The First Time I Met Mike Monies

Every good story requires above all else a strong protagonist and the best stories are those centered on those who are not only strong but “real characters” in every sense of the term.  Mike Monies was one of these genuine characters. Like many of us who know the name Mike Monies, I became aware of him some years ago when he built and campaigned the now famous “Red SCAMP.” I happened to have an interest in the same design and so followed his exploits in the Everglades Challenge, the Texas 200 and other events. It became apparent that Mikes character was more about persistence than any of the other fine qualities he exhibited such as sense of humor (get him laughing and look out), respect for others, high energy, productivity and willingness to share everything he had with strangers.

As small boat aficionados who lived half a world apart our paths had never crossed until 2011 when Sean Mulligan invited me to give the keynote address at the Lake Havasu Pocket Cruisers Convention. I landed after departing Micronesia completely jet lagged and dragging. It had been a very stressful time as on top of travel I had just experienced a genuine tragedy in Pohnpei and not only felt worn out from travel but also mentally worn out from tending to a local Nukuoran clan (dear friends) who had suffered much with the tragic loss of a mother and child.

I hoped to deliver the keynote and sleep all day the next day in the fine accommodations Sean had so graciously arranged. This is far from my normal mode of operation, as I knew racing would be underway each day. When Sean asked me to come I had hoped for an invite on one of the some 200 boats in attendance but in reality I was just too tired to care much about racing. As it turned out I had numerous invites on the first day before race one but declined each one hoping to crawl upstairs to my room and sleep the whole day.

I strolled over to see my pal Josh Colvin at the Small Craft Advisor magazine booth and asked if Mike Monies was in the crowd as I was curious to meet him. Josh pointed him out and there he was standing far in the back of the milling crowd of racers and looking directly at me with a somewhat determined look on his face. Mike was smaller in stature than I had imagined but as the next two days played out his size had no relation to the heart and passion that pounded in his chest. So I wandered over and introduced myself before getting some sleep in hopes of possibly racing the second day.

I made my way through the crowd and Mike extended his hand and thanked me for the keynote address I had given. I replied in thanks and the next question that came my way was, “Would you consider racing with me in today's long distance race?” I looked at him and began to explain how tuckered out I was and then he smiled that understated Mike Monies smile and I just stopped mid sentence and said, “Yes I would be honored to crew for you.” What was I thinking? The next hour was a mad rush of getting ready to race on a boat I had never sailed with a skipper I didn’t know. I was ill prepared, no foul weather gear, no hand bearing compass and other tools of the racing trade. Mike said not to worry “just take your time and meet me across the bridge.” Well the start was less than an hour away and I had no idea where his boat was located. I scrambled to my room, brewed up a cup of coffee strong enough to float a quarter in, crammed a jacket in a duffle bag and raced over the bridge.

Once across the bridge it was easy to find the Red SCAMP but Mike was nowhere to be found. He was in his room helping his wife Jackie who was feeling a bit under the weather and so there I stood waiting and watching as the fleet gathered near the start line a short distance off shore. All of a sudden there was Mike coming down the beach. On approach I offered to do what was needed to get the boat ready thinking he would leave oars, engine and the fenders he had attached to each side of the boat along with other gear on the beach. Mike boarded and I asked for permission to board and stow my gear. I tossed my duffle aboard and again offered to do what good crews do, he looked up and said, “Your skipper, I’m crew!” I replied “Mike I have only test sailed SCAMP #1 a couple of times and this is your boat” to which he replied “But you're the skipper, OK?”

I was about to learn that Mike Monies was a man of few words and each one meant what it was supposed to mean. So back and forth we went me explaining how fuzzy I was feeling and he insisting I skipper and the minutes ticking down to the first gun while we sat high and dry. I finally acquiesced, we shook hands and I glimpsed my first Mike Monies big time infectious grin. What had I gotten myself into I wondered. “Well then Mike, skipper it is” I said. “OK if I am skipper then who calls the shots today?” “You do” he replied, to which I retorted “weeeeeelllll………..I don’t know, I mean it’s your boat” and “you're the skipper” he replied. “OK Mike then if I am helm can we leave pretty much everything you have on board on shore?” I asked as politely as I could. After a minute of back and forth Mike agreed and we stripped her of engine, fenders, oars and other items. This is the ugly racer tracer in my genes.

Talk about under the gun. By the time we shoved off the fleet was fully assembled and boats were jockeying for position and every one of them larger than the mighty but midget Red SCAMP. With no time to check the squareness or lack thereof of the start line, no time to sort out and sail up the weather leg to check the shift pattern and no time to really work out crew moves I wondered how we would keep from getting T boned at the start. As we made for the line as fast as we could go the first gun went off, Mike and I looked at each other and thus began one of the best small boat experiences I have had to date and I believe I am blessed to have had more than my fair share.

Most of the fleet was stacking up and jockeying wildly at the pin end as it was heavily favored and it instantly became apparent that in order to have any chance at a good start (being late and disorganized with the actual start gun time a mystery) that a radical tactic would have to be employed. A port tack dip start was all that was left to us lest we just fall in behind the parade of some 150 boats. “Mike” I shouted, “Mike, look I know you don’t know me but I have to ask you to trust me and do exactly as I say if we want to have any chance of being even remotely competitive (this of course painted against the back drop of sailing a pip squeak of a boat against a fleet all bigger than us) are you game?”

