Sailing the San Diego Leg of the 2025 Newport to Ensenada Race
By Rachel Kennett
We rolled in like desert sailors do: dusty, wide eyed, and clearly not from around here, stepping into a gleaming yacht club with a wall of trophies and framed photos under glass. But the Bahia Corinthian Yacht Club didn’t flinch. They welcomed us with warm smiles and good sailing advice, even name dropping our own Debbie Huntsman, recently relocated and fondly missed, who’d taught our contact a motorboat safety course. Small world, smaller water.
Rolling in the Deep, a Hobie 33 with Arizona dirt still in the bilge made her dramatic entrance via hoist and promptly got stuck in the mud. Low tide. Of course. Pam Neff, a woman powered by pure determination, shoved her free like it was nothing. And with that, we were officially afloat. Rich Alverson expertly nudged us into our slip with Mediterranean-style flair and bow-out docking, like we do every weekend. (We don’t.)
Rich Alverson, our captain, and his brother Mike were fulfilling a dream of once again racing offshore — Mike flew in from his home in Idaho, even missing his anniversary! Here’s the rest of the crew:
- Me, Rachel Kennett, on nav
- Joel Oglesbee, backup nav and gadgets guy
- Pam, aforementioned problem solver
- Gary Eagle, Navy vet and the guy who always knew the right thing to do
Starting at 11 a.m., fleets launched from two different start lines every five minutes. Fortunately, the VHF called out each fleet, but it was still the best kind of sailing pandemonium. Our start was with six other boats, and the conditions couldn’t have been better, with 8 to 12 knots of wind and 3 to 4 foot swells. We tacked and re-tacked to position ourselves, just skimming the committee boat and hitting the line right as the horn blew! It is the kind of start you cheer for, and we did!
Every one of us was called up as rail meat, grinning as we bounced down the coast. We held with our fleet for a few hours and all the while doing PHRF math: who owed us time, and who we owed it to? The wind stayed consistent as we hugged the coast through Dana Point, and then a hard veer offshore put us right along the layline.
Into the Dark
This wasn’t a buoy race; it was a border run. We’d sail downwind most of the race south into Mexican waters, through a few unlit islands, then tack upwind north back to San Diego. Luckily, the coastline was bright with city lights, as those islands had turned into nothing but dark areas in the sea.
We all scanned for the break in the islands where we’d tack, our cue to turn north. Then, one light, which should have drawn closer, seemed to stay with us. We were near the front of the pack! But we tacked too soon, aiming for the gap before we’d cleared the island’s wind shadow. Boats with more experience, who’d run this course before, gave the island (just a huge rock cliff) a wider berth. They caught a better breeze and slipped past while we fought to keep moving. We trimmed and tacked, working every puff to get the boat moving again. We sailed our hearts out, and although that gap didn’t grow, we couldn’t close it.
The Morning After
There was no finish line fanfare, just two waypoints marked on a GPS screen and six very tired souls cheering in the dark. We’d done it. Five desert lake sailors, one Idahoan, one ocean, sixteen hours mostly in the dark – and worth every minute. They say that N2E is won or lost at night, and if so, we left nothing on the table.
Back on shore, the Silver Gate Yacht Club welcomed us with hot coffee and kind faces. The next day, at the trophy ceremony, we walked in, assuming we’d finished last. We didn’t care. We were proud that we’d completed the race – we’d done it. But then they called our name: ORCA for PHRF Highest Corrected. We were stunned, elated, and maybe hamming it up a little.
It wasn’t just holding a trophy – it was the validation that we’d belonged out there. That the race wasn’t just for the polished boats and professional crews. It was for anyone brave enough to hoist a sail, to push off from shore, and to keep going long after the shoreline fades.