The Thrill of the Mac, by Mille Magner

“Talk to me! the skipper barks. “Talk to me!” “Blue boat’s a half a length on starboard with Tomorrow’s Money closing in on your port.” answers the tactician. The boat accelerates. We?re racing at 8 knots close-hauled, showing our underside and maybe even our keel. With the remaining crew planted on the highside, I’m in the hole stuffing my chute. If you’re foredeck, you?re responsible for the spinnaker; nobody else stuffs the kite. If it goes up twisted, you’re the one to pay. Sweating inside my foulweather gear from the adrenalin rush, I maneuver forward grabbing handholds to keep my balance on the wet, pitching surface as more spray showers the deck. “Thank God for my foulies!” The mark is 2 boat lengths away. The bag in place, I clip the halyard, attach the downhaul, secure the topping lift, and fasten the tack to the pole. I thumbs-up the crew. The guy is pulled. The toppinglift hoists. The downhaul holds the pole. The pounding rush of hull against waves bears down on us and the skipper commands, ?Buoy room!? Blue boat?s so close, but rules force them to allow us room to negotiate the mark. The snapping of Kevlar and the grind of winches sound close enough to touch. ?Get the pole back!? screams our skipper. The blue boat is almost on our stern, but we?re at the mark. The jib comes down. I pop the cover. As in a dance, Skipper and trimmer execute the jibe. There?s scrambling. The chute explodes into dazzling color and we?re around the mark for the downwind leg. ?Yes!? audibly breathes the crew as they fling jackets down the hatch. Amid arm-pumping and high-fiving, I?m tying down the genoa and fast-footin? off the pointy end before the skipper has time to yell at me. The crashing of the windward leg gives way to calm on the downhill run. Crew adjust positions for the spinnaker play. ?Come on, keep it flying. Watch the curl. Don?t let it collapse. Play it. Not too tight. Lower the pole. Let it out. Feel the wind. It?s like a dance. Keep it full. Pole forward. Tighten up.? One lapse of attention and the chute collapses. ?There goes my hat!? And then to my surprise ? wouldn?t believe it if I was not seeing it! ? With both hands playing the spinnaker, Suze catches my hat with the toes of her right foot and sends it down the companionway. Sailing — ultimate team sport. Every move in concert. Oh, to be a part of it! What synergy! There?s never time for complacency even when you seem way out ahead and reaching to the finish line. ?There?s the gun.? ?Who got the gun?? ?We got the gun?!!?