On a beautiful day in June, the crew of Flash set off on the sixth leg of the Van Isle 360 Race sailing from Port Hardy to Winter Harbour, the most remote stopover in the nine-stage, nearly 600-mile circumnavigation of Vancouver Island.
Flash is a scrappy 36-foot J/111 skippered by Steve Kirsch, and this was the boat’s second Van Isle. The crew was a mixture of veteran Van Isle sailors and first-timers (including yours truly). For leg six, the breeze was a fresh and consistent 12-15 knots, and our course allowed us to go from jib, to Code Zero, to reaching kite as we rounded the north end of Vancouver Island and Cape Scott before turning south into the open Pacific. The team even executed a flawless kite peel to the A2 running spinnaker, accompanied by whoops and cheers from the skipper and crew. The weather and scenery were gorgeous, music was playing, and spirits were high as we piled weight to the windward aft quarter and rode the swell downwind. It was shaping up to be a racing sailor’s dream day.
As we made our way south, Stephen, our soft-spoken spinnaker trimmer and a Flash team veteran, pointed out a small tear next to the tape of a previous repair about midway up the kite. The decision was made to continue.
When it came time to jibe, the crew smoothly brought the spinnaker around to starboard, turned the stern through the wind, and the A2 filled.
Pop!
RIP.
That lovely, billowy, white A2 turned into a flag, tearing across the middle nearly from tape to tape. We quickly doused and put our reaching kite back up. Not ideal, but it was a good recovery.
Back up to speed and watching the sun sink lower towards the horizon, we contemplated our options. That A2 was our only running kite. It would be a real bummer to not have it for the next leg—the infamous 170-mile downwind run from Winter Harbour to Ucluelet.
Shortly before finishing, almost as a joke, someone suggested we ask if we could borrow an A2 from another J/111, 65 Red Roses. They were not racing, and they were the nearest J/111 race program any of us knew about—located in Vancouver on the British Columbia mainland.
We crossed the finish line around nightfall, happy and tired after an excellent day of sailing, but also preoccupied by resolving the gap in our sail inventory. We had one day and one night only to either fix our halved kite, or try to obtain a new one.
Safely into port, while most of the crew blew off steam, brainstormed ideas, and shoveled a late and well-earned dinner into their maws, our bowman Charlie disappeared to call his contact with the 65 Red Roses team.
When he came back, he had promising news: there might be a kite we could use. Cheers went up around the dinner table, and we went to bed feeling hopeful.
The next morning, our skipper confirmed with their skipper—they had an old A2 available, sitting in a garage in a suburb of West Vancouver, and we had the green light to use it if we could get it. It would be placed outside the garage for someone to pick up.
Now we just needed to figure out how to get it to Winter Harbour in time.
We calculated that the kite was 8.5 hours of travel away in one direction—a 6-hour drive, 2-hour ferry ride, and 30 minutes to West Vancouver. Flash had a “roadie” support vehicle, and friends in West Van. Two crew members, Rob and Winston, immediately volunteered to make the commute to the ferry, while another tried to coordinate with friends to deliver the borrowed A2 to the ferry on the mainland side. Within minutes Rob and Winston jumped in the truck and drove off. Details of how we would get the kite into their hands remained unconfirmed, but it seemed obvious that everything would be figured out and we would have an A2 soon. Yay!
Content that a plan was in the works and being worked out, the remaining crew relaxed and enjoyed their time for the next several hours, splitting off in all different directions. It was a beautiful warm and sunny day in a stunning location. Feeling confident, one of the road warriors’ first acts on the journey was to stop at The Scarlet Ibis and have a burger and drink at the “island’s most remote pub.”
As the afternoon passed, a ping came in on the group WhatsApp channel from Rob and Winston, now back on the road to Nanaimo. “Who has the A2? Has anyone confirmed it’s going to be on the 4 p.m. ferry? It needs to be on the 4 p.m. ferry.”
Over the next 15 minutes, it became clear that we, as a team, had breathed a triumphant sigh of relief prematurely, and had dropped the ball on communication. There was no one confirmed to transport the A2 to the ferry. It was now 3 p.m.
Fortunately, Winter Harbour has enough cell service that a flurry of texts and phone calls quickly brought all the Flash team members back to the house, and we immediately got to work checking various schedules, options, routes, and combinations of private or public companies that could help us transport this A2.
We worked through our list of West Vancouver friends and friends-of-friends—all returning negatives and not availables—and simultaneously converged on the idea to hire an Uber driver to pick up the sail and drop it off at the ferry.
Stephen called the ferry to determine the logistics of transporting an A2; we needed to know what instructions to give our hired Uber driver. Good thing he checked, as the ferry required someone to be with the sail bag—or “package”—at all times. That option was logistically untenable with an Uber driver. Thus, we quickly nixed any ferry option.
