While we were running the races on Saturday and Sunday and today, you would have heard a lot of things. Besides the sound of the boats themselves, and the sound of the cannon or shotgun we fired to mark the start and finishes of the races, mostly you would have heard the sound of the water, and the sound of the flags on the race committee boat flapping. And the VHF radio, which we had tuned to channel 73 for communicating with the racers.
In the mornings we made certain announcements. At 10:00 we would do a time check, so racers could set their watches to conform to official race committee time. We would read the results for the previous day's races, which my dad had entered into his laptop scoring progam. And then we would answer a flurry of questions and requests from the racers looking for extra copies of the sailing instructions or wondering where the start would be or asking us to re-read the results in one division.
Then, before the race, all the racers call in to check in. I love the check in, because different boats had different approaches to using the radio. Some were very formal, repeating their hail three times and following their message with the word "Over" (e.g. "Race committee, race committee, race committee, this is the yacht Cybele hailing on 73, over"), while others were conversational and casual: ("Committee boat, this is Sidewinder, checking in, thanks."). The check ins naturally lead to discussion about boat names. Over this weekend I've realized that I really favor boat names that are unique identifiers of the boat. "Weather Gauge" and "Skittery Gusset" and "Hoi An" are some boat names I find I'm particularly fond of. "Balance" fits the rules of boat naming that I've always taken as gospel, but you can't be sure if someone says they went sailing on a boat named "Balance" that it's the same boat you know of by that name. Whereas I expect there aren't many "Skittery Gusset"s.
Another sound you would have liked today was the lobsterman talking to one another on the radio, in deep Maine accents. I wish I could convey the dialect to you here -- I can do it in person, but not in print, I'm afraid. Today one poor fella was talking to his buddy about problems he was havin' with his oil gauge. The buddy said, "Well why'nt you check your oil?" The fella said, "What's it mean when you check your oil and it's all white and frothy?" We all groaned, listening on the committee boat. "Geez, you musta blown a head gasket, sounds like you've got gas in your oil." We proceeded to listen in on a conversation between the unfortunate lobsterman, "I guess I bettah throw my hook over, because I'm driftin' up to them rocks near Joe's place," and his friend, "I got a hundred thirty more traps to haul before I'm coming back your way. Are you in danger or can you wait, and I'll tow you in on my way back?" A third fisherman chimed in, who was closer to the boat in trouble, and we heard the comic maneuvering of the guys talking to one another as they arranged the tow. "Watchit, it's rocky in they-ah!" "Guess I bettah let go of this line now, huh?" As they maneuvered they discussed engine repair and the diagnosis for this guy's boat. He'd attached some intake pipes wrong, we learned, and had filled up the bilge with water without realizing it. Then the amperage meter went crazy, and next the oil gauge. This whole conversation was taking place loud and clear over the radio (interrupted from time to time by us while we communicated with racing yachts on the same channel), although we couldn't see the lobster boats anywhere nearby. There's a wonderful kind of eavesdropping that happens on boats with VHF radios, and there were moments when we were all laughing, or shouting answers out loud, to the anonymous lobsterman's broadcasts.
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