• Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

42 Kiss-ass

About JoeO

  • Rank
    Super Anarchist
  • Birthday 12/29/1960

Profile Information

  • Location

Recent Profile Visitors

9,282 profile views
  1. JoeO

    Chicago Boat, RV and Sail Show

    Why not try and leverage Yachtapalooza at Crowley's in the spring? Everything you talk about is already in place there, except boat dealers. See if you and some of your cohorts can work out an arranegement to display there, and if it works, expand it next year to 2 days, more displays.
  2. JoeO

    J 88 North Americans

    But it's not like the J88 is the first class to wrestle with the rules regarding extension of the sprit at a mark or oversize spinnakers. The J70, J80, and (dare I say it) J105's - just to mention J-Boat examples, have all dealt with this long ago and there are well-established workable and understandable rules to cover these scenarios. Why is the J88 class re-inventing the wheel? I thik most J88 owners are well aware of these other classes and how these same rules work in this context.
  3. JoeO

    J 88 North Americans

    Since when is a jury required to accept the protestor's "solution"? I'm not a judge, I only play one on the water, but the Jury could just have DSQ'd the boat from the race where the infraction occurred. In fact, it is out of the ordinary for the described infraction to result in DSQ for all races in the series, unless there was evidence of some kind of improper behavior/configuration for all races in the series. This doesn't pass the smell test.
  4. JoeO

    Sail or Bail?

    Saw the boat when at the yard this past weekend... nothing more than a dumpster candidate.
  5. JoeO


    Well, sure... but where's the fun in that! Can't says as I've done the boom climbing thing myself since the late 90's...
  6. JoeO


    You guys with your "how-to" lists are missing the very first part... crawling up on the boom to run the reef line, which was dead-ended at the sheave at the end of the boom, through the reef cringle. First have someone stand by the mainsheet so you can use them as a ladder/handhold. Crawl up their backs and onto the boom, in a kneeling position, then with one hand grab the loose reefline and pull it from the sheave, with the other steady yourself against the leech of the main. Then standup at the end of the boom and lead the reefline through the cringle, from the windward side, then from the leeward side pull it down so it can be tied around the boom Try not to let your feet slip off the boom and land on your nuts Try not to slip off the boom and break your ankle dropping into the shelf of a non-loose-footed main Jump back down to the deck, preferably using your ladder/handhold assistant to break your fall Just like here (except halyards and bosun's chairs are for pussies)
  7. JoeO

    Chicago Area III

    Season must be over...
  8. JoeO

    J111 Worlds Chicago, IL

    That's right... F40 Worlds held in the US seem to get better international participation than the ones held in Aus... just sayin'... maybe coulda shoulda should re-think his rag on the J111 worlds.
  9. JoeO

    J111 Worlds Chicago, IL

    Right, like the 2016 Farr 40 Worlds in Sydney with only 3 non-Aus boats... only about half the number of non-local entries that last year's F40 Worlds in Chicago attracted.
  10. The trackers used for e.g., Mackinac races display Boat ID, SOG, COG, DTF and handicap placement (class and division).
  11. Perhaps one way to achieve the safety component of trackers while eliminating them as a tactical tool would be to have the trackers only display positions of boats without their identifying information or course/speed. This information would be "masked" unless you had the password for "full coverage" (available to the RC and CG only, for example). So the organizing authorities and CG would be able to identify individual competitors, but everyone else would just see anonymous boat positions (which could be delayed n hrs). In the event that a particular boat was in distress, then the RC/CG could "turn on" that boat's identifying information so that nearby competitors could determine (by knowing their own position via GPS) if they were in a position to assist. At the end of the event, the tracker would then show all identifying info, for historical analysis/interest.
  12. JoeO

