Knives in the Water (Cont.)

You Are Here:

Home >> Knives in the Water (Cont.)

Today's Question
How do you make primitive snowshoes? answer

What should you do if you get lost driving in a snow storm? answer

Today's Question
What is the greenest ski and snowboard on the market? answer

Can I really damage a coral reef with sunscreen while snorkeling? answer

What kind of dog will make me look manlier? answer
Is there a sport that safely combines my twin passions for guns and kayaks? answer
How come most of the world's cultures enjoy eating goat, but Americans don't? answer

Online Favorites

Special Issues

Photo Galleries

Outside Magazine

Page:

Knives in the Water (Cont.)


	Unloading the sails for the day. (Jeff Reidel)

THE AMERICA'S CUP has always attracted more than its share of obsessed tycoons. It began in 1851, when the New York Yacht Club schooner America crushed a fleet of Britain's fastest yachts in a race around the Isle of Wight. America's syndicate of wealthy owners won an ornate silver ewer that they renamed the America's Cup. Then they dared all comers to try and win it.

Over the decades, many a rich guy has stepped up to the challenge, often keeping sailing fans well entertained. Throughout a 31-year period starting in 1899, tea magnate Sir Thomas Lipton attempted in vain to win the prize back for England. ("I canna win, I canna win," he moaned at the age of 80, following his fifth and final defeat.) Frenchman Baron Marcel Bich, the Bic pen magnate, blew $6 million on his first challenge, in 1970, and millions more on three additional bids, and never even made the finals. In 1977, Ted Turner trash-talked his way to victory aboard Courageous—much to the dismay of the overstarched New York Yacht Club. With drunken exuberance, he ended up under the table at his celebratory press conference.

Throughout all these shenanigans, the Cup remained in American hands for an incredible 132 years, the longest winning streak in sports. In 1983, Dennis Conner's Liberty finally lost to the Australians, who had developed a top-secret winged keel for their yacht Australia II. Conner won it back in 1987 aboard Stars & Stripes, only to lose to Team New Zealand's Black Magic eight years later. Today the prize stands behind armored glass at the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron, just a mile or so from Syndicate Row, protected by alarms and a hardened steel box that drops over it every night. The Mission: Impossible stuff isn't just for show: In 1996 a Maori activist took a sledgehammer to the Cup, leaving it a dented, twisted mess that only Garrard of London, its original manufacturer, could repair.

Since stealing the Cup is out of the question, the only way to get it is to win it, match-racing sailboats in a four-month series of one-on-one duels that will ultimately pit a single challenger

Two years after the fact, Russell Coutts's defection from Team New Zealand is still a very sore point in the island nation. "I'm still surprised they let him back in the country," growls one sailing fan.

against Team New Zealand. The challenger trials, known since 1983 as the Louis Vuitton Cup, started October 1 and will subject nine teams to a pair of round-robins. Every race during this phase is worth one point. By November 1, a single challenger will be eliminated and the remaining eight will drop into a complex seeded draw, starting November 12. These seedings will be critical, because the top four boats in this elimination round are allowed to lose twice before exiting the competition, while the bottom four can lose only once. The double-chance format means the surviving challenger could arrive at the February 15 America's Cup final having thrashed it out through as many as 53 races.

"It's brutal," says Kevin Hall, a 33-year-old navigator with OneWorld. "You have to be up on the day, and keep it up for months."

While the drama hasn't changed, just about everything else has. Until World War II, the America's Cup was sailed in enormous schooners and sloops, often more than 100 feet long, with dozens of crew and clouds of sail. In the modern era, design formulas that allow just enough latitude for innovation while producing recognizably similar boats create closer, more intense races.

Today's America's Cup yachts employ the very latest materials and designs. The 80-foot hulls are literally baked from carbon fiber; about 20 tons of their total 25-ton weight is packed into a torpedo-shaped lead keel. Almost everything on board, from spinnaker poles to steering wheels, is custom-made. The boats sail against each other on an 18-and-a-half-mile course, traveling at speeds up to about 18 knots. An advantage of just a 20th of a knot can translate into a crucial few boat lengths on the first three-and-a-quarter-mile leg of the course, and can represent the margin between winning and losing.

Even the smallest speed advantage is so crucial that designers and engineers strip their craft of every excess pound. Each night the boats are dehumidified in their sheds to dry out water absorbed by the hulls. Any fitting that can be lightened without



	Eternal vigilance: Team Victory Challenge electronics specialist Peter Tans (left) and grinder Kasper Vang keep watch on a practice run. (Jeff Reidel)

sacrificing structural integrity is drilled full of holes. Sometimes the engineers go just a fraction too far. Rigs fall, keels snap off, and sails shred. It's hardly an America's Cup unless at least one boat sinks or folds like a jackknife.

"Safety margins are nonexistent," says Rob Humphreys, a 52-year-old designer with GBR Challenge, Great Britain's syndicate. "We cut it as close as possible."

It can be tempting to conclude that technology and boat speed are all it takes to win the America's Cup. Oracle BMW's boats, for example, have sensors on almost every moving part, and over two years of testing the team has amassed some 700 hours' worth of performance data. As a result, the onboard computer knows the fastest trim settings for almost every wind speed and angle.

But an afternoon out on the Hauraki Gulf with the refreshingly press-friendly Swedish Victory Challenge team reminded me that technology, while powerful, is not the whole story. I watched as bright digital displays mounted to the mast told helmsman Jesper Bank, 44, the target wind angle and target boat speed that would get him to the next mark fastest.

In theory, Bank didn't even need to look at the sails; he could simply steer the boat up or down until he hit the target numbers. I mentioned this to Skip Lissiman, Victory Challenge's 45-year-old Australian coach, and he invited me to take the helm. Despite my slavish attention to the readouts, the boat speed dropped by up to half a knot. Bank and Lissiman chuckled. Don't be fooled, their grins said. A fast boat is vital, but it still takes an elite skipper and crew to realize its potential.

Page: