The Scowza Yowza

Adventures in Yaris

Yowza rested on log rollers just above the high tide line. She looked to be 22 feet or so, with a beam of maybe 8 feet. Her leeboards were the size of dining room tables, with a kicked-up rudder to match, and her planks showed well-oiled grain. There were plenty of dings, especially around the bow and stern; some were impressive, and these were not dock rash, but the scars of a veteran campaigner. Her ends angled up before turning vertical, and she was double planked there, with rescue line draped along the sides. She showed about two feet of freeboard, with removable coamings. Yowza brandished a bowsprit about eight feet long which appeared to have been made from a telephone pole, with the biggest boxing glove I’ve ever seen stuck on the end. The glove was painted with a smiley face, the phrase “Serum est nunc!” under the grin. Much of the boat had been salvaged from other boats, a tradition here.

She carried a big balanced lug, and all the lines were well-worn manila. Blocks were old, rough bronze, with cleats of very hard wood. Initials and dates were carved here and there, some from long ago. On the aft side of the mast, starting at the deck, a column of words climbed toward the yard, starting with “Not So Big ‘57.” Other carvings included “Big Big,” “Big”,and “Kinda Big,”  and expletives, which seemed comments on races gone bad. I asked Yowza’s builder, James Hadley, about the other inscriptions. The overall winner of the big race got a big, big keg of rum, he explained, while the winner of the big-boat class got a very big keg,  the mid-class winner got a keg that was “kinda big,” and the winner of the smallest class got a not-so-big keg. There had been races where the smallest boats won the big, big keg, mainly by being nimble and not tangling with the big boats.

Bigger, James explained, was not always better, as the course was short, and larger boats sometimes could not fully exploit their advantages. But they were formidable, and took up lots of room on the crowded courses, a fact which they used to their advantage.  

Our practice was intense, and the rugged boat’s ability to pivot and back was astonishing. We practiced hoisting and dropping the sail quickly, and took turns at the helm. James and his first mate, William, were capable teachers, and there was much laughing. We beached her in the fading light and headed to the festival, where we met Lola and Anika, who had been honing their haggling skills with local merchants.

The party was raucous, with competing Tuk bands providing music and entertainment. The food was plentiful and delicious, with meats and poultry wrapped in banana leaves and roasted, and lots of rum. After several toasts, James suggested that we slip away and rest up for the coming day. We awoke to shouting and music signaling the start of the parade some distance away. By the time it got close we were ready to go, fueled with fresh fruit and strong coffee. We fell in with the other crews as they danced and stumbled toward the beach, and I was glad that we had not been as festive as some of our competition.

A colorful fleet stretched along the beach, transoms at the high tide line, and the tide was out, putting the boats about 50 feet from the water. Crews stood by their boats while Stiltman, the event’s master, gave a short speech. Then there was an eruption of drums and cheering, and the crews went to work, as only ten minutes was allowed to cross the starting line. Carried or dragged, the smaller boats were quickly on the water, while larger ones hurried to move their rollers. Some got stuck, and the crowd cheered and yelled. Thanks to James and William, things went well for us.

The wind was building, and wet looking clouds loomed while a gaggle of boats, around 100, from small singlehanders to 35-footers maneuvered near the narrow starting line. The wind was blowing right across the line, which we were required to cross stern first. We were reaching along the line when the race started, and James cut in front of a big boat, which hit the aft end of Yowza, knocking our stern across the line. James turned and headed toward the first mark, while the big boat made another try at the start as James thanked its skipper for the assist.

We passed Junior Gong and Wailer at the first mark, but they didn’t seem to mind. At the second mark, we were passing Mother Sally’s boat, Woman No Cry, when its entire crew had a wardrobe malfunction, and a distracted James hit the mark, requiring a go-around.

Coming back to the first mark, we were way off the wind, boats were everywhere, and some sailors had become swimmers. Bosun Higgs, said to have been sought by authorities in Texas, screamed past in his tiny boat No Matter. The Librarian flagship, Marian, was slipping up quietly behind us. Ostlander, crewed by serious looking east Germans, was close aboard and shouting at Bad Bobby, who was fending them off with an oar.

The course ran along the shore, and at times the music and cheers could be heard over the wind. A few boats had been caught in the surf and come to grief, and some had capsized after meeting another boat. We had taken some water aboard, and when I wasn’t manning the leeboard, I was bailing. It was great and frantic fun.

The finish was coming up fast, and we were on a dead run, the big lug moving us smartly. When James yelled, JC dropped the starboard leeboard and turned hard to port as William quickly trimmed, and our stern crossed the line.

James had won his class, and invited us to carve our initials on the mast. He insisted that we share his winnings, too, late into the night.

The next day was for sightseeing, and we visited Libraria, Mall, as well as Tooth. They were beautiful and friendly places, but Croton was my favorite. We could not stay, though, as JC faced a deadline, and I  had to cover the reintroduction of Twinkies for Junkfood Journal.

Greater Yaris is far off the well-worn path, but worth the trip. They know how to sail, and they know how to have fun. •SCA•

First appeared in issue #84