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Aloha spirit abounds
at Transpac

How next month's centennial Transpacific Yacht Race began was the subject of last week's column. But, as you might expect with a 100-year-old race, there's more to the story than just how it got started.

For example, there are all the aspects of what makes this event so unique compared to any other open-ocean yacht race.

There's the length, of course, at 2,225 nautical miles, and the fact that its course runs around one of the most significant high-pressure ridges in earth's atmosphere. The clockwise rotation of air from this "Pacific High" allows racers to run before the consistent tradewinds for days on end.

But, there is, perhaps, no other aspect of the race that has endeared Transpac to its participants more than the "aloha" welcome at the finish in Hawaii.

It's one tradition that has no equal in the world of yacht racing. And whether the boats were moored in Honolulu Harbor prior to the Ala Wai harbor's development, or along the Ala Wai's famous "Transpac Row," the warmth of the greeting has endured since the first race in 1906.

In recent years, after crossing the finish line off the Diamond Head Lighthouse, every boat is individually escorted into the harbor.

As they pass by the Hawaii Yacht Club, Hawaiian music begins playing from loudspeakers and an elongated aloha echoes across the water. That enthusiastic greeting is then followed by the announcement of the name of each boat's owner and every sailor aboard.

Still, the best is yet to come. Once the boat is moored in its assigned slip, dozens, if not scores of volunteers, family and friends surround it in a party atmosphere that knows no time limits.

Rain, sun, early mornings or late nights, there is no hour of the day or weather condition that can put a damper on the celebration.

There are people with their arms loaded with flower leis, tables crowded with platters of pupus, coolers full of mai tais and, of course, music blaring loudly.

I've often theorized that there is a therapeutic value in this aloha the sailors love so much, because the last few hours of the race can often be the most harrowing.

All too often, boat gear that has functioned well for more than 2,000 miles suddenly breaks from the strain of weathering the increased winds in the Kaiwi (Molokai) Channel.

Imagine the stress local sailors Dan Doyle and Bruce Burgess felt in the 2003 Transpac when their spinnaker sail suddenly wrapped around the head stay in 30-knot winds and 10-foot seas.

It was at night and there were just the two of them, but somehow Burgess got up the mast to cut away the sail and they eventually set sail again to win in their division.

Think they weren't a bit hyper when they hit the dock?

Combine that stress with a certain amount of sleep depravation and you can understand why Transpac racers so appreciate Hawaii's aloha welcome.