The Transpacific Race or "Honolulu Race", 1926
Albert Søiland, M.D. (1873-1946), was the son of a Norwegian Master Mariner, cancer researcher and specialist, avid sailor, founding member of the Transpacific Yacht Club, then "commissioned for the permanent rank of Honorary Commodore of the Transpacific Yacht Club." In 1937, he privately pulished "Transpacific ocean races and the Transpacific Yacht Club : facts, fancies and some gossip about one of the most unique and interesting yacht clubs in the world, and the races it sponsors." His account of the 1926 race follows...
Again the scene shifts to San Pedro where, on the 12th of June, the California Yacht Club staged the most remarkable marine pageant that has ever occurred on the Southern Coast of California. At that time the Club was host to and conducted the sixth Honolulu Ocean Race. The waters off San Pedro and Long Reach have never presented a more beautiful picture than on that occasion, when they were covered by a fleet of warships of the United States and several hundred decorated yachts of the Southern Clubs.
The racing ships got off to a beautiful start in a spanking breeze on this never-to-be-forgotten day in the following order: — Schooner “Invader,” Capt. Don Lee; Yawl “Poinsettia,” Skipper Walter Horne; Yawl “Teva," Commodore Clem Stose; Schooner “Mariner,” Capt. John Barrymore; Schooner “Jubilo,” Capt. Jim Dickson, and the Yawl “Mollilou,” Capt. Milton Hesselberger. All arrived in good order except the “Mollilou” which returned home on account of a bad breakdown. The little “Jubilo” had more bad luck than a flock of Portuguese men of war in a gale. Their supply of drinking water absorbed a lot of kerosene oil; their food dissolved in the wet bilge; and for a honeymoon cruise of the gallant young skipper and his charming bride, it almost became a tragedy. However, they finally blew into port a week late and received the most royal welcome ever accorded a way-faring ship by their anxious yachting brethren ashore.
On this race your scribe acted as navigator, ship’s surgeon, and assistant nursery maid to Jack Barrymore’s pet monkey, Queen Clementina; Doc Wilson was Skipper and Master of the Entertainment Committee; Art Pratt keeper of the hounds and chief entertainer; Cliff Smith, Napoleon Bonaparte personified, the ship’s champion somnambulist; Bill Burnham the piper for all hands to grog; Skip Warren and Waldo Drake deck hands, foot hands, keepers of the log, the poker chips, and assistant ice crackers to Captain Jack and Clementina; the professional Skipper, Captain Wester, an old Norse sea dog with the voice of a double barrelled foghorn — a delightful character who would bellow like a basso profundo magnum the time signals for the morning and afternoon sights; and then the chief Boswain, another old salt and ex-Navy man, known as Vasco de Gamma, international adventurer cum laude; and also Carl, the big Norwegian 2nd Mate, who weighed 220 lbs. stripped and all muscle. We recall vividly one squally day when the whole afterguard was trying to flatten down the main, and the sheet was dragging all six of us forward when Carl came lumbering down from the fore peak, grabbed the sheet with one hand, and piled us all aft and cleated her down in a jiffy with himself on top of the whole amateur crew.
Then there were the jolly evening dinners in the ship’s main salon with our distinguished host, Jack Barrymore, at the head, resplendent with sparkling wit and humor, improvised songs and stories. Before night watches were set the parting refrain would be something about Donkey Doodle Dee and Donkey Doodle Day, what an enormous quantity of hay he would consume, etc.
Then the scenario edited by Skip Warren, ably (?) assisted by the motley crew, which was presented in full dress and costume array before reaching Honolulu — but perhaps ’tis better this play be not reproduced before the children and sentimentalists of Hollywood.
Again we come to the Paradise of the Pacific, and in time to grab fourth place in the Race. Of course, we would have made a much better showing were it not for relying implicitly upon Clementina’s infallible intuitions on right and wrong directions, mostly the latter. The last two days out Clementina would scamper up the mast chatting shrilly and pointing to the North. We naturally supposed she smelled the cocoanuts fringing Waikiki Beach, and no doubt the helmsman had more faith in her than in the compass. Anyway we got there finally.
