The trophies for the Log canoe races on the last weekend of July in St. Michaels, MD have enough silver in them that would no doubt fill every needy tooth in three counties, and we were ready for our share of the booty.
 
Careening along in 12 knots of wind, Mystery with all sails billowing bore down on the committee boat intending to duck her then charge down the starting line but the timing had to be perfect.  When Mitch Grieb our skipper ordered the fore sail eased in order to come off the wind, Ron Mueller the fore tender could not get it to uncleat.  No amount of explicative’s or starting veins would work. Easing down the hiking board I waited for an opportunity to assist.  When Ron finally prevailed, the sail flew out and in a moment all three hiking boards were being swept aft and jamming together at the main mast with Mystery nearly capsizing to windward on the committee boat. 
 
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Photos by Mike Auth

Joey Finley our beau ideal sailor at sixteen and youngest crewman who with his father travels from Barnegat Bay, N.J. for every race, was riding the aft board which had disappeared along with Joey.  Dick Snyder, a marine biologist at The University of Western Florida emerged from the foam and I grabbed his outstretched hand and helped pull him on board.  As the foresail was brought under control and the boat righted the boards surfaced with a soggy but smiling Joey still attached.  Fortunately for us and Joey’s submarine tenacity, one of the log canoe class rules dictates that you must finish with as many crew as you start with.
 
We soon got our wits together and not too shabbily started in mid pack.  About half way to the windward mark, the Silver Heel had capsized and the Magic split her rudder forcing her to drop out.  Not long after we tacked over to port we got starboard tacked by our old friend the Patricia. We thought we could cross in front of her but it was just too tight so as a penalty we had to execute a 360 degree turn, that is make a complete circle with the boat.  Jibing, a part of this maneuver is not a particularly welcome event.  The timing of the boardmen has to coordinate perfectly with the boat coming off the wind as she turns with the breeze coming aft.  Continuing the arc the sails swing from far out of one side of the boat then swooshing across the crews’ heads to the other, as she heads back into the wind.  If you round too slowly time is lost but if the helmsman comes up too quickly you can drive the boat over.  Still we executed the maneuver in a professional manner, got back on the wind and closed in on the mark. Despite our athletic prowess, upon rounding we were next to last and just behind Persistence. 
 
This was not to be a particularly auspicious day for Chester River boats.  Reaching back up river we watched Persistence go into a death roll from a gust of wind off Deep Water Pt.  She heeled first to port then to starboard then the pendulum once again gaining momentum finally slamming the sails into the water on port, launching several crewmen from their boards into the water.  When we passed, her jib boom was sticking straight up probably having one end of the spar stuck in the shallow river bottom. 
 
One unwritten rule in log canoe sailing is that you never gloat over another’s misfortunes.  It is sort of an ‘e tu Burte’ syndrome and someone on board must have entertained a mischievous thought for soon after passing the overturned hull of Persistence, we got hammered by the same williwaw.  Fortunately we were able to handle the roll but as we were recovering from the final pitch the tip of the jib got caught in the water forcing the front of the spar back towards the stern.   This not only acted as a brake with the jib filled with water, but the fore and main were still driving the boat forward unable to luff and discharge their burden of wind. We were not only loosing headway but also our ability to steer when the jib boom suddenly snapped.  Dick Snyder and I tried in vain to unhitch the jib from the bowsprit while under way but we lacked the leverage and strength to release it.  So securing the jib to the bowsprit as best we could, Polite towed us to the dock where we accessed the damage and Franny Schauber charged off to Chestertown to get a new spar in time for the afternoon race. 
 
If the morning race was exciting because of the dusty conditions and general carnage, the race for the Oliver Duke trophy will be remembered for light air and tactics. 
 