    idiots in power boats meet regatta, video

    Yeah. It takes about a week.
  13. JoeO

    IOR Legend Sighting

    Probably did it back at the dock before heading out!
  14. It was 2AM and pitch black. No moon, no stars. Impossible to see. Driving rain. Howling wind. The boat bucked and lurched like a rodeo bull foaming at the mouth on PCP. Cold. Bone chilling cold. Like how your hand gets when you’re rooting around in the half-melted ice in the bottom of the cooler for that last can of Old Milwaukee. But no time for happy memories now. Must focus. No time now for distractions. He trimmed harder. Lines groaned. He groaned. Just a bit more. He could feel its effect now. A little bit more - not too much though. “If in doubt, let it out” was the old saw. Yes – that was it - perfect! Finally, he got his pipe berth in just the right position and drifted off into a psychotic slumber filled with visions of places he’d been and people he’d known, like that one barmaid he met during a stop on that delivery from Montserrat to Caracas, who asked if she could come along because she wanted to see her sister Cecilia who was going to be married next month to the son of the outhouse builder the next village over but she didn’t really like him but went along with it because she read in an old copy of “New Yorker” magazine about a guy who became fabulously wealthy by building buildings and making “developments” and so she knew in the deepest places of her heart that Rodrigo would well and truly be the “Donaldo Trump” of the Venezualan countryside. Sure, they would have to start small, maybe only a two-placer – but then, by employing a modular concept, they could grow and grow and grow… His reverie was short lived as his fellow crewmate that they called “Animal” attempted the impossible by trying to squeeze his 300+ lb physique of solid toned fat into the pipe berth above him, using every lurch of the boat to extrude his belly-rolls into the 8 inch rectangular orifice formed by the frame of the pipe berth and the deck above. With each pounding wave the stresses and strains took their toll; first tiny cracks appearing in the gelcoat above, then tiny cracks appearing in his ribs and sternum. “Aaarnml, wht thhh fckn yuuutryn do me oomph, ah!” he mumbled from the berth below, gasping for breath (not a wise idea, given the stench of vomit rising from the bilge joining forces with Animal’s savory body secretions). “Oh, sorry Joe, just figured it’d be better if I was up in the top berth” Animal retorted. “There is no top berth, that’s just for gear bags you overgrown Andre the Giant impostor!” This did not dissuade the porcine corpulent one from further endeavors. “Here - take my bunk, just let me get – oof – out of here”. With what seemed like his last breath (sucked in, no doubt), he extricated himself from the pipe berth and was launched, courtesy of the helmsman’s inerrant ability to slam the boat into the front of every 3rd oncoming wave, onto the teak-and-holly surfaced petri dish masquerading as a cabin sole. In the dim cabin, lit only by the glow of the red LEDs that made the B&G190 displays utterly unreadable and the ash at the end of the roach the navigator was bogarting, he groped for his mildewed Line 7 among the detritus. Thusly attired, he scrambled up the companionway ladder and belly-flopped onto the cockpit sole courtesy of yet another one of the helmsman’s attempts at eradicating all evidence of the boat’s forward progress. The brain trust on deck at that moment consisted of “Tug”, aka the human cleat, tending what remained of the flogging inside-out sliver of a mainsail, and “Scool”, the barefoot antipodean dancing about in the helmsman’s cockpit cum wheel-trough, generally losing his battle with maintaining control of his flailing appendages, not to mention the wheel. “Aaaay, maaaayte, aincha supposed to be off watch?” Scool inquired once his feet were firmly planted again on gelcoat. “Whaddyer doin’ out here in this bust up?” “Shaddup and give me the wheel” he barked, just as Scool slammed into another vertical wall of water, sending it blasting down upon the miserable figures huddled in the cockpit. The icy streams running down his neck and back failed to wake Tug from his reverie. Scool handed off the helm with a whirl and a twirl, and slithered down below to take his place among the groaning contingent of mal-de-mer aficionados who had transformed the cabin into such a pit of despair that would leave a Tower of London Guard quivering with fright. 2:30 AM, still pitch black, still cold as a New York feminist on Valentine’s Day. “Must be hell ashore on a night like this”, he thought.