Racing takes a lifetime to master, and even then there’s no guarantee that you’ll make it to the front of the pack. While the close quarter maneuvering can be daunting, there is no better way to improve your sailing skills.

I was excited at the prospect of entering my first sailing race ever. The day started early as I had to get my boat almost five miles down the lake to the sponsoring marina by 9 a.m. for the skipper's meeting. Up by 6 a.m., I was thinking about anything and everything that could or would happen through the day while I readied myself and my trusty boat. I went over in my mind the theories and tactics I read about sailboat racing. I thought about the start and how we would approach such a daunting environment, my little 21-foot surrounded by the many big behemoths. I assured myself that I was ready, but was keeping in mind the number one goal for the race that day: "Stay the heck outta' everyone's way!"

With everything set, I motored out into the rolling lake. The sky was completely overcast with lingering hints of the rain that had moved through, obscuring the rising sun of the dawn and providing a definite chill for whomever ventured out this morning. The brisk wind had the lake rolling a bit, swells the length of my boat and little whitecaps to keep me company on my trip down the lake. As luck would have it, the wind was at my back for the whole trip down, which pushed my boat over each crest and down the face of the rolling lake. Also as luck would have it, I severely underestimated the time needed to cover the almost five miles under power of my outboard. I was maybe half-way down the lake when the cell phone in my pocket rang. "Where are you?" asked Jeana, one of my crew, having already arrived at the marina in time for the tasty continental breakfast. My response did not illicit very much confidence that I would arrive in time for the race, but I got an assurance that both Harold and Jeana would be happy to consume my share of the donuts and coffee while they attended the skipper's meeting in my stead.

Time for the skipper's meeting still found me still on the lake, headed to the marina with only a slight pause to refill my trusty four-horsepower outboard's gas tank which I had neglected to fill the night before. A second, and then a third call from my friends assured them that yes, I was still going to be in the race and yes, I was that little boat off in the distance. The fourth call, just 10 minutes later from Jeana brought both relief and concern--the skipper's meeting had been cancelled; the rules and course had all been covered the day before, but the start of the race wasn't scheduled until 10. So, only 15 minutes after the scheduled/cancelled skipper's meeting (and an hour after I said I would arrive), I happily motored into the very crowded Carlyle Sailing Association (CSA) harbor. Harold and Jeana met me at the end of the second dock and happily (maybe grudgingly) helped me tie up for my arrival. The docks were stuffed with boats from all three of the lake's marinas for this Volvo Leukemia Regatta event. I reminded myself of my primary objective, staying out of the way, comforted by the fact that I was helping a worthy cause and that my performance was certainly a lower priority, but looking at the number of much larger boats being readied for the race, my thoughts of survival jumped right up to the top. I almost stated aloud my concerns and questions as to what in the blank have I gotten myself into?

Putting the negative thoughts behind, my crew and I quickly got my little boat ready for the race. My contribution was to get to the men's room and back before the race started. I got back just in time to shove off and join the many boats headed out to the start of the race course. The weather hadn't improved much beyond the rain ending, but the breeze was definitely brisk which made the ride to the start a very bouncy affair.

And they’re off! The goal is to avoid collisions, keep clear air entering the sails, and not to be looking at any boat’s transom.

Arriving in the starting area amidst probably three dozen other boats, the view was more a recreation of the scene of fishing boats scurrying around in the harbor from the movie "Jaws" than a sailing race--at least to me. My primary objective and sense of survival kicked in at once as I made my way clear of most of the boats. Having missed the skipper's meeting, I had no idea what group I was to start with and only a vague idea of exactly where the starting line was. The lack of these little tidbits of information proved not to be insurmountable when I crossed the starting line with the second group of boats. I had successfully found the starting line within a scant 30 seconds of the starting horn that announced the beginning of the race. However, my pride quickly turned to embarrassment when the race committee boat informed us that I had started with the wrong group and would we mind circling back and go with my assigned group?

Having ensured my crew that I was only practicing a start, I steered the boat back behind the starting line and resumed the tacking dance we had gotten into with the other boats while waiting our turn. The big moment finally arrived as the double pennant was raised as the final horn sounded--we were racing! At the horn, almost all the boats swung towards the starting line on a close reach, aligning themselves on a good tack line for the first mark. My crew and I also executed a perfect tack as we followed our racing brethren. One after another boat quickly crossed the line and were off. We had a perfect view of the start, being only a mere 50 yards behind the starting line. My strategy had paid off well as we had avoided any conflicts with the other boats at the start. It paid off so well in fact, that we were now sailing behind the entire crowd of boats and dead last to cross the starting line five minutes after the starting horn. However, my crew must have somehow missed my explanation of my goal before the race and were now expressing their disappointment in our position. I quickly pointed out to them that the other racers were really not that far in front of us and that we had a good line with plenty of speed with the spirited wind blowing well. I dismissed their notion that we were headed contrary to the other boats on our tack, explaining that this tack looked to set us up better to make the mark.

