Hobie Cat Danger

Hobie Cat Danger

The summer of 1979 was wicked hot in Fort Worth, my new hometown after graduating from college. The only escape from the heat was for a few hours at one of the area lakes, preferably on a boat. Which I did not have, but somebody had a small Hobie Cat parked in my apartment parking lot. I’d never been sailing, but any kind of water craft perked my interest in that heat. I watched a neighbor about my age polishing the sailboat’s two thin rudders one Saturday morning.
Sailors love to maintain their boats, so I asked him, “You need some help?”
“Sure, I’m taking her out today. My name’s Ben.”
“I’m Gordon. I just moved in upstairs.”
We shook hands. His blond hair hung below his ears and a dark tan indicated much time on the water.
“How often do you polish those rudders?”
“Every time I go out.” He noted my look of surprise. “I want them to be as sharp and smooth as a knife. Better speed that way. I wax the hull every couple of months too.”
Interesting. I can’t remember ever waxing dad’s powerboats.
“Would you help me hook up?”
I guided him as he backed his truck up. When the bumper was close, I lifted the trailer and dropped it on the hitch.
Ben came back and tightened up a few lines. I noted the sleek design of two thin pontoon hulls, crossbars with a cloth mesh between the pontoons, and a mast and sail at the front crossbar. Barely a boat in my opinion.
“This sure is a light boat. How long is it?” I asked.
“Sixteen feet and only 340 pounds. I race it, so the lighter it is, the faster I sail.”
“I didn’t know they raced Hobie Cats. How fast does she go?”
“A bit over 20 knots,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “You ever been on one?”
“No.” Please ask me.
“Have you ever sailed?”
“No, but I’d like to learn.”
“Do you want to go now? I’m headed over to Lake Grapevine to do some practicing. There’s a good wind today.”
Jackpot. “Oh yes.”
“I gotta warn you. She flies, and I spend most of my time up on one hull.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but said, “Count me in.”

A few hours later we raised the mast, pulled the sail up, and pushed the Hobie into cool lake water. The sail stretched tight in a strong breeze, propelling us away from shore. We initially sat on the trampoline (the mesh between the hulls) while Ben gave me a rundown on sailing basics. There are no ropes on boats. Call them lines. The sail catches wind for speed and is controlled with a line connected to the mast crossbar. Wires connect the top of the mast to the pontoons for stability at several locations. A sharp rudder drops below the rear of each hull. Steer by adjusting a tiller connected to the rudders. When changing directions (tacking), the sail would swing across the boat. Our body weight would balance the craft to keep the wind from flipping it over.
“Put this harness on for sitting in your trapeze seat,” he said. “It’s also a life jacket.”
I slipped the harness on and asked, “Why do I need a trapeze seat?”
“For sitting beyond the edge of the hull.”
I looked at the water beyond the hull. “Why would we sit out there?”
“You’re a novice,” he said with a chuckle.
He untied two lines connected to the top of the mast and clipped one to his harness.
“Connect this to your harness,” he said. “If you slip or we flip over, you’ll stay with the boat.”
Falling off was not in my plan, though hanging off the hull sounded interesting. I liked daring sports.
“Make sure your trapeze line doesn’t tangle with the mast lines,” he added. Hmm.
“We’ll sail easy for a while,” Ben said as he tightened the sail and adjusted the tiller to gain modest speed.
I moved around, getting a feel for the wind, pontoon balance, and water passing two feet below me. Unlike a noisy powerboat, only the sounds of the fluttering sail and hulls slicing through water broke the peaceful quiet of the lake. Nice.
“Coming about,” Ben announced. “Watch out for the boom and stay in front of the mast so that your trapeze line doesn’t catch the sail.”
Yes, that would be a problem. He pulled the tiller to turn the rudders. The sail fluttered as the Hobie swung into the wind, rotating the crossbar toward the other pontoon. I ducked and scrambled on hands and knees across the rear of the craft to the opposite hull, then turned around to watch Ben effortlessly slide across the trampoline, keep multiple lines clear, and settle in next to me while not losing his grip on the tiller. The sail snapped tight, pulling the Hobie to a new course. Ben adjusted the sail line and tiller, then smiled at me.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said with a big smile.
“No. I bet it can get pretty hairy with big wind.”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “Now we’re going to push the speed up by sitting back on the trapeze and pulling the sail tighter.”
“Okay.”
“Watch me first, then you sit back.”
Ben tightened the sail line to increase the force resisting the wind. I felt the hull rise under me, increasing our speed as the mast tipped slightly toward the water. I intuitively knew that if we rose too high the boat would flip. Ben stood up on the pontoon and leaned back while keeping a firm grip on the sail line and tiller. When the hull started to drop, he pulled the sail line tighter and our speed increased until reaching a balance with the windward hull one foot out of the water and the mast slanted about 30 degrees. I looked around, wondering how I would jump off if it flipped. This really was living on the edge.
“Your turn.”
I carefully stood on the trampoline and pulled in the slack of my mast line, then leaned back against the tight line for balance. I back stepped onto the pontoon and released line to lean backward. The pontoon under my feet dropped, but Ben adjusted the sail and rudders to keep us above the clean blue water. Wow. I was doing it.
“Good move, Gordon. Now relax, you’re all tensed up. Bend your knees and let them bounce with the boat. Just hold on to the line lightly.”
Yes. This was like riding a horse with bent knees to keep my head level. No pull with my arms, just the casual hand pressure to keep from rocking side to side. Now the Cat sped through the water as my hair fluttered and small waves sizzled where sliced by the pontoon. And rudder.