Our start was improved from the morning being led only by the Billie P. Hall and Jay Dee.  We were continually lifted on the St. Michael’s shore so we stayed on that course until forced to tack in shallow water.  The wind which was not above six knots at the start dropped further and became spotty and the tide was near high water.  Sean Callahan in the Billy P. looking for wind to work her sails spied dark water on the far shore and headed off to the other side of the Miles shadowed by the Jay Dee.  As they headed east they were caught by the tide which was bottlenecked by Deep Water Pt. and a long sandbar extending west from Fairview forming a narrow ‘S’ curve for a channel.  Even though the tide was nearly slack, the gap between the two points of land funneled the water from Eastern Bay to the Miles like sand through an hour glass.   We watched as the two boats slipped sideways back towards the starting line, the wind on the far shore evaporating like a mirage.
 
Hugging the shallows around Deep Water Pt. we became what looked like the Mama Goose followed at a distance by her brood.  The rest of the fleet was tightly packed following our lead, but we were able to move out of the constricted waters and make our way to the mark.  In the mean time Jay Dee had found enough air to tack and rounded a distant second.  Mystery headed back to the shallows on a direct line to the finish while Jay Dee stayed out in the channel and seemed to manufacture her own breeze.  The wind was light and ahead of the beam so we were unable to use our staysail to any effect while Jay Dee effortlessly ate up our lead.  Nearing the finish Jay Dee tacked down wind on starboard before her final approach.  Mystery was on starboard nearly laying the line and when Jay Dee jibed so did we edging her out by twenty three seconds and savored the sweet sound of gunfire.
 
Sunday
 
Our chief competitor this year boat for boat has been the Jay Dee but because of Governor’s Cup rules, square sterned canoes cannot compete in this race.  Even though log canoe owners will take any step to make their boats faster, square sterns are deemed too radical for boats that were traditionally built as canoes that is to say double ended.  So prestigious is the Governor’s cup that the Flying Cloud, originally built with a square stern was eventually altered by the builder so that she could race for that trophy.  The square sterns not only give the boats a natty yacht like appearance but also greater stability.  The advantage is that instead of heeling over in the breeze she drives forward instead of sideways.  Many of the log canoes are altering their hulls by adding ‘cheeks’ to the chine, material just below the waterline to make the bottom of the hull flatter.
 
As we were towed out to the starting line Sunday for the Governor’s Cup race there was no denying we smelled blood.  We were laid back and the crew was giving me suggestions about how to write the articles.  Mitchell Grieb, the skipper proposed I start by using an analogy to horse racing, something to the effect of, ‘leading the thoroughbreds one by one from the paddock to the gate, wild eyed, straining at the bit, nervous jockey eager with the whip’.
 
I looked for signs and had only to lean overboard to spot a school of minnows.  I wondered if they would precede the boat triumphantly like a school of porpoise or wait around like sharks for the scraps.  As the morning wore on with the sun glaring off the placid water we lazed around the boat waiting for a breeze that just could not wake itself up.  I recalled my grade school Steven Crane, in the ‘Red Badge of Courage’ saying, ‘the red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer,’ that was something I could identify with.  At any rate the contest was not to be. 
 
After sweating it out for forty five minutes the race committee called it quits firing the three guns signaling cancellation so we beckoned our groom and headed for the barn.  No sooner than it took the time for the smoke to clear, a light breeze popped up but that still was not enough to cajole the race committee into a start.  All was not lost however, Mystery had gotten the gun for the first time this year and saving her time on the rest of the fleet would get her name for the first time on the Oliver Duke trophy.

There is a mysterious attraction associated with sailing old wooden boats and log canoes epitomize the romance. Long, slender, with little freeboard, sporting an abundance of sail, they resemble a scaled-down version of Clipper Ships of which two of the boats are named after, Magic and FlyingCloud. The rakish look of the masts is gone but the longhead, a carryover from antiquity as a beak head and finding a graceful lineage as the clipper bow provides a poised setting for the trail boards and figurehead. The canoes echo one of the most ancient building techniques, a hollowed out log, combined with the elegance of the great wind machines of the nineteenth century and the use of modern technology.

