Of Earth and Salt

700 word editorial- based on lifelong fields of expertise.

There’s a strange phenomenon that happens when successful entrepreneurs visit or settle down in strongholds of coastal wealth like Newport, St. Tropez or Aukland. Their garage doors open less and less. Car collections that were their pride and joy collect dust. Automotive works of genius that incited burning passion sit in darkness on trickle chargers. It’s a horror beyond the comprehension of any respectable enthusiast.

Unbelievably, there’s sound reasoning for these transgressions. A growing obsession with championship sailboat racing. It starts small, with a little sport boat. 30 feet or so. Five to eight crew members. Just casually getting out on the course for a few days. Switch things up, test the waters. A season or two goes by. Research is done. Larger boats are purchased, competition becomes fiercer. Suddenly, a threshold is breached. The drama, status, strategy, tech and grandeur that sailing offers takes an unshakeable hold on their Highly analytical, competitive minds. Not to mention, the exotic locales.

With proper funding, between seasons three and six, some may stop driving for leisure entirely. Once a harmless hobby, now an equally expensive addiction. The garage’s number gets replaced by the shipyard's. Paddock time is now spent on deck. Cutting edge “Grand Prix” race boats are being built or bought every two or so years. Each is one of one. It’s not only about winning more, It’s about winning big. Besting personal rivals over water in gorgeous spectacles.

The mission is no longer lapping a circuit quickest. It’s conquering oceans. Long standing, prestigious, time over distance records are touchable on the fastest boats. And the fastest boats, Just like the fastest cars, are made entirely, of carbon fiber. This composite infiltrated sailing from motorsports and became the perverse muse of owners and engineers. Naval architects took it to a scale that’d be laughable if it weren’t such an effective material. Carbon sinks, carbon toilets, carbon beds.  A 6 foot diameter carbon wheel. All bolted to a carbon hull thats up to 140 feet long.  Someone might have a hypercar, but they’ve never sat atop the carbon throne or taken ridiculously high strength to weight ratio naps. A crew of 15 to 20 professional sailors are some of the only things on board that aren’t made up of a proprietary weave. Sail racing programs advanced the understanding of this material to a point where boatbuilders are highly sought after technicians for cutting edge aerospace and automotive startups. All in the name of dominance on the open seas. Unlike on track, technological prowess alone won’t break a record. A form of meteorological divinity has to happen with large scale weather systems that occur once every ten years or so, generating perfect winds that will etch the team’s name in silver, if they survive. This mix of risk and delayed gratification feeds the endless pursuit.

Since the opportunities for offshore, record fueled delirium are rare, high-spec inshore racing on smaller, even faster, foiling boats is another pinnacle of the sport. With recent formula racing inspired advancements, America’s Cup campaigns are becoming F1’s aquatic twin. The boats are now capable of reaching 60 mph. At this speed traditional sails become rigid wings. Aero matters. Scale models of the 75 foot long beasts are being scrutinized in wind tunnels by the same applied science divisions top motorsports contenders go to battle with. They’ve even switched over to from traditional helms to yokes. Sailors don driver-esque helmets and goggles, as danger lurks within the kinetic energy stored by these behemoths moving at such pace. Momentum kills, but the bravest and most precise maneuvers benefit skippers and drivers just the same.

This new track focused glamour injected sailing with a heroic dose of vitality. Prior ‘Cup matches were dawdling wars of attrition. Now, they’re glorious displays of engineering marvels and knife edge high speed antics, permeating racing culture. The lust for trophies is potent as ever, and an opulent river of financial backing surges uncontrollably during race weekends and regattas. Whether its the smell of black powder in the breeze as the race committee signals first with a shotgun, or a checkered flag waving over the tarmac, Victory tastes the same and champagne flies.