Noroton Yacht Club Chronology
Paul Smart was the first Commodore of Noroton Yacht Club, holding the office from 1928 until 1941. Thirty years later, in 1971, he described the origin of the Club’s burgee design.
At some point after the club had begun more or less regular racing, it was thought to be about time members had a burgee of their own. Accordingly, they were invited to submit designs, one of which would be selected by vote. Paul submitted two designs himself. One was not favored, and he could not remember it. The other was selected during the voting.
Paul had obtained a law degree at Harvard in 1917. Later, he also studied at New College, Oxford. New College was established at Oxford University by the great Bishop of Winchester, William of Wykeham (pronounced “wick-um’), who also founded Winchester College for boys, and gave both these institutions their coat-of-arms and his motto, “Manners Makyth Man,” which both schools still use.
It occurred to Paul, doodling in the margin of the New York Times on the commuter train into New York one morning, that with a little judicious tinkering, the New College coat -of-arms might yield an excellent burgee. The shield itself displayed two chevrons and three roses. Paul turned the shield on its side, knocked out the roses, straightened the edges, and produced Noroton’s burgee.
Paul turned the Winchester and New College shield on its side
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In the early 1990s, Pequot Yacht Club wanted to find a boat that could be raced but would also be comfortable for older sailors as well as a stable platform for beginners. They asked Noroton’s own Bruce Kirby to come up with the design, which became the Ideal 18. At the same time, clubs up and down the sound were dealing with members who did not have the time to keep a racing boat in top form. Many of them decided it was time for a club owned boat that lived on a mooring.
At the time, the Noroton Ensign fleet consisted of 10 boats and the owners were concerned that a club owned fleet would seriously impact their fleet’s viability. It was decided that Noroton would buy 6 Ideal 18s, but they would not be allowed to race on Sundays with the other fleets. They would only be used in competitions with other Ideal fleets on Long Island Sound and for members to sail and learn to sail.
Within a few years, Ideal 18 regattas were being held at neighboring clubs and Noroton’s racers, both experienced and new to racing, began participating. Use of these boats for women’s events also increased.
As the Ensign fleet gradually declined, Noroton invited the Ideal 18 sailors to race on Sundays. To increase participation and improve results, a new Learn to Race program was developed for the women and was later expanded to include men and families. By the early 2010s, team racing was in full swing at the club and the Ideals were also the perfect boat for the new Learn to Team Race program.
The Ideals have grown in popularity and are used throughout the summer for both competition and learning. On any given day the fleet is filled with families and members who enjoy getting out on the water quickly and easily. For the women’s sailing program, they have proven to be the “ideal” boat for teaching women how to sail, how to race, and how to team race: in short, that they are fully capable of taking control of a sailboat in any situation.
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The Kirby Cup, formally known as the Bruce Kirby Trophy, is awarded annually to the winners of a team race championship run by the Noroton Yacht Club. Each fall, Noroton hosts top sailors, showcasing the Club’s facilities and sailboat racing heritage.
The Kirby Cup did not start out at the Noroton. The trophy, which is on display there, was initially commissioned by the Sonar Class Association in 2000 to “...stimulate and foster Corinthian team racing competition between Sonar Fleets, and to recognize Bruce Kirby for the creation of the Sonar, his contributions to the Sonar Class, and the sport of Yacht Racing.” Each year the winning club’s name is engraved on the trophy capturing the event’s history.
The Kirby Cup was originally run by the Sonar Class Association as a “traveling event.” Similar to the America’s Cup competition, the winner of the event gets the privilege of hosting the next event. However, as the level of competition in small keelboat team racing quickly grew, the infrastructure needed to run a first-class event also grew. Things like RIBs for on-the-water umpiring, bumpers to protect the boats from accidental damage, and matched sails to ensure all the boats go the same speed, are needed to run a top-flight team race.
This level of infrastructure was a hardship for some clubs and participation in the Kirby Cup dwindled. In 2009, the leadership of the Noroton Yacht Club made a major commitment to the sport of team racing by purchasing 13 sets of bow and stern bumpers and 13 identical mainsails and jibs, allowing Noroton to join an elite group of sailing clubs able to run top team race events. Soon after, we petitioned the Sonar Class Association to make Noroton the Kirby Cup’s home. Fortunately, it was an easy decision. Beyond Noroton’s commitment to team racing and its large fleet of Sonars, the trophy’s namesake, Bruce Kirby, was a long time Noroton member and active participant in our Fleet.
In 2010, the Kirby Cup became Noroton’s Team Race Championship, and we’ve run championships annually ever since (skipping 2020 due to Covid). Up until 2019, Bruce would come out to watch the competitors, in the boat he designed, competing for a trophy dedicated in his honor: a fitting distinction for someone who has contributed so much to our sport.
One key to team racing is a solid team of umpires, who patrol the races and administer instant justice. Past Commodore Peter Wilson is a driving force for team racing throughout the United States and has contributed significantly to Team Racing at Noroton. He continues to generously give his time through both regatta organization and as an umpire. Because of his emphasis on the Corinthian spirit of the Championship, Noroton YC developed a new trophy in 2016 called the “Peter Wilson Fair Play Award,” named after the RIB, Fair Play, he uses when umpiring. It is awarded to a sailor for outstanding sportsmanship.
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Hurricane Irene was well understood as a major storm many days before hitting the Connecticut coastline. Storm preparations at the Club were deployed immediately following warnings by Darien Town officials and the National Hurricane Center days before the storm hit. Houses in the Bay were evacuated, the Club was shuttered as much as possible, and vehicles taken to higher ground. Irene, in particular, was predicted to be a major wind and rain event so everyone along the coast and in town took the warnings seriously.
The storm made landfall early on Sunday August 28th. By 11am winds were about 25-30 from the northeast. The direction of the wind was blowing the water out of the sound. However, after the hurricane’s eye passed just west of the Club around midnight, the wind shifted abruptly to the south. As the eye moved to the north on the morning of the 29th, the wind built substantially to 40-50 knots from the south. Coincident with a rising tide and storm surge, this caused large breaking waves to bear down on the Clubhouse and lift the pier off its foundation pillars. Our historic pier could not withstand the path of monstrous breaking waves and storm-force wind. By low tide later that afternoon, with the storm far to the north and the winds diminishing, we saw what the wrath of the storm had left: the pier and abutments and all that held it together for more than 80 plus years were washed up on the dry sailing area, across the beach, and even up onto Baywater Drive. Carnage in the harbor was limited to a few boats breaking their moorings and landing on Smarts Beach. Member Flip Huffard’s RIB landed on Dave Campbell’s lawn after he ran out of gas while inspecting damage during the storm. The roof of the gazebo on Pratt Island was blown off and landed on the terrace at the Club. The mess that had to be cleaned up was extensive.
The Clubhouse was largely spared, sustaining minor damage to the retaining walls and roof shingles, and some of the siding needed to be repaired. However, short of the pier being destroyed, everything returned to normal in a few days. Thanks to Ed Sweeney and Randy Tankoos and other helpers, the pier was rebuilt over the winter months.
Hurricane Sandy was a totally different storm event from any that the Club had experienced since 1928, even more than Irene.
The warnings were more frequent and more extreme. The severity of the wind, the expected wave action, and the prediction of a tidal surge was like nothing seen before in our area except possibly Hurricane Carol in 1954. Storm surge predictions were that tidal levels would be up to 12 feet higher than normal. The storm itself combined with another low-pressure cell that came from the west, making Sandy both fierce and twice as big in diameter as hurricane Katrina. All in all, it was predicted to be much stronger than any storm the Connecticut coastline had seen. Storm preparation followed as usual with volunteers working to get equipment up to higher ground and secure the Club’s facilities as best they could. We could not have prepared enough for this long lasting and fierce combination of wind and waves plus the tidal flooding.
The storm strengthened as it travelled up the eastern seaboard over unseasonably warm ocean water before travelling west over the New Jersey shoreline. Initially the hurricane brought high intensity northerly winds to Noroton that racked and pushed the pier head platform 6” south. After the hurricane’s landfall and westward traverse, howling southerly winds and associated waves, as well as a surging tide, rose to wreak havoc on the first floor of the Clubhouse. The first floor flooded and 3’ to 4’ waves broke through the sliding doors. Anything that wasn’t tied down inside was awash in the interior. It was the first time anyone remembered the upper living room being flooded. Meanwhile, the tide was still rising during the evening hours as waves continued to flow over the dry sail area and parking lot where boats were stored for the winter. The white launch ended up on Commodore MacDonald’s lawn. Captain Jeff, who lived in the clubhouse, said that when the storm hit that night the whole building moved.
