BANDERAS BAY REGATTA XXX

Has the Banderas Bay Regatta been on your bucket list? The event is exciting, fun, friendly and inclusive, so mark your calendar for March 2024. It's a worthwhile addition to your yacht racing — er, cruising — calendar. — latitude/chris

VALLARTA YC BANDERAS BAY REGATTA, 3/14-18

RACER/CRUISER 1 — 1) Olas Lindas, Varianta 44, Linda Sweet, 4 points;

2) Lost Dragon, J/133, Mike Seth, 9; 3) Encore, Andrews 56, Zachary Singer, 10. (5 boats)

RACER/CRUISER 2 — 1) Edwina, Jeanneau 54, John Matejczyk, 5 points

2) Wings, Serendipity 43, Fred & Judy Roswold, 5; 3) Dreadnought, Capri 37, Karla Moreno, 9. (7 boats)

CRUISER 4 — 1) Carmanah, C&C 43, John DeMeyer, 4 points; 2) Beep Beep, J/37C, Gregory Reaume, 8; 3) Swan Fun, Swan 55, Joe Heinzmann, 9. (6 boats)

CRUISER 5 — 1) Azure, Cal 40, Rodney Pimentel, 5 points; 2) Talion, Gulfstar 50, Patsy Verhoeven, 7; 3) Viva!, Jeanneau 349, Lee Pryor, 7.

(5 boats)

JIB & MAIN — 1) Agave Azul, Catalina 470, Mark Thompson, 3 points; 2) Vela, Beneteau First 38, Tom & Linda Rann, 7; 3) Poco Loco Dos, Catalina 38, Keith Sangster, 11. (5 boats)

J/80 — 1) J/World 1, 7 points; 2) J/World 3, 8;

3) J/World 2, 9. (3 boats)

MULTIHULL — 1) Copiar, Hobie 16 cat, Bart Goodell, 3 points; 2) Koa'e Kea, Pinta 52 tri, Cam McCannel, 9; 3) Parlay, Lagoon 450 cat, Colin MacRae, 9. (4 boats)

Full results at www.banderasbayregatta.com

On March 15, we ran a 'Lectronic Latitude about Raindancer, a sailboat that had sunk in the Pacific Ocean after apparently hitting a whale. We have since reached out to Rick Rodriguez, Raindancer's captain and owner, and Tommy Joyce, who was on his own boat in the vicinity of Raindancer, and coordinated a swift rescue. What follows is a combination of our conversations with them, as well as statements made by both men.

OnMarch 14, the Kelly Peterson 44 Raindancer was cruising along with good winds and sunny skies at a comfortable 6 knots across the Pacific, bound for the Marquesas, French Polynesia, from the Galápagos Islands on a 3,100 nm passage. Captain and owner Rick Rodriguez, his girlfriend Alana Litz, and friends Bianca Brateanu and Simon Fischer were about 1,700 nm miles into the voyage, or 13 days into an estimated three-week crossing.

The crew was enjoying some homemade pizza when a sudden impact threw everything into chaos.

"The second pizza had just come out of the oven and I was dipping a slice into some ranch dressing when it felt like we ran into a concrete wall," Rick wrote. "I heard a loud crashing noise simultaneous with a metal clanking. I heard Alana yell, 'We hit a whale.' Then I looked to port and saw a huge whale and blood gushing out of the side of it as it began swimming down."

Rick sprang into action, commanding the crew to check the bilges as he moved to check for damage and water. The high water bilge alarm went off within seconds, and he could see water rushing in from the stern.

"At that point, I knew the damage was very significant and that most likely we were going to lose the boat. At that point, the crew began gathering safety equipment, supplies, emergency gear, electronics, etc., and they did an extremely good job of it." Meanwhile, Rick tried to find the ingress.

Less than a minute had elapsed, but the water was already above the floor, making it difficult to find the water's entry point. "I was nearly certain the boat was going down at a rapid rate. I made a last attempt to plug up water intrusion from the outside.

On my way out, I helped bring out the life raft and grabbed and set off one of our EPIRBs, and made a VHF radio mayday call. I deployed the life raft and it inflated, as advertised."

To ease pressure on the life raft's painter, Rick and Bianca doused the sails. At the same time, Simon and Alana began launching the 10.5-ft Apex dinghy that was inflated and lashed to the deck. Once the dinghy was in the water, Rick donned mask and fins and jumped overboard with a tarp to try to stem the flow of water from the outside.

