














































204 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

[AucG, 17, 1907. 


A Long Distance Race. 
To the yachtsman who only has time to take 
in the day races let us offer our sympathies; 
to those who can and yet do not indulge in a 
long distance race, pity, for there is no such 
sport to bring out the qualitjes of a man as a 
race prolonged through a couple of days and 
nights of continuous driving of a yacht. It tests 
one’s strength, one’s temper and one’s con- 
geniality, besides being a far better test of the 
boat’s ability by putting her through a variety 
of winds and seas. 
The Seawanhaka Y. C. race on Aug. 3 and 4 
turned out to be an exceptionally good test of 
all these points, as the course around Cornfield 
Lightship and back to Oyster Bay covered prac- 
tically the whole length of Long Island Sound, 
a distance of 108 miles. 
Tanya, the sloop I sailed on, was an able, 
staunch sloop with comfortable cabin, whose 
transoms bunked four comfortably, and a cot 
forward for another. She had a toilet room and 
galley, both comfortably fitted up. We sailed 
over to Oyster Bay Friday night, and when we 
awoke Saturday morning we were four as happy 
men as could be shook together. George, 
the owner, was an experienced racing yachts- 
man; Sandy—big, jolly, amiable Sandy—had 
seen offshore duty as well as yachting; Harry 
had spent his life among small boats, and I, 
well, I had had some experience in both yachts 
and ships. 
I started the galley stove and got breakfast, 
while Georg and Sandy had a_ swim, then 
chuck was eaten and the swimmers went ashore 
to get instructions and leave our small boat. 
It was a beautiful clear day overhead, with a 
nice northerly air fanning. Most of the com- 
peting yachts, eleven in all, started to beat out 
to the starting line, while our two men were yet 

Saw Things. 
Mopsa’s Crew 
ashore. As they landed, they saw a small snake 
swimming in the water, and stunning it, they 
fished it out, and with schoolboy thoughtfulness, 
laid it on the thwart of Mopsa’s dinghy to 
give the owner of it a shock, which they cer- 
tainly succeeded in doing. 
Harry and I left aboard, got everything ready 
for immediate sailing and began to get anxious 
about the time—we did not want to be late at 
the starting line. George came aboard, but 
Sandy—you couldn’t hurry Sandy with a charge 
of dynamite—took his own sweet time. Some 
men you can’t hurry—well, Sandy is one of 
them. 
Just as we were contemplating getting up a 
sail, a megaphone hail came from Commodore 
Benedict’s Oneida, “Would you like to be towed 
out?” Well, well, would we! “Certainly! 
Thank you!” we answered and started to heave 
up our anchor, Sandy or no Sandy, and just 
then that individual came sauntering down the 
club steps and down the lawn. 
“Hurry up, Sandy, wer’re going to tow out!” 
we shouted. But not a bit of a hurry from 
Sandy. He stopped half way down the gang- 
way to exchange a word or two with a yachts- 
man, and by that time our anchor was aboard 
and Oneida under one bell was standing in to 
pass us a line. 

I was too busy catching their heaving line 
and getting our new mainsheet ready for a tow 
line to see how the tardy man made out; he had 
got into the club launch and got half way to 
us, when the engine stopped, but though we 
had passed Oneida our towline, even then Sandy 
was calm and unruffled. 
“Did you ever know it to fail?” he calmly re- 
marked as the launch man perspired in en- 
deavors to make the launch engine go. But 
Sandy was calm as Napoleon. He did get along- 
side just as the towline tightened and Tanya 
slid ahead behind Oneida. So after all. what 
was the use in worrying—Sandy didn’t. But if 
How Capsicum Lost Her Supplies—The Bombardment 
of the Swamped Valet. 
we had our imaginary troubles, Capsicum’s 
owner had real ones. All his provisions were 
packed into a hamper and sent out to him; the 
man, more of a valet than a sailor, got almost 
alongside the sloop, when he moved and cap- 
sized the skiff, himself, hamper of provisions 
and all into the water. He swam around and 
got hold of the painter of the skiff with one 
hand and with the other fished up the soggy 
floating loaves of bread and all light articles 
that had floated and tossed them aboard the 
Capsicum. Though the Capsicum’s owner 
could not help laughing at the ridiculous ap- 
pearance of the man paddling about with a 
green fez on his head surrounded by the float- 
ing wreckage, yet he was so mad to think he 
should be fool enough to throw the salt-water 
soaked stuff aboard that as fast as they came 
aboard he picked them up and threw the whole 
loaves of bread at the man’s head—all there 
was of him above water. 
The towline Tanya was using was a brand-new 
rope bought for a main sheet, but it was so 
stiff and swelled so thick it was not rove until 
a chance came to stretch it. This was the 
chance. Oneida towed Tanya, so her stern 
was under water and a cataract under each bow, 
and when the starting line was reached and tow- 
line let go, we found the rope coated with oil 
that had been squeezed out of it. As it was, 
there was no wind, so the boats had to drift 
about and wait, while the tail enders came 
drifting out of the bay. 
About 11 o’clock a light westerly air appeared, 
and by 11:15 was strong enough to warrant a 
start, so the warning gun was fired. The pre- 
paratory at 11:20, and during that time we 
stowed our working jib and set balloon jib. 
The fleet was well bunched at 11:25 when the 
start was made. Capsicum and Ving-trois, near 
the buoy, got away first; a length or two ahead 
of Tanya, and to windward of them, Red Rover, 
Regina and Little Peter, followed by the rest. 
‘The boats that were to windward got clear 
wind and gained a little on those nearer the 
point, Red Rover and Regina leading when they 

