2014 CCK Wednesday

2014 SUMMER WEDNESDAY CCK SERIES

2-Jul

9-Jul

16-Jul

23-Jul

30-Jul

13-Aug

20-Aug

27-Aug

TOTAL

POSITION

no race

HAD

no race

PBP

no race

θK

UJE

V∆V

Rumblefish

Blue Bayou

Xiphias

Whim

Raja

Ragwagon

Scup

Luciole

Luna Nova

Jolami

Hecate

Skimmer

Salty Dog

Defeat Snatched from Victory

July 9, 2014

By David Epstein

After all the heavy air this summer, it was refreshing to have a breeze that was below fifteen knots. But this time, it went far below that, and at crucial times. At the start of the race, the wind was ten to twelve knots from the southwest. The course was H,D,A. Translation: from a start in Great Harbor, a beat across Woods Hole Passage, and up the back of Nonamesset Island, to the ball by the house, under the bluff. Thence a run to mark D, which is green light buoy # 5, a.k.a. “the gaslight” across from Juniper Point, then another beat, back to the first range mark, A, and then a run back to Great Harbor. The current was running strong to the east. For nuances, this race had beats which sent boats scurrying for shore to evade the foul tide.

Ten boats came out. At the start it was Xiphias, from the middle of the line, reaching can nine first. Just above her was Scup, and just above Scup was Luciole. In the current plumes coming out of The Strait, Scup pulled head, footing slightly. While Xiphias followed (the Swordfish chasing the Porgy, dontcha just love it?), Luciole took a tack up behind Red Ledge. Several other boats did as well. It’s time to look ahead to the range marks. For those of you following along at home, this is a course we sail over and over again. To avoid foul current, it’s important for boats to tack into shore repeatedly. This does wonders for getting ahead of starboard tack boats, and then passing ahead of them when once a boat tacks. The problem with the range marks is that, being a fake shore, that shore is out in the foul current. Coming around the east end of Nonamesset Island, there are subtle lifts and headers. And if a boat takes that o-so-tempting puff on the starboard tack, it leads her astray off into the foul tide. Deceptive siren breeze! In practice, if you’re close to a boat that is enjoying a starboard tack puff, flop onto port, run in close to the rocks, and on the next tack, you’ll be ahead. Ragwagon and Blue Bayou used careful tacking to better their positions. Going into the range marks, it was Scup with the lead, followed closely by Luciole, Ragwagon, Blue Bayou and Whim. Whim and Scup tacked away from the beach first, while Luciole ran in closer to shore before heading for the first range mark. And thus, at the range mark, Luciole was suddenly in first.

But it was not to last: on the very next tack, Scup was coming out on starboard, and there was Luciole, on port, unable to clear. And behind Scup were Blue Bayou, and Xiphias, and the whole cast and crew of the June Taylor Dancers. So the Firefly tried to get ahead of the Porgy. Fatal mistake. She tacked, but too late, and thus fouled Scup. Luciole spun off into the foul current to do a penalty circle just as (Double Drat!) the wind died. And Luciole was spinning off like a World War I biplane in a dive. On the inside went Scup, in the lead, and then Blue Bayou, and then Xiphias, and Ragwagon, and several tourists who had fallen off the Island Queen.

By the time Luciole was headed up the course again, the wind was nearly absent, and the whole fleet was struggling to tack past the range marks. In the light air, it was time to pass Luciole. Luna Nova and Whim sped by on the outside, and then Rumblefish, too. And by the time Luciole finally reset her sails for the light air and got it going again, what had been first place was now a quarter-mile lag on the leaders. And Raja and Jolami were coming up behind, and there was nothing left for the erstwhile leader except her two favorite entrees, crow and humble pie.

Somewhere up ahead in the tacking, Xiphias and Ragwagon took over the one and two spots, followed closely by the charging Blue Bayou, then Scup and the youthfully crewed Luna Nova. After the leeward rounding, the breeze came up again, and there was a lovely tacking battle among Whim, Rumblefish, and Luciole. The Firefly redeemed herself, a little, by getting ahead of Rumblefish before the final weather rounding. And then, while Luciole tried something new in the current eddies behind Red Ledge, Rumblefish regained her position.

