Dousing Spinnakers at the Leeward Mark

I like the leeward mark. It tells you quite a lot about a crew.

Upwind, a boat can look tidy for a long time while not actually being very good. Downwind, especially in pressure, you find out rather more quickly. The spinnaker is up, the apparent wind is forward, the boat is moving fast, and suddenly the whole thing has to come down in about thirty seconds while eight people try not to stand on each other.

That is where crews separate.

The best ones make the drop look almost disappointingly simple.

The worst ones turn it into theatre.

They shout. They pull too early. They let go too late. Somebody gets wrapped in a sheet. The kite ends up half in the water, the bowman is lying on it like a Labrador, the helm is trying not to hit the mark, and the tactician is explaining why this was, in fact, exactly what he intended.

Most of that is avoidable.

The drop starts before the drop

The most important part of a spinnaker drop happens before anybody pulls anything.

What is the next leg?

Which side does the sail need to come down?

Who is going to do what?

Is the jib up early enough?

Is the lazy sheet clear?

Is the tack line free?

Is the halyard ready to run?

Is the boat going to arrive fast or slow?

None of these are difficult questions. But if they are not answered before the boat reaches the mark, the crew will answer them while travelling at ten knots with the sail still full.

That is much harder.

Keep the boat fast

The helmsman’s job is not to watch the drop.

It is to keep the boat moving.

This sounds obvious, but many helms turn their head, look at the foredeck and unconsciously slow the boat down just when the crew needs speed and apparent wind stability.

Keep steering.

Keep the boat balanced.

Keep the apparent wind where the trimmers expect it.

If the boat is fast, the sail behaves predictably. If the boat is slow, the spinnaker moves around, the loads change and the whole manoeuvre becomes less certain.

The helmsman should know the drop plan, but should not manage it.

That is somebody else’s job.

Use the right drop

There are several ways to get a spinnaker down, but most boats really need three.

A windward drop.

A leeward drop.

And a letterbox drop.

The exact terminology varies from boat to boat, but the principle does not.

The drop should put the sail on the side of the boat where you want it next, with the lowest risk for the conditions you have.

On a normal round-the-can course, crews often become obsessed with always doing the same drop because it feels familiar.

Offshore racing is different.

The sea state may be worse. The crew may be tired. The sail may have been up for six hours. The cockpit may contain more ropes than usual, and the next leg may last two hundred miles rather than twenty minutes.

Choose the drop that suits the situation, not the one the crew practised last Thursday.

Timing is everything

Most bad drops start too early.

Crews get nervous.

They see the mark coming and begin dismantling the boat while there is still plenty of distance left.

The result is simple: they sail slowly into the mark while the boat behind continues at full speed.

There is no prize for being the first boat in the fleet to have the spinnaker in the bag.

The objective is to arrive at the mark with the sail doing useful work for as long as possible, then get it down cleanly without compromising the turn.

That means the crew needs confidence in the process.

If everybody knows that the drop takes twenty-five seconds, you can start it twenty-five seconds before it needs to be finished.

If nobody knows how long it takes, the crew will start it ninety seconds early because that feels safer.

Practise removes that uncertainty.

The halyard controls the sail

The person on the halyard has enormous influence over whether the drop is controlled or chaotic.

Too fast and the sail falls into the water.

Too slow and the gatherer cannot get it below.

The halyard should feed the sail to the crew at the rate they can actually collect it.

That is not necessarily the fastest possible rate.

On a small boat, the person gathering the sail may be physically pulling several square metres of wet nylon through a hatch while standing on a moving deck.

Give them what they can manage.

If they fall behind, pause the halyard.

If they are waiting for sail, ease faster.

This is a conversation, not a dump.

Do not let the sail touch the water

This sounds ridiculously obvious.

Yet it is one of the most common failures.

A spinnaker in the water becomes an anchor very quickly.

The loads rise. The boat stops. The sail stretches. People start pulling harder, which often makes the situation worse.

The first objective is therefore not to get the sail into the bag.

It is to get it inside the boat.

Once it is below the lifelines and under control, the race can continue.

Sorting it out beautifully can happen later.

Good crews are quiet

The thing I notice most about good manoeuvres is how little is said.

The crew know the plan.

They know the sequence.

They know which problems belong to them.

There may be one or two calls.

“Jib up.”

“Stand by.”

“Drop.”

That is often enough.

When everyone is shouting, it usually means the process is not understood.

Volume is not organisation.

Practise the ugly ones

Most crews practise the perfect drop.

Flat water. Moderate wind. Everybody ready.

That is useful.

But the difficult drops are the ones worth rehearsing.

What happens if the tack line will not run?

What happens if the halyard jams?

What happens if the sail falls outside the lifelines?

What happens if the boat broaches during the drop?

What happens if somebody lets go of the wrong sheet?

You do not need to manufacture chaos every training day.

But the crew should know what the recovery looks like.

Offshore, the perfect manoeuvre is not the one that matters most.

The recovery does.

Final thought

A good spinnaker drop is not dramatic.

That is the point.

The boat stays fast. The sail stays dry. The crew stay out of each other’s way. The mark goes past, the boat turns, and suddenly everyone is hiking upwind as if nothing happened.

That is what competence looks like.

Not heroic recovery.

No shouting.

No theatre.

Just preparation, timing and a crew that has done the job often enough to make it boring.