The Value of Rail Meat

A few years ago, I was invited to race on a fairly new, hot racing boat here in SoCal for a popular race.

The invitation was exciting–this was a fast boat with a mostly younger crew of rising stars. That is, until positions were assigned on the way to the starting line with me as the designated rail sitter.  

It felt like second grade all over again, getting picked last for the recess kickball team. My ego was bruised. I had far more experience than most folks onboard but, aside from the owner, no one knew who I was. (I should also mention that I weighed more than the rest of the crew too, so there was that).

After a few minutes of asking myself why I had committed to ten miles of sitting on the rail, I changed my attitude. If I was going to be rail meat, I was determined to be the best rail meat ever.

Instead of questioning tactics, headsail selection, or interpretations of barging rules under my breath, I focused on what I could do to help the team win.

Each tack, I was the first on the high side. I was first to spot kelp and gave clear hand signals about whether to go up or down to avoid the kelp paddies. I also helped call puffs and likely shifts as they approached us in tight racing.

Even smaller boats need occasional weight on the rail. Left: J/80, PIKE. Right: Melges 24, SUNNYVALE. Photo © Jan Anderson. 

Near the top of the course, I found myself reflecting on the last two hours and decided that being on the rail wasn’t so bad after all. I’d contributed meaningfully–and our team was setting up to round the windward mark in first place. I started looking forward to a fun downhill run to the finish.

While on the layline, one of the college-aged crew members nudged me and said, “Sir, have you trimmed asymmetrical spinnakers before? The tactician wants to know if you’d like to take that on.”

All my hard work had been noticed in the cockpit, and they wanted to reward my effort with an important role as the breeze built.

(And they called me “Sir”. What the hell was that about? I was still only in my 40s!)

Trimming on the long downwind leg was a blast. We accelerated in the puffs and extended our lead. With each jibe, our boat speed improved as we found our rhythm between the driver, mainsail trimmer, and me. We ended up winning our class–beating some of the top boats in our region.

As we debriefed after the race, one of the young crew members came up to me and said, “You were an animal up there, hopping side to side under the boom on every tack. That really helped us hold our speed out of the tacks and squeeze out the other boats. Good job.”

“Gee, thank you!” I gushed.

One of the takeaways from that day: good teams are built around the sum of their parts, not the size of any one person’s résumé. Skippers need to make crew assignments based on the best crew combination. In my case, as the heaviest crew member, they needed me on the rail.

Another lesson was to check my ego at the dock. My crew shirt from another hot boat did not earn me instant street-cred, and it didn’t mean I was owed anything. I had to earn the skipper’s confidence to trim for him as I would expect others to do when I am skippering my own boat.

Since then, I’ve had more appreciation for crew members willing to do anything to help the boat go faster. When I am the one handing out crew assignments, I try to recognize those efforts and pay those compliments forward.

Brendan Huffman is the co-owner of UK Sailmakers Los Angeles loft. He is a seasoned cruiser and racer, including ten races to Hawaii, as a skipper, driver, trimmer, bowman, watch captain—and doesn’t mind sitting on the rail.