Boats were piled up together in the northern parking lot after waves floated boats off their poppits. The flooding was so severe in the Bay that many of the houses flooded and became unlivable, with some abandoned for many months after. Sandy’s impact affected the whole east coast. When it made landfall, the storm stretched from New Hampshire to southern Virginia, almost 600 miles. Its storm surge plugged the Long Island Sound tidal flow in New York harbor and the northeastern winds held the water from ebbing east out of the Race. The eye passed over Brigantine, New Jersey early October 29, creating major flooding up the Hudson River, and along the Long Island, Connecticut, and Westchester coastlines. The high tide recorded in Noroton Harbor was 10.25’, fully 6.0’ higher than normal. The Club had never felt the brunt of a storm like this. As the duration was prolonged, damage was extensive, the result of flooding, winds and waves lasting two high tide cycles. We were very fortunate that the height of the storm surge was four hours after high tide, or the clubhouse might have been destroyed.
The tides and storm surges for both Irene and Sandy are shown below.
Irene
Sandy
These two storms and their resulting damage made it very clear that Noroton needed a Clubhouse that could withstand serious storm events. Plans began shortly thereafter and before long the Flag officers and Board were on-board to support an effort to build a new clubhouse. By the 2018 season, the Clubhouse was complete.
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By Art Collins and Peter Wilson
Superstorm Sandy caused devastating damage to the Noroton Clubhouse in 2012, flooding the building and destroying part of the structure of the iconic 1928 building. In the wake of Sandy’s destruction, it became obvious our cherished clubhouse would have to be rebuilt. The challenge was how to redesign the building in a way that would accommodate the needs of all members while keeping Noroton’s traditions and sailing focus strong.
Fortunately, Sunday fleet racing brought together a quorum of flag officers and members every week. After countless discussions before and after races, the plan for a new clubhouse began to take shape and gain support. In the aftermath of Sandy, it was clear that the redesigned Clubhouse needed to become much more wind and floodwater resilient in order to adapt to the effects of climate change and meet new FEMA and EPA regulations, all the while providing social spaces and associated features to attract new members. Noroton needed to strike a careful balance of these needs in order to perpetuate its mission; the furtherance of yachting and sailing families.
The process started with the formation of a building committee to assess the two major initial options, rebuild or build new. While the cost of renovating the existing building was likely lower, taking this path would significantly limit our ability to add the features we believed were necessary to attract new members while also meeting current member needs. This option also had the risk of unexpected problems and their associated costs. These factors led the Building Committee to recommend building a wholly new clubhouse. Once that avenue was determined, the Committee began evaluating the programmatic elements that would need to be incorporated into a new Clubhouse as well as the grounds and adjoining bulkhead and terrace structures. Initially, the Building Committee was small, headed by Art Collins and including Janet Grapengeter, Randy Tankoos, Peggy Hersam, and Ed Sweeney. The committee grew over the years, incorporating current and new Flag officers in order to help define the scope of the building program, discuss fundraising strategies, and prepare presentations to discuss with various stakeholders including neighbors, the Town, and financing sources.
The next task faced by the Committee was completing a feasibility study to identify costs, planning and environmental elements, flood zone compliance, and building code and zoning compliance issues. A survey was initiated by Hugh Balloch, who hired The McMahon Group from St. Louis to help focus the Committee on what the members wanted, what worked in the old clubhouse, and what should be added. For design, the Committee chose architect Robert Lambert of Burgin Lambert in Newport, Rhode Island. Lambert had worked on the historic New York Yacht Club buildings in Newport, the Watch Hill Yacht Club rebuild, and other projects in New England.
By the winter of 2015, the McMahon study was complete. It recommended demolition of the existing building and placement of a new building in a footprint moved about 18 feet to the northeast where it would be out of the newly FEMA designated Velocity Flood Zone. The new structure would have member lounges and porches as well as food and beverage facilities (including a bar) on a second floor, to be accessed by a required elevator and four sets of stairs.
During the next year or so, meetings were held with the Noroton Bay Association and with the Town of Darien Planning and Zoning Commissions, as well as with club members at the Darien Library.
The goals for a new clubhouse as communicated to the membership were:
• A far more ‘storm secure’ building
• Code compliance across the board
• Right-size with all spaces functional and attractive
• Meet member identified improvement needs
• Character reminiscent of the current building
• Manageable construction costs
• Member friendly funding plan
• A clubhouse we can be very proud of
Building a new clubhouse would cost between 3.5 and 4.5 million dollars. It was clear that the Club would have to take out a sizable mortgage in order to meet a spending target of $4 million. The financing elements we agreed to were; $500 thousand from cash reserves, a $3.5 million mortgage, increasing the annual cost of a family membership by $250 for five years, and an emergency $500 thousand line of credit. Treasurer John Geissinger ably led the development of financial projections and secured the loan.
The reason for the annual membership cost increase was because we lost almost 15% of our membership when we had a $5,000 assessment to help pay for a $1.2 million clubhouse reconstruction in 1990/91. Losing that many members was morally and financially unacceptable.
Finally, knowing that most building projects increase in cost over time, we acknowledged that a capital campaign would be needed towards the end of the project, but decided not to announce it at the time. In the end, with several important additions and improvements, and important finishing projects unfunded, a capital campaign raised approximately $1.5 million. Like building a new wooden boat, we were building a beautiful clubhouse and it needed more than one coat of varnish and several suits of sails.
Construction commenced in 2016 and by the 2018 season, the clubhouse was complete and became an instant success. While the old clubhouse is dearly missed, a classic breezeway feature remains and much of the exterior cedar siding was preserved and used to build the bar, the 1928 fireplace in the library, the merchandise cabinets, and the trophy cases. The new building is resilient and will bear the inevitable forces of future storms, but more importantly, it will be the home for member families and their guests as well as a site to host many regattas and sailing events in the future.
The Club continues to host many regattas, fleet racing has expanded with new boats and classes actively sailed by members, and there is a new spirit for cruising fleets and visitors as they travel west and east Long Island Sound.
Much credit goes to Leo Schlinkert who helped implement the new clubhouse during the building stage. Commodore from 2020-21, Leo initiated the capital campaign, was instrumental in the design and the Clubhouse features and inspired all to engage and contribute to the effort. Peter Wilson was another who led the way with clear and professional member presentations to build support for the project. Peter was involved in every aspect of the new project and played an important role encouraging all members to get involved. With their leadership, the project was well supported by members, and all pulled to get it right for the benefit of the members and the Noroton Yacht Club legacy. The features of the new club have brought more members, more volunteers for every task, and made the club become a year-round facility to be proud of. The original Paul Smart clubhouse will always be part of our shared history, but the important spirit of Noroton Yacht Club was sustained and enhanced with the construction of the new Clubhouse.
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By Peter Wilson
The earliest racing at Noroton Yacht Club had start and finish lines at the end of the pier. There was no race committee boat at the time and very few boats on moorings in the harbor in general. With plenty of visibility, spectators could gather at the end of the pier to watch the
races.
Multi-leg courses were built around harbor-edge nuns and cans, the Green Flasher at the south end of the harbor, Nun 28, Smith’s Reef red bell buoy 30, and Nun 26 off Green’s Ledge. Smaller boats like ‘Wee Scots’ sailed on shorter courses while Stars went to the more distant government marks.
Our current lateral system of buoyage was created by an Act passed by Congress on September 28th of 1850:
“And be it further enacted that hereafter all buoys along the coast or in bays, harbors, sounds or channels, shall be colored and numbered so that passing up the coast or sound, or entering the bay, harbor or channel, red buoys with even numbers shall be passed on the starboard hand. Black buoys with uneven numbers on the port hand, and buoys with black and red (horizontal) stripes on either hand. Buoys in channel ways to be colored with alternate
black and white perpendicular stripes.”
Nun 28 was placed approximately one half mile south of Long Neck Point just outside the five fathom (30 feet) depth contour, sometime in the late 1800s. This location was on a straight line running from Smith’s Reef red bell buoy #30 to the west and red Nun 26 south off Green’s Ledge Lighthouse to the east. These three buoys marked the northern edge for safe transit by deep draft vessels traversing either eastward or westward bound.
