I am always up for a story, so I said “YES!” before Sue finished the question, “Would you like to go out on one of the boats?” Sue, a cruising sailor from South Africa, runs the shore-side of the 12-Metre Challenge, an adventure sailing business in Phillipsburg, St. Marten. The yachts, five authentic 12’s, were designed and built for the last 12-Metre America’s Cup held in Australia in 1987. Each day, one of Dennis Conners’ two Stars and Stripes races around the bay against True North, True North IV or Canada II. The majority of the crew consist of globe-trotting travelers looking for a thrill. Most of them have never sailed; some have never before set foot on a boat.

“So how can this work?” my skeptical mind asked. I’ve sailed enough to know it can be dangerous on a good day. Big boats, like the 12’s, require heavy-duty gear that can be difficult to handle and downright threatening. But the next morning, curiosity won over caution and I found myself at the 12-Metre Headquarters armed (with cameras) and ready to go. At the entryway, two guest books lay open, filled with one positive, excited, blown-away comment after another. Above them hung a framed, faded American flag. Written on it, “Good Sailing! Dennis Conner, Starts and Stripes, 1995 America’s Cup.”

Sue directed me to wait out front for the launch that would carry guests to the cruise ship pier where we would be welcomed and briefed. I passed the time chatting with a retired couple from Cleveland, trying to determine their motivation for purchasing the tickets in their hands. Just like the other 18 people we soon joined, they wanted to go for a sail on one of the legends.

Bradley Jenkins, an exuberant American, began by counting his charges before announcing, “Very few people in the world have ever done what you are about to do.” He explained the regatta then asked for volunteers to captain the two teams. Not waiting for reluctant hands to rise, he pointed to an attractive young woman saying, “You will be great! What’s your name?” Next, he shanghaied another pretty face from the crowd.

The first captain picked her friend as crew. Bradley discovered captain number two was on her honeymoon and challenged her, “This is your opportunity to establish strength in your new marriage. Will you pick one of these fine sailors,” his hand fanned the group, “or your husband?” The wise woman went for her man and we cheered.

The two teams were asked to choose their yacht, True North or Stars and Stripes. The groups huddled, each voting for the winner, Stars and Stripes. “My God! That never happens!” Bradley facetiously exclaimed while pulling a coin from his pocket.

As 21 of us boarded the launch for a ride to the 12’s, the sky turned a mean shade of gray. The wind, already in an uncharacteristically cranky mood, whipped into williwaws that caused water to jump from the sea. Conditions worsened as we got under way. Bradley quickly passed around a waiver for everyone to sign before the threatening sky opened up and drenched us. I checked all the faces for signs of fear but those people were having fun! Especially the lady who pulled out a credit card piece of plastic that opened into a full size raincoat.

Bradley explained the many crew positions available. We could choose the level of involvement we wanted. “Active or non-native?” he asked with a smile.

“Active!” shouted a young Russian woman.

“Great! You will trim the genoa by working the primary grinders. Let’s hear it for our Primary Grinder!” In team fashion, we all let out whoops and hollers. “We need one more!” and a hand shot up eliciting another cheer. This went on through the positions of mainsheet trimmer, backstay grinder, back stay trimmer and primary grinders, before getting to the soft jobs. One woman was designated Cooler Queen, another was handed a stopwatch to use as timekeeper. The mother of the Russian girl and I were left. Since she had no English and looked happy just to be along for the ride, she was designated Iceberg Spotter and I was assigned Chief Paparazzi.

The tender approached True North, mainsail still up, galloping along slowly. The crew we were replacing moved to the bow, making room for us. They were hugging and kissing each other and the three official crew who manage and sail the boats. Their 12-Metre shirts clung to their bodies, hair pasted to their heads, yet they appeared to be totally satisfied customers. A voice inside me wondered, “How on earth can this be fun?”

Once the two boats were tied together, Bradley looked aft to the new True North crew and called, “Let’s hear it for our Primary Grinders!” The two rose and carefully climbed from boat to boat. He ran through each position, one by one, until the Iceberg Spotter and I were left. We joined the rest of our crew and a cooler of iced drinks followed us on. The wet crew from the bow took our spots in the tender and sped off to Stars and Stripes.

