The Joy of Racing (Even When You Don’t Finish)
Ahoy BoatFools crew!
There’s nothing quite like the anticipation of a good race. The sails are bent on, the provisions stowed, and the crew is buzzing with equal parts optimism, nerves, and caffeine. This year, we pointed our trusty steed—Va Bene, a 1980 Morgan 382—toward the annual Maine Rocks Race, a 105-nautical-mile romp from Rockland out around Matinicus Rock, east to Mount Desert Rock, and back again - through the night.
It’s a course that promises beauty, challenge, and bragging rights…if you can finish. It’s even a qualifying race for the likes of the Newport-Bermuda Race. We were all in.
Off Like a Herd of Turtles
At 10 AM, with a crew of four and a fleet whittled down to just four boats (two scratched the night before), we set off in a light southwesterly. “Like a herd of turtles” about sums it up. But hey, every epic adventure starts somewhere, and the breeze started to fill in with authority shortly after we left Rockland Harbor in the rear-view mirror.
Seven and a half hours later—yes, you read that right—we finally rounded Matinicus Rock at 5:40 PM in a now modest 8 knots of breeze. Spirits rose as we popped the cruising chute and Va Bene stretched her legs, romping along at 6.5 knots. We sang “Happy Birthday” to Kevin (78 years young!), ate a deliciously warm dinner of brisket, and settled in for what we hoped would be a glorious night run almost due east to Mount Desert Rock - some 35 NM away.
A Sleigh Ride…Until It Wasn’t
For a while, it felt like destiny. We were the second boat around Matinicus, chasing glory, picturing the champagne, the headlines, maybe even a ticker-tape parade down Main Street Rockland.
But then…the wind. Or rather, the lack thereof. By 10 PM, with the moon high and the sea flat, we were crawling along at 2 knots. At that pace, Mount Desert Rock was nine hours away—an eternity. Morale sank lower than the wind speed.
We tried to hail our friends on the Tartan 37 astern, but radio silence prevailed. We finally heard some static and what sounded like a fading plea begging for mercy. A text finally buzzed through: “We won’t hit the Rock until noon tomorrow” was the message. “We’re bagging it.” Sensible. Who could blame them? Then the Sabre 30, the trailing boat, called it quits too—their dog needed a bathroom break. The writing was on the waves.
At 10:30, with zero breeze and zero hope of making the turn before breakfast, we too pulled the plug, so to speak.
The Punchline
And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as we called it quits, the wind filled in. A patchy southwesterly carried us all the way back to Rockland under the cruising chute, stars and moon overhead, mugs of coffee in hand.
We laughed, we told stories, we reveled in the absurdity of it all. By dawn we were snug back on the mooring, no trophy in sight—but it hardly mattered.
Because here’s the truth: it was never about winning the race. It was about the sailing, the laughing, the learning, and the sheer magic of being out there. The sea doesn’t care about your finish time, but it always rewards those who show up.
Takeaway
So here’s my advice, fellow sailors: get out there. Race. Cruise. Drift. Whatever it is—just go. Smell the sea. Feel the sky. Laugh with your crew. Or laugh with no one in particular. Because sometimes the joy of racing isn’t in the victory. It’s in the journey, the absurdities, and the reminder that no matter how the race ends, you’ve already won.
THIS & THAT
We have some really fun news to share shortly, so stay tuned!
-BoatFools Sailing Team
They (lubbers) call sailors “salty” because, if touched or kissed, the sea air and spray literally make them taste salty.
So yes to your summation: you can’t get that sitting at home.
Cap’n Will