Over the years, while interest in racing grew, the harbor began to fill up with boats on moorings making it difficult to simply run races off the pier. As a result, the Club acquired a race committee boat named Adelaide. Adding a race committee boat to the mix allowed us to move the starting line into more open water south of the harbor at Nun 28 thereby creating much longer courses using a combination of temporary marks and government bell
buoys like Cable and Anchor, Eaton’s Neck, Lloyd’s Neck, and the “Cows” off Stamford.
By 1940, Noroton Yacht Club had a fleet of 25 Stars and was hosting the Arms Series Noroton Race Week with almost 50 boats in this popular class: all starting and finishing at Nun 28.
From that time up until its removal by the Coast Guard in 1984, Nun 28 was the starting mark for all NYC weekend racing and regattas. Since then, our race committee boat anchors in that general area unless winds are from the north, in which case the starting line is a half mile or so further to the south.
It was, therefore, a bit of a shock when heading east close to the Connecticut shore one summer we saw a red bell buoy marker #28! Clearly, the plan behind removing Nun 28 off Long Neck Point and Nun 26 just south of Green’s Ledge was to only identify the major reefs on the Connecticut coast (Great Reef off of Sheffield Island and Smith’s Reef southwest of Noroton harbor) with lighted bell buoys and ask mariners to rely on available charts which by then had much more water depth detail.
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The new Noroton Yacht Club clubhouse is filled with objects from the old clubhouse and they are a testament to our long history. From the Ships Wheel in the hallway, to the Hooker Table at the entrance and the Scroll you see when walking up the front steps, all have a story to tell.
We hope you enjoy this collection of stories, prepared by Carolyn Wilson.
- under construction -
By Frank Kemp
A little girl shouts: "This water is .... salty!"
A little boy asks "Is that the statue of liberty?"
A boat Captain shouts: "Pirates off the starboard bow!"
How can we make sense of these quotes? By thinking about the fun of being with the kids on any year of "Boat/Camp." Here is how it happens: early in the spring the Darien Sail & Power Squadron clears a date for late July, with the Club, with Person-to-Person, and with an inner-city summer day camp in Stamford that is part of P2P's (Person to Person) "Campership" program. When everyone is in sync - then on the magic date - a small miracle happens for the kids, Captains, and Crew.
The day of Boat/Camp sees about 100 youngsters (usually grades 3 to 5) arrive at the Noroton Yacht Club to be sorted out as passengers on about 20 power boats belonging to Club members, the Darien Boat Club, and the Darien Sail & Power Squadron. After donning their lifejackets, and a safety briefing, the kids board "their" boats and depart for a few hours of fun on the Sound.
There are usually 4 or 5 kids, plus a camp counselor, a boat Captain and one adult Crew on board each boat. Yes, that's a high adult-to-camper ratio – but, it's meant to be that way, as this is a "precious cargo" to take on an adventure. Snacks, water, and sun-tan lotion are readily at hand, to make for a well-run day.
Most likely, the kids have never been on a small boat, and often, as witnessed by the "water is salty" discovery - they have never been off-shore. When the little girl discovered that the water was salty, from some spray, the kindly Captain stopped the boat, all went to the sides to splash and taste the water, and to confirm that, yes, the water is salty. That this happened in just the first ten-minutes on board, can you imagine the quantity of questions that continued for the rest of the trip?
The fleet disperses at their own pace to various adventures. Some boats head directly to Sheffield Island, where, thanks to the Norwalk Maritime Association, everyone has permission to land, and explore the island and the light. That is where the little boy asked about the "Statute of Liberty!"
Other boats head to Ziegler's Cove - where there are some "pirates" - who raise a racket with their "Aaarrgh"s, swords, hooks, and rowdy threats. However, when the boats draw near, they turn out to be "Good Pirates" - who toss over bags of candy "loot" to the kids. The "pirates" are volunteers from the Coast Guard Auxiliary, who have been doing this for years.
Still other boats make an early visit to Five Mile River - to see a "foreign port." Eventually, all the boats visit all the attractions, anchoring for sandwiches and refreshments.
The marine unit of the Norton Fire Department awaits the fleet at the mouth of the harbor, while shooting a big arcing stream from their on-board high volume pump. The boats pass right under the arch of water, circling around for a second and third pass, to the wonder of all passengers on board.
Meanwhile the marine unit of the Darien Police will visit - and help by exercising their blue-lights and sirens for everyone's pleasure. The Coast Guard will stop by for a "pass in review" with their impressive crash-boat that is stationed at Eaton's Neck. Occasionally, when the timing is right, the kids' boats will rendezvous with the big schooner SoundWaters as it comes in close for a prearranged visit.
One activity that is not really scheduled is for the boats to just go in big circles, so that they can bounce over their own wake. No one looks too closely at who is actually steering on these occasions - the Squadron Captain is always at the controls, but if the Campers want to take their turn at the wheel - well then, it's all done carefully.
It also has been discovered that a favorite activity is just waving to their friends on nearby boats. Perhaps by seeing a friend on another boat - the kids realize more clearly just where they are!
At the end of the day, the campers gather on the beach for some ice-cream, for a final count by the counselors, and then they are back on the bus, exhausted and happy.
What happens next? Well, the kids always ask if they can come next year ... and the Captains and Crew note down the date of next year's Boat/Camp. Once again, the Club has been very welcoming to its neighbors, and providing a lot of joy for the kids and the crews along the way. That's why Boat/Camp has been rolling along, every year since 1997.
If you are interested in taking part in this special day, please contact the Squadron at dsps.ct@gmail.com.
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By Bob Wells
For those of you who do not know Bob, he grew up in Noroton Bay and at Noroton Yacht Club in the early 1950s. After college and a few career moves, he moved back to The Bay, where he and his wife Barb raised their two children.
Bob is a sailor and a talented musician who was a member of "The Noroton Bay Royal Fiddler Crab" marching band, playing his trombone on opening day parades, led Noroton Yacht Club members singing folk songs with his guitar, and entertained us all playing the steel drums at more than a few Club Caribbean Night parties.
During the summers of 1960-64, I was lucky enough to hold the ever-so-coveted title of “Launch Boy” at the Noroton Yacht Club. Hey, don’t knock it! I was outside most of the time—on the water—and, as I lived in the Bay, the commute to work only took about two minutes, on foot. Jonnie Reinhart worked with me.
Initially, we worked for Captain Boyce. In Boyce’s day, launch boys did basically everything required to keep the Club in shape. We scraped and painted boats, the Clubhouse exterior, floats, etc. We raked the beach every day. We kept the parking and dry-sail areas clean. We mopped floors, cleaned toilets, shined brass, kept the launches gassed up and in tip-top shape, started each day at 0800 sharp with a cannon blast, struck the colors at sunset and, yes, drove members and their guests back and forth to their boats. Every once in a while, we even had time to take a break.
1958 Sears Cup Crew: Left to right: Sport, Bob Wells, Carolyn McCurdy Wilson, Kevin Jaffee, Peter Wilson
When Captain Boyce retired, a math teacher in the Darien school system named Charlie Potter served briefly as “Club Manager.” Early in the spring of 1963 was when life for Johnnie and me got interesting. This was during the reign of Commodore Bob Crane. Bob and the other nautical grand wizards decided not to replace Charlie Potter when he quit mid-season, but rather have Johnnie and me manage the waterfront. Around this time, Johnny and I were making the exorbitant sum of about $2.50 an hour. Do you think we got a raise for taking on additional responsibilities? Nah. These Commodores were not dumb.
Anyway, decades later, Bob Crane would still tell anyone who would listen that the Club in the early-1960s never ran better—even though its management team was composed of a couple of local teenagers.
Happy Landings: An Art Form:
Each launch has different characteristics for making good landings on boats and floats. In reverse, some “track” port while others list starboard. With a full load and many on the port side to “fend off”, chines dig in and off the bow goes. In time, any good launch boy learns how to make successful landings in high winds or seas, etc. but it’s not long before he or she realizes “you don’t get a second chance” for a happy landing.
Getting people off boats that are “jumping” and swinging on their moorings is tough. You time your approach to meet a boat as it comes to you. Then you just pray that someone up forward will grab a stanchion on your target and hold your bow in before the wind pulls you away. After this, you pray that passengers haven’t experienced too much Mt. Gay that day.