Results:

Xiphias (Michael Dvorak) 0:00
Ragwagon (Peter Ochs) 1:12
Blue Bayou (Tom Chase) 1:58
Scup (Chris Warner) 2:23
Luna Nova (Fran Elder) 2:27
Whim (Norm Farr) 4:19
Rumblefish (Greg Polanik) 4:47
Luciole (David Epstein) 5:10
Raja (Bruce Courcier) 7:54
Jolami (Andy Ellis) 12:20

Fine Finishing

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

By David Epstein

The Wednesday evening race arrived on long solid gusts. In fact, there was a half-hour delay so sailors could visit their respective houses of worship, say tearful goodbyes to loved ones, and make final donations to charitable causes. Then it was like Gallipoli, as crews headed out grimly in the wind that gusted above twenty knots from the southwest. On the Knockabouts, skippers set the “mandatory reef” in their mains. Knots were cinched with a sense of finality: tie ‘em tight, because we won’t be back to untie ‘em later. And then it was over the top, off the mooring, and the final lines of Fowles’ French Lieutenant’s Woman come to mind: “…out again, upon the unplumb’d, salt, estranging sea.”

The course was P, B, P., in your PFD. From a start in Great Harbor, a beat against the east tide up to Lackeys Bay, a run back to the third range mark near the east end of Nonamesset Island, a short return beat to Lackeys, and then a long run home to finish again in Great Harbor. Twelve boats came out to the start. Or maybe it was the finish, the end. It seems that the real effort, the actual fight, was in willing the will, against the will, to leave the shore. After that, all actions, all happenings, seemed more like water flowing downhill.

When twelve boats head for the starting line, there are strange massings. You’ve been on the highway, and seen cars all going in the same direction, bunched up. Go a little slower, and a bunch will pass you. Drive a little faster, and you come upon other bunches. In sail-racing, there are no neat pavement lanes, no lines. And until the start, there are no directions that need to be sailed. Each skipper sees boats as intersecting groups of vectors and trajectories. Sometimes you get lucky. You apprehend the extension, project into the future, and you can see: openings will occur here; and there. With a good spatial sense, it’s like seeing into that future. At the start, five or six boats were early to the line up by the committee boat, and ran down, banshees before the wind. Another group came up to the line from the lee, and headed up to stall, also early. And in the middle was Luciole, crewed by two fifteen year old girls, both too scared to scream. The gun sounded and all the transoms evened out and away they went.

Rounding number nine, it was Scup slightly ahead, sailing down from up high. Luciole was below her, and Hecate just aft of Scup. The fleet stretched out in the tacking across Woods Hole Passage and up under Nonamesset. Somewhere out there, Luna Nova noticed an equipment failure: the slug on the boom, out by the clew of the main, decided it had someplace else to be. It’s hard to sail without a clew. Luna Nova had to return to base in order to preserve her sail from the winds.

Xiphias moved up to challenge Scup. Hecate and Scup alternated positions on tacks, while Xiphias kept on closing on the two leaders. Blue Bayou quietly caught up by taking every tack in as close to the beach that she could. Coming “around the corner” of Nonamesset and into the full foul current of Vineyard Sound, the wind picked up, too. Gusts that had been congenial and advantageous now became gremlins to be wrestled. There was much working of the mainsail sheet. It took crews huge effort to crank the jib all the way in after tacking. At the range marks, Scup pulled ahead of Hecate. Xiphias and Luciole battled for position. Then Xiph caught too much foul current on the nose while Blue Bayou turned two tight tacks up the false shore fell in right behind Luciole. Then Blue Bayou simply pointed up and sailed right past the Firefly to lee. Why? Was there more current twenty-five-feet out further from shore? Possibly. Was Blue Bayou simply well sailed? Probably. Was Luciole devoid of any good Gris-gris? All of these? None of these?

Blue Bayou took over third place. Hecate attacked Scup. Off the House, Hecate managed to pull ahead. Or was that the second beat? From this great distance, only just after the race, it’s hard to remember. It’s busy work sailing in heavy air. Some might say thirsty work. All that salt spray, the gusts and lulls, the trimming of the sails. There’s something wrong with that term. This is not a holiday tree, with ribbons to be trimmed. It’s nothing dainty; it’s life-or-death. Well, okay, that’s an exaggeration. Perhaps it’s sink-or-swim. Okay, that’s a cliché. It’s sail or swim. The point is, with all that sailing, who can remember exactly when something happened? And on that brief first downwind leg, there was winging the headsail, there was pumping of the bilge. All that done by the crews, while the skippers hollered themselves hoarse from their stations by the tiller. Because we all know, truly, that the helmsman has the hardest job: sitting calmly, seeing all that needs to happen, and not doing any of it themselves.