Then followed a week’s receptions, dinners, entertainment royal, and another of Ah Fong’s “luaus” with wine, Hula Hula’s and song, and Jack Barrymore’s speech on the “Glittering Freemasonry of the Sea” — a masterpiece extraordinarily executed under difficulties. Of course, by that time we all had difficulties in navigating under a full head of Hawaiian good fellowship, a marvellous feast, and okolehao.
At the closing banquet to the yachtsmen Governor Farrington, of Hawaii, made the statement that the Honolulu Race had done more to cement the friendship of the sea-loving citizens of America with those of the Islands of Hawaii than any other single event with which he was familiar. He suggested that this race be held yearly and said that Honolulu would always welcome with open arms the yachtsmen of the world. The yachtsmen present at the banquet were outspoken in their appreciation of this wonderful tribute and invitation from Hawaii and, after deliberations, it was the sense of the meeting that a yearly race would perhaps be inadvisable at this time, but it was put to a vote and decided that the race from then on would be a biennial affair.
Once more we had renewed old friendships and made new acquaintances and departed for home with hearts full of admiration and respect for our Hawaiian cousins.
Invader Wins Honolulu Race
Scratch Boat Beats Four Competitors in Pacific Ocean Dash
Adapted from Yachting, August and September 1926
DON LEE’S big schooner Invader, the scratch boat in a fleet of five, carried off the honours in the 2200-mile San Pedro-Honolulu Race when she finished off Diamond Head 12 days, 2 hours and 48 minutes after the start on June 12th. Second yacht to finish was the big yawl Poinsettia, owned by Walter Horne, which finished some 12 hours after Invader, and which lost considerable time locating the finish line, due to thick weather. John Barrymore’s schooner Mariner [1], which established a record for the race in 1924, came in a day and a half later, followed some twenty hours later by Clem Stose’s yawl Teva. Jubilo, the little 40-ft. schooner owned by James Dickson, was the last boat to finish, taking 21 days, 4 hours and 25 minutes for the trip.
Invader saved her time on all the smaller craft, and is the winner of the handsome cup donated by Sir Thomas Lipton. Poinsettia gets second, and Teva third place.
Several of the boats were in touch with shore by radio at different stages of the race, so that their positions were fairly well known. Fair weather greeted most of the yachts during the greater part of the trip, though Poinsettia reported losing some canvas in a hard squall. The latter yacht also reported a serious fire on board when about midway between San Pedro and Honolulu, which was extinguished by the prompt action of an automatic apparatus installed prior to the start.
The race was sailed in fast time, Invader completing the course only some twelve hours slower than the record of 11 days, 14 hours and 46 minutes established by Mariner in 1924.
How the Honolulu Race was Sailed
Five of the Six Yachts that Started in the 2,280-mile Pacific Race Finish. “Invader” Wins
As related by Waldo Drake, onboard the Mariner.
This year’s Honolulu Race proved, among other things, that the time has passed when the long jaunt can be won by boats of the comfortable cruising type, represented by the old Lurline and the modern Mariner, against such fine racing machines as the Invader and Poinsettia. The 1926 race proved to be a drifting match of the most heart-breaking sort, but it also gave the five crews numerous new angles on the vagaries of the north- east trades.
The 134-foot Lawley schooner Invader, owned by Don Lee and carrying the burgee of the San Francisco Yacht Club, although the scratch boat, won the Lipton Trophy very deservedly with an elapsed time of 12 days, 2 hours, 48 minutes and 30 seconds. She was cleverly handled by "Ted" Geary, and she showed marked windward ability at the start over the other entrants. During all the run southward the Invader caught the lucky slants of the breeze, with one exception.
Poinsettia, the 110-foot steel yawl formerly owned in Germany by the Prince of Lippe, lost the race by 1 hour and 15 minutes through her skipper mistaking the light at Makapu Point for the beacon at Diamond Head. The Poinsettia turned in an elapsed time of 12 days and 17 hours and it was two days later before John Barrymore's Mariner, the 106-foot Gloucesterman with which Capt. L. A. Norris set the Honolulu record of 11 days and 14 hours in 1923, passed up the Kaiwi Channel. Fifteen days from San Pedro, Clem Stose’s 56-foot yawl Teva, from the San Diego Yacht Club, came in with third honours, but it was not until a week later that the fifth starter, J. T. Dickson in the little 40-footer Jubilo, completed the run with an elapsed time of 21 days, 4 hours and 49 minutes. Mollilou, a 56-foot yawl, had turned back two days out from San Pedro.