One of the most satisfying feats for a good launch boy to master is a flying “spin stop” where it looks like you are going to ram a float, only to have the launch, in reverse, slip delicately into place as it “kisses” the landing spot. Gets ‘em every time.
Anchors Aweigh:
Sometime in the early 1960s, Johnnie and I experienced an epiphany. For decades, strong southerlies and hurricanes had stretched out mooring lines and chains—south to north—only to have these lines snap, leaving mushrooms and chains strung out and buried in mud all over the harbor. Moreover, these mushrooms were quietly abandoned...and still lying there. After getting approval from the Club’s Commodores, we built a “mooring lift” float with a winch system and, on our days off, started “grappling” the harbor by combing it east to west. In the workboat, with a grappling hook trailing off its stern, we’d feel a “tick, tick, tick” as the grapple ran through links of chain buried in the muddy bottom. At that point, we’d stop the boat, carefully lift the grapple, snatch the chain, and haul it in until it stood straight off the bottom. We’d tie off the grapple and gun the workboat to “free” the mushroom or hook it onto the mooring-lift winch to break the mushroom’s suction from below.
The payoff? For four years, it took us an average “hit rate” of 15 minutes to locate an abandoned anchor. Smart’s Beach became “anchor city”—with primarily 150- or 250-pound anchors, shackles, and lengths of chain, which we would sell by word-of-mouth for roughly “half price.” Once, we even lifted a 2,000-pound anchor with a 500-pound ball and 40 feet of one- inch chain. Hauling this monster off the bottom was a real challenge, requiring us to break the suction using our scuba and other gear. (You might think the shanks on anchors would be eaten away, but when an anchor lies in the mud, the mud protects it from corrosion.)
For me, this “days-off” activity netted about $3,000 per summer—and basically made it possible for me to attend and pay for college, a fact I never admitted to anyone as it would have embarrassed my parents. (Tuition at my alma mater DePauw University during these years was about $3,200/year.)
FIRE!:
One afternoon in either 1961 or 1962, I recall bringing a group of sailors back to the pier when I noticed smoke coming out of a casement window above the Club’s living room. I floored the launch, landed it, and raced down the pier yelling “Fire!” Reaching the building, I threw a hose to the upstairs deck, turned it on and went inside to the small storage room above the living room, spraying the smoldering fire through a smoky haze. Suddenly, the water from the hose stopped. Someone below must have turned it off, evidently not knowing that clockwise opened the flow.
Thankfully, by the time the fire had spread, sirens could be heard coming up Baywater Road, and in no time the Noroton Fire Department took over. For years, I had nightmares about who might have turned off the hose on me and whether I could have controlled the fire myself had the water’s flow continued.
What started the fire in the first place? No one ever found out. Personally, I suspect a couple of Club kids were “lighting up” secretly and then stepped away, not realizing what they had left behind.
Flat Black Sun Dresses:
One of the fun jobs at the Club in those days was painting the old casement windows high above the living room and the other downstairs room known as the “Scuttlebutt.” To tackle this task, you got out a long ladder, hooked a large can of Flat Black Rust-oleum to a rung up in the air and started painting—pane after bloody pane. So, there I was, up on the ladder with my trusty brush on a warm summer’s day, when suddenly, down below on the sun deck, very near my ladder, Vi Crimmins decided to have a little tea party with the ladies. No sweat. I focused on not getting too much paint on each little window and the ladies focused on their tea. Suddenly, I noticed that the hook I had attached to the handle on the paint can started, ever-so-slowly, to straighten out. I froze. Then the paint can separated from the hook and seemed to take forever to float down to the flagstone deck. Upon making contact, it launched about half a gallon of Flat Black Rust-oleum onto anything within a 20-foot radius of my ladder. The terrific splat of the can was followed by even more terrific shrieks. Vi and her lady friends were not spared from black blobs of paint on their sun dresses. Only history knows if any of those pretty sundresses survived to tea another day. And there’s no way I am telling how long it took me to work up enough nerve to come down off that ladder.
When Does the Snack Bar Open?:
At some point in the early 1960s a couple was hired to manage the Club’s snack bar. Neither of them knew from boat people and I would argue that neither of them knew from how to run a snack bar. Perhaps their list of references was never called or maybe they were the only applicants.
Anyway, here they were, and we were stuck with them for the summer. (Spoiler alert: no they were not rehired the following season.) One disadvantage of this duo was their inability to open the snack bar “on time”, even though they lived in an apartment on the premises. Coffee? Customers were lucky to get a cup before about 1100. Members were constantly grousing about the arrangement, so Johnnie Reinhardt and I decided to “up the ante” of unambiguous complaint.
One day, when the snack bar should have been open but was not, we brought the cannon used to start the day at 0800 up to the 2nd floor in the sail loft. We aimed said cannon right at the wall of the apartment, opposite their bedroom. Inserting a shell into the breech, we pulled the ripcord and created a blast similar to what must have been heard in the trenches in WWI. Immediately, you could hear the couple screaming in the apartment and presently a door flew open and the guy stumbled out with only his “tighty- whitey’s” on. It may have been unorthodox, but they got the message and seldom were late again. (But we actually felt bad afterwards when we learned that the lady was pregnant. Sigh.)
The Dreaded Workshop:
Today, the Club has a terrific workshop: a separate building with all kinds of room for tools of all descriptions, storage, etc. Well, back in the early 1960s, the Club workshop was a dank cavern underneath the raised living room. You got there by raising a barn door on a rope off Smart’s Beach. The inside was like a catacomb with a ceiling height of about five feet. It had a workbench at the far end and too few lights to see where you were going. During unusually high tides, the water came right in to say “hi” and never really left. Despite its quirks, this was the space where we launch boys kept all of our supplies, including paints, tools and gear. The little black square to the right of the chimney was the entrance.
the Little Water Rats in the Penalty Box
Looking back, I can’t imagine how we survived operating power tools with so much water all around us. Johnnie and I were the first ones to electrify the pier. It’s amazing we didn’t electrify ourselves. One habit we had was to empty our paint brushes after each use on the concrete foundation wall of the workshop.
This only came to light recently during the renovation of the Club when our artwork was uncovered. Shockingly, the wall did not get saved for posterity, but I think some photos were taken, to the amazement of those who took them.
Put the Little Water Rats in the Penalty Box:
With every decade, there are invariably young kids who hang around the Club. Like water rats, they’re just there—getting underfoot and incessantly following the launch boys. Sometimes helpful, but more often, just there. Grant Tankoos was one. Woody Priest another. But in my tenure as launch boy, our prime water rat was Alec Wiggin. He was like a fly on flypaper, always there. So, every once in a while, we would lift him up and drop him into the large box at the end of the pier where we stored racing markers, lines, and the like. We’d lock the box with Alec in it, go about our business and every once in a while, yell in to see how he was doing. I know, I know, it was a horrible thing to do to a little kid. What can I say? It was a different time. At least Alec didn’t develop too many mental scars from the experience as far as I know. After all, he’s still a bit of a water rat.
Finally, some members have a nerve: calling for the launch from Ziegler’s Cove: It happened. And no, we didn’t.
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By Bobbie Earle, Gordon’s daughter
At a meeting of the Board of Directors of the Yacht Club on November 21, 1941, in a delightful ceremony among old friends who seemed little concerned with Robert’s Rules, Gordon Aymar, also present, was accepted as a candidate for membership in the Club, nominated and elected to the Board, and then elected commodore for the ensuing year. Present were Bert Crane (Bob Crane’s dad), Howard Nash, Paul Smart, Uncle Dick Weed, Luther Richardson, and Col. Thomas Crimmins. Do some of those names sound familiar? Paul Smart had put down the reins after fourteen years at the helm.
It is amusing to read the financial reports of those days. Dues were $25 with a “customary contribution” of ten dollars either for the racing program or the use of the tennis courts. In 1943 the total operating expenses for the year were $297.60! After the rent was paid to Mr. Smart, the balance at the end of the season was $138.65.
It’s hard to believe that any of us were alive in those dear old days when a buck went a long way. But don’t you remember your grandfather talking about his youth when bread cost ten cents a loaf? These were frugal Connecticut Yankees that ruled the roost in those days. The Club’s ladies were allowed a cleaning woman once a week to relieve them of the heavy work. But they still took their turns as hostesses every day much like our “members of the day” in present times.
I find especially charming my father’s words in the minutes about liquor at the club. “On this weighty problem which had vexed so many clubs, we quote from last year’s notice: “The old members know, and the new ones are hereby respectfully informed, that there is no bar in the club. This will be evident not only because of the absence of the bar itself, but because it is unlikely that they will see bottles of liquor around the premises. There never was a rule, a law or a notice. Like Topsy, it just grew that way. To spare new members any possible embarrassment from lack of familiarity with this peculiar, almost unique, and apparently satisfactory custom, it is recorded here that the old members seem to leave it at home." And so it remains today with certain exceptions. What a delightful way to deal with a rather sticky wicket!
I never remember that there were many rules at the club. A sense of noblesse obliges and a commonality of interest among the members insured courteous and respectful behavior. One perennial problem was the “borrowing” of rowboats, oars and oarlocks which was looked upon as a heinous breach of etiquette which, if repeated often enough, was punishable by expulsion. I don’t think this ever happened.
Children and teenagers were expected to behave and usually did, except for the usual high jinks common to all eras. Parents, and not the club staff, were supposed to keep the kids in line. One bark from Captain John Varga, a tough ex-Merchant Marine Officer, was enough to set us straight. Admittedly, our numbers were considerably smaller. Hilary Smart, Dave and Dick Nash, Dick Rich, Owen Torrey, Ellery Huntington, Ann Franklin, and Connie Barnum (Wendy Hokin’s mom) made up the teen gang.
Formal sailing classes didn’t exist. We mostly went out when we felt like it with a couple of cokes in the bilge. The Wee Scots had large air tanks under the seats. so our mothers believed we were safe. Social life for both sexes revolved around hanging out at the club, racing on weekends and at Larchmont Race Week. Our summers were delightfully unstructured and relaxed compared to the highly programmed holidays of today’s kids, which read like a Nantucket sleighride.
We played endless hours of swim tag, hiding under the floats with only a few inches of breathing space. No one ever told us not to jump off the end of the pier. We sat, waterlogged and shivering, for hours on the rocks under the pier like trolls and talked about “boys” and later “men.” I don’t remember any place being off limits except the ladies’ locker room, which we could use only when we turned fourteen, the magic age! I even remember Hilary Smart riding an old bike hell bent for leather from the clubhouse down the long pier and off into the mud at low tide. How it was ever retrieved I can’t imagine. It may be there still. No one seemed to mind at all.
Like all teenagers, we had our dress fetishes, in this case, de rigueur beer jackets, those floppy canvas coverups on which your friends wrote messages in indelible ink. We became walking autograph books.
Rubber bathing suits came into fashion (It had something to do with the war effort. How else would such a silly idea get started?) This gave rise to many embarrassing moments when the ugly things got caught on nails which they often did. We giggled a long time over the day one girl’s suit split up the back when she took a serious plunge off the diving board. And why do I still remember Bob Crane’s mother emerging from the water quite topless after catching her suit on the swimming ladder? Bless her heart, she didn’t know it had happened, but we were horrified.
Some parents didn’t approve of Coca-Cola, but we would string a dozen straws together and see how far away from the bottle we could sit and still get a drink.
Dances were held in the big living room complete with chaperones and records. The end of the pier was well lighted to discourage “necking.” That’s where Harry and I met when we were barely in our teens. He claims we were eleven and twelve. It was, indeed, an innocent and simpler time.
Sunday tea was a tradition even then. Catherine Gallaher, Peggy Aymar, Marion Taylor, Polly Vickery (Joan Davis’ mother), Marion Widmann, and their friends presided with stern admonitions to the children who tried to eat all the cake before the sailors came in. Some things never change.
Prize night was the highlight of the summer. Long dresses and tuxedoes were standard dress code. A sit-down dinner was served amidst high excitement and anticipation.
Dad’s three-year tenure came during World War II and because of this, and the many changes that affected the entire country, the yacht club went into a holding mode. Frills and new initiatives came to a standstill. The minutes state that the club just broke even. In May, 1944, Dad reported that a half dozen Wee Scotts, a couple of 110s and a dozen Stars would be in the water. Two large sloops and a ketch, he added, “will add dignity and tone to the Club."
All of the young men over eighteen were either in the reserves or had volunteered for the service. There were enough submarines on the Atlantic side of Long Island to discourage pleasure cruising and on several occasions, I remember hearing of sub scares in the Sound although I’m not sure there was any truth to the rumors. Despite this, the activities and racing for junior sailors continued and Noroton always boasted top-notch sailors, both young and old. The outer harbor was empty of moorings and the Darien Boat Club didn’t exist. There were no boats beyond the end of the pier. Paul Smart wouldn’t believe his eyes if he returned today. Harold and Douglas Nash’s cruising boats floated in stately splendor inside Nash Island’s harbor. Harold Nash’s sported rust red sails that, to me, made it look like a ship from ancient history.
The Aymar watch reflected Dad’s intense interest in sailing and his love of the sea. I don’t remember much discussion of the Club’s financial matters, sloppy locker rooms or unraked beaches. Maybe my mother took over the concern for the sandy towels and ratty sneakers that lingered for weeks on the white bench at the end of the breezeway. I believe it is still there today. Dad raced with my brother, Gordon Jr., every weekend, with Gordie at the tiller. They often came in near the end of the fleet. Because Dad had written several books on sailing, including a wonderful beginner’s manual called “Start ‘em Sailing” in 1941, his family and friends used to tease him unmercifully about his racing record. He took this with great good humor. When queried about the discrepancy between his authorship and his actual performance he would retort “When I want to know more about a subject that interests me, I decide to write a book about it. This forces me to study and think about it in depth. Then I start to write. As an amateur, perhaps I can understand how to teach beginners and other non-professionals better than the hot shots.”
I still remember some of the tips he taught me when we sailed together:
• let the jib out ‘til it begins to shiver then pull it in an inch;
• hand over hand all your lines to be sure they’re clear;
• never get your feet mixed up in the lines;
• head away from the line for one minute before the start of a race and, leaving a few seconds to come about, head back for the last minute so you’ll arrive with the gun at the line;
• overtaking boat stay clear;
• never cleat a sheet with a jam turn. It’s too hard to undo in a hurry.
These admonitions still help me today. I also remember that Dad and I did a lot of harmonizing in our sailing excursions. The whole family sang often when we cruised during the summers.
Even as children, we were secretly proud that the yacht club was unlike any other club in the area. It was quite unique, and we knew it. There was a steadfast determination among the members to keep it a family club where young and old and all ages in between would mingle, and where the skills and disciplines of sailing would be taught and respected. We didn’t have many frills, but we had a wonderful time together and many of us share happy memories with friends who were just youngsters then as I was.
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By Dwight Collins
Bruce Kirby was the perfect person to design a state-of-the-art pedal powered boat to cross the North Atlantic. But when I came to his Rowayton home in 1990 to discuss designing the craft for this purpose, some convincing was required. His wife Margo later told me, “He thought you were nuts!” My Navy SEAL background and my 20+ year old file complete with plans of transatlantic rowing boats were positives. After some hesitation, Bruce agreed to design the boat and named it the “For Real Project”. From that point on Bruce was all in. It was the beginning of a wild ride with challenges, twists, and turns that tested our resolves. A very special friendship grew from our mutual appreciation of each other’s shared determination to make the transatlantic pedal boat project a success that extended well beyond the boat design.
Bruce designed a self-righting, fully enclosed 24’ carbon fiber 850-pound boat and used his influence to secure Goetz Marine Technology--world renowned for building Americas Cup boats-- to build the boat. Bruce said, “I have designed a boat that is easily driven and is more unstable upside down.”
The original plan was for a crew of two, both pedaling, accompanied by an escort boat. The focus was on speed and the higher probability for success with 2 pedalers. The selected route was the shortest distance across the Atlantic from St. Johns Newfoundland to Plymouth England. A total of 1,950 miles. The timing was critical between June and August (after the icebergs recede and before hurricane season begins). The Darien News covered the launching at Bruce’s home and mentioned that I was looking for a partner. Bob Wells, a cyclist, sailor, and a long-time member of Noroton Yacht Club stepped up, took charge of sponsorship, and named the adventure “Biking the Atlantic”.
