore time. It was 3:30 AM by the time we are docked and sorted, and around 7 AM the rum squall dies down, leaving bodies asleep in foulies throughout the boat. We've done well, but won't know what the outcome is until others finish and the question of redress is sorted.

 

The redress hearing had me concerned, but I walked out thinking the judges were very fair. I had asked for the time spent backtracking, on scene, and getting the sails set again, and they grant us exactly that, which is fair. The judges make it clear they are happy with our decisions, and put a commendation in writing to the crew.

 

We have won Division II Line Honors (first to finish in class), and First Foreign Boat to Finish. The redress moves us from third on correction to First, Division II, and suddenly, I am glad Rolex is the race sponsor...

 

Hobart is a surprise - very cosmopolitan redo of a colonial city. Fine contemporary shops and cafes built in old structures, a wine and cheese/taste of Tasmania exposition underway, and a very clean and tidy city. Bigger than expected, a few midrise buildings, and perfectly restored stone civic buildings, hotels, and houses. Clean and orderly, with lots of water frontage on the Derwent.

 

Looking back, it was a great race. Drama, wind, waves, scenery, all in some excess but in the end, no one is hurt and we've had the full Sydney-Hobart Race experience, all boxes checked. Would like to return and race again, but realistically, this is a long, long way from home. 

And it would be harder to have a better experience the next time around; this one was pretty perfect.

 

Chris Welsh

Ragtime

USA 7960

 

Ragtime Net Results:

First to FInish - IRC Division 2

First on Handicap - IRC DIvision 2

First Foreign Boat to Finish

11th Overall IRC

19th Overall Line Honors

 

It's pitch black.  The moon hasn't risen, not that it would matter.  There is only a bit of ambient glow from the instruments in the navigation station.  I'm lying in my bunk trying to get some rest.  In just under two and a half hours, my watch mates and I are due back on deck.

But I can't sleep;  I can barely keep my eyes shut.  I glance over at the GPS unit in the navigation station.  It shows that we're doing 12.5 knots over the ground.  While that's pretty fast for a sailboat, in my bunk it feels like we're doing 50.  Everything is moving.  It's so loud that if one of my watch mates (only a couple of feet away) was actually sleeping well enough to be snoring, I'd never hear him.  The boat surges, and I feel it accelerate.  The water noise increases as the GPS shows us passing 15 knots and appears headed for 20.  Suddenly, I'm pressed forward as the boat sails into the back of the wave ahead of us and slows immediately.  The spinnaker sheet creaks in the block as it is let out quickly to allow for our slowing speed.

I suppose "creak" is a bit of  an understatement.  On boats such as ours, made from carbon fiber, every noise sounds like and seems as loud as a gunshot fired in a portable toilet.  Whether the sound comes from a line going in or out or the boat hitting a wave, every action seems accompanied by a bang. 

I'm a compulsive worrier at sea.  My goal as skipper is to do everything in my power to ensure that the boat is never the excuse for a poor performance.  Ashore, we spend a ton of time going through every piece of gear and replacing those that appear as though they may break.  Sailing, like Nascar, is a sport of attrition; to finish first, one must first finish.  Every bit of broken gear slows the boat and introduces the possibility of not actually finishing.

Each noise takes me further from sleep.  With every sound I hear, I must determine if it was caused by water or gear.  If the latter, was the gear making a normal operating sound, or did it break.  Was the break catastrophic?  Do I need to get up on deck?  Can it be fixed with all the sails up; or do we need to reduce sail, slow the boat, and try to fix it?

Bang.  Bang.  Bang. The spinnaker sheet is brought back in as the boat accelerates again.  The block is directly above my head.  From the sound, I can tell the ball bearings are overloaded in this breeze and beginning to flatten as the block turns when they do not.  I hear a wall of water rushing down the deck towards the cockpit from the wave into which we just sailed. 

Swoosh, trickle, drip, drip.  Hundreds of gallons of seawater rush down the deck and off the back of the boat with every wave.  For those on deck, the pressure from the water is excessive at times.  Often, they feel the tether on the safety harness that attaches them to the boat pulling forward as the water pushes the other way in a tug-of-war over the body.  If the tether looses, a sailor may well find himself becoming a new Pacific Island as he watches the boat sail away.  If the tether wins the tug-of-war, he is probably a bit wetter and increasingly cold.

Below, the water rushes down the deck above my head.  As it passes, it finds every tiny hole and pushes water through to trickle and drip down to my bunk and its two occupants: me and my sleeping blanket.  Neither operates well when wet.  The joke is that there is a lake by one of my watch mates' bunks.  At the beginning of every watch, we bail out the lake.  He complains about the lake; I complain about the river that runs through my bunk, feeding the lake. 