Logs of all five boats showed marked similarity in the winds encountered, indicating that the flat stuff found by the fleet west of longitude 132 was no local freak. Until the sixth day out the Mariner held the Poinsettia and Invader splendidly, but in the calms encountered thereafter the lighter displacement, outside-ballasted craft walked away from her with ease.
San Pedro, on the morning of June 12th, presented the greatest sight for a sailor’s eyes since sailing became a sport on the Pacific. Sails dotted the bay from horizon to shore and there must have been 400 sail and power boats on hand, from San Diego north to San Francisco, to witness the start. The entire Battle Fleet was anchored in the bay and the bluffs of Point Fermin were black with the "rocking-chair fleet."
The yachts got away to a splendid start, the Invader and Mariner going over on the starboard tack less than 30 seconds after the gun from the U.S.S. California, followed closely by the Teva, Mollilou, Jubilo and Poinsettia. A fresh westerly was just making up in the Catalina Channel and by 4 p.m. the three big fellows, Invader, Poinsettia and Mariner, had negotiated the 25-mile beat around the West End of Catalina Island. Having weathered Point Vincente, we on Mariner carried the starboard tack for seven days.
Outside the Channel Islands on the first night out all boats steered divergent courses. The Invader held well to windward and at nightfall she was 15 miles ahead of Mariner and footing like a fiend, close reaching in a 35- mile northwester. Poinsettia held a middle course but after passing Bishop’s Rock, 135 miles offshore, Mariner hauled on the wind and at 3 o’clock the next morning we passed to weather of the Poinsettia, the last sail we sighted until we passed in by Diamond Head.
The nor’wester held all through the second day, Mariner making good 253 miles, noon to noon, Invader 288 and Poinsettia 267 miles. It was gradually shifting, however, and on Tuesday, three days out, it had shifted to the northeast, blowing steadily at 20 miles.
We broke out all Mariner’s kites on the third day and there followed a week of real sailing and hard work for the hands aboard. We blew out the big fisherman first, followed by the spinnaker outhaul carrying away, so that the sail whipped across the headstay and tore the head completely off. We expected further trouble and so began immediately on a repair job that required three solid days of sewing by both watches. We used up all spare canvas and tore up the forecastle mattress covers for patches. The following day the spinnaker outhaul carried away twice, followed by the No. 2 spinnaker being blown completely to ribbons. We hoisted a jib topsail, pending repairs to the first spinnaker, and on the morning of the fifth day out hoisted the big kite with much trepidation, while Jack Barrymore shot movies of the proceedings. Our patches looked mighty small aloft but they proved good enough to carry us through to Honolulu. We also completed repairs on No. 1 fisherman that afternoon and with everyone having recovered his sea legs, and sailing along under the trade wind clouds in a marvellous sea of indigo blue and over long easy swells, we felt luck was with us again.
On the following morning, June 18th, five days out, Mariner passed the half-way point of the 2,280-mile race. The Poinsettia, as her log showed, at that moment had pulled out 60 miles ahead of us, while Invader was even then a full day’s run to the good. At noon of the 18th Invader was in the exact position Mariner passed at noon of the 19th.
At this stage of the race the wind was hauling slowly to the southward and was getting soft and fluky, with numerous tropical rain squalls. At noon of the 19th we jibed to the port tack after running for a week on the starboard, the breeze having hauled to east by south. The following day the clouds which accompany the trade winds left us and we had a sunset which gave promise of approaching calm. It was not slow in coming.
That night Mariner crossed the Tropic of Cancer and by fate of the winds she was on the northern limit of the tropics just at the moment the sun reached its farthest north. The summer solstice may or may not have had something to do with the five days of calm which all the yachts struck in that area. At any rate, we lost our wind at midnight, the breeze disappearing in a series of torrential rain squalls, coming up in puffs of wind from every point of the compass. At noon of the 21st Mariner made good only 120 miles, her poorest day’s run to that time.
That morning, after both watches had struggled for five hours, setting, dousing, and re-setting ballooners, spinnakers and fisherman staysails, the wind hauled dead ahead and with our course to Honolulu southwest we beat for the following 30 hours against a southwest breeze, which our wind charts promised we would never find in those latitudes.