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DP 37 
=X. - = 
The 
3usy Bee Ran Along the Beach. 
rounded the bell and spar off Lloyds Point. 
Here all jibed their mainsails to port and set 
spinnakers to starboard. There seemed to be 
a difference of opinion as to the quickest way 


of getting to the Cornfield, for after passing 
Eaton Neck, Busy Bee hauled in sharp and 
followed the Long Island beach around into 
Smithtown Bay, while Red Rover and Regina 
laid a compass course straight down the middle 
of the Sound. For a while Busy Bee made 
wonderful time close inshore, giving a good 
demonstration of how the little ‘“Okee’ won 
both Block Island races by hugging the beach. 
There was a scupper breeze for about a quarter 
of a mile off from shore and outside of that it 
was almost a calm. 
We hauled up to the southward and Tanya 
struck a gait that landed her up even with the 
leaders, but way to the southward of them. 
Little Peter and the N. Y. thirty, Dahinda, 
gained on the leaders, passing Regina and al- 
most catching Red Rover by the time they 
were off Stratford Shoal Light. 
Busy Bee in the meantime found a soft spot 
and fell way behind, only to get a brisk wind 
again and run past the Tanya off Old Field 
Point. By following every bay and every point 
she kept a good stiff breeze that heeled her well 
over, while we on Tanya had a mere zephyr. 
Oh! but wasn’t it hot that afternoon! Why 
it was so hot I struck a match to light my pipe, 
and when it was lighted, went to blow the 
match out and found it had not been lit. The 
atmosphere had lit the tobacco. (Sandy says 
he’ll take a high one.) All the crews began to 
shed clothing. Some of the boys on the other 
boats jumped over and had a swim, but we 
poured a bucketful over each other’s heads and 
accidentally (?) about half of it down their 
backs to see them wiggle as the cold streams 
ran down their spine. 












All Hands Sought Relief in the Water. 
I was sitting peacefully steering, with my bare 
feet in a bucket of water, when a cold deluge 
from aft made me gasp for breath. That be- 
gan a bucket fight, and before we were through, 
every boat in the fleet heard us shouting, for 
we were all wet through. So back to nature 
or to underclothes we all went, and the Tanya 
looked like a week’s washing hung out to dry. 
Off Port Jefferson we had to jibe and reset 
the spinnaker to port, and that little snake of a 
raceboat, Busy Bee, had sneaked alongshore, 
going two feet to our one and was a mile or 
more ahead of us. 
We chose our watches, Harry and Sandy go- 
ing below and sleeping like an automobile with 
unmuffled exhaust, while George and I held the 
deck from four till .eight, having supper at 
Vac 
Busy Bee ran into a soft spot once, and we, 
by keeping offshore a little, ran up even with 
her, but she got away again just as it grew dark. 
The last we saw of the rest of the fleet, it 
looked to us as if Little Peter had caught Red 
Rover, then came Dahinda, Capsicum, Vingt- 
trois, Regina, with Vagabond and Mopsa last. 
We held close to shore, standing in and sight- 
ing block spar buoy No. 7 near enough to read 
the number and then we laid a compass course 
for the lightship with a nice beam wind and 
balloon jib set, but no spinnaker. 
At 8 P. M. George and I went below and the 
others took charge. I heard them set the 
spinnaker, jibe, rejibe and jibe again. Then 
she seemed to get a nice breeze from the south- 
ward and she went reeling through it in grand 
style on her course with a fair wind and I fell 
asleep. 
I was awakened in about two hours by the 
slide being shoved back and some One getting 
into oilskins, while the soft patter of rain told 
me it was getting wet outside. I dozed until 