Being in the lead is only sometimes a picnic. Often it’s being a rabbit chased by a hound. You are the hunted. You keep zigging and zagging, and the beast stays with you. You’re running for your life, and you can feel the monster’s hot breath on the back of your neck. First it was Scup’s turn as the tasty bait. And then, off the house, Hecate got ahead. And then, as reward, it was Hecate’s turn in front of the gnashing teeth of the pursuer. On the final run, Hecate was in first, Scup close behind, Blue Bayou also close, in third, then Luciole, then Whim, and then six more boats.

There are some races where finishing in the middle actually feels like more of victory than finishing first or second. As oxymoronic as this sounds, let’s look at why it might be so. Imagine a race where you get great start. You’re ahead in the race, and have clear air. You’re sailing well, the crew is hitting all the tacks just right, banging the jib over and getting it in quickly, and getting their weight where you need it. At each mark you round well, look back and see your lead has increased. Maybe someone narrows that gap a little here and there, but basically the race was yours from the beginning. You coast over the finish line with a feeling of well-being, and you’re on the porch with your feet up and a libation in hand as the other sailors return, carrying all their soaking gear. You are polite and humble, appreciative about the murmured congratulations. You are aware these congratulatory remarks are really just thinly-veiled condemnations of your character. You must have sold some part of your eternal soul to have sailed so well. And inside, where that cosmic Excel sheet always flickers, you’re sure there are several debits to the column that’s headed “Wholeness.” Such is victory.

Now imagine a race where you are in the pack, making good moves to better your position, and trying all the while not to yield. Boats above are sitting on your wind. Boats below are moving up to challenge. You know, over time, the fleet will string out. But until it does, can you challenge those ahead without getting caught from behind? Some days you just can’t do it. You get blanketed from above, the next boat comes up and sails over you, and o-so-familiarly, you work your way toward the back of the pack.

But some bright days, you seem to have a second brain, a metacognizance: you are aware of the locations and courses of the other boats. You continually look ahead and manage to keep clear air on tacks. You don’t get your wind sat on at all. You cover the challengers coming up behind you until, disheartened, the challenger’s skipper takes his or her cell phone out of its ziplock, and dials the therapist, looking for an earlier appointment. And if you can sustain this level of concentration, you might even pick up a boat or two, and you certainly defend ably. You never had the lead in your grasp, so you haven’t lost anything. And positions that you make to the good, they’re all like loot in your bag. The breath of the second place hound is always hotter than that of any others. In the middle of the pack, if you can better your position, you’re always a winner. In the lead, if you can’t maintain your position, you’ve lost something more precious than anything else you might win.

Crossing the first part of the Hole, in Broadway, Hecate stayed high. Scup stayed just a little higher, scooting even to weather. There was too much wind for the Three Sisters eddy to help Hecate. Coming across the Strait, Scup went above the green can, which allowed her a slightly faster crossing of the current plume. She scooted ahead of the Witch. I’ve seen it happen: both boats have their sails set perfectly; boat ahead defends well; boat behind attacks well. The positions switch, and maybe someone knows what happened, but sometimes not even the sailors themselves can tell. Was it current? Was it a private puff of wind? Was it even in the realm of justice? We’ll return to the end of the Fowles novel mentioned above. There you had the last line. The last line of this race is “Scup Won.” Here we give you the penultimate line from the novel, in this case read out by Hecate: “ …life is not a symbol, is not one riddle and one failure to guess it, is not to inhabit one face alone or to be given up after one losing throw of the dice; but is to be, however inadequately, emptily, hopelessly into the city’s iron heart, endured.” I guarantee you that, for Hecate, having been in first place and finished second, it didn’t feel anything like as good as Blue Bayou and Luciole and Whim, who finished third, fourth, and fifth. They all sailed hard in the middle, advanced their positions, and ceded little.