One of the most unique features of the log canoes is the use of springboards. The Mystery has an eight foot beam which supports three to four wooden spring boards, ten inches wide, sixteen feet long and tapering from the middle to each end. One end is placed under the lee deck and the crew scrambles out the other side to windward to hold the boat down. When looking from the end of the board while it is blowing fifteen knots the boat is heeled over at about a forty degree angle, fifteen to twenty feet below you can see the base of the centerboard and the green waves and foam gush out from beneath the hull. The forefoot, the angle where the stem meets the boat’s bottom, rises and falls through the waves and all around you can hear the water hissing and the boat heels incadence with the increase and lulls of the wind’s velocity.

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Photos by Mike Auth

It is not necessary for the board man to be an accomplished sailor, but it helps to have a highly-developed sense of survival. It is also handy to have a good store of patience, because you are the guy that the rest of the boat is depending on to stay dry, so invariably any shift in the wind’s speed is automatically accompanied by “Get in!,” or “Get out!” the language often enhanced by miscellaneous adjectives. The trick is to be able to anticipate velocity shifts which require you to be able to‘read’ the water and ‘feel’ the air and thus get a jump on maintaining the proper heel. The‘Catch 22’ is that if you are the guy on the end of the board there can be one or two board man riding with you and the hope is that they are paying attention. A sense of humor can also come in handy. Not that there is just one board man. When the wind gets up, everyone hikes.

At one time when Franny Schauber was skippering, he made up a short board that he could steer from behind the main mast so that all the moveable ballast (the crew), sail handlers included, were up on the boards, leaving the entire boat empty when sailing along in a stiff breeze.

Hiking boards used to be fairly simple. A 1×10 quarter sawn Sitka spruce scaffold board by whatever length you were comfortable carrying sufficed, and there was no doubt where the‘spring’ in spring board came from. It is amazing what loads this species of wood can endure but when she goes, look out! These boards were usually left unfinished, which provided good grip wet or dry. The downside was that with wear there were always splinters. New boards are laminated and Franny prides himself by using all local woods such as Cypress,Sassafras, and White Oak coating it all with epoxy which is durable but slippery when wet. Usually there are two to three stringers inside, but Fran, an invertebrate experimenter, also uses a latticework honeycombing on the inside of the board; the end result gets the board stiff and the weight down to about thirty pounds.

And a sturdy complement of boards was needed at Rock Hall. The Saturday morning race had light and variable winds from the South West at about six knots. The course was from the mouth of Langford Bay to Riggold Pt. at the cut between Eastern Neck and EasternNeck Island,to the mouth of Reed Creek to Cliff City then finish to windward at the start. As the rest of the boats did, we put up our kite – a triangular sail hoisted on the foremast,sheeted to the top of the main and trimmed by a board man on the aft most board. The kite adds about 10 feet to the above the top of the fore which brings the overall height of the mast to over seventy feet.

As we tacked over to starboard, Persistence and SilverHeel were to weather, Patricia and Jay Dee below usas we closed in on the starting line. Jay Dee wasted no time and shot out in the lead with Mystery close behind. The Island Bird, Persistence, and Patricia split off to the Queen Anne shore. We got forced to tack by the Heel, but we head off into clear air and bit by bit we pull ahead and are first to the windward mark. Mystery reached off on Port tack as the wind dropped to about four knots and we put up Franny’s brand new staysail.

Until this summer I had not sailed on a canoe for quite some time and this staysail is a reminder to me that just when you think the bag of tricks is empty someone comes up with a bright idea – a go faster widget, and as long as you can write the check, you can stay competitive. Staysails are generally cut like a jib, but are tacked between the masts and raised by a halyard on the main and sheeted aft. However, this new sail is cut more like a spinnaker without a pole, and is held by a crew member at the tack where it can be moved fore and aft according to the wind conditions. The new sail worked like a charm, but it was not enough to hold off the Jay Dee and she pulled ahead by the reaching mark. The rest of the fleet fell steadily behind,splitting between the middle of the river and the Queen Anne’s shore.