"I saw the damage instantly," he wrote. "There were multiple holes, or cracks. The biggest one was around the prop shaft. It seems that part of the whale must have hit the shaft with force and busted open the fiberglass around the shaft. It was a very awkward hole to try and plug with rags and a tarp. [There was a] stainless-steel shaft in the middle, and the holes around it were more like caves with broken pieces of fiberglass all around and inside it.

"In addition to this, I also noticed two to thr ee full-length cracks maybe an inch in diameter along the base of the skeg where it meets the hull, and about halfway down the skeg. I made attempts to shove a tarp in the hole(s), but it kept coming out. I tried to wrap the tarp around the damaged area consisting of the rudder, skeg, and prop shaft and tie it around itself, but the swell made that difficult. With a boat that was already 2/3 full of water at that point, I decided to forgo my efforts and focus on the safety and survival of the crew."

The four sailors loaded the dinghy with as many supplies and as much emergency gear as they could manage. The toe rail was now inches from sea level, and inside, the water was above the sink, meaning they couldn't fill any more water jugs. Bianca and Alana were by now in the dinghy waiting for their crewmates to join them. Rick allowed himself just a moment's pause to take in the reality of the situation, and take one last look at his boat, before he and Simon stepped into the water from the now submerged toe rail. Rick swam to the life raft and heaved himself aboard.

"When I got in it, I looked back and could see the last 10 feet of the mast sinking down at an unbelievable speed. The boat and all our belongings were gone, out of sight, sinking to the bottom of one of the most remote parts of the ocean, 10,000-ft down," Rick wrote. He said that it took Raindancer just 15 minutes to sink.

After taking a moment to breathe, the crew took inventory and organized the items they'd managed to salvage. The EPIRB was still sending alerts, along with the Globalstar SPOT Tracker. Rick turned on the Iridium GO! and began sending messages to his brother Roger, and to his friend Tommy Joyce aboard S/V Southern Cross, a Moody 47.

"I knew if I could alert Tommy, and the World ARC fleet of boats that were coincidentally behind us, we would be rescued soon," Rick continued.

He then tur ned off the device to save power. Two hours later, he checked the Iridium to find several responses from both Roger and Tommy.

Tommy and his partner Katelyn had met Rick and Alana a year earlier. The couples had been buddy boating since leaving Red Frog Beach at Boca del Toro, Panama. Southern Cross was around 160 nm behind Raindancer. After coming off watch at about 4 p.m., Tommy received two calls from the same unknown number. He thought it might have been a telemarketer, but it was actually Rick's brother, Roger. Thinking he might have some fun with the salesperson calling him, Tommy dialed the unknown number.

"After the first ring, I heard 'Tommy! You're friends with my brother, Rick, from Raindancer. This is not a joke. Raindancer just sank. They hit a whale and the boat sank. Rick says you know what to do.'" Tommy was instantly shocked into action.

Roger passed on the coordinates, as well as the time when he'd heard from Rick. This told Tommy that the boat had probably sunk within the past 30 minutes. Tommy assured Roger that the Raindancer crew would be rescued, then got to work. Southern Cross became a command center from which Tommy coordinated communications among the sailing community. One of his first calls was to S/V Isabel, with whom he might share the alert with the World

ARC rally fleet.

When he was unable to reach Isabel, Tommy posted a message on Facebook, thinking this would "rile up the the Starlink community," referring to the satellite internet service. The hope was to reach as many boats around Raindancer as possible. It worked. The Facebook post circulated across multiple sailing pages and reached cruisers on sea and shore.

T ommy then turned on his own Iridium and found a message from Rick: "Tommy this is no joke … We hit a whale and the ship went down. We are in the life raft." Rick had added that to conserve power, he would check his messages in three hours. Tommy responded, "We got you bud." He then asked about the crew's status and raft color, along with issuing instructions to launch a flare at 0700, the estimated time at which the closest vessel would be within sight of the airborne signal. From his command center position, Tommy was also in contact with the Maritime Rescue Coordination Center, a global network of coast guards and rescue professionals.

Meanwhile, the crew of Raindancer were preparing for a long night ahead. "The sun began to set and soon it was pitch dark. And we were floating right smack in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a dinghy and a life raft, hopeful that we would be rescued soon," Rick wrote.

Rick Rodriguez and Simon Fischer sit in the life raft attached to 'Raindancer's dinghy — and were photographed from there by Alana it on arch

"[It was] a crazy moment — floating in the ocean looking up at the stars."

