sailor from the Northeast tells of a regatta he sailed in at Chicago at
Thanksgiving time. His crew was a freshman from St. Petersburg who had never
seen snow before. In the middle of the race it began to snow big wet flakes,
and the young Floridian was jumping up and down in the 10-foot boat trying to
catch the flakes in his mouth and shouting, "Snow, snow, snow!" Later
that same day people on horseback came by the harbor. "Look at those crazy
people riding horses in the snow!" the crew said.
relative, apparently. One man's hobby is another's insanity. Which is one
reason frostbite racing is not a rapidly growing sport. It seems to keep pace
with the population, slowly spreading to new areas, but there is little mass
appeal. Who would want to get into something named for the horrible effects of
overexposure? But for the people in it, it is like a narcotic; they look
forward to it, have to have it, and sometimes are miserable taking it.
But they always
come back for more. And when Arthur Knapp and Jim Moore get together next year
in Port Washington to celebrate another anniversary of frostbite racing, it
will be to answer a need—for fresh air and a sunlit sea and sailing
competition. These do not vanish merely because the weather turns cold.