The race became a contest between the Mystery and the Jay Dee, and our only hope was for her to bungle her lead somehow – very unlikely, or we could still beat her on corrected time, but the race was quickly reaching its time limit upon which the race committee would have to call the race.

On rounding the leeward mark the crew worked hard to keep Mystery on her feet and Mitchell was able to exploit her better pointing qualities and with less than five minutes to go Jay Dee got the gun, but could not save her time on us and we got our first ‘first’ of the season.

After finishing we dropped anchor at the mouth of Grays Inn Creek and Polite headed for Comegy’s Bight for lunch and Sue Schauber’s birthday celebration. But the festivities were abandoned in mid ice cream scoop when sails were spotted on the horizon, and, realizing that we had lost track of time, made a dash for Polite and the start. We rigged in record time but it was not enough to catch any of the boats except the Bird who had also tarried.

There was no question that although it was apparent that we could not catch the fleet we would still race. You never know what will happen to the other boats and you accumulate points for overall winner for the weekend and High Point Trophy at the end of the season.

The course was the same the afternoon race but the wind increased to about fifteen knots and we sped around the course in racing mode but without the tension and without capsizing.

Arriving home Saturday evening I found our church service sheet on the living room table and realized I was Lay Reader at the seven-thirty service. I made arrangements with Franny to pick me up at Cliffs at 9:15 but it would be tight. Arriving at Shrewsbury Parish in my sandals, shorts and Mystery tee shirt, I donned my robes, read from ‘Romans,’ downed the libation of which there was half a goblet left at the end of the service, and dashed off to Cliffs praying not to get pulled over. There I was met by ‘Fin Chaser’ which took me out to Mystery, thoughI had to swim the final twenty five yards.

Wind conditions were identical to that of Saturday afternoon. It was fifteen out of the South West,whitecaps and the same course except for an extended down wind leg to Cliffs. Again Mitchell got us to the line at the gun and by the windward mark the boat for boat contest was again between Mystery and Jay Dee, though the fleet was much closer than on Saturday morning’s race. We rounded behind JayDee and put up our new staysail but for all we could do, catching Jay Dee again proved elusive. Persistence skippered by Tyler Johnson was able to save her time on us and we ended third for the race and third over all.

Friday afternoon, Franny Schauber and I stood on the deck of his cousin’s bungalow and watched as Deep Point appeared and disappeared through the bands of rain that swept up the river. “You know, Jim,” he began, “the farmers of Kent County ought to get together and mail me a check every time I bring the Mystery down here. It hasn’t rained in six weeks and tonight after two weeks of leaving the boat in the sun to dry out we get this!” Besides the water the boat was absorbing and adding to her weight, the evening before regattas on Chester River are traditionally time for pleasure sails on the Mystery. Getting together on Friday serves the purpose of getting the man-power to step the masts for the race and also gives family and friends an opportunity to sail, since pleasure sailing is the heart of the Mystery.

By the time I returned Saturday morning, the weather had cleared to a sparkling day. Franny’s Cousin Dennis had already set and run his trot line, netting half a bushel of crabs. Most of the crew was there so we raised the foremast and made ready to tow out to the race with Mystery’s tender Polite. Franny and Dennis built Polite from pine strips, double hulled and filled with Styrofoam. She is flat bottomed with low freeboard to be able to service the canoe either upright or not. The name Polite was inspired by a photo of a sign that at first reading appeared to say “Police” and at sea, with a tippy boat under you, it’s a heartening deterrent to pleasure boats with big wakes to get them to slow down.