Results:

Scup (Chris Warner) 0:00
Hecate (Rick Whidden) 0:16
Blue Bayou (Tom Chase) 0:46
Luciole (David Epstein) 1:08
Whim (Norm Farr) 1:30
Xiphias (Michael Dvorak) 2:48
Ragwagon (Peter Ochs) 3:27
Skimmer (Fred Denton) 3:53
Rumblefish (Greg Polanik) 6:59
Jolami (Andy Ellis) 7:10
Salty Dog (Art DiRienzo) 10:01
Luna Nova (Fran Elder) DNF

Pack My Trunk

July 30, 2014

By David Epstein

Once or twice a season the xenophobic Woods Hole Fleet gets out to Falmouth. Not really deep Falmouth, just Surf Drive. Mark K is off Trunk River, and usually, in the common southwest breeze, that means a long, long run. And a long run from the start means that the fleet stays close, and arrives, pretty much as a pack at mark K, and then the battle begins.

The wind was indeed from the southwest, at a cheery ten to fifteen knots, but mostly steady. This was a welcome change from recent weeks when the breezes, in terms of sail-racing, were borderline apocalyptic. To avoid having a downwind start with thirteen boats, the course began with a brief beat to round one of the large house-floats. Jolami had a perfect start at the Committee-Boat end of the line, which resulted in Luciole incurring a penalty for barging. Blue Bayou bested the fleet in the three quick tacks there were to weather, and led a densely packed fleet off toward Nobska Point. Luciole haplessly swept up at the back of the line of boats.

Because the current was against the fleet all the way down to Surf Drive, the usual tactic is to hug the shore. Scup and Luciole went closer in along Nobska Beach, While Blue Bayou, Skimmer, and Hecate led the fleet. Rounding Nobska, Skimmer went closer in to shore and took over the lead. Blue Bayou was blanketed in the middle and tried several repositionings, none of which helped her. Between Nobska Point and mark K there is only one buoy that needs to be respected, which is designated mark Q on our racing charts. Several boats seemed to forget about Q, and the kindly sailors reminded their comrades of this—after those boats had sailed well inside it. It appeared that two of the three offenders returned to correct their course. The fine details of this part of the race are shrouded in a haze of shouts, intersecting sails, and the necessity of concentrating on sailing one’s own boat.

We have sailed this long run many times over the course of our sailing careers, and here’s what generally takes place: The boats at the back catch up, until the boats are one large family headed east. Looking at the finish times, notice that thirteen boats returned from a four-mile course within about three minutes of one another. At one point, five boats finished within fifteen seconds! And all of this happens because thirteen boats that weigh three-quarters of a ton each, on a long run against the current, collect together like so many dried autumn leaves blown upstream.

There’s nothing like a pack to teach the necessity of clear air. Skimmer stayed in, closer to shore, followed by Xiphias. Luciole came out of the scrum by Q more toward the front of the pack than the rear. Jolami, with a light-air crew (Yay Ava!), had struggled on the initial beat, and was sailing the rhumb line from dead last. In the strategy is the notion that inshore has less foul current. But no one went that far in. And Jolami, sailing the straight line, went from thirteenth place to round the leeward mark in second place! Unfortunately for her, the glory was over, as the long beat back ensued, and she lacked the rail-meat necessary to hold the boat down.

There were several close roundings. Skimmer was clear ahead. Scup snuck in behind Xiphias and tried to board over Xiph’s transom. Rumblefish and Raja blanketed Luciole, and Raja was very nearly contacted by the Firefly. As the fleet tacked offshore, the pleasure of the sport took over. It was windy, with a fair tide under the boats. The Wednesday evening race took on a quality of timelessness. The breeze was steady, with occasional puffs. The boats were all together, spread out across a quarter-mile, but all on starboard tack. The lowering golden sun was over the right shoulder, and the bows plunged on toward Nobska. In the chop over L’hommidieu Shoal, several boats took tacks up toward the lighthouse. Boats that stayed on starboard fared better: there was less time in the waves off Nobska Point. Skimmer stayed far ahead, flying in the clear air. Xiphias, having gone way out, pulled into second place. Scup and Blue Bayou went in toward the Nobska Rip. When they came out again, they were just behind Luciole. Luciole had a superb beat, and with the youthful crew hiking hard the whole time, they picked up several places in the fleet.