But the reality of the "crazy moment" was harsh. Rick and Alana were in the dinghy, secured to the raft, where Simon and Bianca were, by three lines. The night was spent in increasing winds, on constant lookout for ships, watching flying fish jump into the dinghy, and making a mayday call every hour from their handheld radio.

At around 0500, Simon spotted the first lights. Soon after, they had radio contact from Rolling Stones. The Leopard 45 catamaran was within reach of the tired crew.

"We all screamed in relief when we heard the voices of Geoff [captain of Rolling Stones] over the radio," Rick wrote. "We were damn near rescued …" He activated a parachute flare and his personal AIS beacon to confirm their location. As Rolling Stones approached, Simon and Bianca moved into the dinghy and came alongside the catamaran, which deployed two lines. Getting aboard was hampered by the waves, but with timing, each sailor, in turn, was able to dive from the dinghy onto the catamaran's sugar scoop transom.

Approximately 10 hours had elapsed between Raindancer's first emergency call and the crew's rescue. Rick, Alana, Bianca and Simon were safe, and continued to French Polynesia with the crew of Rolling Stones

Addressing the sailing community, Rick expressed his gratitude to his crew, who he said made his job easier. "I'm so proud of everyone for staying calm, gathering emergency equipment, and the way everything was handled."

Rick thanked his brother Roger, his mother, and his friends Tommy, and Vinny Mattiola, all of whom were instrumental in communicating the stricken crew's situation and position throughout the night. "They were in contact with rescue boats giving them accurate information and advice. Without them, the rescue would not have gone so swiftly and smooth."

Rick also thanked the entire sailing community that came together to assist. "The one thing I've always loved about sailing is the people. We are truly a special group of people. I'm thankful to be a part of such a supportive community." And of course, Rick expressed his gratitude to the crew of Rolling Stones, who went out of their way to rescue the distressed mariners and open their home and hearts to the four strangers they plucked from the ocean.

Stories quickly circulated about the circumstances of the collision and the effectiveness of Raindancer's communication devices. There was a misconception that the whale had hit the boat, when in fact it seems the boat hit the whale. We titled our 'Lectronic Latitude: Sailboat Sinks After Being Rammed by Whale in South Pacific; a reader pointed out that the word "rammed" implied malicious intent by the whale.

There were more than a few Moby Dick references, including one by us. "It wasn't lost on Rodriguez that the story that inspired Herman Melville happened in the same region," the Washington Post wrote. "The ship Essex was also heading west from the Galápagos when it was rammed by a sperm whale in 1820."

Several readers expressed concern for the whale and curiosity about its fate, which is unknown. The Post said there have been 1,200 reports of whales and boats colliding since a worldwide database was launched in 2007. Some estimates say that most whales never surface after being struck, and as many as 20,000 cetaceans are killed by vessels each year.

The US Coast Guard said collisions with whales that cause significant damage are rare, according to the Post, "noting the last rescue attributed to damage from a whale was the sinking of a 40-ft J-Boat in 2009 off Baja California, with that crew rescued by Coast Guard helicopter." That was the 2009 Baja Ha-Ha; Eugenie Russell was the captain of a J/120, along with Barry Demak as crew.

There was also discussion about the effectiveness of Raindancer's communication devices. Tommy received a message from the Joint Rescue Coordination Center (JRCC) Honolulu reporting that they had not received any alerts regarding Raindancer, and there were rumors that the EPIRB had failed. However, it was later confirmed by Douglas Samp, a Coast Guard search and rescue program manager, that the EPIRB did in fact work. "MRCC Peru was receiving the alerts as the distress location was within their SAR Rescue Region," Samp wrote in an email to Latitude 38 . Rick Rodriguez also confirmed Raindancer's EPIRB and all her emergency equipment had worked as it should.

All for ms of communications played a key role in the timely rescue of Raindancer's crew. Starlink helped facilitate a communications network, while the EPIRB, Iridium GO! and handheld devices helped with alerts and positioning. Everyone from Rick's brother Roger to his mother, who manned the phones and fielded USCG and emergency calls, to Tommy and the cruisers who shared information throughout the night, were instrumental in pulling off a successful, expedited rescue.

The professionals were networking as well. As the USCG's Samp wrote, "RCC Alameda assisted MRCC Peru with a satellite broadcast to GMDSS equipped vessels and diverting an AMVER Automated Mutual-Assistance Vessel Rescue M/V Dong A Maia, to assist, but the Rolling Stones got there first. BZ to your sailing community for rescuing your own."

