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Gran Case, Saint Martin—-I’m sitting here in my Grand Case apartment reveling in a week of sailing that was among the best I have experienced. The winds blew strong and warm. The race action was instense. The Team Boston crew had a fire in their bellies and, despite broken equipment and fierce competition and too much sea lawyering, they managed to earn the respect of all competitors.

I’m going to tell you the good, the bad, and the ugly of Team Boston’s first Heineken Regatta. I promise! But as they say, getting there is half the story, so I’ll start with the part about getting there.

The first race of the Heineken Regatta series was fast approaching. The starting line lay a mere 3600 miles away from my living room in Santa Cruz, California. All I needed to do was to get myself to the San Francisco airport, hop the red-eye to Miami, lay over for five hours, and then wing it another three hours to Princes Juliane airport on Sint Maartin (called Saint Martin French side).

The red-eye was an ordeal of the first order. Could the seats be any narrower? Could the 757 be any fuller? Could the flight be any longer? Unlike some people, I can’t sleep in a sitting position. All I could do was scrunch my 6’3”, 230 lbs. into a fetal ball and pray I wouldn’t suddenly lose it and start running up and down the aisles like a madman. (I scanned the cabin looking for the air marshall who would forcibly subdue me if I panicked.)

There were moments during the flight when it seemed to me that a catastrophic mid-air collision would be a relief, but all good things come to an end. Once arrived at Miami Airport, I made my way to an out-of-the-way area, shoved two contoured plastic seats together with my duffel between them to form a bed of sorts. I set my watch alarm two hours hence and slipped into a coma.

Awake again, I stood in the security check-in line for an hour and made my way to the boarding area where I met Karen and Brad Boston, the Team Boston leaders. As my eyes slowly focused I realized that their faces were fresh and smiling. My God, I thought…how could they….and then I realized that in their wisdom and experience, they had arranged their flight schedule  to include a layover in a hotel room. Brains beat brawn every time, I thought.

The Caribbean leg of the journey was considerably easier. A kind flight attendant took one look at me and escorted me to an empty row at the rear of the plane. I stretched out with every intention of sleeping until we bumped back to earth in St. Maartin, but that was not to be. The American Airlines 757 rose into clear skies and I couldn’t resist peeking out the window. Below I saw perfect views of the Bahamian Islands and many of my favorite anchorages in the Exuma Cays.

Followed soon thereafter by another favorite, the Virgin Islands. Memories flooded back of sailing adventures, new friendships, and good times.

Before I knew a voice over the loudspeaker announced final approach. I pressed my nose to the window looking for some of the Saint Martin haunts I had fequented back in ’04. The jet banked hard and dropped earthward. There, over the wingtip, was the Sunset Bar.

If I could have looked directly downward through the hull of the jet, I would have seen the adrenaline freaks standing on the beach beneath the plane’s approach path, catching the jet’s blast and shooting into ocean. Saint Martin thrills!

As Brad, Karen and I deplaned, I realized that the rest of Team Boston, having arrived by different flights from the east and west coasts, was scattered around the island. Now it was time to search out and gather together our crew of 11 intrepid, if somewhat inexperienced racers. We would have just three days to pick-up our Moorings 49 sloop at Oyster Pond, shake her out, and practice our moves in the warm breezes of the Caribbean. Team Boston was on the move. What could possibly go wrong?

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