Caner Dinlenc
(inducted 2011)
King Neptune,
Having raced in boats large and small all around the world but always within a brisk 20 mile swim ashore, I anticipated with great excitement my first offshore experience. This experience came to me in spades in June 2010 during the Newport-Bermuda race.
I was lucky enough to meet the skipper/owner of Slide Rule at the Safety at Sea seminar held specifically for the Bermuda racers. Though I had no berth at the time I thought I could be a more valuable team member with the Safety certificate added to my resume. (Not to mention learning the survival skills I hoped never to use.) Scott Bearse and his crew of regulars had done several Newport-Bermuda and Marblehead-Halifax races on his Beneteau First 44.7. As luck would have it, his medical officer was getting progressively sea sick on these outings and opted out of this years run. Scott likes to play things safe. Having a crew with four guys over 50 he found comfort in having a physician on-board. That was my ticket in.
Fast forward to race day. June 18, 2010. A cloudless and classic Spring day in Newport Harbor. 200 boats racing and at least that many pleasure craft clotted the historic harbor. Sports news helicopters and an Air Force fly over were icing on the cake. Our division of 13 performance boats aggressively fought for position on the line that would take us 660 miles South Southeast. Within 3 hours after starting there wasn't a boat in sight. Everyone was off to one corner of the great ocean or another looking for the magical and fickle favorable warm water eddy that might add two to three knots to their speed over ground.
We had eight aboard Slide Rule. Rotating shifts of three sailors for three hours in good weather, all hands on deck in heavy weather. Everyone got an hour at helm during their shift. The excitement of being far offshore and the simultaneous acceptance of the fact that no one could help us (quickly) settled at ten that night. Dinner was warmed over lasagna, 3 minutes to eat. It was my turn to drive. After a little while at the helm the periodicity of the ocean waves were like a lullaby. I was wearing everything I had for cold weather, up to my ski hat. Water temperature in the North Atlantic is still chilly in June. Couple that with constant ocean spray and hypothermia can become a real issue. Could I sleep after my shift ended? Of course not. The shadow of excitement is fatigue. A rookie mistake is stay up while off duty and then pay back happens...
By second night we were deep in to the Gulf Stream. A confused and angry sea state. How I missed those regular rollers lapping at our hull. Waves came from every direction, none larger than 8 or 10 feet, but many breaking over themselves in a rush to greet us. There was some moonlight through the shadows which teasingly highlighted the green/white frothy and menacing breakers. Every so often we went off the top of one, dipped into the narrow trough of these irregular waves only to submarine the entire foredeck on the next wave. A couple of tons of froth usually gets my attention. At one point while helming at 2 in the morning I heard a sound that I will not soon forget. A familiar sound. Thousands of times one hears crashing, churning waves. For hundreds of miles we have ploughed through them so far. My white knuckles on the helm shone brightly in the moonlight. I turned my starboard aft quarter to instinctively face the roar of the oncoming sea. Its long white fangs hung in the air. Had I stuck my hand out I was sure to touch it. For what seemed like a minute, the sound and the white breaker it came from followed us into the black ink. It gave us an impossibly delicate push forward. I thought of the frivolity of our presence on the surface of such massive forces and the indifference with which we could be made to disappear...
We started to see other boats only during the last 6 hours of the race. The intensity and focus of competition displaced other, more existential ponderings.
We crossed the line off St David's Lighthouse at 95 hours 30 minutes. Not too bad we thought, third or fourth depending on which rating system you choose.
Though it was all about the
race, it was really about being at sea. Searching for what uncountable mariners
have sought over centuries. Themselves.
Submitted with respect,
Caner Dinlenc