When the trades began to get fluky on the 18th, Mariner and Poinsettia both held a direct course for Hawaii. It probably cost them the race for Ted Geary, who says he felt something was coming up from the southward, hauled down to the south immediately, so that at noon of June 20th Invader was in latitude 21-30. That afternoon the freak southwest breeze came up and let Invader lay her course, but it was dead ahead for Mariner and Poinsettia, over 100 miles to the northward.
Invader steered a straight course for Honolulu thereafter and at noon of the 23rd she was off the coast of Molokai, 67 miles from the finish at Diamond Head, with 12 hours in which to beat Mariner’s time of 1923. The big schooner ran into the lee of Molokai, however, and was becalmed for 20 hours while her crew watched the north-easter kicking up the dust in Kaiwi Channel, only a few miles to windward. She finished shortly after noon of the 24th. Invader’s time of 12 days, 2 hours, 48 minutes and 30 seconds, while not topping Capt. Norris’ record run from Santa Barbara, beats the time of 12 days, 7 hours and 29 minutes from San Pedro, set by the schooner Lurline in the first race of 1906.
Poinsettia’s finish at 2:27:08 A.M. of June 25th was the interesting high-light, though a deplorable one, of the race, for it cost her the Lipton Trophy. Poinsettia, receiving news by radio of Invader’s finish at noon of the 24th, had but 68 miles to cover in twelve hours in order to save her time.
At seven o’clock that evening, after Walter Horne and his crew had passed many nervous hours with fickle puffs from the north, Poinsettia was abeam of Makapu Light and had but 11 miles to go in five hours. Setting his course for Diamond Head Light, 11 miles ahead, Navigator Bill Stroud left the wheel in charge of Mr. Horne and went below. Stroud came on deck when he believed the ship had run out her distance, to find Horne, the owner, had been steering a course too much to leeward. Course was quickly shifted and the ship headed up into the wind. An hour later, through the thick rain squalls and gathering darkness, a light was made out on the starboard bow. Stroud, in the excitement of the moment, took it to be Diamond Head and, as it came abeam, announced that the race was over.
Poinsettia’s crew doused her sails and were breaking out an anchor when, shortly after midnight, Commodore Clarence MacFarlane came alongside in the committee boat to announce that the big yawl was still eight miles from the finish. There was only an half hour left to save her time and although canvas was hoisted hurriedly, she did not finish until 2:27:08 A.m. of the 25th, beaten one hour by Invader.
The Seawanhaka Rule, used by the committee in figuring handicaps, proved to be surprisingly fair. First, Poinsettia finished barely outside her time over Invader, while on the 27th, the day following Mariner's arrival, Clem Stose brought his Teva in. She came within three hours of saving her time on the Invader. Tough luck also visited the Teva during the run. Encountering squalls south of latitude 25, the little 56-footer lost her ballooner, broke her spinnaker boom and lost her jib topsail. With so close a finish after 2,400 miles of sailing, it appears likely that she would have carried off the trophy if she had not lost her light sails. Teva had as her navigator Captain Lew Harris, seventy-one year old veteran of three previous Honolulu races. Capt. Harris was skipper of the Lady Maude in 1908, of the Sweetheart in 1910 and won with the Lurline in 1912.
Honour should also go to Captain Jim Dickson and his crew of the little schooner Jubilo, a stubby 40-footer of a raised deck type. With Capt. Dickson and three men were the skipper’s bride and Miss Mary Ruth Dickinson. None of the six had ever made a deep water voyage before, yet they finished at the end of 21 days, confident that it was the best honeymoon trip possible. When they started at San Pedro the skipper and his crew had no knowledge of astronomical navigation, bringing a sextant, chronometer and set of books on board just before the start.
Invader, completely re-rigged and with a beautiful new suit of Wilson & Silsby sails, made the entire run without parting a rope-yarn, carrying her club topsail from start to finish. Her only bad luck was a lazarette fire which destroyed her extra suit of sails. Poinsettia was unfortunate with her huge yawl rig and, in addition to breaking her spinnaker boom shortly after the start, carrying away running rigging and sails, she experienced a freak jibe, in which the spinnaker got away and was lifted clear over the Headstay.
Aboard Mariner we enjoyed the lighter side of sailing to the fullest extent. From our veteran skipper "Doc" P.H.L. Wilson, a Corinthian, down to the tyro of the after-guard, every man experienced 14 of the most enjoyable days of his life. There were 11 of us in the afterguard and the sea routine of watch and watch, the excitement of the race, the meal-time philosophy, and the fun all brought out what Jack Barrymore so aptly termed the "glittering free-masonry of the sea."
