There is more than one than one explanation for the sailing term: beer can racing.
Wednesday night racing is a long standing summer tradition in the Santa Cruz harbor. I wanted to watch them head out for a while and it was a lovely coastal California afternoon. Mid 70s and a cool outdoor air conditioning breeze. Rusty was happy.
Some people say the term beer can racing comes from the informality of laying a trail by tossing empty beer cans into the boat wakes.
In Santa Cruz the Wednesday night races are a chance to get the boat out and hit the wind line outside the harbor entrance. Summer winds almost always blow down the coast in the afternoon, strong and predictable.
The Santa Cruz Yacht Club is the nominal organizer and they have the use of a crane to launch boats they keep on trailers in the parking lot. The other club members have a cook out. I was on my way to see if Tim was on his boat and walked unseen past the club.
In Santa Cruz the beer can races were named, as I was told long ago because if you wanted to crew you stood on the end of the dock near the harbor mouth holding a six pack to pay your passage on any passing boat that might take you.
You can see the marine inversion layer, a cloud bank that hangs low over the water. It’s created by the cooler air over the ocean mixing with the hotter air from the land. It can give a summer day a gloomy drizzly look which I always found off putting.
The northern end of Monterey Bay is marked by Seal Rock, the lump covered with sea lions. Beyond it you can see the lumpy ocean waves frothed up by the coastal northwest winds blowing into the bay. The big waves running down the headland is Steamer Lane a world renowned surfing destination.
Most of the boats in Santa Cruz are designs from when I used to live in the harbor and sailed these waters. This is a Santana 30 as shown in the design on the sail.
This is a venerable Columbia 50 hull number 23. They are an old fashioned design from the 1960s still enjoyed half a century later.
Three buds out sailing a small Hunter being pushed out into the wind by a Mercury outboard:
GER means Germany in international racing sail boats. How this one got here, who knows.
The Santa Cruz Harbor was built on a river and the mouth is kept open during winter storms by a dredge sucking sand out of the channel. The breakwater is created by cement “rip rap” blocks piled up to hold back the wave action.
Driftwood gets blown up by the strength of some storms. Waves can be so fierce especially in winter they pluck unsuspecting people off the tallest cliff tops and they almost inevitably drown.
The yellow buoy in the harbor mouth channel marks the location of the dredge pipe which the dredge barge will hook up to when it sucks sand out of the channel. In winter the harbor has to be kept open for commercial fishermen not pleasure sailors!
A red Santa Cruz 27 easily identified by the square sided cabin and front facing window. These boats were designed to race in these conditions, like Webb’s Moore 24 also designed and built in Santa Cruz. The wind always blows in one direction and the boats are light weight and designed to surf easily at speed down the Pacific Ocean’s rolling waves.
Santa Cruz is famous for the boardwalk on the beach. You can ride the 1906 wooden roller coaster and get glimpses out to sea as you top a curve. The water is always cold rarely reaching 70 degrees. I had a girlfriend who loved to swim in the bay and that cold water put our relationship to the test.
When the sun goes down the beach gets unbelievably cold and hard core enthusiasts bring wood to light fires in approved rings. I longed for tropical Florida weather when I sailed here.
You have to be tough to sunbathe.
Notice the heavily dressed fisherman. He’d have heat stroke in Key West.
The popular walk out the breakwater. Rusty charmed all the walking women who stopped to pet him.
He lives the cool air and many smells of Santa Cruz.
Some good changes have come to Santa Cruz with more beach access for dogs, including here. Rusty is nervous off leash so requiring him to be tied to me is no restriction at all for the strange dog in a strange land.
The harbor patrol walked by just as Rusty chose to lay an egg. “ I guess I’ll have to pick that one up,” I joked as I deployed the bag I had ready. They surprised me by laughing good naturedly.
A very enjoyable afternoon for an old sailor. I hope you liked the pictures.
