By Stephen Ryan

There is something special about the start of the Chicago – Mackinac sailboat race. Its not just the sheer numbers – three hundred and fifty five boats crewed by over three thousand sailors – numbers that make the Chicago-Mac race the world’s largest freshwater sailboat regatta – but the glorious setting is unmatched anywhere in the world . The spectacular Chicago skyline majestically frames the starting line while burgees, class flags, and spinnakers paint the waters of Lake Michigan in a way that would exhaust even the most energetic impressionist painter to duplicate.

Despite the race’s festive atmosphere, just before the start, each competitor silently contemplates what lies ahead – a three hundred mile race on one of the largest fresh water lakes in the world – a lake renowned for violent summer squalls. Demastings, capsizes, and sailors dumped into the lake in the dark of night are common occurrences.

Our start was at three o’clock in the afternoon and we rushed to the line trying to squeeze into a open slot among the thirty boats in our class all trying to get to the same spot at the same time. After the frantic start things settled down and the first day and evening were pleasant and efficient and our boat “Luna Sea” moved up the lake, on course, in a southerly breeze. We were thankful for the steady winds and dry air – no thunderstorms tonight we thought.

Free keepsake Wooden Cross from Tappist Monks

As the sun came up on Saturday morning the wind began to ease and the dry cool air slowly moved away and still humid weather arrived like an unwelcomed uncle. We sat on the lake for the next twenty hours crawling along at .5 knots, then 1 knot, then 0. That day, lots of music, lots of water and Gatorade, and an epic battle against the notorious Lake Michigan flys. By the end of the day the boat’s cockpit looked like a war zone. As the sun set we looked to the skys for signs of storms but nothing developed that night.

On Sunday morning the winds finally began to fill and we had one of the greatest sailing days I can remember – 15-20 knots, gusts to 25. It was a big day for our relatively small thrity-five foot boat. We flew our spinnaker for most of the day until we were overpowered by a big gust of wind. Our boat rounded up into the wind and we were knocked down and we struggled to get our spinnaker down. Getting knocked down in a keel boat with a spinnaker flying is a relatively common occurrence. It is nerve racking but it is a part of the racing game. To compete, boats and crews have to be pushed to the limit. We kept our big sail up until the boat could simply not carry it any longer. Once we got the spinnaker down we continued the race under mainsail and genoa headsail.

At about 8:00 p.m. I went down to get some rest – my watch was over. The winds were still firm at 15 to 20 and seas had been building all day. It had been an exhilarating day. I dozed off for a couple of hours and then still half a sleep I noticed the crew on watch scramble to get their foul weather gear on. I cleared my thoughts, got up and then poked my ahead above the companion way and looked at the gauges then I looked up at the sky. “Holy Mother” was my first thought. In the distance was a lightning storm unlike anything I had ever seen. Huge, thick bolts of lighting were pulverizing the water. The storm was still a long way off and the thunder was just making its way to our boat. When the lighting lit up the sky we could see the enormity of the storm. Across the Lake Michigan horizon – east to west – as far as the eye could see was not so much thick dark clouds but something different – the clouds glowed from the huge amount of electricity in the atmosphere.

I had read a lot about summer squalls on Lake Michigan before the race – I felt I understood their ferocity – so I quickly urged the skipper to drop sails. After another enormous lighting bolt, this time accompanied by a cannon shot of thunder, the sails came down with no further discussion. Then we waited. Waiting for the storm to hit we watched the spectacular, terrifying light show move towards us.
I began to pray – not because I thought we were in any great danger at that moment, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. It always brings me comfort.

Minutes before the storm was on top of us, our VHF radio came on with a frantic May Day call to the Coast Guard. I had never heard a live May Day call and our stomachs sank when we heard a boat named “Wing Nut” had capsized just ahead of us and all eight of its crew members had gone into the dark rough seas. Then the wind began to hit us. Starting from a calm five knots the wind indicator quickly shot to twenty. Rain followed. Then the storm really hit.

I was sitting in the cockpit, eyes on the wind gauge, when it occurred to me the most inexperienced sailor was at the helm. The twenty five year old New York banker who was driving the boat was the least experianced sailor on the boat but since the start of the race I had really gotten to like and trust the young man. He was smart, tough, and strong as a bull.

As the wind climbed to forty the rain began to feel like needles against our faces. I looked at the young man at the wheel and he was pulling his rain hat down below his eyes desperately trying to keep the boat on course. I wondered if he could really see anything. Then forty five knots of wind. The VHF radio which had been filled with voices of sailors involved in the frantic search for two missing crew members from the capsized boat was suddenly punctuated with a new crisis – two boats had collided in the storm and one was taking on water.

Fifty knots. Then it hit me – despite the huge winds our boat seemed calm and under control. Again I looked at the helmsman trying to keep the rain from stinging his eyes. It seemed he could not see a thing. I looked at our course – steady as she goes. I thought what a remarkable job the kid on the wheel was doing. As the winds continued to howl, I now feared that the summer squall could turn into a dangerous full blown gale. The squall just seemed to be lasting to long. Then a pleasant but eerie sensation overcame me. I realized that despite the cataclysmic conditions surrounding us our boat was on course and completely stable. It was about then I began to think that perhaps a guardian from the heavens had joined us on board. A little miracle it seemed was taking place on our boat.

Then as quickly as the winds climbed to near hurricane force they left us. As soon as I saw the wind drop under thirty knots I knew the worst was over.

I stood up and gave our driver a standing ovation for keeping the boat on course. I then asked him how did he do it? How could he see? He said he wasn’t really sure. He then noticed that the wheel was turned completely to the right “Hard to starboard” in sailboat parlance. He really had not been steering, but the boat had kept its course. A little miracle? Perhaps. There is an earthly explanation. The driver had accidentally done exactly the right thing. The driver had “Heaved to” – In sailing, heaving to is a way of slowing a sail boat’s forward progress, as well as fixing the helm and sail positions so that the boat does not actively have to be steered. It is commonly used for a “break” to wait out a strong wind.

So the mystery remains. Did “Luna Sea” get a little help from the heavens or did our young helmsman simply get the job done?

All I can say is I have sailed thousands of miles on the ocean and endured many storms and I have never been on a boat that seemed so calm in the face of such ferocious conditions.

On a somber note two crew members of the boat “Wing Nut”, Skipper Mark Morley and his girl friend, Suzanne Bickel, both of Saginaw, Michigan were lost. They had been tethered to the boat when it capsized and were unable to free themselves before drowning. This was the first time in the 103 year history of the Chicago – Mackinac race that lives were lost due to a weather related accident.