Tybee 500 Coverage from Gale's Shore Crew

Latest Tybee 500 News - Thursday, May 15, 2003 - Day 6
Cocoa Beach to Ormond Beach

A Swordfish? Now Really, Gale...

This day proved that… even on the shortest leg of the five… anything can happen. Even when the mast looks fast, raked at a ready-to-make-some-speed angle. (According to Bill, "It's raked waay back.")

Even when everything seems ship-shape, and everyone's fairly comfortable with the routines. This hardworking team had every confidence for this particular stretch. Carl even said, "It takes a few hundred miles just to warm up."

Having done all the tough tasks last night, David "slept in" this morning, waking up at 7:15. Yup, that's pretty darned late for this guy. He's the up-and-at-em kind.

The few moments in the morning and evening that Dave's not involved with some aspect of the boat, he's engaged in preparing food and fluids that Gale and Carl need while on the water and for immediately after they wash ashore. Did I lead you to believe that the only nourishment on Team Antieau Art's Inter 20 is Carl's PB&J in a Ziplock taped to the boom? Sorry.

Each day, Dave shops for bottled water and variety of fruits: pineapple, plums, cantaloupe, apples, grapes, peaches, pears. And each day on the catamaran, six big bottles of water and a variety of fruit are stashed into a soft-sided cooler with some ice. This bag goes inside a large flat net bag, zippered on both ends, which is snapped and clipped into place on the trampoline just under the mast. It's basically designed for stowing the spinnaker, but there's room for a few other odds and ends, too, like waterproofed charts, throwable floatation device, and of course, the always indispensable duct tape.

Less perishable fruits and those in protective plastic packaging (like sliced pears and peaches) go with them, and the bag becomes a trash receptacle. When they finally hit the beach, Carl and Gale are always ready for grapes and other refreshing tidbits. After they rest and recap the day, and give Bill and Dave an update on things to be done, I guide these two, whom the uninitiated may mistake for dazed shipwreck victims, on the trek to their hotel room. They're eager to peel off those soaking "dry-suits", rinse them out, grab a shower, and don something that feels clean and dry. Next is a quiet restaurant dinner.

But the arrival on this particular day came with a twist….

You'll remember that we expected our guys to have a stellar (Thanks, Elvia!) run. Within the top five. Or top ten, at the very least. At 5:05 p.m., five boats were in, but no white spinnaker was even on the horizon. Lots of pretty colors, though, just not our white one. The next ten boats washed ashore. Gale and Carl carry a cell phone, but we hadn't gotten any calls. We all checked our phones. Yes, they're on. Batteries still charged.

No reports were coming to us that anything drastic had happened out there. But we were worried. Did they get too close to Kennedy Space Center's security zone, maybe hauled off by the Coast Guard and sitting (without their fruit and water) in a brig somewhere? The sky was filled with clouds now, but there were just a few sprinkles, no heavy weather, so they couldn't have been dismasted.

At last, here they come. 24th place. And one glance up explained gave us a clue: a ragged slice in the mainsail right under that unique and quirky fish logo, the one that represents Carl's sister's business called Antieau Art. The giant tear just missed the fish's magnificent body, just below his tail. Now Team Antieau Art was the carnage story du jour.

Things settled down and the day's story took shape. The start had been a good one, with another good pole position. Carl had the chute up before anyone else and was raring to go. Dave pushed them out as far as he could into chest-deep water to send them off and get them past any sand bars that could damage either of the rudders.

Carl said, "Everything was going well. We were in the leading pack, but we got into a pocket of no wind, and boats started passing us, so we took a different tactic and sailed father out to find some air." He laughed and added, "I thought it might be a good time for Gale to get some time at the tiller."

Gale explained, "The windward hull was lifting up and I was trying to steer off the wind. But the tiller extension was loose, and when I tried to pull on it, we went over. I was trying to get out of the way of the sail and missed."

Gale sailed right on through the leach of the sail (the trailing edge), hitting it with her arm. Were you hurt? "No." Then she pointed to her right temple with one of her taped fingers, smiled and said, "Just up here."

They righted themselves, and luckily it was downwind so the spinnaker was the driving sail to bring them in, not the damaged mainsail. They arrived at 5:26. This had happened about two hours before near False Cape and Cape Canaveral.

Of course, the story had to be repeated over and over again as various folks paraded up to get the scoop. Finally, to yet another "What happened?" Gale grinned and said, "See, there was this big swordfish and…"

It was another hour before the next boat came in, and the last was almost an hour beyond that, close to 7:30. All had equipment problems, mostly rudders. We were still on the beach assessing the damage. But Bill had already lined up a local sailmaker to do the repair in the morning. David turned the boat on its side to check the port hull, since Carl said there might be something there. They examined the underside and sanded some areas and made sure no water was leaking into the hulls. None. That's good.

We deserved the laughs and the great dinner we treated ourselves to at Julian's here at Ormond Beach. It's not too far north of Surfside Resort, the tall complex on the ocean where we had a sixth floor balcony view of the wide beach, which, like Daytona, its sister city to the south, is a sandy avenue. But at Julian's it wasn't just our own good company and excellent food and service, but "Little Eva and Pedro" happened to be the live entertainment. Since Georgia was on our minds, Bill put in a request for it, and Little Eva did a splendid rendition, before switching back to her Patsy Cline repertoire.

Later, long after everyone was asleep, I went out on the balcony and watched the eclipse of the moon for a while with the binoculars. What a night. What a day. The last two legs may be the longest, but let's hope that this one was the most frustrating.

As Carl said: "Better day tomorrow."

--Diana Prentice

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