Finally, with about an hour left until my next watch, exhaustion takes over, and I nod off.  Any significantly loud noise wakes me instantly, and I'm up like a shot.  Hopefully, I will be able to sleep until the other watch calls that we're on in 20 minutes.  At the end of a watch, I always tell the other guys, "See you in three hours." To myself, I always add, "With any luck. As long as nothing breaks."

When the call finally comes (although "finally" is not the word I would use after only 40 minutes of actual sleep), we climb from our bunks.  Our body heat has warmed the wet blankets and mattresses, so we immediately get cold as we get up.

The boat is moving, bouncing around like a small plane in a big storm.  It lunges and bounces, surges and slows.  It is impossible to stand without holding something.  I put my gear on; it's just the way I left it: soaked and cold.  My hand reaches through my jacket to find it wet, clammy, and cold, like everything else.  I zip up in the vain hope that my body heat will dry the jacket a bit during the watch.  My harness goes on, and I secure it tightly in the hope I'll never actually test its fit.  A flashlight is turned on, and a snack is found in the galley.  We discuss whose turn it is to make coffee (not me this time). I grab a Red Bull and head up on deck.

When you have a moment...check out the article that is currently on the front page of www.sailinganarchy.com.  Titled "The Loss" it is a few of my thoughts on what happened this year.  No, it is not my unvarnished comments.  Yes, some of you will be impressed at my little used ability to be diplomatic. 

Those that spent time with me, either on the race or in Hawaii, will have a more clear idea of what I think about our results and why they happened...I believe 'like telling the wheezing kid he can go to the Olympics' was uttered by me more than once, but I'll save that for another day.  I will also save my explanation as to why San Francisco is the greatest city of 'looser lovers' in the world.

That being said, there is a lot of truth in what I said about the things we could have done better. 

...stay tuned.

Tuesday, July 22nd

27 09 N
141 44 W

8 knots

So I'm sitting here, waiting for my MRE (Chicken Fajitas) to warm up. The off gassing from the heater is less than appetizing and smells somewhere between burning electronics and over heated radiator fluid. However, it heats the food that I can eat.

We are now working on Mark III of the tiller head attachment. Not having a stable connection between the tiller and rudder has held us back. We have not been able to push the boat at 100%. However, like so much in life, perfection and the perfect situation are rare. The challenge is what makes it all fun.

The sailing, although light has been really nice. No, not the perfect conditions for us, but lovely, none the less. The reality is that with 900 miles to go it is still a wide open race. While Hula Girl has a pretty good lead the distance is quite close between the next 5 boats. We were hindered, in the standings, by conditions that had all of us sailing into lighter air. This meant that the boats behind were able to catch up. Whether we'll be able to sail away from them, however, is a whole other question. By Sunday, there will be nothing left but the crying. Until then, we're having a great time being in the middle of the fight.

The weather has been very unstable and our routing has changed 6 times in a day and a half. It ail adds to the fun.

Love to all.

Monday, July 21st

28 13 N
137 45 W

10 knots

When we woke up this morning we knew we had given a lot away last night. That little thing about the bolt that attaches the tiller head to the tiler shearing turned into more than the original 20 minute 'quick fix'. For almost three hours we worked to get the whole joint stable. And during that time we had to slow the boat to half speed. Our guesstimate is that we lost about 10 miles....and that's optimistic.

Continuing our optimism has us believing that the Gremlins have been sated. To that end, we celebrated with a slightly early 'half way' party. It was great. Cheese and salami on crakers started us out. This was followed with teriyaki chicken breasts, freeze dried green beans and corn of the same source. I have to say that freeze dried veggies ROCK! This was closed out with a fabulous freeze dried chocolate rasberry crumble.

We spent a lot of time today working to both keep the boat going, as the wind got lighter, and figure out the weather and best route to get us home. After a ton of discussion, we;ve decided to roll the dice and choose a shorter, but somwhat riskier route. It's a bit of shooter's mentality we've opted for today. We've won this race before and know we could do it again with a bit of luck and the right conditions. It's a longshot, but hey, it's all we've got. So, like any good shooter in basketball, we know we can make the shot and are not going to get demoralized because the last one didn't go in. The next one will.

Of course, our spirits are up and the team is working well.

Love to all

Sunday, July 20
2100 PDT

29 51 N
135 23 W

Speed 9.4 knots

A long ocean passage is a fascinating experience. There is seeming a beginning with no end. You are either on watch or off watch. There are no radios, TVs, teleconferences, meetings, Internet (other than for quick messages and weather downloads), dinners, commutes, or comforts. But there is an incredible singularity of focus. Nothing matters except making the boat go as fast as possible. That's it. No agendas and no distractions. It really is amazing.

