Newport Harbor Sailing Foundation: Sailor Stories

Kate Shaner at the I-14 World Championships

Results

On July 27th, Garrett and I arrived in Torbole, Lake Garda for the International 14 World Championships. After several years in the pointy end of the US fleet, we had high hopes for good results. A combination of weight loss from travel sickness, boat breakdowns and slow upwind speed in breeze disappointed these hopes, but my takeaways from this event, I’ve come to see, are far more valuable to my growth as a sailor than another trophy.

After spending many years on the Olympic sailing circuit, the I14 boat park at the Worlds was a bit of a culture shock. Everyone wants to be your friend. While there is a healthy competition, particularly at the front end of the fleet, the majority of the competitors are simply happy to be there. No one’s ego or self worth seems all that attached to their scoreline. They love their boats, they are excited to exchange knowledge and see what other countries might be developing differently, they’re happy to see old friends and welcome newcomers.

The Ora wind that Lake Garda is famous for typically fills around 1PM. Every morning we arrived in the boat park around 10, prepped the boat, ate lunch, put our wetsuits on, went for a quick swim to loosen up our trap harnesses and cool off before the wind filled, and then followed the Race Committee onto the water. We sailed out in no breeze, by the time we got the course the wind would build like clockwork. Eight knots, ten, twelve, fifteen—a starting gun. Seventy-some-odd boats on a quarter mile long line, racing up the cliffs.

While Garda is famous for its thermal breezes, what makes it interesting is the topography—steep cliffs rise thousands of feet above and below the surface of the lake, and they bend the breeze dramatically from one end of the course to the other. While you can sail within six inches of the cliff face without hitting it, depending where the windward mark is you may not want to. You may go early, to take a second shot at the cliff, or more often sail past starboard lay line knowing that halfway back into the center of the course you’ll get a 15-degree header and drop in breeze. Garrett and I struggled upwind, for two large reasons. We don’t weigh quite enough for breeze, but really the US fleet as a whole, it turns out, are light air upwind specialists, with sails and training designed to do well in Southern California. Our second problem was easier to tackle: our rudder was splitting in half vertically inside the rudder box. Water was shooting up and inside the rudder, slowing us down considerably. This breakdown and subsequent carbon repair work cost us two DNFs on our scoreline.

Downwind, however, a different story. I love downwind sailing. I have no words to express the pure joy of a perfectly trimmed asymmetrical spinnaker, driving laminar flow over your foils, the knowledge that you have tricked the boat into staying upright as you fly half screaming over the water. A combination of speed and Garrett’s insistence on coming in overstood on starboard to buttonhook every bottom mark rounding earned us back some of the places we lost upwind.

The Worlds was a marathon – seven days of racing and one lay day. One race per day of 12 to 14 miles comprised of triangle and windward leeward laps. No fleet splits or championship round—all 70 boats, or as many of them were still in one piece, raced together. Everyone experienced boat break downs, and on shore, everyone pitched in to fix each other’s boats. When we went to repair our rudder, at least five different countries came to look, offer advice, and learn from the repair.

One day, a nasty thunderstorm blew down from the Dolomites just as the fleet began crossing the finish line. Garrett and I had been among the lucky ones to make it to land before the storm hit, but many boats capsized near the launch ramp in the 35+ knots. Still in our wetsuits, twenty sailors sprinted into the water to help them. I found myself holding onto the bow of a boat using my body as a sea anchor, making eye contact Glen Truswell, multiple World Champion and second place finisher of this event, who was treading water holding the hull away from another boat’s foils. His own boat rested safely on land.

The morning after, we heard over the loudspeaker in a softly clipped accent, “We would like to kindly announce that after racing today there will be free beer sponsored by the German I14 Federation.” A cheer from the boat park at this.

The I14 is a development class. We spend a lot of time asking, “what is the fastest foil shape? Mainsail shape? Rig bend?” But at this event, just as often the fleet asked, “How do we grow as a class? How do we bring more women into the class?” As a woman, this is one of the few sailing events I have competed in where I felt safe, and one of the few fleets which welcomed and made space for me, just as I am.

The majority of the British team arrived with wives and toddlers in tow, so now the question in the American fleet has become “how do we keep young families in the fleet? How do we make it easier for them to be here?” A deeply refreshing and joyful question, one whose answer will not only be good for the I14s, but good for our sport at large.

I didn’t take home a trophy. But I have brought home the story of a fleet that by its sportsmanship and joy in sailing deserves a place in our sport’s future.

I14 World Championship
Lake Garda, ITA