Tybee 500 Coverage from Gale's Shore Crew

Latest Tybee 500 News - Tuesday, May 13, 2003 - Day 4
Hollywood to Jensen Beach

Are We There Yet?

Was Islamorada weeks ago? Or just days ago? Team Antieau Art—both sailors and shore crew—is now a well-oiled machine. Well, almost.

Our rooms here at the Holiday Inn at Hollywood were two floors apart and we met at 8 for the buffet breakfast. Everyone but David, that is. As usual, he was up before 7 to tend to the boat. This is good practice for that special bundle he expects to be greeting not long after returning to Georgia. We're told that David and Kristin will name their first little one Caroline.

At breakfast, Carl explained how "things become more narrowly focused as each day goes along." He said this calmly, spooning his cereal and fruit. Gale was quietly working on a wide assortment from the breakfast buffet: eggs, potatoes, grits, sausage, sweet roll and fruit. The rake of the mast was on Carl's mind, but that's a job that would have to wait until after this leg. David and Bill will order the shorter shrouds and parts they need now.

One thing that Gale wanted to do today is pay closer attention to her hands, protecting and wrapping them. The tension of constantly working the main and spinnaker takes a big toll. Even though Carl's more used to it, he's feeling it as well. Gale relayed the weather reports she'd received, which showed differing opinions from the experts. One thing seemed certain though: it was going to start out light from the NE then switch, picking up in the afternoon.

The beach in front of the Holiday Inn is narrow and crowded every day of the week, but today it's jammed with these odd contraptions called beach cats. One-smartly dressed strolling oldster said, "Look, Edna, there's no seat on these things." It's a sharp contrast to the Keys. While all is calm to the east, at 9 a.m. a jackhammer relentlessly rattles to the west against one of the shoulder-to-shoulder high-rises hugging the shore.

The Inter 20 was set to go. David doesn't spend one second relaxing until this boat is safely launched, far off on the horizon, and everything is packed away and ready for the next stop. Today it's a two-tiered beach start, unlike the water start of the first leg, with all the boats lined up parallel to the gently lapping Atlantic surf.

Since Carl and Gale finished 5th on the first leg yesterday, they have a good position for the start of leg two: they'll be the 5th boat from the "pole position" in the first "wave" of boats (about half of the fleet of 27) to get the starting signal. David duct-tapes another PB&J sandwich for Carl to the boom and Gale jokes, "Hey! Is that the same sandwich as yesterday?" (Carl, as it happened, didn't eat yesterday's sandwich.) But no. It's fresh.

Suddenly, warning horns. Then the start. David pushes them off and there's shouting and chaos with 14 boats all shoving out at once, everyone hoping to have the advantage. With flat seas and hardly any air to fill the sails Carl and Gale lose speed and stay close to shore right in front of us, making everyone nervous when the 2nd wave of boats is given the starting signal. I watch two second-wave boats launch, approaching Antieau Art's position, but they somehow escape what looks like a sure T-bone situation.

Finally, everyone's underway of sorts on a port tack. We pack up all the stuff on the beach, Gale's and Carl's things from their room, pack our own, and make sure nothing's left behind. We head north ourselves, for Jensen Beach, where we are pleasantly surprised with the accommodations. Luxury. Two adjoining/connecting rooms on the 4th floor, with balconies overlooking one of the most gorgeous beaches on Florida's east coast. And where the finish takes place.

The beach is narrow here, too, but instead of being fringed with high harsh concrete, there's a dense barrier of soft low sea grapes. Between the vegetation and the water is prime real estate for Loggerhead sea turtles during egg-laying time. One nest is marked with stakes and bright orange cones, and since it's a federal offense to disturb one, it's conscientiously avoided, even though it's right in the thick of the finish/start area.

Late afternoon, when word spreads of sails on the horizon, all of us hold binoculars to our faces. But where are "our guys?" One by one the top guns land, which is to say the whole first half of the field. More come in. It's getting late. Finally, the 16th boat is ours.

Antieau Art had a run of bad luck. Just five miles after the start, Carl had a mishap, falling overboard and hitting the tiller on his way off the boat. This created a weight distribution problem. With a shortened tiller, how could the two of them hike out to get the speed they needed to stay with the fast pack? So they agreed that Gale would take the helm, and Carl would "single trap." No other good options. But other boats had both skippers on the trapeze all day to their advantage.

Not only did this make the day tough and long, but it was demanding with tacking back and forth. "At five," Gale said, "we still had another 30 miles to go. I wanted to look at the GPS, but couldn't take time away from steering." Carl, however, always finds something positive to say. "We've been seeing lots of turtles," he said. "Some are really big."

The next thing that went wrong was a capsize within sight of the finish. They lost time there, but all was righted without problems. They also hit something with the portside daggerboard, removing a bite-like chunk. Revenge of the turtle for hogging the beaches? No, probably a rock. And the weather? It was "way, way off."

By 8:30 p.m., the wet and bedraggled voyagers were getting out of the gear they'd been wearing for more than 10 hours. A late dinner (9:15), then an hour later they reviewed charts with Bill for the next day. The last boat finally arrived about 10:30. Everyone went much farther than the 90 as-the-crow-flies miles. A very long day.

--Diana Prentice

Previous • Next