“Coming down,” Ben said after a few minutes. He slowly released the sail, dropping the pontoon into the water as I pulled on my line to stay standing. “How did you like that?”
“Almost as fun as racing motocross, but more lines and rudders and sails to keep track of.”
He nodded, “I’ve been racing a couple of years now.”
“How far is a race?”
“There are buoys at each end of the lake that we sail around. There are different classes and lengths of races. Something for everyone.”
“I thought sailing would be easy. Just sit back and let the wind blow you around. But you have to be on alert every minute.”
“Right. To go fast is difficult. The wind and waves change, other boats cut you off and steal your wind. For the highest speed, you lay that sail over to the fine line just short of rolling her over. Ready to go again?”
“Let’s do it.”
“Just don’t make any fast moves.”
Ben took us to the end of the lake, turned around with our back to the wind, and away we sailed. He tightened the sail line with one hand, controlled the tiller with another, and used his balance for leaning back. The hull rose and we leaned away the hull. It was hard enough for me to stay on top of the pontoon using both hands on my mast line. I didn’t know how he concentrated on so many things at once.
After a few hundred yards at a fast clip, Ben said, “I’m going to push it a little more. Move closer to the front to balance our weight.”
I held onto my line and wondered how much further he could raise the pontoon. Sure enough, it rose a few more inches. Water flew by faster. Best not to look down. I watched the sail angle increase slowly as Ben milked the wind for every bit of speed. Almost 45 degrees. At least 20 knots. He pulled the sail harder. I wondered who would give out first, him or the sail.
The wind decided the contest with a surprising gust that drove the sail all the way into the water. The Hobie stopped immediately, but Ben and I kept going 20 miles an hour, flying forward past the mast until we reached the end of our harness lines. We jerked to a stop and splashed into water next to each other. I popped to the surface and encountered a maze of lines, sail, and mast. One pontoon floated on its side in the water, with the other propped eight foot into the air. Ben thrashed beside me.
“Damn wind tricked me. That’s the first time I’ve rolled this year. Unhook your line and swim away from the mast. Don’t worry, the sail will keep the mast from sinking.”
That was heartening. This was my first time to flip a boat and I didn’t want to go down with it. Though I did enjoy the cool lake water. We untangled ourselves from the lines and swam to the other side of the boat. Ben climbed onto the pontoon in the water, snatched a trapeze line, and threw it over the other pontoon. We grabbed the line and pulled hard to raise the sail upright.
“Good work, Gordon.” Ben high fived me.
“Let’s do it again,” I said. “Without flipping it.”
“Okay. You get in front of me this time, by the lead crossbar.”
We attached our trapeze lines and angled the boat across the lake, raising and lowering the windward pontoon up and down. I found that balancing the sail at about 45 degrees maximized our speed. The challenge was staying at the far edge. As the boat approached the shoreline, Ben unexpectedly loosened the sail and jolted the boat. Caught off-guard, my feet slipped, and arms wind milled. I knew what would happen next, so I took a deep breath as I fell in front of the trampoline and splashed between the pontoons. I reached the end of my trapeze line when I was two feet under water. The line jerked tight against the crossbar that still moved at 20 miles an hour. Trapped at speed under water, I spun helplessly at the end of the line. Ben released the sail to drop the airborne pontoon and stop the boat. My submerged thrashing ended in seconds, but it felt like minutes to me.
Ben laughed as I awkwardly climbed back onto the trampoline, coughing up water. “We had really good speed there for a while. You’re learning. Ready for another run?”
“No, but we have to get back to the other side of the lake, so I’m good for one more time. This time you ride up front and I’ll be toward the rear. If I fall in, the boat won’t catch my line and drown me.” We sorted out the lines and prepared for another ride.

A brief time later, the Cat rose up on one pontoon again as we leaned back. I must admit that riding high up on a hull above the water was thrilling. We were just about back to the boat ramp when a series of gusts of devious wind shook the boat. I balanced through the first gust, but the next one caused my feet to slip again. Down I dropped between the pontoons. I opened my eyes under water just in time to see the end of a pontoon pass over me. The sharp rudder sliced the water at 20 miles per hour just inches from my face. I screamed under water in terror.
Ben stopped the boat and pulled me in.
“Are you okay?”
Choking and spitting, I climbed onto the trampoline and lay on my back. “That rudder damn nearly cut my head off.”
He laughed.
“You sharpen those for quick death, don’t you?”
More laughter.
“I’ve had enough. Let’s take her in on both pontoons. I’m staying on the tramp. No more of your high-speed tricks.”
“Oh, come on Gordon. You’ll get the hang of it. You can be my racing partner.”
“I got news for you. This is my last time on a catamaran. And probably a sail boat too. It’s too much work and not enough fun. We worked hard the whole time screwing with lines and sails and wind and crashing. I used up one of my nine lives and want to keep the rest of them.”

And that was the last time I was foolish enough to sail a Hobie Cat.