Let me introduce myself. My name is Mainsail…..America’s Cup Class Mainsail to be exact. It is a very prestigious surname and will tell you a lot about my pedigree and the kind of pressure that I have on my shoulders. Along with my brother Genoa and my cousin Spinnaker we are a bit like the heart and muscles of the thoroughbred that is currently racing for the oldest sporting trophy in the world. If it wasn’t for us, sailing boats wouldn’t exist, and nor in that case, would yacht racing. My life expectancy is pretty limited but I lead a pretty exciting life.
Everything begins as an idea in the head of my creators – the sail designers. Before giving birth to me, they have taken time to study my twin sisters and spoken long and in detail about my form, the direction of my fibre and my triangular shape… everything that basically makes me not only elegant, but a very good performer. After hours of research and work, there I am. I don’t actually look like very much at first – a simple computer design that has designated my chromosomes.
To accelerate my growth I am sent to spend a week in Nevada in the States, with my friends the 3DL. It is there where I develop my fabulous plastic. Every small detail is taken care of. A special mould is prepared for me, first installing a layer of Mylar before injecting carbon and Kevlar fibres and then recovering it all with another layer of Mylar. A few hours to cook under an infra-red lamp and I’m ready. Well, almost.
On return to HQ in Valencia, where I am soon to have my début, I have to be given the final touches so I can be totally adapted to the mast I have been assigned to. I’m also given my batten pockets and my brother the Genoa is given the protection of spreaders from the sail maker. This time we really are ready and prepared to finally go out and enjoy the soft Mediterranean breeze.
I get to meet my new colleagues, the Mast and the Boom and it all goes well. The grinders start to work the winches to unfurl my 200m² of fibre. Right from the very first tack the whole team have their eyes firmly fixed on me. My life as a celebrity begins right there. People are taking photos of me from absolutely every angle imaginable and I know that a great deal is expected from me. Back on land and in the sail shed I’m given a bit of an extra face lift and a few final touches. Just a few more practice runs and I will be perfect for the grand première.
It’s the morning of D-day and our team are studying the weather conditions before the casting begins. Who among us will be the privileged one chosen to go out on show for the race? The selection is made from our weight: the lighter the wind, the lighter we have to be. Knowing that the total weight of sails on board is limited to 650kg, the extras are carried on the tender. My double, another mainsail is there; ready to replace me if anything should go wrong.
Down in the sewer, the spinnakers are a little cramped in their packing, but it is for their own good. It protects their ‘youth’ from the spray because they have a nylon skin that is more porous than our carbon Kevlar. With time they tend to absorb moisture and get heavier. But their advantage is that they are more easily repaired than us and they live longer. The spinnaker really does look quite magnificent with its 500m² spread of material. But when it has to be hauled in it’s another story. To make things a little easier, a very practical system was invented by the crew – a spinnaker bag, like a large sock that is set up inside the hull, and runs from one end of the boat to the other. It quite literally sucks in the large nylon handkerchief with a special ‘retrieving line’ – a very light piece of polypropylene that is activated on the deck by the grinders. The spinnaker is hauled down in the middle of the boat like in some dinghies. Just a few seconds later it disappears into the sewer.
Back on shore everyone lavishes us with full attention, but once on the water there is no time for politeness. We are often mishandled in manoeuvres and the genoas are the first to be affected. They are stretched, tensed, and torn on every tack. I won’t tell you what kind of state we end up in after matches with over 20 tacks on each leg. We age quite badly; it seems it’s the genetics - the carbon tends to get damaged when we are dropped, especially the genoas, and after being stretched in every direction we crease and lose shape. After 150 hours of good, loyal service to racing the show is over for me. And it is even worse for the genoa. Their career span depends on the number of tacks that are put in by the boat and it rarely goes over 200!
When the retirement bell rings the luckiest among us are recovered, and calmly end their days on a cruise yacht. Unfortunately the opportunities for this are rare because we are too light as we have been specially moulded for the America’s Cup class boats, and that makes re-cutting difficult. Very few sail makers can receive sails with these measurements. Members of the sail team try to recycle as much as they can by letting their imagination loose. We are sometimes even used as decoration to line the walls of a team base (Luna Rossa in Valencia) or more pragmatically as a shower curtain or hand bag! It’s a quite strange way of ending your days after such a high-profile career you might say, but we hold no grudges. To have lived those 150 hours of glory in one of the most prestigious races in the world is really worth absolutely everything.
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