It would be impractically exhausting to send Rob and Winston over on the ferry to Vancouver then back to Vancouver Island on the next ferry, before driving 6 hours through the night back to Winter Harbour, only to begin the most rigorous leg of the entire two-week race upon their return. Our only realistic choice, given our resources, road crew positions, and limited timeline, was to fly the kite to Nanaimo where Rob and Winston waited.
It was now 4 p.m.
Harbour Air had a 5:40 flight to Nanaimo, their last flight of the day to the island. We called to make sure they could accept and transport our A2 package. They could, but it would require the Uber driver to check it in at the front desk. We believed this was do-able.
Go time. We were gathered around in a circle on the porch of the rental house, staring at each other and our phones.
Given the logistics involved in this mission, we agree it would be best to speak to the Uber driver over the phone to explain what we needed them to do at multiple points in the process. Afterall, “A2 spinnaker sail bag” is not a commonly known package to pick up.
Stephen scheduled the first Uber driver, who happened to be deaf. We decided we needed to cancel. Our skipper Steve scheduled a second Uber driver, who did not speak English, so we canceled again.
Steve scheduled a third Uber driver, who also didn’t speak much English, but we all agreed to give it a shot. “It’s a package on the porch… You don’t see it? No, it’s not my house…” The driver canceled on us this time, recorded us as no-shows, and charged us a fee.
Finally, Stephen booked Uber driver Samir, who turned out to be the MVP of team Flash! Samir agreed to pick up the package, transport it to Harbour Air, and check it in. He arrived at the house and saw the package. Stephen asked Samir to describe it, to make sure he was picking up the right thing. “What color is it? How big is the package? Does it kind of look like a giant pillow?” The rest of us in Winter Harbour were hanging on every word. It’s blue. It’s big. It does. Samir was on his way!
All the while, I was sending updates to our crew members on the road. It was almost 5 p.m. as Samir started the half-hour drive to Harbour Air. The timeline was nail-bitingly close.
As the minutes ticked by, someone pointed out that we just handed a spinnaker worth thousands of dollars to a total stranger. “It’ll be fine,” I said compulsively, willing it into existence.
Samir called from the Harbour Air parking lot at 5:27 p.m. Stephen explained where Samir needed to go to check-in the kite for the 5:40 flight. In his calm steady voice, Stephen said, “Can you run?” He gently agreed, “Yeah, it is heavy.”
Samir got to the check-in counter with his anxious clients on speakerphone, only to find out that we just missed the final check-in time and were too late. There was no way around it and no other Harbour Air flights. The whole Winter Harbour crew was instantly crestfallen, as the weight of our failed, all-day, all-hands attempt to get the A2 sank in.
Then, the check-in lady chimed in with a suggestion. “There is another float plane company right next door called Seair, and they have a 6:00 p.m. flight. Would you like to try them?”
Our hearts rose again as a gentleman with Seair answered, listened as we explained what we were trying to do, and he promptly agreed. “Yes, we have about 5 minutes left for check-in, and I can get your package on that flight.”
A couple team Flash members punch the air in celebration, another two sagged in their chairs in relief. I couldn’t help but dance for joy in a little circle.
The man from Seair continued, “It should arrive a little before 6:30 p.m., and the office closes sharply at 6:30. If your crewmembers picking the sail up can get there before then, we should be able to hand it to them.” The package was moving again. His service far beyond our wildest hopes, we thanked Samir profusely and gave him a significant tip along with a glowing five-star review.
I let our road crew know. Their ETA was exactly 6:30. “Speed just a tiny little bit if you can.”
At 6:26, Rob sent us a video of the plane landing. A few long minutes later, a lovely photo came through of Winston with the biggest, happiest, cheesiest smile on his face as he clutched the blue spinnaker bag stuffed with a beautiful red A2.
After such a journey to acquire it, of course we cherished that A2; but we appreciated it most of all when we flew it the next day, and every race day for the rest of Van Isle 360. We couldn’t be more grateful to the generosity of the 65 Red Roses team. Such support is commonplace within the sailing community, but would be anything but common elsewhere. It makes me proud to be a sailor, and eager to provide support similarly when I have the opportunity.
There is so much to love about sailing and racing, and the stories we collect in this sport become lifelong memories. Team efforts like this one—filled with lessons learned, good humor, and literal last-minute recoveries—are among my favorites. They remind me, and hopefully all of us, to never give up. There’s always a chance, there are always people willing to help, and anything is possible in a community like this one.
Cherise Athay is a clinical research professional in Seattle. She sails as much as she possibly can.
