The
first running of the Heppingstone-Brown
Challenge opened a new chapter in our family
history.
About 35 members of the clan traveled from
as far east as Essex, Massachusetts, and
as far west as Honolulu, Hawaii to attend
the
gathering. Although a few of us sneaked
off to the lake earlier for some trial runs
in
the race boats) and the kids did some fishing
in the pond, the event officially began
Friday evening at the picnic pavilion of
the Surf Motel in Marblehead, Ohio, with
a barbecue dinner
complete with
ample storytelling, drinking, and lying.
Saturday
was our designated race day. Someone likened
getting everyone to the launch site to “herding
kittens”, which wasn’t very
far off. However, we all got to the water
eventually.
We launched boats at Dempsey's Access on
Sandusky Bay and based our group at a little
beach just
south of the breakwater.
For
the actual racing, we had two Cape
Dory 14’s, which were as evenly
matched as anything else we might have
come up with.
The Cape Dory company only ever made about
650 of these boats between 1964 and 1973,
so we considered ourselves very fortunate
to have
two of them at our disposal. Ellen brought
one that the Lloyd family got directly
from the factory in 1971 (look for a black
sail insignia). The other was Louise’s
boat, “Moku
o na Makuahine” (look for registration
numbers on the bow and red sail letters),
an earlier hull number, but largely restored
to
her original condition. Everybody who wanted
to was offered a chance to sail in them,
and – to
our knowledge – everybody enjoyed
them.
The
original plan had been to use Middle
Sea (the Fosters’ Southcoast 22) as our “whaling
ship” and a smaller motorboat for a committee
boat. In fact, we had all manner of plans for
racing teams and themed races that would have
involved transporting crewmen to the whaling
ship, “hunting” inflatable
whales, and
capturing a bottle of rum. Most of these
plans were tossed overboard (which really
wasn’t
such a bad thing) after the motor on the committee
boat wouldn’t start, several crewmen
deserted, and the ship and shore parties couldn’t
agree on a mooring position.
Ultimately
we ended up with a series of short match
races between various skippers and crew combinations.
The more successful heats were generally
the
ones in which both boats realized there
was a race underway. On the other hand, the
races
that put more emphasis on soaking the other
boat were probably more fun. The clear
front-runner at the end of the day was Mike
Rothwell, which
we had all expected given his racing history
with the Olympics, Trans-Pac, and Waikiki
Yacht Club. However, it took an act of piracy
for
Mike to realize there was more to Middle
Sea’s
skipper than he anticipated. Mike’ brother,
Pat Rothwell, had boarded Middle Sea to steal
their rum, and a tacking duel ensued when Mike
tried to retrieve his crew. “She was
just playing with me like a cat with a mouse," Mike
said.
Given
the unsettled challenge at the end of the day,
the race committee deferred awarding the trophy
until the final grudge match between Mike and
Vicki Foster could be settled the following
day.
We
did, however, award the Lolo Hula prize for
exceptional grace and style to Eileen – not,
as one might assume, for her half-twist-triple-gainer
dive off the breakwater (we were very glad
to hear that her leg is healing nicely, by
the way). No, she won this award for
– in full view of the company – cursing
her skipper and taking
the
boat with
a jammed center board and no rudder, then
rowing back to the beach. (We’ll have
to see if anybody can top that one next time.)
Saturday
dinner was a real treat. The Chadwicks
fed us royally on kalua pork and huli huli
chicken.
Mike Rothwell might have thought nobody
knew about his birthday, but with so many
genealogy
buffs in the family, he wasn’t going
to sneak it past us. So, dessert had to be
ice cream and cake – nautical decorations,
candles, and all.
Sunday’s
weather was every bit as perfect as Saturday’s.
Boats in the water, spectators on the beach
and breakwater, and the skippers were ready
to race, Vicki in Moku o na Makuahine,
and Mike in Ellen’s boat. With no
committee boat and a single windward marker,
the
boats raced a series of short races using
rabbit
starts, in which
all boats stay downwind of the designated
“rabbit” until it creates a starting line
by crossing in front of the others on the
port tack.
The
finish line was determined by the race committee
on the breakwater
lined up with
a point of land to the south. Mike’s
outhaul parted, which delayed the start
of the first race, but it was quickly
fixed. “I wouldn't say that I easily
won the single-hand races,” Vicki said.
“The third one was pretty close. I think
that
rather
than winning them, I managed not to lose.
The fresh-water gods were in my boat
and not with that interloper from the
tropics!” After that, they picked up
one and then two crew members
each and raced three more heats. Mike
won one of these heats, but Vicki was
the
clear
victor
of the
match.
After
a picnic
lunch at Dempsey on Sunday. (Once again,
I think Frank Foster will be due for
sainthood for his ground support here.),
we awarded the trophy, took group photos,
and
did just a bit more sailing before packing
up. A few members of the group headed for
home on Sunday afternoon, but the rest of
us went
out for a late dinner – freezing
on the restaurant patio.
So
far, comments
from the assemble masses have observed:
-
The
weekend was everything I hoped for - lots
of crazy fun
-
One
sore stomach weekend - too much laughing!
-
The reunion was a blast ...
I'll be looking forward to the next one.
Descendants of