Now a rational, normal response would have been, “What do you mean?” or “Whoa, hold on a minute?” To which I would have tried to explain but we were beyond explanation as time was up with a start gun that was about to fire at any moment. Mike looked at me and said with the biggest Mike Monies Cheshire Cat grin imaginable, “You're the skipper so go ahead do what you have to do.” “OK” I replied,

“This is how its gonna play out but Mike you have to be brave because the pin end is heavily favored and just about everyone is stacking up there. I am going to sail us above the start line right in the middle of the line, dip down with the roughest of guesstimates as to the gun. Then we are going to spin your boat in tight circles if we have to and likely end up doing a port tack start when everyone else is on starboard with right of way over us and bearing down on us, whadda ya think?” Dip starts are illegal if done within one minute of the start gun so I was making a guess as to time and my guess would have to work out just right or at best we would be disqualified if the race committee understood the more arcane of the racing rules and at worst we would be run down by the fleet. Mike looked at me with wide eyes and again flashed that classic Monies Cheshire Cat grin of his, “OK do it!” Game On!

Racing with Mike Monies

As it played out we did just as I described and had to resort to one of the many things SCAMP does so well, spin literally in her own length. Most of the fleet was bearing down on us as I called out to Mike, “Be brave, be brave, steady, steady, trim, trim, hike, trim, be on the ready, steady, gybing, gybing again, gybing again, trim hard” and so on. Three times we spun Mike’s boat around itself in place and finally dropped on to port anticipating the gun. Mike looked completely calm and collected, “Who is this guy?” I wondered, “Amazing, nerves of steel.”

Now in 2011 Mike Monies was no spring chicken but man did he and I work seamlessly and I have to say athletically. I was astounded at his bravery, his physical strength and nimbleness as the fleet bore down on us. It was one hairy moment as the gun went off and we got off like an 11’ 11” scared cat port tacking the fleet. I was a bit on the busy side and cannot say for sure but many sailors say we won the start or were at least in the top two boats over first. I looked down the line and could only see one boat even close to our start and I attribute this to Mike’s willingness and bravery as he manned the mainsheet and allowed an equally mad man to thread the needle with his pride and joy. The first fires of a bond of trust and friendship had begun between us.

We were fifth to the weather mark as waterline length tends to trump all and we had the shortest in the fleet by a fair margin. It was a great day of racing and teamwork and in spite of being so small we acquitted ourselves quite well. At the end of the day as we crossed the finish line Mike asked if I would sail with him in the next days race and my answer was an emphatic “Yes!”

I crawled back to my room and as I fell asleep I realized I had just sailed with one fine, understated, ice water veined, Cheshire Cat smiling small boat mad man and that was very good. Little did I know just what kind of character Mike was until the last two legs of the next days distance race.

Once again we (purportedly) won the start or were darn close to it with the very same tactical approach but this time we were even smoother as Mike and I had perfected the no talking maneuvering thing to a T.

After a long race we were passing several boats (and being passed by a few) on the last long down wind leg to the leeward mark when we both noticed a nearly black menacing darkening sky and a sudden drop in temperature. The wind was relatively light but I could feel we were in for something very big and very nasty. Little did we know that the race had been called for rolling out of the mountains to the west was a thundering storm preceded by a line squall packing something like 40 knot winds and heavy rain. We ghosted along watching and listening to a fast deteriorating situation and it was sobering.

Many boats made the right move to abandon the race but in our bliss of not knowing the race had actually been called by the committee I asked Mike, “Do you want to head in?” to which he replied “No.” I could hardly believe what I was hearing (I happen to like challenging high wind sailing but know its not everyone’s idea of fun) and continued to assess the situation. We were having real fun dueling with several boats as the leeward mark approached. I was about to learn about Mike’s strongest character trait, persistence. This was the very same persistence that had served him so well when stranded in the Everglades Challenge.

We passed the finish line on our port side in full duel with several boats ahead and wham the storm hit with a vengeance. Ahead and all around us boats rounded up wildly out of control as the wind roared and the rain came at us sideways. For a moment I felt terrible as abandoning the race was my call as skipper and I was calling the shots on someone else’s boat. It was all I could do to helm the boat and keep her on her feet as the line squall flattened boats all around us.  We worked as a tight team and SCAMP stayed on her feet without issue and tore to the leeward mark as fast as she could go, the bow wave was actually more of an amidships wave as she surfed just under control down wind, down wave. Mike was having the time of his life for this is how boats go their fastest if the crew is brave. He was all white knuckles and again that big fat cat grin was happening.

Visibility went to almost zero and even though tight up against me manning the main sheet I had to yell at full throat to be heard, “Are you OK?” he looked at me again with that Cheshire Cat grin and said “Absolutely”, I yelled back “then we have to work the boat harder than you have ever worked her, lets do it.” We both hiked and hiked hard hanging on to each other for balance (the Red SCAMP had no hiking straps) even though we were headed down wind. At more than full speed we roared around the leeward mark under full sail passing eight boats all fighting to stay upright and clawed back up wind as one tight team making five tacks to get back across the finish line in driving wind and rain.

After the finish we cracked off for the beach both of us soaked to the bone, shivering cold, exhilarated, high fiving and laughing like the two crazy fools we obviously were in that magical rose colored moment. Through some sort of Mike Monies osmosis I too had the biggest Cheshire Cat grin going that one could imagine.

Mike, I will never forget our very fine adventure together and will always cherish the memory of those two days of racing, our conversations aboard, the laughter, the teamwork and the joy we shared as brothers in the wind. You and Jackie have both given so much to the sailing community and I like so many feel humbled by your generosity, understated approach to life and willingness to give. You were a man of fine character and you will be sorely missed by so many.

Fair winds my friend for across the bar you have sailed under full canvas. Those of us who know you and love you reckon you are at the helm and headed for one sweet horizon.

Your Friend and Breeze Brother,

Howard Rice

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