[Capri25] Sailcrafters Fall 2020 Newsletter and Propaganda
Tim Carlson
tim at sailcrafters.com
Fri Oct 2 08:20:57 CDT 2020
** Sailcrafters Fall 2020 Newsletter and Propaganda
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** Welcome to the year of COVID-19
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We want to give a special thanks to all the people who helped Sailcrafters build, finance, and distribute over 25,000 face shields for the first responders and medical personal in the metro area. When everyone was collecting toilet paper and all the restaurant’s where shutting down. People like John Graves, Hugo Searle, Rick Case, Capt. Vicky Staudte, Dave Simpson, Fred Schulze, Gary Applebaum, Eric Stich, Toni, Barton, and many others who donated time, money, ideas to the cause. The face shields went to over 220 locations in boxes of 50 to the people that needed them and could not get them from anywhere else. I am very proud to have been a part of that effort and the people we helped to protect.
We now sell North Scow Sails
Sailcrafters is the official North Sails dealer for the Upper Midwest. It is our goal to help your team win races and save money at the same time. We are also thrilled to announce that Sailcrafters is now your one-stop-shop for North scow sails. For decades A, E, C, X, MC and M-16 scow sailors have trusted North’s innovative sail technology to give them the edge over their competition. Inland championships are some of the most competitive events in the country, and North-powered boats have consistently ranked at the top of their fleets. The 2020 season was a wash, challenging next year’s champions to prove that their teams can hold together on and off the water. At Sailcrafters, we’re ready to help you do that. We could not be more excited to pair our extensive local knowledge with the world’s largest and most trusted sailmaker. Call Tim (952-693-6089) or Eric (949-228-7185) or email us before October 31 to advantage of the best deal of the year on your North Sails order.
Call us about Multiple boat and Fleet discounts for even deeper discounts.
Sail and Canvas Cleaning
We offer professional cleaning by Sail Brite in Chicago. Drop off your sails and canvas for us to inspect, repaire and have professionally cleaned. Sails and canvas need to be at Sailcrafters by Friday, November 20^th. After a check over, repair and cleaning you can pick your sails up in April 2021. Check the website for prices.
Sailcrafters Sails
We are still building high quality locale-built sails and we need orders right now! Do you need or want new custom sails? We can build your new Dacron sails right here in the loft. Contact Tim (952-693-6089) for a quote.
The COVID-19 ISSUE
No Ice Boat Swap Meet
No Training for Medical Emergencies at Sea Classes
No Northern Breezes Classes at the Loft
Northern Breezes Sailing does offer the following online or correspondence courses:
* Coastal Navigation (ASA 105)
* Electronic Navigation
* Basic Celestial Navigation (ASA 117)
* Celestial Navigation (ASA 107)
* Weather for Mariners (ASA 119)
* Radar for Mariners (ASA 120)
* Rules of the Nautical Road
Contact: Captain Thom Burns
Northern Breezes Sailing School 763-542-9707 NorthernBreezesSailing.com (http://northernbreezessailing.com/)
Mark and Pete the Rigging guys
Sailcrafters rigging crew has started pulling boats all over the place. If you need help deriging, unstepping a mast, pulling a "sailboat", replacing standing or running rigging give us a call. Winter is the best time to replace or add roller furlers as well.
We recommend Doyle Boat Ranch to anyone looking for a winter storage option. Call Eric at 949-228-7185
Sailcrafters Fall Hours
Monday-Thursday 9AM-5PM
Friday 9AM-3PM
Saturday By appointment, most Saturdays we are around.
Sunday Closed
Tim Carlson
Sailcrafters Loft & Rigging
North Sails Representative
www.sailcrafters.com (http://www.sailcrafters.com/)
7450 Oxford Street
St. Louis Park, MN 55426
Cell 952-693-6089
Shop 952-540-7474
** 2020 A Sailor's Sad Story
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by Carl Eaton
For racers, the 2020 season felt like a bad regatta with a skewed course and an incompetent race committee. The wind dies, and you’re left to drift, waiting to hear three horns. But alas, you bounce and bob over the finish line only to begin the real racing— back to the keg. We’ve all been there, and the truth of the matter is that regardless of how bad the racing may be, it always beats no race at all.
Back in March, the collegiate racing season was the first to be crossed off my schedule. By May, I was itching to get on the water. You see, I hadn’t gone longer than 5 months without sailing since 7th grade. In a normal year, my hibernation begins in November after the last event in the fall collegiate season. On average, I am awoken from my slumber in mid-March when the ice melts, so by the time June rolled around, I could actively feel my body shutting down. Weaker and weaker, I watched in despair as virtually every regatta in the Twin Cities was cancelled. I realized the fate of the offshore season would not offer me much hope. But then, a light in the distance, on the shores of Michigan, began to appear.