Our skipper, Matt, seated us in assigned spots then introduced first mate, Robb and second mate, Tommy. All three young men from
Britain were fit, fast and very funny. Stationed near their new recruits they got to work explaining and demonstrating the task that lay ahead, all the while showing us what not to do or touch. The Iceberg Spotter, who had pulled out a camera, was busy snapping shots of her husband and darling daughter. I sat quietly taking it all in.

Matt revved us up asking, “Who wants to win this race?”

“We do!” we yelled.

“Who will win this race?” he shouted.

“True North! True North!” we chanted. Although few of us knew each other, we were quickly turning into a team.

The genoa was released to power us up and the grinding began. We tacked and jibbed around Great Bay for a good 20 minutes, hauling lines and cranking gear, getting used to the motion and the task ahead. The Brits praised us, egged us on and before I knew it, everyone was doing their job … well!


Matt stood on the foredeck holding a blue board with letters and squiggly white lines. “I’m going to explain the course we will sail.” It looked like a plate of spaghetti to me, but others nodded comprehendingly and off we shot toward the start line.

Robb maneuvered the boat close to Stars and Stripes for some humorous verbal sparring. The committee boat hoisted the five-minute flag. The two 35-ton, 70-foot giants jockeyed for the best position. Our timekeeper, not knowing she should be counting backwards, called, “4:45, 4:50, 4:55,” The red flag shot up and we leapt over the line ahead of them.

The boys from Britain directed crew to grind and trim, tightening the rig for the upwind leg to the mark. Waves broke over the bow sending slop and spray onto our already wet crew. The young Russian woman worked the arm-powered gears of the genoa winches with so much enthusiasm, it rubbed off on the rest of us. A high-speed chase boat caught up to us from behind, a whistle in the driver’s mouth, a camera in one hand. Matt shouted, “When you hear the whistle, turn and smile but do not wave. O.K?” Four attempts later, the fellow got the shot he was after and sped off.

Stars and Stripes beat us to the first mark. Matt explained our second-place status and the strategy we’d use to beat them to the downwind mark. He brought True North close to Stars and Stripes, forcing them off course. It was at that point that I decided to finally pull out the new Flip camera Bahama Breeze sent us so we could add video to the blog. The camera had stayed in the zip-bag, waiting for that short, dry moment. I scooted myself into a clear space, pulled it from the bag and WHAM! The mainsheet hit my arm and the camera shot into the air. It hit the deck twice before leaping into the sea like a frog. Tommy yelled, “What was that?”

In disbelief, I said, “My … new camera!”

It was one of the few things, apparently, that was ever lost from that boat and luckily it wasn’t my arm. From that point on I held my still camera with a death grip and snapped away trying to keep up with the Iceberg Spotter.

As we approached the downwind mark, Mark asked our team captain/tactician which tack we should take after rounding it, port or starboard. She shrugged her shoulders, “Port?”

Tommy shook his head and said, “Not port.”

“Starboard?” she asked.

“Starboard it is! Excellent choice!” yelled Mark.

On the upwind leg to the finish line, the real crew worked their newbies up for a win. They started yelling polite abuse to the other boat and we followed. Stars and Stripes did a clumsy double tack at the end but somehow won. We hip-hip-hoorayed them, pulled out cold drinks and enjoyed the ending to our “three-hour tour.”

Like the crew before us, we headed to the bow to make room for the next team. The tender collected us and steamed back to the 12-Metre Yacht Club where rum punch awaited us in their store full of 12-Metre emblazoned ties, sweats, hats, jackets, vests, shirts, shirts, shirts and the smiling but not waving photos of each team.

I stopped by to thank Sue. “Too bad it was so rough today,” she apologized. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did,” I replied, before letting loose with a string of positive, excited, blown-away comments.

The “America’s Cup” 12-Metre Challenge Program has been voted the number-one shore excursion in the whole Caribbean for 10 consecutive years by Princess Cruise Lines. It offers special programs for Management Team Building, Client Relationship Building and Corporate Incentive groups. For reservations and communications, e-mail Groups@12metre.com, or go to their Web site sat www.12metre.com.

Jan