For 18 months Bob and I worked at bringing the dream to reality, with Bruce offering assistance, encouragement and legitimacy to the effort. Bruce introduced us to a variety of experts to refine the model: David Hubbard and John Nobile to design and build a highly efficient pedal system; Terry Richards, a propeller fabricator to build the airplane-like custom prop; a carbon fiber specialist to make the canopies; Dan Nerney to photograph the process; equipment sponsors in navigation, desalinization, hatches, and plastics; and a balloonist weather forecaster who was very accurate about the weather conditions. In addition, Bruce was instrumental in marshalling the assistance and expertise of Noroton Yacht Club members Andrew Kostanecki, Jeff Eng, Peter Ward among others. Bob secured Moet and Chandon to sponsor a successful New York to Boston trial run.
But by early 1992, no sponsorship had been secured to finance the trip as planned with 2 pedalers and an escort boat. A decision was required. The opportunity would not carry past 1992. The recession would not last and work obligations would soon make it impossible to take off sufficient time for the trip. I called Bruce and asked him if, in his judgment, the boat could handle the crossing on a solo basis. Bruce responded, “I know the boat will make it”. After a long pause he then said, “You have done everything you can do to prepare the boat and yourself for this crossing. The only thing you can’t prepare for is how you will handle being alone.” Bruce was all about possibility. That was all the encouragement I needed. Some say that with dreams come responsibility. On that day, the full weight of a childhood dream landed. The decision was made, and the dream took what in retrospect seemed predestined. I named the boat “TANGO” after our wedding dance. The voyage and the purity of the childhood dream synchronized. Bruce and Margo understood the risk and the passion. In the mad rush to complete everything for the existential trip, they provided a soothing balance of support and assistance whenever necessary.
The Atlantic Ocean typically has milder conditions in the summer months. But, in the summer of 1992 that was not the case—there were more storms than usual and less sunlight. I had been to St Johns before I was married and had great memories of pub crawling 5 years earlier in the only place in the world that lives by a 30-minute time zone. The voyage started with a following sea and strong westerly winds. TANGO performed perfectly heading due east at 4 knots with ease. But when the sun went down that first night, the conditions changed. The wind died and the southerly Labrador current carried TANGO south off course. For 4 days in dense fog, I made little easterly progress despite 12+ hours of pedaling each day. I was kept company by a shark for a day. I remember feeling like I was being followed. I turned around and there it was, a 3-foot dorsal fin in my wake. The next day, a pod of pilot whales surrounded the boat. I later found out that pilot whales will ram your boat if they think your boat is a threat. Fortunately, TANGO was going too slow for them to be concerned. The beginning of our trip was the most difficult. No progress. No sun. No visibility. Bruce was right, being alone was brutal. I reverted to Seal training. Focus on the present. Only look forward to the next meal. Don’t think, wonder, or worry. Be an animal.
Good news and bad news came on the 5th day when home base communicated via HF radio that a major storm was on its way toward me. With a huge following sea and raging winds, TANGO was catapulted out of the Labrador Current and made her way into the favorable easterly Gulf Stream. With a gathering storm, I have always taken solace in how one’s threshold for acceptance of the wind and waves increases in synchrony with the crescendo. The angry sea throws everything at you but not right away so you can gradually get used to it! At the climax, I would look back at the conditions in the beginning of the storm and marvel at what I could now tolerate. Every wave is different. The rumble of a breaking wave in the distance can build as it nears you or it might just dissipate. There is no way to anticipate. I accepted that my fate was almost completely out of my hands. The bad weather continued. TANGO coasted down the waves with speed. Her narrow beam, combined with the perfect aft section buoyancy, allowed the really big waves to pass by the boat without lifting the stern up to cause pitchpoling. As long as I could stay perpendicular to the waves, TANGO performed perfectly. Bruce would later ask for every detail about how TANGO performed. I showed him the video of TANGO surfing down a wave, and me unclipping my shoes from the pedals so the pedals would free wheel spin.
With help from the storms, I made good progress. However, there was no sun to charge the solar panel batteries which in turn powered the HF radio. For 10 days, I had no communication with home base. Thank God for BBC Radio. My books on tape were useless because the moisture had killed my Walkman. Ross Perot pulled out of the presidential race, I learned about a Mustard Museum somewhere, I enjoyed an Anthony Hopkins interview and I even appreciated listening to opera. I had confidence that TANGO would keep me safe regardless of the toughest conditions. I had made peace with being alone. I could take an idea and think about it for hours. The pursuit of a dream can seem selfish to those who care about you. None of my wife, family or friends knew where I was or if I was alive or dead. This trip taught me to measure my actions in context with others. When the sun finally returned, it was clear to me that I was going to make it. A message in a bottle was cast, which would land on the Brittainy Coast in December and would later be found by a French fisherman who received his weight in Champagne thanks to Moet & Chandon. My Walkman came back to life, and I will forever feel indebted to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers for being an essential part of the good things in life. After 2 days of sun, the batteries were recharged, and communications resumed. HF radio is not completely reliable. My first transmission did not ping Stamford, CT. It pinged a sailing vessel off the coast of South Africa which so happened to be one of my favorite boats designed by Olin Stephens. A heavy South African accent responded, “Stormy Weather” and he relayed my position to home base. The sun lifted my spirits and inspired me to stop pedaling and climb outside. I sat looking at the incredible beauty of just ocean sky split by horizon and the gentle rolling waves of the Atlantic Ocean. I realized in this very moment why I had taken this challenge. Amazing how important, lasting, yet short that moment was.
My route was out of the shipping lanes. Aside from seeing one Chiquita Banana tanker from a distance, I had not seen one ship the entire voyage. However, Murphy’s Law is always hovering. After several days of an annoying clicking sound in the bearings, at 2 AM, I took the pedal system apart to make the repair. At the very moment of complete disassembly, I heard and saw a ship coming directly in my path. After all I had endured, I was prepared to accept that when your number is up you are done. Fortunately, the ship altered its course at the last minute to avoid me.
My first sight of land was the isles of Scilly which eerily jutted out of the ocean as the sun rose. It is true that you can smell the land from far away. How many ships had miscalculated and been broken up on those Islands’ rocky shores? A British family came over in a small but hardy looking vessel with the children in bulky life jackets. My first encounter with live people in 39 days! When I answered where I had come from, they acknowledged my answer stoically, then in classic British form puttered away. After just 15 minutes, they returned. The father enthusiastically said, “I just want you to know what you did was amazing. Congratulations!”
As I entered the English Channel, with the sun high, a helicopter circled above me. A press boat came to greet us offering chocolate bars and random sweets which I gratefully accepted and ate with vigor. As good as those sweets tasted, that decision was not only a big mistake but terrible substitute for what had become my favorite food--fig newtons which I had entirely consumed over the trip. Despite not feeling particularly well as I entered Plymouth Harbor, being totally overwhelmed by euphoria is still my strongest memory. My last entry in my video journal captured the moment best, “On the one hand, I can’t wait to move on and on the other hand I hate to give up the peacefulness and time to myself. What a fantastic experience!”
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By Peter Wilson
In 1981, the J24 Fleet was introduced to Noroton as the boat to be used in the US Junior Sailing Championships (Sears, Bemis and Smythe). Noroton was to host the Sears in 1982. The class grew quickly and became a major fleet at Noroton for years.
We lost J24 # 2802 on a Sunday race racing in a big easterly; ‘big’ was 15 to 20 knots with 4-to-6 foot seas. Rounding the weather mark, of course every boat set their spinnaker for the 1.5-mile leeward leg after beating to a windward mark up near Greens Ledge Lighthouse. What a sleighride surfing down the big waves with most of the crew on the stern rail to keep the bow from digging in after surfing one wave and then running into the one in front of it. You couldn’t sail directly downwind because the rolling from side to side was treacherous, so boats went off to either side of the run.
About halfway down the leg, when boats had to gybe to sail to the leeward mark, the wind gusts increased to about 25 knots. There were several ‘wipeouts’ trying to gybe, and some boats dropped their spinnakers to gybe safely. However, a few tried to gybe with the spinnaker up. Bill Thomson was one of these. He lost control in the middle of their gybe as the chute rolled them to windward and right into a capsize. The boat turned ‘turtle’ (upside down) in the heavy seas, and unfortunately the cockpit lockers were not locked shut. They opened and the water poured in, causing the boat to sink in a few minutes. Fortunately, all the crew was off the boat and while waiting to be rescued by a mark-boat one crew asked Bill, “Did you register the boat?” No. “Did you insure the boat?” No.
