NY Times article

http://www.nytimes.com/1998/01/09/arts/weekend-warrior-the-extra-kick-of-sailing-in-winter.html

WEEKEND WARRIOR; The Extra Kick of Sailing in Winter
By JED STEVENSON
Published: January 9, 1998


Weather: Temperatures in the mid-30's; winds westerly at 15 to 25 knots with frequent gusts to 30-35 knots; wave height, 2 feet or greater; water temperature, 48 degrees.

Hey, it's a perfect day for sailing.

No, really. Look, I thought the same thing. These people have to be crazy. Sailing means balmy Caribbean days, swimsuits, tans. And there I was with two sets of long underwear, a sweater, a high-mountain climbing suit, double gloves, big fuzzy hat. I should have been on Everest not on the pier of the Offshore Racing School, about to participate in their Frostbite Racing series.

The school is in the Liberty Landing Marina in Jersey City just across the Hudson from lower Manhattan, and getting there is as easy as taking the Water Taxi from North Cove in Battery Park City for $4. The trip across the river takes about five minutes, and the taxi terminus is on the same pier as the school.

There I met the New York area director of the school, Christian Pschorr, trim, dark-haired, sun glassed, looking as if he knew what he was doing. That was reassuring. The winds blustering out of New Jersey were not. I kept expecting Christian to apologize and cancel the day's sailing. He looked happy. Even bundled up as I was, I looked cold.

Actually, he doesn't cancel until the winds reach almost gale force or if there's a snowstorm that reduces visibility to near zero. The Frostbite Racing program was created to ''keep people sailing through the winter.'' And that pretty much sums it up. If you already know something about sailing, you'll probably have a good if cold time. But if you're a beginner, things will happen too fast for you to learn much.

Mr. Pschorr further explained that the school helps people perfect their sailing skills by racing, where the boats operate close to one another. Close means inches at times as boats vie for position to round a buoy.

The school was started by Steve and Doris Colgate about 30 years ago. Mr. Colgate is a former Olympic sailboat racer, a veteran of many famous offshore races. The school is based in Captiva, Fla., and has seven other branches from Tortola in the British Virgin Islands to Chicago.

The boats are Colgate 26's, which Mr. Colgate designed for teaching. They usually have a crew of five or fewer, but they can hold more.

We began the day with an explanation of some of the more arcane rules of racing, like the right of way when approaching a buoy. It's so confusing that disagreements and misunderstandings arose all afternoon. Within two boat lengths of the buoy, a boat that has started to overtake another has the right of way if it is to leeward (that's the direction the wind is blowing yesterday's newspaper). But only if it has established an overlapping position -- when its bow has overtaken the stern of the other boat. However, this holds only if both boats are on the same tack. If the leeward boat has not established an overlapping position by the time it's two boat lengths from the buoy, then the windward boat (where yesterday's newspaper used to be) has the right of way. You get the idea -- baffling.

After the talk, we went over to the boats and got them ready to race. I was teamed with two of the better sailors, Andrew Wilson, a 36-year-old Staten Island librarian, and Enrique Curchitser, a 31-year-old oceanography student. We raised the sail, adjusting the sheets -- the ropes attached to the sails. We then freed the rudder, pushed off the pier and started sailing briskly inside the confines of the Morris Canal.

The Morris Canal is no Pacific. It's only several hundred feet across and is bordered by old tugboats, pilings and moored barges. There are no long reaches of easy sailing here. Tacks (directions) change frequently, and with each change the mainsail swings from one side to the other and the jib, the sail at the front of the boat, changes sides also. Because my sailing skills were quite rusty, I was given charge of the jib. As we practiced going around the triangular course, my job was to release one line quickly and pull rapidly on another, no easy task wearing all the bulky clothing and the two pairs of gloves.

When we raced to windward, the boat heeled so drastically that I could look straight down my body, past my feet and see water -- cold, cold water. Andrew yelled ''Main,'' and Enrique eased the mainsail out a few inches. Wind spilled and the boat righted itself a little. I had been assured that the boats would not tip over unless sailing in high winds and large waves. I didn't believe a word of it, knowing in my heart that I'd soon be floundering around in that frigid sea. But gusts heeled us severely at regular intervals, and each time the boat righted itself with just a little easing of the mainsheet.