So here I sit, getting ready to crash. I'm off watch right now. We run four hour watches during the day (6-10, 10-2, and 2-6). At night, we run three hour watches. In this way, we end up having 8 hours of off time every other day. All off watch time is used to clean, repair, wash and eat. The only thing we do when on watch is work at making the boat go. Generally, we have one person driving (1 hour each) and two trimming the sails.

The boat is divided into two watches, green (starboard) and red (port). But becuase of the way they broke out, we've got the old guys and the young guys. Not included in the cycle are my father and my son, Richard. My father is the navigator and keeps us headed in the right direction with the right weather. This is Richards first Hawaii Race so he is largely exepmt at 12 from having to stand a watch.

The first two days were really tough on everyone. It was particularly nast weather (ceb: something about a feather) and both Richard and I were sick. I've done this before and was expecting it. So were my watch mates. While I stood my watches, I was not particularly effective. For Richard, it was a bit of a horrible surprise. Sick, down below for two days he was miserable. Sick and cold all I could do was lie on the interior cabin sole with him, holding his bucket and promising him it would get better. He's an incredibly tough kid and just looked at me, with a weak smile and say "ok, dad".

Yesterday, as things started to quiet down and the wind and seas clocked aft he become more and more active and chipper. By the afternoon he was up on deck. Today he was eating ravenously, and working on his downwind trimming skills. He even decided to try some psychological warfare on "Hula Girl". Knowing that Paul Cayard's teenage daughter is aboard, and a believer in the truth of advertising, he started to spray his AXE deodorant around. His logic was that if it really did attract girls, as the ads say, they she might slow the boat down to investigate the scent.

Hula Girl has been really fast, Granted, we've had some of our worst days of sailing in a while.

20 minute break occurred here as Harry screamed that he had broken the tiller...oh sh*t. Upon inspection we found that the bolt had sheared from the tiller head. So we have effected a temporary fix and are now working on a more (6 days) permanent one. Ugh. Our butchers bill is growing...1 destroyed kite, three repairs, and now a sheared tiller bolt. Hopefully our karma will change.

So Hula Girl has been really fast, and I take my hat off to them. So have Roxanne and Morpheus. So, the next few days should be interesting as the story of this years Pacific Cup for XL unfolds.

All of us miss our loved ones ashore and hope to see you all soon.

Hi everyone my name is Danny and I sail on "XL" most of the time when it races, but on Pac Cup the boat only takes 8 people. So...I am here to receive email from the boat and post them here.

As of 2:00 pm today, Friday 7/18/08 I have not received a email from the boat. As soon I get a email from the boat it will be posted here.

..">

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzwNpmlw9-o

Latitude 38 (www.latitude38.com) is the regional sailing magazine for Northern California.  Largely, it follows the comings and goings of that community.

One of they items they enjoy is prognosticating the outcome of the Pacific Cup.  Historically, they have done the predictions in the issue that arrives the month of the race.  And this year was not different.

Here is what they wrote about our division:

"DivisionE: (starts July 17)  This is a tough, tough call.  In light air, Chris Calkins and Norm Reynolds' Calkins 50 Sabrina is as pretty as she is slippery. We happened, randomly enough, to sail aboard her under previous ownership on Puget Sound and can tell you she'll sail to her PHRF rating.  If she doesn't get hurt by the Pac Cup ratings, she just might reprise her overall Corona Del Mar to Cabo San Lucas Race win earlier this year.  Yes, we now Paul Cayard is in this division.  If the breeze comes up, his SC 50 Hula Girl should scream.  But we have to think that Hula Girl's ratig will be pretty steep on account of all the performance modification the previous owner made - too steep for a SC50 in the ind of conditions they seem to excel in.  So, we're picking the Barran Family's Antrim 40 XL.  She has an extremely efficient sailplan, a displacement of only about 10,000 pounds, a more modern hull form, and we're banking on the fact that Harry Pattison and Jim Antrim will be on opposite watches.  We think the boat fits a broader range of conditions and should really smoke downwind in the breeze.  Given that they race is starting three weeks later this year, we're going to hedge our guess for more breeze and go with XL."

So, there you are.  The target is clearly pasted on our backs as we are picked to finish at the front of the division and ahead of one of professional sailing's preeminent skippers.  To those non-sailors out there, this is not dissimilar from showing up at a club tournament, having Phil Mickleson playing.  And low and behold,not only are you picked for his foursome, but the pundits start saying that on this course you should beat him!  Seriously.

As if it isn't cool enough to sail against these guys.  Of course, we are not taking this at all seriously as a prediction.  Then again, the last time we won our division (2000) Latitude 38 predicted that outcome.  But seriously, we are going to go out, race as hard as we can and no matter what, be proud of our results.

To learn more about Paul Cayard, you can go to his website: www.cayardsailing.com

Fair winds...

p.s. if you can't tell, we are certainly tickled by this prediction.  :-)