The next day Bill and several others went out to the spot where she sank and dragged the bottom with grappling hooks and danforth anchors. No joy. They tried again for several days with no luck. We all thought that ultimately the boat might wash up on Smith’s Reef to the west of where she went down, but in all this time, there has been no sign of her. Those who remember this event wonder if, when setting a weather or leeward mark for Sunday sailing, they might yet find that lost boat.
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FLEET SHEET Issue 1, December 2022
FLEET SHEET Issue 2, December 2023
FLEET SHEET Issue 3, December 2023
FLEET SHEET Issue 4, October 31st, 2024
FLEET SHEET Issue 5, January 10th, 2025
One of the pleasures of yachting is the flying of national, club and personal colors. There are, however, some basic rules, which should be observed, particularly for sail and power yachts other than very small craft.
First, the Ensign (national or traditional yacht ensign): it should be larger than one might think. The Ensign should approximate a minimum of one inch on the fly per foot of overall boat length, with a hoist of two-thirds of the fly. A 36-ft yacht with a masthead 48-ft above the water should carry a 2-ft x 3-ft Ensign. It may be flown on a stern on sailboats and at the gaff or stern staff on powerboats. It is not flown while racing.
The Ensign should be displayed underway or at anchor between morning (0800) and evening (sunset) colors, except when unmanned. Timing should be concurrent with colors ashore, or in their absence, from the senior officer afloat at Club functions. The Ensign is flown at “halfmast” only on occasions of national mourning and on Memorial Day from 0800 to 1200.
Next, the Club Burgee: The Burgee should conform to the design specified in the Noroton Yacht Club yearbook. It should approximate one-half-inch on the fly for each foot of the height of the highest truck above the water on sailing yachts and for each foot of overall length on power yachts. The hoist should be two-thirds of the fly. Again, referring to the 36-ft yacht above, an 18" Burgee would be appropriate.
The Noroton Club Burgee should be flown only from the top of the mainmast (or flown only from the top of the mainmast or at the foremost truck for yachts with 2 masts) and never while racing. It should never be flown from a spreader (which is reserved for courtesy flags, special signals such as the quarantine flag, and other notices such as signaling for launch service). A pig stick can be purchased with enough length to raise the burgee above masthead electronics and wind indicators. Power yachts should fly the burgee from a bow staff, otherwise from the main mast. The Burgee is normally flown during the day between morning and evening colors, but may also be flown at night.
Finally, it is considered poor form to fly the burgee of another club in your own Club's anchorage, adjacent waters, or at one of its functions, raft-ups or cruises.
A private signal, like a burgee, is normally displayed between morning and evening. Colors, at the truck in place of a burgee, or on the aftermost truck on a yacht with two masts. The Club encourages the registration of private signals with the Club Captain.
A Flag Officer's Flag shall be displayed instead of a private signal, and in the case of a single masted yacht, instead of the Burgee, except when racing or displaying the Burgee of another club. It may be flown under the Race Committee flag when conducting a Flag Officer’s race.
Dressing Ship is called for at the Club Commissioning. Rectangular flags should alternate with pennants, if possible and dressing begins and ends at the water, not the bow or stern. Ensigns, burgees, private signals and flag officers' flags shall not be included among the code flags and pennants in the hoist in dressing ship.
Colors Ashore. During morning and evening Colors members, their children, and guests on the Clubhouse patios, decks, and docks are expected to stand quietly and respectfully while the national ensign is being hoisted or lowered. Attention to Colors will be signaled by whistle or cannon fire.
Further information on flag etiquette may be found in various yachting publications including The New York Yacht Club and Cruising Club of America Yearbooks.
Noroton would like to thank Norwalk Yacht Club, for letting us use their words, which have defined things so well.
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Cartoon By Pete Wells
Sailing is a self-governing sport, which means it's completely up to sailors to abide by the rules and uphold the fairness of racing. It's a matter of integrity and sailors are taught the importance of playing fair and respecting the rules of the game. That being said, in sailing the conditions are ever-changing so there are rules and rule books governing situations where skippers might disagree on what happened in a specific situation.
When sailing began at Noroton there needed to be a way to solve these racecourse conflicts. In the 1945, Windward Leeward, the newsletter started during the war to keep Noroton members apprised of what was happening at the club, the following was posted:
Last Wednesday evening the first of a series of dinghy protest meetings was held. There were two protests. The first was Stu Repp in 545 against 500 (Bill Middleer) and X115 (Norma Fincke). After a long discussion, the Committee consisting of William Richardson, Gordon Aymar, and Harold Nash disqualified X115. The second protest was between Wade Woodworth and Priscilla High. The Committee disqualified Priscilla.
Although there have been no other protest night meetings since, meetings are still held, if required, after every club race on weekends.
By the 1950s there was a strong bond among sailors. There were rules and you were on your honor to obey them. The fundamental principle of sportsmanship was that you retired from the race when you knew you had broken a rule. If you were not sure, and another boat protested you, a protest committee would take testimony from both boats and decide if either broke a rule. The penalty was a DSQ—disqualification (retirement) from that race.
In the late 1950s, Bill Cox, Jr. was leading the Long Island Sound Lightning Championships by a wide margin going into the last race. “We rounded the weather mark well ahead of the next boat and by the time we approached the reach mark we were a leg ahead of the next boat. Knowing that Bill liked to cut things close, I asked him not to hit the mark. You guessed it. He hit the mark and even though there was not a boat around, we withdrew from the race, thus losing the series. Carl Vanduyne did the same at the ‘68 Olympics in Mexico. Best to be able to sleep at night.
By the 1970s, the sportsman attitude began to lag and, not surprisingly, bullies began to appear in sailboat racing. Perhaps it happened as sailors appeared who had played other sports and learned to keep playing until the referee blew the whistle, or perhaps life had moved on. It didn’t help that kids used to yell things like “Port Right Rudder Rule” to confuse a competitor and get their way.
Today, the principle of sportsmanship continues to be the foundation of our self-regulating sport. However, over time the penalties have become less severe. When you break a rule today, instead of being expected to retire from the race, you can take a 360 degree turn if you touch a mark, or a 720 degree turn if you foul another boat. However, if you cause an injury or damage by your foul, you must retire.
Over time, formal protests have become a burden to time-stressed sailors. Many who are fouled don’t bother to protest. So, sailing has partially caught up with other sports that have referees to call the fouls. Trained umpires now serve as on-the-water judges at events like match racing and team racing and, more recently , at some fleet racing and Olympic medal races. Sailors are still expected to play by the rules, but when competitors can’t resolve an incident by one of them taking a turning penalty, the umpires can step in and impose the penalty on the boat that broke the rule.
Cartoonist Pete Wells a Noroton Member best known for his creation of the syndicated cartoon. Pete lived in the bay with his family, sailed his catboat at Noroton Yacht Club, and draw many cartoons for the club.
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The Story Behind the Results
By Lee Morrison
Noroton’s Champion of Champions regatta was first awarded in the mid-1900s, when the Lightening class was the focus of fleet racing, which meant that the annual fleet champion was, by definition, the club champion. To honor that achievement, Commodore Oscar Widmann purchased an elegant sterling silver Tiffany trophy, which was first awarded in 1950 to Susan Widman. Over the years other winners have included an honor role of Noroton sailors including Sinclairs, Wilsons, Cranes, Coxes, America’s Cup skipper Bob Bavier and upcoming Vice Commodore Scott Harrison.
This year’s championship series, run in eight boats from the club’s current fleet of identically tuned and rigged Sonars, was not only exceptionally competitive, but was won by former Commodore Lee Morrison, who provided this skipper’s-eye view of the final race in a very tight series.
“Noroton Yacht Club’s Champion of Champions regatta dawned bright and sunny. Following a rainy and windy week, the beautiful fall weather was more than welcome. However, with light Northerly winds and lots of heating from the sun, the day was going to be challenging for people who race sailboats. Not a physical challenge, but a challenge of trying to find patterns in random wind shifts and ferreting out clues from clouds. To excel in these conditions a sailor can utilize a mental mindset described in the book “The Inner Game of Tennis,” i.e. playing the game in the inner mind, beyond concentration and judgement. Letting the unconscious mind take over. If I allowed my mind’s eye to picture the wind pushing our boat in favorable ways our victory was assured. End of story? Not quite! This competition turned out to be mathematically the closest I can recall and the results don’t tell the story of how close the racing had really was
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How close? At the end of the three-race series there was a one point difference between first and third in the eight boat fleet. First and second were tied on points with the tie-breaker going to the boat with more 1st place finishes. Then, 1 point behind, was third.