I stopped thinking about capsizing and started concentrating on timing the swings of the jib as we changed tacks. Soon I could anticipate the sail rattling in the wind and then filling with a satisfying crack. If I pulled the proper sheet at just the right time, the jib lined up almost perfectly with the wind, getting the maximum force. If I waited too long, then I had to pull with all my might to hitch the sail in the last few inches. Telltales, bits of loose tape on the sail, showed how the wind was flowing over the jib. If I kept them aligned and not flapping in the wind, then all was well. But with the wind constantly gusting, I had to trim the sail constantly, adjusting an inch or two at a time, to get the maximum speed. Soon my body warmed up (except my freezing feet and forehead), and I started to think that maybe I wasn't so cold after all.

With some practice, we began the first of three races. Everything moved quickly. The other two boats were sailing for the same buoy. We were off course. We were back on course. We had to cede the right of way. We had the right of way, but the other boat, confused on the rules, didn't cede. We made three circuits when the race called for only two. We crossed the starting line too early.

We won two of the three races.

When we went into New York Harbor for the final and longest race, large dark gray clouds hovered overhead, and the sun, sinking lower in the sky, painted a pink backdrop behind them. The waves were larger and the wind seemed stronger. We headed south toward the bell buoy off Ellis Island. With the boat sailing on the same tack the whole way, there was little for me to do but make minor adjustments to the jib. And then I really did feel the cold. My feet stayed half numb for the rest of the day, and the spray from the bow soaked the heat out of my face. Raw is a gentle word for it.

The boat was constantly heeled sharply. Our sails were trimmed perfectly. And still another boat gained on us, then passed. Halfway through the course it rounded the marker buoy in the wrong direction; we didn't. Then we sailed back to the canal, slicing through waves. Now spray drenched my feet as well as my face. On the way back to the dock we had to sail straight into the wind. We tacked every minute, trying to work upwind, gaining a few feet with each change of direction. On one, trying to gain just a few more inches, we waited too long to tack. The boat scraped a moored water taxi, then a pier. No real damage was done, but it was clear that a slightly different course could have caused us to bash a big hole in the boat. We came in first.

Far beyond the finish line we lowered the sails and scudded before the wind on bare poles, drifting into the dock. The sailing was over.

We tied and covered the sails, stowed the gear, coiled the lines and retired to the warmth of the lightship for a post-mortem on all the things we had done wrong: false starts, rounding the buoy in the wrong direction, overheeling, hitting the pier.

Walking away from the lightship in the early darkness of winter, I felt I had awakened and honed some very dormant sailing skills. My hands, tucked into my parka, were sore from the constant pulling of jib sheets, and it was hours before I was warm again. But if you don't mind the frost factor in the Frostbite Racing series, sailing New York's wintery harbor is an unforgettable experience.

Clothes and Cost

Here is information on winter sailing in the New York metropolitan region.

What to Wear

Wear warm clothing: long underwear, thick socks, cold-weather gear topped by foul-weather gear, waterproof boots and gloves and a warm hat.

Where to Go

OFFSHORE RACING SCHOOL: Sailing at the Offshore Racing School costs $45 a day or $350 for the season, which runs until April. The school is open on Saturdays and plans to expand to Sundays if enough people sign up. It is on the red lightship on the south side of Liberty Landing Marina in Jersey City adjacent to Liberty State Park. Information: (800) 221-4326. The Water Taxi has boats leaving North Cove in Battery Park City every half-hour on the quarter-hour, and the cost is $4 one way. Information: (201) 985-8000. By car, take the New Jersey Turnpike to Exit 14B and follow the signs to Liberty State Park, then to Liberty Landing.

MANHATTAN YACHT CLUB: For an even more shivering experience, the Manhattan Yacht Club, also at Liberty Landing Marina, teaches sailing in more open 14-foot Laser sailboats. Not surprisingly, the dress code is even more stringent: neoprene wetsuits or boating drysuits. Its Frostbite series runs from Feb. 28 to April 25 and costs $295. For information, call Bill Hefner at (212) 786-3323.

Photo: The Offshore Racing School helps sailors perfect their skills by racing. Boats like these Colgete 26's sometimes operat inches apart. (Frances Roberts for The New York Times) Map showing the location of the islands of Liberty State Park where winter sailing is still open to the public.