This article first appeared in the March 2016 edition of Freshwater News.  Want to race but don’t want to stress?  Want to avoid the protest room?  Want to justify beers DURING a ra…nevermind.  Just check out a local beer can race…

A few years ago, my ever-patient wife and I took some friends out for a Friday night beer can race on the Columbia River.  It was a beautiful evening, with unusually light winds, and a beer can fleet consisting of a nice mix of both experienced and newbie racers, with the crew of Legacy, our Catalina 36, falling somewhere in the middle.

Well, the light-to-non-existent winds meant that any sort of pre-start maneuvering was going to be dictated more by the late summer current than any sort of time/distance genius calculations dreamed up by your skipper.  For proof you need look no further than the fact that we crossed the line after (I think) the starting signal had sounded, which was all well and good except for the small detail that we did it stern-to-the-line (which is a nice way of saying that we started the race pointed backwards).

Had this been an actual race, I don’t even want to think about the histrionics and consternation that would have accompanied our less-than-stellar start.  This being a beer can however, we did what any reasonable crew would do: we opened a few more beers, casually turned the wheel from time to time, and waited to swing around as we drifted down to the upwind mark, if a mark can be called that when there isn’t enough breeze to extinguish a match, much less fill a sail.

And therein lies the beauty of the beer can race.  A no scores, no protests, no worries kind of race where anyone is invited, regardless of skill or experience (which does occasionally make the starting sequence interesting), and gives everyone a chance to have some racing fun without blowing an aorta (for the most part).

I’ve beer canned with guys who’ve crossed oceans, and on at least one occasion I’ve beer canned with someone who was white-knuckling it in seven knots of wind (okay, maybe she wasn’t having quite as much fun as the rest of us).

Try as I might, I haven’t been able to track down the origins of beer can racing (you, gentle reader, are more than welcome to enlighten me).  A quick Google search of “Origins of beer can racing” usually gets me nothing more than the origin of the beer can.  The kind that holds actual beer.  Relevant to the subject at hand, but not exactly what I was looking for.

I know this: just about anywhere you find sailing, you’ll find the beer can race in one form or another.  In Portland, you’ll find it just about every Friday evening in the summer, and throughout the winter with Sailing on Sunday series (not technically a beer can race, but at that time of year, keeping the beer cold isn’t much of a challenge).  Up north in Seattle, they have something called “Goosebumps.”  Basically, a version of the beer can, sailed on Lake Union with a view of the beautiful Seattle skyline as a backdrop.  I have a sailing friend up in those parts who can attest that for much of the series, the name of the regatta is appropriate.  Like, really appropriate.  The fact that the post-Bumps rally is at the old Ivar’s Salmon House (and probably the Sloop Tavern as well) doesn’t hurt.

My younger sister got her first beer can experience in the toniest of locations, sailing out of the Shelter Island Yacht Club in Shelter Island, New York.  For the uninitiated, Shelter Island lies in the northeast corner of Long Island, and is accessible only by yacht or ferry.  How wealthy is the place?  One Jimmy Buffett used to own a summer home there, that is until he convinced me, and thousands of other Parrotheads, to buy “Margaritaville” for the umpteenth time, and moved his summer operations to nearby Sag Harbor.  In the meantime, my older brother Mike took my younger sister Jeanine out for a beer can in Dering Harbor, about as perfect a New England harbor setting as you’re ever likely to see.  And no, I don’t have any idea whether they substituted Courvoisier for cans of beer on board, just as I have no idea whether or not they traded tacks with descendants of Mike Vanderbilt (although I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that they had).  I do know that they had every bit as much fun in the land of old money as I have out in the Columbia River.  Post-race cocktails at the Shelter Island Yacht Club bar only added to the atmosphere.

Speaking of my older brother, compelled as he is to take just about any concept to levels of near-perfection, back in his home port of Savannah, Georgia (or more specifically Skidaway Island) he’s managed to put together a substantial fleet of Rhodes 19’s (part of the national Rhodes 19 Class Association).  The more competitive members of The Landings Yacht Club get out on a pretty regular basis and put their Rhodes fleet through the paces almost every Friday night in the summer and fall.  Having visited that particular club myself, I have a feeling that it’s a touch more formal than Portland’s or Seattle’s version of a beer can race, but they certainly maintain their sense of humor, as my sister-in-law Debbie learned one evening when the crew on her Rhodes managed to hoist their chute SIDEWAYS.  The comments (over post-race cocktails) about their having invented a new way to fly a spinnaker only served to further prove that, when we’re not really keeping score, just about ANYTHING on the race course can be considered fun.

What’s all this mean?  I’m not actually sure, but how about this: every so often, it doesn’t hurt to forget about throwing the perfect tack or gybe.  It’s okay to occasionally not worry about your sail trim.  Hell, it’s even okay to raise your spinnaker sideways (or at least encourage the guys on the boat next to you to do it).  So whether you’re new to sailing or you’ve been around the course a few times, give a beer can race a try sometime.  Just leave the attitude at home.

Remember the beer, though…