All the latest magazines show larger and larger yachts, more and more expensive! Quite unaffordable, requiring daunting numbers of dedicated crew members who seldom get to steer, and even less often are invited to make decisions about management of the boat. Olympia is beginning to catch on to the real secret of sailing: Small Boats!!
We came for races with our El Toros. While possible to save our time, sailing Portsmouth Handicap, waiting for us to finish would exasperate the Thistles, CL 16s, etc. Our Pelican is distinctive with a standing lug rig and a jaunty bowsprit, and a fine sailing boat, but not fast. So it came to finding the boat that could hold its own in any company, be easy to trail, and not too hard to rig for trailer sailing. Obviously, the Lightning.
Fate put Lightning 8858 in our path. The boat was available in Eugene, the price was right, and when I looked up the number we realized it had been owned by an old friend and fellow competitor. 8858 brought back memories of the earlier Lightnings.
Memories of the howling fall when the winds blew until Thanksgiving. We battened down the hatches, or would have if we had any. Dave’s boss was middle crew that year. We all hiked out, feet under straps, bodies stretched to windward. Keep the boat on its feet and moving forward!! The odd rogue wave came rolling along. Dave raised slightly, Colin hiked further to compensate, the wave rolled under Dave and right over Colin and slipped under my shoulders. He came up through the green water, smiling, thankful it was fresh water and not salt!!
Quartermaster Harbor, the Labor Day the year our boat was built. A flock of boats from Tacoma and Seattle, perhaps Olympia, gathered. We ran across from Tacoma, all the big boats, two Lightnings and an International 110. The small boats were last to start the rigging sang! We had tied up in Docton to put in a reef, although “Lightnings never reef”. Clarks did too, and we would have all been late for the start except one of the Rawson’s snagged the pin and dragged it, requiring a reset.
Bob Clark and his two eager teenagers flew upwind. We were overpowered, the two of us with Clark’s youngest, Dennis, a sturdy 10, and doing his level best to hike and trim sails, whatever we asked. The beat was wild, water flew as high as the bottom batten. The cruising boats, 30 feet and smaller began to drop sail and motor home. In the shelter of the bluff, we shook out the reef, and set the spinnaker. With boards raised and only a bit of hull and a scrap of rudder in the water, the two Lightnings surfed into the bay, then battened down for the beat, charged back to windward for another lap. A twelve mile course is a long way in a small boat. Out in the open we sailed on jibs and battens, on the runs we fed Dennis fried chicken in exchange for bailing the boat dry. Finally, the last beat! We cross tacks as we powered out of the sheltered part of the bay, now they led, now we did. All the big boats had finished and headed home. The smaller, cruising boats had all gone long before. This weather was 110 meat, but they weren’t so far ahead.
The boats darted back and forth, finally the last tack, and we were on Starboard! Just at the line, a little shift, they lifted, we were headed, Clarks got the gun, with us seconds behind. We were exhausted. The committee boat towed the two Lightnings back to Tacoma Yacht Club, sloshing through waves that swept our deck, but now Dave and I bailed and let Dennis rest a bit. The little kid had done a great job.
Tacoma Yacht Club sent us a second place Lightning trophy we proudly display to this day. They said it was worth something to see those two small boats flying through wind and spray that day.
The Lightning has “long legs”. From Shilshole it is a pleasant afternoon to launch, sail to Kingston for ice cream and then a long spinnaker reach home in time for dinner. And sometimes you have dumb luck. We launched at the Timberlakes ramp near the Hartstene bridge at high tide, and sailed north leaving the island to starboard. Beating into the north wind was fast, running with spinnaker south through Case Inlet was a snap. We rounded the south end of the island, becalmed, but motored along, making great time over the bottom. Once again under sail, beating northward around Squaxin, to arrive at the ramp with plenty of water, a perfectly orchestrated passage!. Yet we knew absolutely nothing about currents at that time; that the current flows north on the ebb, along Pickering Passage, and south in Case Inlet. and back north to Hammersley Inlet as the flood streams back.
This winter 8858 gets a little repair along the garboard strakes, a little polish, a little paint, and new bunks for the trailer. Then off to create another set of memories, racing in Olympia, Vancouver, Eugene, sailing from Jerrell Cove, more days on Lake Washington with old sailing buddies, maybe a weekend in Vancouver, a few days at Sequim, The horizons of a centerboard boat are endless.
Jean Gosse