The Honolulu Race is fundamentally a fair weather event and although its excessive length makes it an endurance run, any well-found boat of 40 feet or over can make the trip in perfect safety.
Excerpts from Mariner’s log during those 96 hours of calm, during which we twice went swimming over the side, offer interesting sidelights on the weather:
"Saturday, June 19th — 184 miles; noon, 24-36 N. 142- 19 W. Wind E by N, very light and fluky. Jibed to port tack at noon after running seven days on starboard tack; did entire job, shifting light sails and topsails in 25 minutes.
"Sunday, June 20th — 179 miles; noon, 23-40 N. 145-13 W. Wind ESE and very light. Sea smooth. Sky clearing with evidences of approaching calm.
"Monday, June 21st — 120 miles; noon, 23-11 N. 147-19 W. Wind E, very light and variable. Crossed Tropic of Cancer last night. Hectic night and morning. Wind died at 1 A.M.; took in spinnaker for heavy rain squall. Puffs of wind, accompanied by torrents of rain, from all points of compass. Took in ballooner 7 A.M., re-set spinnaker 7 A.M. Wind came up as light breeze but hauled into SW, freshened and we sailed for two hours close hauled, 9 A.M. took in small fisherman, set big brother and spinnaker. 9:30, took in spinnaker. Light airs all afternoon, still 587 from Honolulu and nine days at sea.
"Tuesday, June 22nd — 130 miles; noon 22-54.N. 149-39 W. Wind none to light S. Hours of dead calm, light squalls, with glassy sea and long swells from SE. Spent entire morning shifting from working canvas to kites and back again. Ship at times with barely headway.
"Wednesday, June 23rd — 109 miles. Noon 22-42 N. 151-35 W. Wind, none to moderate SW, which came up at daylight. Best we could do was W by S.”
On the following day Mariner beat northward, off her course, against the freak southwester and on the 25th she made good but 68 miles. That afternoon, however, the long awaited breeze came out of the southeast and she ran down the last 190 miles in 16 hours.
Results of Honolulu race 1926 [2]
| Yacht | *Elapsed Time D. H. M. S |
Handicap H. M. S. |
Corrected Time D. H. M. S. |
Miles run |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Invader | 12:02:48:30 | Scratch | 12:02:48:30 | 2,341 |
| Poinsettia | 12:16:57:00 | 12:54:40 | 12:04:02:20 | 2,324 |
| Teva | 15:03:21:08 | 68:15:47 | 12:07:05:21 | 2,284 |
| Mariner | 14:08:00:14 | 11:57:33 | 13:21:02:41 | 2,319 |
| Jubilo | 21:04:49:00 | 117:44:25 | 16:07:04:35 | 2,334 |
| Mollilou | D.N.F. |
[ Back ] Footnote 1: the earliest entry in Lloyd's Register of American Yachts is in the 1926 edition: Built as a full keel, flush decked auxiliary schooner; 107' 0" LOA, 78' 0' LWL, 23' 10" maximum beam, 11' 0" depth in hold and 13' 0" draft. Tonnage 94 gross, 44 net. Official Number 222523. Designed by Burgess, Swansey and Paine; built by A.D. Story of Essex, Mass., launched in 1922; carrying 4,523 sq.ft of plain sail, sails made by U.S.L in 1926; auxiliary gas engine 4-cycle, 3 cylinders by Acme, 1926; owned by John Barrymore of Los Angeles, California and Home Port Los Angeles (1926-1931). Owned 1932 by Max L. Gordon; 1933--1941 by Louis W. Morrison; 1942 by G.S. Donaldson Inv. Co.; (Lloyd's not published during war years); 1947-1949 Arthur Brown (all home ported Los Angeles, CA.) Not metioned in Lloyd's 1950 onwards.
[ Back ] Footnote 2: There are a few minor details in other reports – all limited to a few seconds, except for J.T. Dickson's Jubilo, which is given an elapsed time of 21 days 0 hours 5 minutes and a corrected time of 16 days 8 hours and 21 minutes on the Transpacific Yacht Club's website. We have retained the results as reported by the yachting press in 1926.