Figawi - Sailing Charters, Newport, Rhode Island

It’s not a Massachusetts casino run by displaced Native Americans, but
rather an annual New England season opener where boat racing, laughter,
and parties reign supreme—and not necessarily in that order.
Where the
Figawi?
32
Approaching the finish,
with the other Beneteau
423s in its class, safely
tucked astern, the crew
of Summer Breeze ease
into Figawi mode.
S a i l i n g W o r l d O c t o b e r 2 0 0 7
stuArt strEulI

ANdrEw sIMs, hErb MccOrMIck
The big, white-haired dude
behind the wheel looked
remarkably familiar, of that
there was little doubt. And
in the clarity of hindsight, it
couldn’t possibly have been
anyone else. But at that very instant, perhaps
due to the heat of the moment, or the
unfamiliar context in which the encounter
took place, it took a long second to register
that the man at the helm of the classic,
beautiful blue schooner whose bow we
were now crossing by a not-at-all considerable
distance—and in a chartered bareboat
no less, a vessel for which we harbored no
true sense of attachment or sentiment—
was in fact the senior senator for the great
Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
Yup. Ted Kennedy.
We were closing in on the finish line of
the 36th annual Figawi Race from Hyannis—site
of the long-time Kennedy family
encampment on Cape Cod—to the
outlying isle of Nantucket, on a glorious
Saturday over Memorial Day weekend.
The 22-mile contest across Nantucket
Sound, to be honest, had been more of a
cruise-in-company with a few thousand
other kindred spirits in the 240-boat fleet:
After a short beat upwind, we’d rounded
the sole weather mark and cracked off to
a tight reach for the finish just off the entrance
to Great Harbor, where all sorts of
nonsense and festivities awaited.
There was a definite Sailing World bias
to our crew: I was trimming main and
playing connect-the-dots with the chartplotter,
editor Dave Reed was on the jib
and calling tactics, and senior editor and
Figawi skipper Stu Streuli was on the
helm. Stu’s wife, Leslie, and our buddies
Bryan Cooney and Paul Faerber rounded
By HerB MccorMick
The illustrious seafaring senator from
Massachusetts, Ted kennedy, commands
the throne onboard his concordia 50 Mya
(top). SW senior editor, Stuart Streuli (left)
double-checks Dave reed’s headsail trim.
out the team. We were sailing an immaculate,
brand-spanking-new Beneteau
423 called Summer Breeze that we’d chartered
back home in Newport from Brian
Blank’s Bareboat Sailing Charters.
We weren’t alone. There were four
S a i l i n g W o r l d O c t o b e r 2 0 0 7 33

other identical Beneteaus in our 14boat,
non-spinnaker class, which provided
a nice little one-design element
to the day’s exercise. At the outset, Stu
had made one thing perfectly clear. On
handicap, he didn’t particularly care if
we trailed the other boats in our division,
which included an Ericson 38, a
Baltic 37, a C&C 38, a Sabre 38, and an
Alerion 33, all relatively quick steeds.
But if we weren’t the first Beneteau
home, boat-for-boat, returning to Newport
might not be an option.
For the first 21 miles, it was all going
very much according to plan. We’d nailed
the pursuit-style start. The sun was shining
overhead, the 15-knot southwester was
ideal, and we had the boat in a groove. The
other Beneteaus were all properly astern.
And then that gorgeous 50-foot Concordia
schooner from Hyannisport, Mya,
came roaring up from behind, and we had
one more obstacle to overcome before
glory (such as it was) would be ours.
Yup. Ted Kennedy.
Packed into Nantucket Boat Basin (left)
after a lazy afternoon of sailing, competitors
relax before descending into Figawi’s
nightly madness. it was standing room
only at the legendary Joke-Telling Session
on Sunday morning.
So this guy goes to the house next door
and says to his neighbor, “Gee, I think my
wife is dead.” And the neighbor says, “Really.
Why do you think that?” And the first
guy says, “Well, the sex is the same but the
dishes are piling up in the sink!”
—Unknown Comic No. 1, Figawi Annual
Sunday Morning Joke-Telling Session
As we stepped on the launch in Newport
for the ride out to the boat before
heading to the regatta, a woman with a
Nantucket sweatshirt was stepping off. I
happened to mention we were headed in
that direction and her companion asked
about our plans.
“We’re doing the Figawi,” I said.
Her friend raised his eyebrows and
chuckled knowingly. “Bring those rumdrinking
shoes,” he said.
To say the Figawi’s reputation precedes
itself would be an understatement.
The first Figawi, so the story goes, started
in 1972 when a handful of friends and
families decided that a fun race from Hyannis
to Nantucket during Memorial Day
weekend would be a swell way to spend
a day and launch the sailing season, not
to mention an inarguable means by which
to settle the ongoing discussion of who
owned the fastest boat. In this very grassroots
manner, a tradition was launched.
Figawi? The following anecdote may be
apocryphal, but there’s little doubt that
Nantucket Sound and nearby Vineyard
Sound can attract more than a small bit
of fog. In the days before GPS satellites
put an end to navigational nightmares, it
was not at all uncommon to become wayward
when transiting from the mainland
to the island. And so when that first lost
navigator, in his best Cape Cod accent,
34 S a i l i n g W o r l d O c t o b e r 2 0 0 7
stuArt strEulI, hErb MccOrMIck

