Through the dark, schooner race ends

ABOARD VIRGINIA

The sound of rubber boots squeaking on the wet deck is the first sign someone is coming. A black shape emerges from the dark. The shape has a voice but no face. It scurries past, shouting, "Strike the preventer and sheet in the foresail!"

You want to respond, so you teeter after the black shape into the blustery dark until you find yourself in a line of more black shapes. They appear to be holding the same wet rope, which at least you know is called a line.

From the blackness, a guttural command. You pull on the line, and pull, and pull, and - losing breath in this blind tug of war - pull and pull and pull until, mercifully, another command signals stop. Something has been accomplished. What, exactly, is not for you to worry about.

It's nighttime on the schooner Virginia during The Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race, a 127-mile trek from Baltimore to Hampton Roads.

It's important to get used to the dark, since it will be night for about 10 of the race's 15 hours. Only for brief spurts will the rain stop. It will be cold and windy all the time.

Twenty-six people - half professional crew members and half guests - are aboard Virginia, a 2004 reproduction of a 1916 pilot sailboat of the same name. Built for speed, pilot boats raced out to sea to guide incoming ships into the Chesapeake Bay and the port of Hampton Roads.

The 122-foot-long Virginia, constructed of choice wood from Central America, is the commonwealth's answer to Maryland's Pride of Baltimore II, an 1812-era clipper reproduction.

Pride won this race last year; Virginia won in 2007, setting a course record of 11 hours and 18 minutes.

At a party the night before the race, Jan - pronounced "Yohn"- Miles, captain of the Pride, stuck a fork in a brownie to create a ship model and used hand gestures to illustrate how a following wind could favor Virginia.

For example, Pride's rigging limits how far its sails can be opened for a downwind run, he said. He predicted the race would be decided at the start and after that would be "a parade" with no changes in position.

"Instead of strategy, it's all about who trips up," Miles said.

Twenty hours later, Virginia chased Pride. Problems with the main sail rigging at the starting line put it behind.

As night fell, Virginia's captain, Hank Moseley, lamented, "A stern chase is a long chase."

Soon it was a dark chase, as the iconic square topsails of Pride, about two miles ahead, faded into blackness.

The thrill of the race faded some with daylight. A more primal emotion took over. Winning was a distant second to survival, especially in cold, driving wind and rain.

You can't help but think that falling off a large boat traveling 10 knots in the middle of the dark, rough Chesapeake Bay would be the same as dying. Could you really be found? Would anyone even see you go over?

For this reason, everyone aboard put on safety harnesses, which clip into lines running along both sides of Virginia's deck.

The crew is broken up into three watches. Watch leaders need to know your every move.

At night, you can't see much, but what you can see takes on great significance. On the practical side, you watch for the surprisingly small lights of tugboats pulling huge barges, container ships and other racing boats, as well as the flashing beacons of channel markers and lighthouses.

On the poetic side is the heaving Bay, black except for the brilliant white foam of breaking waves, lit up by bioluminescence, glowing plankton that alongside Virginia's hull looks like a meteor viewed from a spinning merry-go-ground.

To preserve night vision, the deck of Virginia is almost completely without light, especially "white light," which is expressly forbidden. A flashlight in the main cabin below can bring howls from the crew. Instead, red light is used sparingly, mainly in the navigation room, bathrooms and galley, or kitchen.

"Try seeing if something is done under a red light," ship chef Carey Draeger quipped.

In the red glow of the navigation room just before midnight Thursday, a computer monitor shows Virginia trailing Pride by 2-1/2 miles.

In the cabin below, called the main saloon, a group comes off its watch and settles under wool blankets in their bunks for a nap. Falling asleep, senses sharpened by working in darkness, they hear the ship creaking as she heels over and shouts and the thudding on the deck above as the crew works. A man in yellow rain gear snores like a chain saw. Aboard Virginia, even sleep is physical. Muscles flex subtly to keep you in the bunk as the boat rocks back and forth. A few hours' sleep then back on deck.

After 15 hours of racing, crossing the finish line near the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel around 4:30 a.m.

is anti-climactic. A red-eyed Capt. Moseley, who hasn't slept, summons a small whoop of joy. The crew readies to strike the sails in rough water. A wave crashes over the stern, scattering the psychedelic plankton.

Second mate Ryan Graham rubs his hand in it.

"Disco deck," he says.

Virginia glides past Hampton and down the Elizabeth River to tie up in Portsmouth next to Pride of Baltimore II, this year's victor.

Aaron Applegate, (757) 222-5122, aaron.applegate@pilotonline.com