When it was over, this was not so much a race about winning and losing, but about the proverbial journey. Yes, points were won and lost, but there was some wonderful sailing. Had boats not raced, no one would have sailed that course, nor sailed it so well. There was the community of the downwind leg, and the test of the long beat back. It all ended beautifully, with enough breeze to keep the gnats and ‘skeeters off as we stood around the tailgate, telling it all over again, and toasting to the quality of our Mayflying lives.

Results:

Skimmer (Fred Denton) 0:00
Xiphias (Michael Dvorak) 0:42
Luciole (David Epstein) 1:00
Scup (Chris Warner) 1:27
Blue Bayou (Tom Chase) 2:03
Raja (Bruce Courcier) 2:07
Ragwagon (Peter Ochs) 2:08
Salty Dog (Art DiRienzo) 2:10
Jolami (Andy Ellis) 2:48
Hecate (Rick Whidden) 2:40
Rumblefish (Greg Polanik) 3:00
Whim (Brett Longworth) 3:09
Luna Nova (Fran Elder) 3:25

The Hand of the Wind

August 22, 2014

By David Epstein

Last Wednesday’s race belongs in the ongoing chronicle of the Summer of Strange Winds. The breeze was six to ten knots from the east. And it was nice out. Frequently east winds come with rain. But it was nice out. Twelve boats came to the start. The course was a beat to Nobska Point, a run back to little harbor, a short beat to Nobska Beach, and a run home. Adding in the usual complexity, the current was running to the west, moderately for Woods Hole. While most sailors would find the currents in Woods Hole confounding, the Knockabout sailors just lick their chops with anticipation. In the most basic sense, the current meant that boats could stay off the shore on the beats, and then dive back in toward the beach on the runs. But it is so much more complex than that. The shore has lighter winds. And the current varies, depending on where one is relative to the land. On the way out, there is the “wind shadow” of Juniper Point. On the way back, there is the “current shadow” on the east side of Juniper, and the wind shadow to the west. And then there is the old “three sisters eddy” play of sailing suicidally at Red Ledge to escape the worst of the current in Woods Hole passage.

Looking at the boats themselves, lest we give in to the notion that our fleet is aging out of relevance, it’s worth noting the youth movement among the crews. The big winners here include: Jolami, crewed by Juliana and Ava; Scup had Ella Belle; Salty Dog was crewed by Tom; Skimmer was skippered and crewed entirely by under-forty people, as was Luna Nova. And the race winner, Whim, had Kim and Hillary as crew. It’s also worth noting the general immaturity of the rest of the sailors. Racing sailboats is play, pure and simple. Okay, not exactly simple, but the complexity is what makes it fun.

The fun began with the fleet crossing the line on starboard tack, and then flipping onto port almost right away. The current plume coming down west of Grassy Island made for a lee bow, which made for a crush of boats at Can Nine. Then came the classic dilemma: how to get across the current at The Strait? In an east wind, Old Salt had once been on board when a boat simply feathered its sail and rode the current a hundred yards to weather. There are two problems with this. First, it’s counter-intuitive. The mantra of sailboat-racing is “Drive-drive-drive,” which means keep the boat moving. Imagine pointedly getting into irons while all the fleet sails on. Second, the architect of this maneuver, in the modern era, is Michael, who, on this particular evening, was skippering Xiphias. Strategy on that boat is decided by committee, which means whoever can yell the loudest. Evidently, the skipper on Xiph was overruled. Nor did any other boats dare try it.

Looking at the rest of the beat up to Nobska Point, it’s a wide open course. The only real mistake was to sail in under Juniper Point. Before the point, there’s less wind. After the point, there’s less fair current. So the point is: stay out off the shore, where there are plenty of lesser mistakes to be made. There, dilemmas abound: Is there better air further offshore? Is there better current over Great Ledge, or between the ledge and Little Harbor? What about taking a flyer to corners-ville and catching the Vineyard Sound current? Can one tack for the mark early and count on a lift from the current? Has one already over-stood?