ANdrEw sIMs
asked, “Where the Figawi?” the fledgling
regatta also had a name.
By the late 1970s, word was spreading
about this small, regional event, and the
numbers began to grow. In 1978, organizers
added a lay day and a race back to Hyannis,
making it a three-day affair. And the East
Coast hailing ports from which sailors came
to attend the Figawi continued to expand.
In this year’s race program, Figawi board
member Charlie McLaughlin summed up
the welcoming feeling extended to every
Figawi sailor: “Your decision to join us in
this event reflects an unusual level of intelligence,
bonhomie, determination, and
perseverance. We are glad that you made
it. We hope that it’s either the start of a long
tradition or the next chapter of an even longer
one. And while we don’t count heads,
our guesstimate is that you have joined a
rather non-exclusive club of some fifty
thousand or more sailors who have tied
up before you and taken home many great
memories, most of which can be shared.”
I was at the Atlantic buffet last night
and I was talking to this admiral, an elderly
guy, and we were discussing our sex
lives. So I asked him, when was the last
time for you? And he says, “1955.” I say to
him, “That’s too bad.” And he looks at me
and goes, “Not really. It’s only 2210.”
—Unknown Comic #2, Figawi Annual
Sunday Morning Joke-Telling Session
Of course, as Charlie readily admits,
some of those memories, depending on
with whom you’re considering sharing
them, are better kept within. Certainly
that’s the case with Sunday morning’s annual
Joke-Telling Session, an event fueled
by cheap mimosas and driven by a platoon
of long-time Figawi regulars known as the
Band of Angels. They may be angels, but it’s
hard to tell which heaven they call home.
We’ve taken the liberty of publishing a
few jokes, and to those who take offense,
we apologize. However, if you find these
off-color, by all means, steer clear of the
Figawi event tent on Sunday morning.
Way clear. There are lots of churches open
for business on Sundays in Nantucket.
One thing about the Joke-Telling Session,
it’s an equal-opportunity offender.
Being Nantucket, there are certainly more
than a few filthy limericks aired out, but
otherwise, the topics are wide-ranging
and all-inclusive, and include men in
prison, children’s train sets, sex, priests,
white people, black people, sex, Mexicans,
Asians, Europeans, sperm whales, sex, the
male anatomy, the female anatomy, sex,
HoW To FigAWi
The Figawi race takes place each year over Memorial Day weekend and is open to monohulls
of 24-feet LoA and larger with a PHrF rating no higher than 210. For more information
on the event visit its website (www.figawi.com). The boat basin in Nantucket and the
local housing fills up quickly, so don’t wait until the last minute. if you don’t have a boat
but still want to participate, you can sign up on the crew list on the event site or consider
chartering a yacht. Bareboat Sailing charters in Newport, r.i., (www.bareboatsailing.com;
800-661-4013) has a fleet of Beneteaus and Jeanneaus ranging from 42- to 54-feet, as
well as a Hinckley 49 ketch, available for charter as a bareboat or with a skipper.
genies who grant wishes, bodily functions,
sex, doctor’s visits, and, oh yes, sex.
Now there were a lot of things I really enjoyed
over Figawi weekend. Heck, even the
delivery out was a blast. You always feel like
you’re in the islands when the soundtrack
over the radio is courtesy WMVY (92.7
FM) on the Vineyard (even if the James
Taylor tunes drive some of your crewmates
crazy). Once out there, it was very hard not
to get wrapped up in the ongoing discussion
and debate over the proposed Cape
Wind “wind farm” turbines on Nantucket
Sound (and the local’s vehement objection
thereto). The sight of dozens and dozens
of boats of all sizes and description motoring
out to the starting line off Hyannis,
and then parading back into the marina
in Nantucket, was very, very cool. There’s
nothing more fun than renting bikes and
tooling around Nantucket on its beautiful,
winding bike paths. And the tent parties,
overall, were hilarious.
When all was said and done, however,
that Joke-Telling Session is the one thing
that might really stand out.
Oh, yeah, that and Ted Kennedy.
A Greek guy and an Italian guy are arguing
over who has the superior culture. All
day long, back and forth, back and forth.
The Greek says, “We built the Parthenon.”
The Italian says, “We built the Coliseum.”
The Greek says, “We gave birth to higher
mathematics.” The Italian says, “We built
the Roman Empire.” All day long, back
and forth. Finally, the Greek guy says, “We
invented sex!” And the Italian says, “Yeah,
but we introduced it to women!”
—Unknown Comic #3, Figawi Annual
Sunday Morning Joke-Telling Session
First off, as the senator himself might say,
we need to make one thing perfectly clear.
Yes, there’s no question that he’s had some
well-chronicled misadventures in these
waters, and you may or may not necessarily
care for his politics, but the man definitely
is a sailor, and a good one at that.
Approaching that finish line, we just
needed to keep our air clear and get across
cleanly when Kennedy’s Mya came rolling
up on our weather quarter. Stu asked
if we had room to cut ahead, and before
he had a definite answer, the wheel was
over and we were slicing over and past the
schooner, with perhaps a boat length to
spare. Kennedy, regal behind the wheel,
couldn’t have been more nonplussed. He
kept his perfectly trimmed boat—with all
sails flying—rolling right along. Midway
through the maneuver, I glanced back,
did a double take, and realized precisely
whom we were dealing with.
For the crew of Summer Breeze, it was our
very first Figawi, and we wouldn’t require
the Mount Gay hats to commemorate it.
We had our souvenir. F
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—H.M.