Free All Piss and Wind by David Salter

two slabs out of the mainsail to reduce its power. Up went the tough little No. 4 headsail and the afterguard pronounced themselves happy with the ‘feel’ of Police Car under this rig. From the five-minute gun onwards the pre-start tactical manoeuvres get serious. With umpteen America’s Cup races under his belt, Jim Hardy is no slouch at this stuff and he threw our 42-footer back and forth among the steep swells off Diamond Head in the fierce battle to claim the most favoured position at the Committee Boat end of the line.
    â€˜Two minutes!’ came the call from Col Betts, counting us down to the start. We were in the perfect spot for a full-power charge to the line. Bang! ‘What the f—k was that ?!?’
    The mainsail began to flog wildly as Police Car sagged off to leeward, suddenly dead in the water. ‘Shit! The bloody reefing line’s gone!’ Fred Neill screamed out the bad news over the noise of wind, water and a runaway sail. The stout line used to stretch the foot of the main along the boom at the second reefing point had parted. The boat was now close to uncontrollable and we certainly couldn’t race until that No. 2 reefing line was replaced.
    Wrestling with the tiller, Jim managed to steady the yacht as the repair crew rushed to their task. Running a new reefing line is no simple matter. One end of the old rope has to be recovered and a light ‘mouse’ line bent on so that its replacement can then be hauled through the sail and the boom along the same path as the original rope. All this in 35 knots and 10-foot swells. The starting gun fired and the fleet roared away as we still struggled to get the new reefing line run and the mainsail under control. It was another four minutes before we were ready to race. ‘All set? Well done, lads. Now let’s go and catch those bastards! ’
    We sailed with the ferocity of a boxer who’d been floored by a lucky punch and was now back on his feet, resolved on revenge. In heavy weather there are major gains to be made at every mark rounding. At the end of a run, the crews that hold their nervelongest and drop the spinnaker latest will steal many boat-lengths. Conversely, at the end of a windward leg, the boat that can set its spinnaker fastest will make similar gains. That afternoon off Oahu we sailed to the limit. There’s no incentive quite like the desire to overcome a cruel blow of misfortune, and we set about reeling in the fleet with clenched-teeth determination. We tried to cut seconds off every spinnaker set and drop.
    â€˜Now?’
    â€˜Not yet!’
    â€˜Now??’
    â€˜Hang on a bit, you can do it, boys.’
    â€˜Now???’
    â€˜OK, go for it! ’
    And we did. One spinnaker recovery was so frantic I can remember the leeward sheet, still under enormous load, scouring up my left forearm with such force that it flicked my wristwatch off and hurled it, in a long, graceful arc, straight into the Pacific swells 30 metres away. ‘Good drop, fellas! Now get that bloody thing below and pack it. Next kite in about 15 minutes.’
    One by one we began to overtake the back markers. The sea state was getting severe, particularly in the shallower water near Diamond Head. Police Car was taking a pounding, bashing to windward with eight crew perched on the weather rail and dropping off the odd wave with a dreadful crash and shudder before the boat settled and began to gather speed again. But by the bottom mark of the final beat to the finishing line we were in third place and gaining. It would now all be up to how well we tacked up that last leg.
    â€˜Ready about! Make it a good one!’ Two quick tacks and we crossed ahead of the second-place boat. Just one more to catch. Our afterguard decided to take a longer board out to the layline and then bank on raw boatspeed to the finish. The leader took the theoretically correct option and came across to cover us. Employingmatch-racing