Nobody Is in a Rush to Lay Claim to Sailing Crown in Newport’s Beer Can Series

They knew their sailboats were far too big for a practical race inside Newport Harbor. But 25 years ago, over a summer afternoon cold one, the crew of the 60-foot Hilaria boasted about their maneuvering ability.

So they issued a $1,000 challenge for a race the length of the harbor and back. Days later, the match between two of the area’s best-known racing yachts drew a crowd of more than 200, many with their own side bets. In the end, Jack Bailie’s Hilaria won.

And for the rest of the summer, one evening a week after work, Bailie said, he was called upon to defend his record.

Today, those races are still being held by the Balboa Yacht Club every summer on Thursday nights in June, July and August. And instead of two or three boats, there are 50 or 60--all different shapes and sizes navigating the harbor just before sunset.

Unlike the intensity of the early competition, however, the races now are noted for their extreme lack of seriousness. Above all else, the sponsors of the race stress fun. And so it has become almost more of an excursion than a race.

Amante, a 48-foot offshore racing yacht, usually carries a crew of seven or eight in serious competition. But one recent Thursday evening, nearly 40 people were on board--some perched along railings, others loitering on the foredeck or dangling feet over the side, and most sipping drinks.

There was no sense of urgency in this crowd. The heat of the battle was not apparent. Conversation was interrupted only when passengers had to step over the lines that crossed the deck on each tack, as the sails changed sides.

“We use to joke that we had to tack the crew before we tacked the boat,” said Mel Richley, owner of Amante. “The tacking can get tiring, but we have so darn many people we just rotate.”

Sandlot Sailing

This is sandlot sailing. Maybe even company picnic sailing. Most of the time, the majority of passengers don’t even know how to sail. Some sailors bring co-workers from their offices. Others are accompanied by wives, girlfriends, family, friends and neighbors.

The summer races are called the Beer Can Series, a name that commemorates the race’s origin and still reflects one of its dominant themes.

“This isn’t real racing,” said John Fradkin, who sails in his 30-foot boat, Mas Rapido. “It’s more like a happy hour on the water.”

A sergeant with the Orange County Sheriff Department’s Harbor Patrol said that it appears that most of the drinking is done by the guests and that the skippers stay sober.

“Basically we don’t have too many problems with them. It’s run by the yacht club, and they seem to police their own,” Sgt. Dean Cordell said.

The series is actually broken into three sets of four races, one set each month. At the end of each month, a trophy--a gold-painted beer can with a sailboat on top--is given to the boats in each class that have the best records.

In some of the smaller classes, where boats are about 16 to 22 feet, there is some competition because the boats are more evenly matched. But for the bigger boats, there are too many factors that give some boats an unfair advantage in the harbor racing that they would not have in an open ocean race.

So winning is recorded with an asterisk. In fact, winning is downplayed so much that even the race judges could not recall who was first in this year’s June series.

Mark Gaudio, who skippered Big Apple to first place in one recent race, said he was congratulated later and he asked, “What for?”

“I forgot,” he said. “I thought he was talking about some other race.”

If sailboat racing is a chess game, this is tick-tack-toe.

There are tactics that might be helpful but are ignored because they might mean getting out of a comfortable position and wrestling with the equipment.

Spinnakers, the big colorful balloon-like sails for traveling downwind, are not allowed, partly because they are a lot of work to handle and they would encourage competition.

On the downwind leg of the race, though, some boats raise two jibs--the forward sail--instead of one, trying to grab some extra air. But in Big Apple’s recent winning performance, that option was considered and abandoned. It would mean that somebody would have to fold and stow another sail when the race was over. Forget it.

Preparations for the race vary somewhat from vessel to vessel.

On board the Big Apple, the first pieces of equipment brought up on deck are the stereo speakers, then the beer, then the sails. The boat, a New York 36, is owned by three men just over 30 who have sailed locally since childhood and take their offshore racing very seriously.

“It’s a good mid-week relaxation,” shrugged Gaudio, one of the boat’s three owners who took his fiancee, Lisa Paulicivic, along. “Tonight, we screwed up and we won. It’s not a real ego boost.”

The races start at the eastern end of Newport Harbor, just inside the jetty and in front of the Balboa Yacht Club. The evening summer wind in Newport Beach is usually light and out of the southwest. So even if these boats were trying to go fast, it still, usually, would be a creeping fleet.

A few minutes into the race, the boats pass the Balboa Pavilion and they surround the ferries between the peninsula and Harbor Island. The race draws quite a stare from shore with dozens of boats zig-zagging up the skinny harbor, narrowly missing one another and anything else along the course.

Hamburgers Await

In one race during June, the boats sailed to the west end of the harbor when the wind died. Some boats stuck it out, but the crew of Big Apple was eager to get back to see the Lakers playoff basketball game. So they threw on the engine.

The boats usually take just more than an hour to cover the roughly 6-mile course. And each night when they get back to the yacht club there is a barbecue with hamburgers and potato salad for $3.50.

Sometimes, on a big-screen television, the club also shows a videotape of the evening’s race, drawing hoots and moans from participants.

Hundreds of yacht clubs nationwide sponsor weeknight races during the summer. The Long Beach Yacht Club hosts a series called Wet Wednesdays and another called Thirsty Thursdays. There are also races in Marina del Rey and Redondo Beach.

At the Balboa Yacht Club, though, nobody can remember a weekday summer race that predates theirs.

“As far as I know, there was nothing like this back in 1963,” said Bailie, who now races his 12-meter yacht, Newsboy, in a Wednesday night race series just for wooden boats. “We did it ourselves, just for fun. . . .

“When you’ve got people showing up who have rushed in from their office, they’re going to take it lightly.”