Blue Bayou led in the tacking for Nobska. Nearby were Skimmer and Scup, while Whim, Ragwagon and Xiphias gave chase. Ragwagon came riding down on the sound current, while Scup pointed up to make the mark on the inside. Rounding the Nobska flasher, it was Blue Bayou by a bow, with Skimmer hot on her transom. The fleet dove for the beach, to get out of the current. The transition from the beat to the run is an aesthetic worth noting. One moment boats are crossing one another, on the wind, hailing for rights and for room, bounding along and bouncing in the waves. Then, on the downwind, it’s quiet. The apparent wind drops as the boats go with it. Boats that had been spread out across a half-mile of ocean are suddenly hanging together like clothes in a closet. People in opposing boats give each other those wan smiles of temporary enmity. But most of all, it’s the quiet glide of the run, everyone settled, sails set, strategy reduced to prayer. Since boats at the back get the air first, fleets tend to bunch up on the downwind leg. The beat had been long enough that the fleet was somewhat well-spaced, although Luna Nova, Rumblefish, and Luciole were close together in the middle. Up ahead, Skimmer cut ahead of Blue Bayou at the mark. Scup, Ragwagon, and Whim where close behind.

After the leeward mark, it was a beat, but only to mark E, which sits just off the big rock lurking offshore at the east end of Nobska Beach. This time there were no wild tactics, just a short beat up the middle of the course. Xiphias dropped back after a turn toward the shore. Salty Dog, Hecate, and Jolami urged Xiphias on. And Elf watched from the shore. We’re going to skip ahead a bit. At mark E, it was really almost anyone’s race among the lead eight boats. There was light air, a foul current, and a wealth of experience on the boats. Before getting back to Juniper Point, the play is to keep one’s air clear, but get closer to the shore. Then, before the point, jibe on to port tack and pop out from Juniper’s current shadow to round the Juniper nun. Boats that stayed offshore look better at first, as there is more wind, but also more foul tide. Then, just before Juniper, the offshore boats are sailing in mud, while the inshore boats reach across and reassert their positions. It looks wacky: the inshore boats appear to have sailed a longer course, but the rhumb-line boats have had to sail over more water.

And then, if the air is light enough, there’s a traffic jam at the Juniper Point nun. Boats go out, express the limits of their velocity against the strong current there, and while they do, the rest of the fleet comes up behind. There is close maneuvering, tactical jibing, and sometimes shouting. On this night the gridlock was minimal, but it was exciting. Xiphias caught up to five boats that were inching around the corner in the current. The five ahead made it around and ducked out of the current by falling off for Parker Flats. There the excitement would be quieter, with less wind, less current, and more prayer. Xiphias, however, made the daring dash for the eddy behind Red Ledge. “Ha,” say the other boats, as they sail sedately downwind, “the Swordfish has stuck his bill in it now. Surely they are done for and will have to be rescued before nightfall.” And the other boats go back to their race, making a mental checkmark about another boat beaten.

The run back to Great Harbor, in the lee of Juniper Point, is best described as the Hand of the Wind. Hands have fingers. And the length of these fingers of wind vary. And they are willy-nilly, too. Boats sailing next to one another receive different fingers of wind. Or one boat gets a finger of wind, while the other boat just gets the finger. There is no justice here, only different velocities. And the speed of a boat can endure or drop at any moment. And remember the suicidal Swordfish? Remember how the fleet laughed as they sailed up the Three Sisters Eddy behind Red Ledge? And remember how the fleet laughed doubly when the ferry compounded Xiphias’ strategy by arriving to take her wind in the middle of the Hole? Yes, the eddy strategy was compromised by the untimely arrival of the Vineyard Haven packet. But, even compromised, it was a strategy that paid dividends: Xiphias flew down across the Strait and picked up position ahead of Luna Nova and Luciole. And but for that ferry-boat, who knows?

The leaders, meanwhile, were having their fortunes told and retold a half-dozen times before the finish-line. Ragwagon picked up a tendril of breeze and rode the zephyr almost into contention. Skimmer and Scup advanced and receded. Blue Bayou saw her lead vanish, and then nearly regained it. In the end, it was Whim, fluttering across, and the evening’s contest was complete.

Results:

Whim (Norm Farr) 0:00
Blue Bayou (Tom Chase 0:11
Scup (Chris Warner) 0:23
Skimmer (Fred Denton) 0:30
Ragwagon (Peter Ochs) 0:55
Xiphias (Michael Dvorak) 1:34
Luna Nova (Fran Elder) 1:48
Luciole (Olwen Huxley) 2:01
Rumblefish (Greg Polanik) 2:38
Hecate (Rick Whidden) 3:31
Salty Dog (Art DiRienzo) 4:51
Jolami (Andy Ellis) 4:52