A Surprise Victory in the Heineken Regatta
Living on the Peninsula in an adobe house is great in August but not so much fun in winter. That’s why we keep Sipsi in the BVI, mostly chartered out by Dream Yachts, but available for us when we need to escape. This year we were late and finally booked for the first two weeks in March, without even teeing up a crew in advance. With only four weeks to go, only Doug had signed up, so I was scrambling to fill the other berths when two of our usual suspects relented. Dave and John, both octogenarians, decided to come while still “able bodied with all faculties!” Then Shaun, erstwhile shipmate on our 2016 Clipper training, signed up with his son James. So, with a full boat and a two-week slot, we were hatching plans to visit St. Maarten when Doug noticed our trip coincided with the 2026 St. Maarten Heineken Regatta. I sought out the regatta rules and Notice of Race and procured sail numbers for Sipsi’s bare mainsail, then signed us up for the regatta’s Island Time Class, which seemed a good fit. And so it turned out to be.
We left SFO on a redeye to BVI just as war was breaking out. Shaun, who lives in Qatar, left Doha for Paris on the last day planes were still flying, oblivious to what was coming. He denied getting tipped off, which I still don’t believe. Our upwind crew wanted a quick BVI tour, so we wafted down to Norman Island and dinner at Willy T, then headed back for a session with BVI immigration in Spanish Town — far more relaxed than the staff in Road Town.
Tuesday morning saw us cleared out and close-reaching up the west coast of Virgin Gorda with both of our two reefs. When we got around Buck Island and headed southeast, it got choppy. Sipsi hammered along, however, and I felt vindicated in choosing a twin-rudder boat. Not heading up in gusts more than compensated for the missing propwash nudge when maneuvering into a slip.
Then boo-boo No. 1. I went below to store up some sleep without first agreeing on a watch system. Nobody else would come down; only later did I find out that for most of the day, we were all feeding the fish. At 11 p.m., I went up again to insist — duh, no takers, they needed the fresh air.