Bayview Yacht Club was one of the few clubs in the nation brave enough or stupid enough (depending on your views) to host a large-scale regatta this year. The organizers of the Bayview Mac faced significant scrutiny for attempting such a feat. Some participants expressed their frustration following the cancellation of all social events before and after the race, while others argued the race should not be held at any capacity. After much debate, the RC announced the show would go on (with masks, of course).
The delivery crew on MC^2 sprang into action, stuffing as many canned espressos and Uncrustable sandwiches beneath the bilge boards as possible. With the boat and crew fueled up, Tim, Sam, Tighe, Shane, and myself embarked on the 600 mile transport from Bayfield, Wisconsin to Port Huron, Michigan. Our arrival at the venue was bittersweet, as it lacked the fanfare from locals and sailors alike. The banks of Black River were vacant of the boats and bands that played in celebration of “Boat Week.” While the smell of alcohol still wafted through the air, it was only that of hand sanitizer.
The entry list was short this year, as skippers were forced to weigh the risks and rewards of calling on their teams to travel during a pandemic. Not to mention the Canadian border was closed, stranding our comrades-to-the-north in nearby Sarnia, Ontario. This meant that the preferred race course, which rounds Cove Island near the Canadian shore, was out of the question. Racers were left with a 30-mile-wide drag strip along the Michigan coastline, and crossing the exclusion zone meant immediate disqualification. The forecast called for the usual 15-20 knot on-the-nose slammer that we on MC^2 have become accustomed to over the past four seasons on the Great Lakes. Sam, our young and optimistic navigator, tried his best to summon a southerly from the wind gods, but his passionate, profanity-ridden prayer was overlooked.
Sailors rolled out of their bunks strangely sober on race day, ready for the long beat that lay ahead. For me, it was the sweet sound of screaming skippers during the annual bumper-boat parade between the lift bridges that roused me from my sleep. As a bowman, I tidied up the sail locker and located my earplugs in case my skipper should call for a sail change. In an act of righteous defiance, I raised my middle finger to the sky and rigged the spinnaker sheets despite the grim northerly forecast. This, in retrospect, was a foolish mistake. Our fate was sealed as we motored to the starting line and were met with conditions that perfectly matched the forecast—damnit.
When the gun went off, we found ourselves battling the boat directly to leeward which pushed us up into the rest of the fleet. I held my breath on the bow as my skipper narrowly avoided a collision. Unbeknownst to us, their crew had indicated to the race committee their intent to file a protest against us. Much to our surprise, we did not see a red flag, so we plowed ahead. Shortly after dusk, I was pulled from my cozy nest atop the spinnakers to perform the first and only sail change of the race. The breeze was quickly increasing, so I queued up the #3 in the pitch-black as the waves began to reach over my head. Full of adrenaline and espresso, I hiked out on the rail and emptied my boots into the faces of everyone downwind of me. Another job well done.
Following 36 sleepless hours of pounding into waves and tacking up the shore, we were graced with the opportunity to bear off no more than 10 degrees to the finish at Mackinac Island. As the sun set, the smell of horse manure lifted our spirits and we could finally ask the pressing question on everyone’s mind— “Where the f*** is the finish line?!” In the crew’s collective delirium, we were quick to form our own opinions of where it might be. With all hands on deck, Sam heroically prevented a mutiny by referring to the chart plotter, although a few still had their doubts. By some miracle, we crossed the line, exchanged fist-bumps, and dropped the sails.
Mackinac Island was quiet… too quiet. It was tough to say whether that was because of a lack of tourists on the island or because we were one of the first finishers. Much to our delight, it was the latter. This realization was bittersweet considering our excitement could not be met with a visit to the winner’s circle at the Pink Pony Bar. As a reward instead, we consumed a shocking amount of pizza on the dock and went to bed. By dawn, we could still see the competition drifting across the line.
Later that morning, we heard whisperings of an impending protest against us. Our case was solid, so we tried not to fret over the possibility of a penalty. What we were not prepared for, however, was the dramatic hearing that ensued in front of the judges. Conducted over Zoom, an Oscar-worthy performance from the other crew full of tears and stories of a near-death experience ultimately landed us the boot. Our podium finish was stripped from us, and we were disqualified.
All in all, this race was the perfect metaphor for the year 2020. A seemingly never-ending slog that makes you yearn for days past. A glimpse of hope shattered by a split-second mistake. A stubborn desire to keep going forward when you must pay the price. Victory that is so close, yet so far. Metaphors aside, I guess what I’m trying to say is—DO. YOUR. SPINS.
Oh, and wear your f****** mask.
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