It wasn't long before I noticed that the other boats were beginning to pull away from us and well to port. That's right about the time I actually spotted the first mark of the course that Harold and Jeana had been trying to point out to me, well off to port. My decision to start on a starboard tack had apparently been a very poor one, so I immediately corrected our heading, confident with now having knowledge of our immediate objective. I again had to quash negative comments emanating from my crew, reminding them that this truly was my first race and that we out here to have fun--winning didn't matter. What did it matter that we probably 100 yards behind the last of the other boats? Besides, we had a great developing view of the other boats turning past the mark and quickly rigging their sails wing-on-wing; a beautiful sight of almost a dozen boats headed right for us. As the other boats approached, I again put my objective in the forefront and tacked to avoid the rush. Only a couple more tacks completed and we found ourselves abreast of the mark, which we finally managed to cross to the joy of all aboard.

I turned the boat to head downwind and turned the tiller over to the first mate so I could go forward and rig the brand new whisker pole. He cheerfully accepted the duty, maybe from the evident frustration at being so far behind the other boats. I snagged the pole from the cabin and made my way forward, remembering that I had wanted to practice setting the pole at least once before now. As with the other parts of the race so far, I found that setting the pole was not that difficult after four or five tries. I defended the five minutes it took me to set the pole to my crew in that I needed to make sure it was set correctly and had to solve the problem of it disconnecting from the jib sheet. The solution at hand, the whisker pole was finally set and we were streaking down the lake on a great downwind run.

Putting the negative thoughts behind, my crew and I quickly got my little boat ready for the race. My contribution was to get to the men's room and back before the race started. I got back just in time to shove off and join the many boats headed out to the start of the race course. The weather hadn't improved much beyond the rain ending, but the breeze was definitely brisk which made the ride to the start a very bouncy affair.

Crew unity is making this boat go fast. If the mojo isn’t happening and you have to bail for the beer truck, so be it. The goal is to have fun on the water and not have a crew implosion.

Once again, we had a great view of all the other boats as they made the turn around the next mark, albeit quite far away by this time. More objections from my crew brought my explanation that the boats we were watching round the next mark were most assuredly in the group that had started before us and that at least we knew where the next mark was this time. The grumbling stopped for while, especially when I gave the excuse that I had to re-check the whisker pole and moved the foredeck (and out of conversing range) I contemplated our situation as I waved at one after another of our group of racers headed back upwind. I could almost feel the thrill and the sense of competition of the other boats, mostly grouped together in a tight, heated race and answered almost all of the other skipper's comments about how far we were behind nicely. Alas, I had to tell one skipper that, no, we didn't have a camera on board to get a good a picture of all the other boats racing, sorry.

The frustration factor of our predicament was bubbling over by the time we finally reached the downwind mark. I confess that I had lost hope in even finishing the race during the daylight hours and my crew was on the verge of a full-scale mutiny. Those factors considered, we executed an almost perfectly successful turn about the mark, then made a successful turn around the mark and collectively agreed that the beer truck that was parked back at the marina was probably in immediate peril and needed to be guarded. I could almost sense the relief of the committee boat member that answered my announcement on the radio that we had accomplished my goal of staying well out of the way of the other boats and had decided to get in place to greet all the other racers when they returned to port. Strange that the sun broke out from behind the clouds at almost the same instant that the committee member confirmed our exiting the race.

Our trip back to the marina was virtually uneventful with only minor issues addressed when we crossed through the other race being held for the smaller Lasers, J-boats, and the like. We really didn't cause any of those boats to have to give anything up in their race, no matter what you may have heard. In fact, we nearly beat those little boats back to the docks as their race was ending just after we crossed through it. Again, we were in perfect position to observe sailboats racing. What a day.

Our first race ended rather quietly as we secured the last dock line. Both my crew and I contemplated the lessons learned during our race and congratulated each other for successfully accomplishing our goals and making it back to the docks in one piece--the fact that the boat was still fully seaworthy was a noted bonus! My crew and I then went about the task of greeting all the other boats as they approached the docks, shrugging off the questions about our early end with the proud declaration that the beer truck was now completely safe and secure--and we had a warning to all the others: "Just wait 'till next time!"