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The first race started in about six knots with the wind out of the west favoring a starboard tack start but as soon as we committed to that tack the wind shifted to west favoring the other tack. Most of the other boats were able to take advantage of the shift and tacked into clear air but we had to fall off forcing the boat under us, Patricia, below the pin end. Much to our surprise, Island Bird squeaked past our bow on port tack in a spectacular bid to be windward boat, but crossed the line early and had to restart. As soon as we gained speed we tacked and were almost able to lay the windward mark. We were fourth at the start behind JD, Blossom and Lark but we caught Lark at the windward mark, lost her again on the reach, then nabbed her in the end finishing third.

If the least appealing aspect of Log Canoe sailing is capsizing, the second is losing a halyard up the foremast. The only saving grace was that Franny couldn’t point the fickle finger of responsibility at any of Us. Last weekend the kite sheet was lost up the mainmast but that was not a big deal because it can be retrieved under way. However, the kite halyard is on the foremast, and because of the mast’s size the boat has to be taken to shore and derigged. But being of stout heart we rallied, got our midday exercise, ate, and made it back to the starting line in good time.

The afternoon race started under similar wind conditions as the morning and we got off to a decent start. Tacking over to starboard tack at the weather mark, Patricia gained an overlap with just enough room, when appearing out of nowhere, JD shot up between us and the mark on port, a clear violation of our starboard tack right of way. It has been remarked to me how quiet the crews of log canoes are. What seems like great eloquent yachts and stoic crews at a distance is more like a melee and meat grinder up close. The projectile laden language is awe inspiring. Patricia was the meat in the sandwich and Mystery ended up with her jib boom in JD’s outrigger. Fortunately we were able to disentangle without damage and we sailed off to the next mark while JD did a 360 around the buoy as is prescribed by the rules.

On Sunday the wind shifted to the south and the course was reversed from Saturday, all marks left to port. Seems simple enough, but the sharp eyes of our foresheet tender and skipper realized this would mean looping around the mark in a circle, not an impossible maneuver but if there were more that one boat at the mark it could cause havoc. We informed the race committee and they changed the rounding.

In July of 1863, a Confederate soldier observed after the battle of Little Round Top, that “Every fellow was his own general. Private soldiers gave commands as loud as their officers; nobody paying any attention to either.” When you have nine wooden boats averaging fifty feet overall including bowsprit, jib boom and outrigger, anywhere from seven to fifteen crew per boat, all shoehorned into a starting line, all vying for clear air and first to cross, the allusion to the chaos of battle cannot be far fetched . Amid shouts of “Come up,” “You can’t do that,” “Starboard!!”, “No room,” “Barging!” etc., coming from the mouths of a hundred sailors, beam to beam and head to tail, that’s a lot of hot air. Years ago Bill Grieb, the quintessential keeper of cool, (Mitchell’s father) used to sail Mystery. On an occasion similar to this I asked him how he could manage with all the noise. He just looked at me and smiled and said, “I haven’t heard anything from before the mainmast in years.”

After the starting gun, things quieted down and JD took the lead with Island Bird to weather and Lark below us. Slowly we gained on Lark when fifty yards in front of us in a surreal scene the mainsheet tender of JD slowly rolled off of the outrigger and into the water. JD responded, slowly rounding into the wind to lose way and get her back aboard — one of the log canoe racing rules it that you must finish with as many crew as you start with (Peter Eslinger, the skipper of Silver Heel also found his way overboard when pulling on a line that was not secured).

We ducked under her getting to the mark first with JD, Persistence, and Heel in hot pursuit. The wind was in the east but slowly dying. Persistence and Bird stayed high and caught a little land breeze but it too weakened. JD and Heel were further out in the river but got headed and tacked towards Reed Creek, where a long fishnet was staked far out into the river. Heel led the way and found enough room between the net and shore followed by JD and Mystery. The breeze became spotty as it clocked around to the south but the rest of the race was pretty much following the leader. We nearly caught Heel at the finish and behind us Persistence came on like a freight train, beating us on time.

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