Builders Who Can't Stop Racing

Bruce Kemp

With a predominantly family crew at Antigua Sailing Week, Cuyler Morris (Morris Yachts) steers his Morris 48, Firefly.

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Cuyler Morris took a long, hard look at the mark ahead, glanced back over his shoulder at the fleet of boats astern, and made the call: "OK, let's get set up for a jibe." It was the fourth day of racing during last May's edition of Antigua Sailing Week, and his crew-the majority of which was made up of fellow Morrises, including his wife, Cindy; sons Sam, 10, and Thomas, 4; and his 8-year-old daughter, Sophia-sprang into action ("sprang," of course, being a relative term).
Cuyler Morris took a long, hard look at the mark ahead, glanced back over his shoulder at the fleet of boats astern, and made the call: "OK, let's get set up for a jibe." It was the fourth day of racing during last May's edition of Antigua Sailing Week, and his crew-the majority of which was made up of fellow Morrises, including his wife, Cindy; sons Sam, 10, and Thomas, 4; and his 8-year-old daughter, Sophia-sprang into action ("sprang," of course, being a relative term).

Joking aside, after several months of cruising the Caribbean aboard their Morris 48, Firefly, the clan very much had their collective sea legs beneath them. When Morris had first come up with the idea of a season-long hiatus from the family boatbuilding business back home in Bass Harbor, Maine, a week of racing in the famous blue waters off Antigua had been a central part of the plan.

A world-class Star sailor who'd once mounted an Olympic campaign in the two-man keelboat, Morris is one of many accomplished builders who love to race-we'll profile four others here, as well, for they're all cut from the same competitive cloth-and he knows the game well. To underscore that point, Firefly had wracked up three consecutive victories in the Cruising Class at Antigua, and on this 21-mile contest from Falmouth to Jolly Harbour, his handsome, green 48-footer was once again vying for the lead. One more jibe and we'd round the final downwind mark, then harden up for the beat to the finish.

The team mustered to their stations. Bowman Sam, a racing helmsman himself when skippering his Optimist pram, pranced forward to help jibe the poled-out jib. At middeck, Cindy literally closed the book on the tale she'd been reading to the crew's younger set and herded the posse below. Once everyone was ready, Morris deftly spun the wheel, and the maneuver went off flawlessly in the staunch easterly trades. When everything was settled on the fresh jibe, Cindy and the kids emerged from the cabin and resumed positions in the shade of the headsail. "OK," she said, cracking open Robert McKloskey's ever-so-appropriate Burt Dow: Deep-Water Man. "Let's finish the story."

Up the Ranks
Surprisingly, in his formative years, Cuyler Morris' sport was tennis, not sailing. Then again, his dad, Tom, was a formidable seaman in his own right, and he certainly wasn't the first son who felt an urge to step off the path his father had blazed. That changed when he was 15 and a neighbor named Elliott Wislar invited him to crew in a Fourth of July regatta in the burgeoning local J/24 fleet-and they promptly won. "Wow," thought Morris, "this is kind of fun." He'd taken the bait, and the hook was set.

He stuck with the J/24 through his teens and early 20s, then stepped onto the career path of many a sailing-crazed lad and started running, and racing, offshore IMS boats. That landed him in the sights of another would-be mentor named David Elliman, for whom Morris ran the racing program aboard his 42-foot IMS boat, Dragonfire. One day after sailing, Morris allowed how, in a perfect world, he'd love to get a hold of a Star boat and really dedicate himself to learn the fine points of close-quarters racing, perhaps even take a shot at an Olympic berth.

"Well, you should do it," said Elliman.

To which Morris replied, "It takes a lot of money."

With that, Elliman pulled out his checkbook. "He wrote me that first check to go out and find a used boat and get going," says Morris. "He was a huge supporter."

