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The day I can't talk about Posted: Monday January 13, 2003 3:52 PM
By Matt Sheahan, Yachting World In order to walk through the gates, I had to sign a piece of paper that said I couldn't tell you who I'd been with. What I don't think the small print prevents me from saying is that during the day I swapped a dictaphone and pen for sailing gloves and sun cream. For all the watching, commentating, speculating and ferreting around behind the scenes to piece together a story on what the America's Cup is really like, it was the next three hours on the water that really brought home why this event's so impressive. I've said it before and I mean it again -- there is nothing, repeat nothing, like sailing an America's Cup boat. But this time, to add to the excitement, this trip was the perfect snapshot of what it must be like to be a part of this event. Not on the shore or behind a desk, but aboard the boats as one of the sailing team.
There may not have been any crowds to wave and cheer us through the narrow entrance to the Viaduct basin, but it didn't stop me from looking up at the dock as we passed just in case. I've watched the crews head out to do battle each day and watched some of them return exhausted and dejected. It's easy to make your mind up when you're an armchair expert, but it must feel so different in the heat of the action. From the long silent tow out to the Gulf, to the slick organized crew work hoisting and managing the massive sails, this trip threw the entire America's Cup back into perspective for me. Real people, real boats and frightening loads. It takes six crew grinding, to hoist the mainsail. It takes just seconds to raise a man aloft to flick over the mainsail halyard lock and the headsail is hoisted and sheeted home with as much fuss as it takes to switch on your living room light. Slick, professional, efficient and awesome. Once up and under way, again it's the size of the mainsail and the acceleration of the boat that grabbed me first. As the power comes on the boat heels quickly and the hosing on the leeward side gets going, salt water spraying into the eyes of the trimmer. The now familiar yet frightening sounds were back, but this time in a way that even the best surround sound can't do justice to. But in contrast to my last trip aboard an ACC boat, it was only me that was flinching as the sheets were eased. But this time, instead of riding as 17th man I was grinding, or at least trying to look like that's what I was doing. The arms moved, my forehead sweated, but I'm not sure I was really contributing to the collective effort of the three power-packed athletes that shared the other handles. They asked me whether I'd like to trim the kite for a while, (draw your own conclusions), which provided a sharp reminder of the loads involved in a sail plan that drives the weight of 16 family saloons around an 18.5-mile course. As I did so, calling for trim and feeling the power click in, I tried not to look like a schoolboy on the foot plate of the Flying Scotsman. I'm sure I failed on that score. Just three hours on the water and I was infatuated once more. The America's Cup is like no other event I've ever been to, but to be on the water, aboard a real boat was like being invited up on the stage to play drums with Led Zeppelin. For my fellow crewmembers and new best friends, it was just another day at the office. For me it was the only reason I needed to sign up for the next event. Perhaps I already had. In my enthusiasm to get through the gates I hadn't read the small print. I wish. Courtesy of Yachting World.
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