— latitude / monica

Stephen Wolf called our office a while back and described a sailing adventure in the '70s. The more he told us, the more we wanted to hear. It was a 10year, 40,000-mile circumnavigation on a 24-foot trimaran with a crew of two that started in Gashouse Cove. He sent some classic photos and a vignette of one leg of his and wife Margo's amazing voyage.

Our boat, No Name, was a Piverdesigned Nugget trimaran sloop built by Cox Marine in England and imported to the US in the mid-'60s. At 24-ft by 24-ft with a draft of 18 inches, it was a trailerable boat with fold-down floats. A nicely built and finished boat, built as a daysailer with a small, open dog house. The interior had a 5-foot settee and a ball head. Gasketed plexiglass windows provided great visibility. It weighed 1,000 lbs. and could carry an additional 1,000 lbs. A motor was left ashore in Hawaii when my future wife Margo came aboard. We carried 12 sails ranging in size from a 25-squarefoot spanker to a 300-square-foot drifter. Self-steering was fitted but there were no electrical devices other than flashlights. A sextant was used for position finding. A Sea Swing single-burner gimbaled stove, originally using Sterno, was used for cooking. Fitted with a popup aluminum rudder and a large daggerboard, it was a fast and stable boat,

ALL PHOTOS STEPHEN WOLF

and comfortable in most conditions. Through our trip it was greatly modified. No Name proved to be an excellent and seaworthy craft, accomplishing some remarkable passages. It was also a very forgiving boat. Through the '70s, No Name carried us on an improbable journey, logging some 40,000 miles.

We had spent several years in the tropical Pacific and made our way west. Decided to give New Guinea a try, then Indonesia, Cocos Keeling and the Seychelles, where we would have to decide how to get to the Atlantic. The Red Sea or the Cape of Good Hope? We were leaning toward the Cape of Good Hope, as the Red Sea passage is very difficult for a sailing vessel. That is until the skipper of the barkantine Black Pearl offered us a tow up the Red Sea if we could get to Djibouti on our own. The offer of a tow was one we could not refuse.

We cut short our time in the Seychelles and met the Pearl in time to secure a tow. We set off in tow for a carefree trip to the Med. It was not to be. The Pearl was unable to make headway against the 8-foot waves. The prop would break through the surface and would spin as the swell passed underneath the hull. They turned around and beat a hasty and lovely retreat under full canvas, returning to Djibouti. We continued on but could not make any significant progress and soon followed the Pearl. It was a magnificent sail.

The Pearl was broken down and required major work. The skipper left and a skeleton crew remained, awaiting money and a new command. A month later we tried again on our own but without success. A new skipper and crew found the Pearl heading north without No Name astern. We were stuck in North Africa, believing it was not practical to head south around the Cape, yet the Red Sea was perhaps too much for us. We lived and worked in Djibouti, gaining local knowledge from the dhow captains and nautical books, charts and logs. In December there is often a short window when the wind blows southerly up the Red Sea as far as Jedda. We decided to give it a try. We waited, and in early December the wind swung around. We waited two days for it to set in and away we went.

On December 8, we set sail for that much-anticipated and dreaded passage up the Red Sea. The north wind had gradually shifted and started to blow strongly from the south. It seemed that the magic weather window had opened and we had to take advantage of it. Quick goodbyes, fresh produce, and away we went. However, it was as if Djibouti did not want to let us go. The Indian Ocean was pushing in waves 8-10 feet with a force-five wind. We had a difficult time leaving the Gulf of Tadjoura, but once having rounded the point, we were able to lay a better course. With strong winds, we were down to a double-reefed main and a storm jib.

Probably the most difficult and dangerous segment of this passage was what came next. The pinch point occurs where Africa almost touches Asia, where the Gulf of Aden transitions into the Red Sea. The narrows are dotted with numerous small, low-lying islands that are awash in phosphorescent waves. Visibility is often reduced by wind-borne dust and sand. This area is known locally as Bab-el-Mandeb, (Gates of Hell), often cited as the world's most dangerous strait.

We were making great progress as the wind increased, dodging ships and islands as necessary. We found a leak that needed repair if we wanted to have dry feet when sleeping. Local knowledge told of a secure anchorage in Eritrea. It proved to be an open roadstead, so not suitable in this season. The Seven Brothers Islands offered no solace. We reduced sails to a 25-square-foot storm jib, and with 25 knots of wind we were moving along nicely. At 1530 we were