1. 8-1-1 10 points Boat #8
2. 2-2-6 10 points Boat #3
3. 1-8-2 11 points Boat #6
But that’s not the whole story. The racing was close, finishes were tight, and mistakes were costly. In the first race, on the final leg to the finish, our boat ,#8, went from 3rd to last following a bone-head move.
Going into the finish of the 2nd race, Boat #3 was moving up fast on wind that had filled from behind. Going into the finish line they overlapped our boat (#8 ) and were carrying more speed. When we crossed the line neither team could tell who had won.
In the last race, a couple of lead changes on the final leg determined the outcome of the regatta. After a good start our boat held the early lead. Going upwind before the final leg to the finish, we had a vague notion of the boats near us in the overall standings. Accordingly, we watched Boat #6 and started to sweat when they split from the fleet off to the right side of the course. We were in the middle keeping Boat #3 behind us. Picking which boat to cover meant correctly guessing which way the wind would shift next. If it shifted to the right Boat #6 would look good. But tacking on a lift is wrong in an oscillating breeze. Alternatively, if the wind shifted left and we could tack on a header, we would leave the fleet, including Boat #3, just to cover Boat #6. Tough choice.
Luckily, we threaded the needle, rounding the final mark right ahead of Boat #6. Our spinnaker set was good but we ran into a set of waves just as the chute started to fill. Boat #6 also had a good set but avoided the waves and got going faster. Then, in a flash, Boat #6 took our wind and sailed over us. Ugh!!!
The boats that rounded behind us were tight and started sailing above the rhumb line. Partly in an attempt to get moving after being passed, and partly to cover the boats behind, we sailed a high course and slowly got to windward of Boat #6. But then another wind shift turned the final run into a parade. Boat #6 was sailing directly toward the finish line and appeared to have an insurmountable lead. Ugh, Ugh!!!
Then, a couple of hundred feet before the finish line, the wind lightened and some large waves rolled through. Boat #6 hit them hard and, in the lull, their spinnaker collapsed. We had some nice momentum and started moving up. We were close to taking Boat #6’s wind and far enough to windward that even if they luffed hard, we could sail over them. Closing on the finish line, we were neck and neck. Once again, with spinnakers billowing, it was impossible for the teams to tell who won.
In the end we prevailed, winning both close finishes by inches in races that could have easily gone either way. Had we finished behind Boat #3 in Race 2 or behind Boat #6 in Race 3, we would have finished the series in third. Call it fate or luck or whatever but no denying, it was close!”
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This year’s cruise was our most local in recent years, beginning at Port Jefferson, NY, and ending at Coecles Harbor, Shelter Island. Once again under the meticulous management of Glenn and Lauri Morrison, with the assistance of Mike and Tami Preston, the cruise was designed around destinations with multiple mooring and on-shore options, linked by short transits appropriate for families with children. Overall, 22 boats participated with 60 people signed up for the dinner at Shelter Island Yacht Club.
August 13th, Westbrook – Lobster Bake at Pilot’s Point Marina. Overnight at the marina or anchor at Duck Island Roads.
August 14th & 15th, Sag Harbor – Commodore’s cocktail party aboard Highlander and a lay day for shore activities, including golf.
August 16th, Dering Harbor – Moorings and dinner at Shelter Island Yacht Club. Shore Activities on er Island or via ferry in Greenport.
August 17th, Skipper’s choice – Orient Harbor, Three Mile Harbor, or remain at Shelter Island Yacht Club.
August 18th, Coecles Harbor – Anchor or mooring. SUP and kayak tours of the harbor. Dinner at Rams Head Inn.
August 19th, Return to Noroton or head East to Block Island.
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Over the Memorial Day weekend, Noroton hosted the Viper Long Island Sound Championship.
On Sunday, PRO Howard Seymour and his Race Committee team stitched together superb courses out of 5 to 8 knots of shifty Southwest breezes. The windward mark visited a lot of different spots, but there were no delays, and the windward mark was always dead upwind. Kudos to the team on the windward mark boat and whoever held the fluttering piece of wool! Will Graves, Luke Raymond, and Tom Rein in #293 were the most consistent with three seconds and a bullet. Team Scott in their new boat, #007, “Shaken not Steered” recently delivered from Palma, picked up a couple of bullets but also two 7th place finishes, which felt strangely appropriate. Jim and Rob Crane loosened their rig and dialed into some local knowledge on the last race to win the final race of the day.
Monday saw 14 Vipers registered and ready to race but the overnight forecast called for sustained breeze exceeding 25 knots with gusts above 30. At the 0730 online competitors meeting, the Seawanhaka team regretfully, but wisely, announced they did not want to risk the tow over. By 0900 buoys on the sound and in the harbor were still recording gusts in the high 30s. Cancelling the days races appeared likely, however PRO Harrison and some competitor representatives decided to drive Scott’s Regulator out to the course and discovered much steadier breeze and smoother than expected seas. After consulting with competitors back on shore, Scott announced a 10.15 Harbor start with an 11.15 first warning.
The final races were fine ones. Competitors had been warned that Rear Commodore Harrison believed in quick turnarounds between races, and he was true to his word. Short turnaround, fine breeze and true courses allowed three races plus ample time to put boats on trailers and enjoy the awards ceremony.
Final standings:
3rd Place Milford YC – Mike Lebov, Alexi Schwarzkopf and Kyle Stuart.
2nd Place Marblehead – Devan Hart (helm) and Cole Constantineau (tactician and owner) and Brandon.
1st Place Noroton YC – Will Graves sailing with Luke Raymond, Tom Rein and Carly Costikyan.
Special honors:
Best Woman Viperer – Devan Hart, who helmed Meow to second place overall.
Honorable mentions – Carly Costikyan in #293 who crewed to first place in the second day, and Alexi Schwartzkopff, who crewed the usual “Suspect” to third place overall. These are three sailors to watch for at the 2024 Womens’ Viper World Championship.
Best Newcomers to the fleet – John Bainton, who was sailing his boat for the very first time with his ten-year-old son calling tactics. Team Bainton nailed several starts and was first at the windward mark at least twice, but in a display of either remarkable sportsmanship or the harsh reality of the learning curve, handed over the lead on the downwind leg.
Honorable mentions also to Mike Deyett and his 16-year-old son, Kye, sailing double handed, who joined the fleet last year and were tuning up a boat they bought merely sixweeks ago; to Warren Costikyan, who stepped on the boat to add some gravitas on Monday.
And to Marcelo Pereira and Eddie Wolfe on “Patched Up” for positive race-course vibes aboard recently acquired Viper # 176, which will be ready to sail at Noroton later this year.
Much credit also to the Race Committee team for their course management, and to all the folks who inflated marks and put them on the right boats, hunted up extra meals when competitors signed in late, stood ready to hear the protests that never came, and put together an extra safety boat when the forecast turned sour. Their coordinated effort created a casual yet polished event.
Day ONE had marginal conditions, forcing the team to depower at times but always pushing the boat to the limit. But they worked the boat downwind better than any other team and ended up winning three races and being OCS (“on course side” or over the starting line) in the fourth.
The winds on Day TWO were strong, over 20 knots, a challenge for Noroton as they were the lightest team there. Before the first race, their carbon fiber gnav bar snapped but fortunately they had a spare. There was a dicey moment on one downwind leg when Noroton thought they had room to cross a starboard boat but suddenly that boat hopped on plane and managed to cross. Noroton jibed to avoid a collision but as the crossing boat had to alter course, it set up a potential penalty. As they were ahead of Noroton on the course and beat them at the finish, the other skipper told Noroton not to spin because they didn’t intend to protest. But as competition was tight, they later changed their mind and lodged one. Noroton was penalized and disqualified from the race. This turned out to be unfortunate as it took Noroton out of contention for the top two spots.
The final day of the regatta was very light, leading to a postponement in which everyone rafted up and talked; no swimming because the water was frigid! Eventually a light breeze filled in, just enough for the race committee to start a race. Team Noroton threw in a bunch of unnecessary maneuvers right before the gun and started without much speed, but they played the current like true Sound sailors and were able to take 2nd.