Over the next several years, Morris threw himself into Star racing at its highest levels, sailing more than 150 days annually and competing in the class's biggest events against its very best sailors, guys like Vince Brun and Mark Reynolds. Though he never did land a spot on the Olympic team, he made a name for himself with his consistently high finishes, and he never took for granted the opportunity he'd been given. "It was a dream, a gift," he says. "Being in the Star class was kind of like going to graduate school in performance sailing. It was a great bunch of people, a great boat, and I learned a ton."

Today, with a young family and a successful business, Morris doesn't have the time to devote to sailing that he once did, which is probably why he seemed to be enjoying himself so much in Antigua. But he still is a full-on ambassador for sailboat racing. "There are so many tiers to the sport, there are so many levels to choose from," he says. "It sharpens every sailor's focus and makes you better."

Firefly won the fourth race, and then the fifth the next day, to emerge victorious in the Cruising Class with nothing but bullets. "Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined the week we had," he says. "And with just a pole and a jib. It was the first time in my entire life that I raced a big boat without a quiver of sails. And it was the most fun."

Actually, the best part came at the awards ceremony at the end of Sailing Week. "We were sitting between all these professional crews, all in their uniforms, and I looked over and there were my kids, who'd been growing up on the boat right before my eyes," says Morris. "What a great time we had."

Catching Oysters
Richard Matthews, skippering another entry in the Cruising Class at Antigua, an Oyster 70 called Ravenous, was impressed with Firefly's strong results for the week. "It's a cracking good boat, and they obviously sailed it well," he says.

The founder and driving force behind Oyster Yachts, Matthews knows a thing or two about winning at Antigua and, for that matter, in countless other venues the world over. Last spring, aboard Ravenous, the series was a bit of a lark, as he'd recently taken the boat in trade and was there just for the fun of it. But on his own series of tricked-out, competitive Oysters-all called Oystercatcher, and ranging in size from 52 to 72 feet-Matthews has won his division in Antigua at least a half dozen times. "It's one of those regattas where cruising boats have a chance to do some real racing," he says.

Matthews understands the "real racing" scene. He's been at it for decades, and in that time he's raced across the Atlantic seven times and competed in 20 Fastnet Races, including the deadly edition in 1979, when he retired after enduring a knockdown some 20 miles from Fastnet Rock, a decision he wrestles with to this day. His favorite Fastnet memory is more upbeat, and it came the year he sailed the custom-built 35-foot Oystercatcher IV and learned, upon reporting his position at that rock via radio, that he held a 22-minute lead over the entire field. "First in class, first in fleet," announced the radioman. "Good luck."

"Then," recalls Matthews, "off Plymouth Harbour, the wind died, and we kedged for three hours within sight of the finish line. So I probably had my best and worst Fastnet moment in the same race." And while Oystercatcher IV was nipped for the overall prize, she still won her class, giving the tale at least a partially happy ending.

Over the years, Matthews says he's seen big changes in yacht racing, particularly with the sport's offshore discipline. "When I started offshore racing, the boats were more seaworthy in the sense that they provided creature comforts for the crew," he says. "There were proper watches, and people would go below to eat and put their pajamas on. It was a whole different deal."

The game changed, he says, in the mid-1980s, when boats got much lighter and crew weight became a major issue. It just wasn't much fun to sit on the rail for days on end, and the onslaught of professional crews added another new dimension. More sailors opted for round-the-buoy sailing: They'd race for a few hours, then sleep between fresh sheets afterward.

"I don't think it's an age thing," says Matthews. "I think I'm as keen as ever. It's the core activity that's changed. More boats have pro crews now, and I'm a dinosaur in that I still like to sail my own boats."

Of that, there's no doubt. Matthews is one of the few sailors alive who's owned a 12-Meter and an International America's Cup Class yacht, spanning the modern era of Cup campaigners. These days, the primary boats in his racing life are extreme opposites: On one hand, he's restoring a 110-year-old, gaff-rigged 50-footer designed by William Fife, which he plans on entering in a classic Fife regatta in Scotland next year. "Hopefully, she'll be the belle of the ball," he says wistfully.