Horse Shit
This weekend, in the middle of this great country, a yacht race will take place. It’s not just any old yacht race; it’s the Chicago Mackinac race, one of the most prestigious yacht races on the international calendar.
The Mac Race, as the locals like to call it, is the longest annual freshwater sailing race in the world. The race starts in the shadows of the skyscrapers that line Lake Shore Drive downtown Chicago, and heads north up Lake Michigan for what can be either a challenging 333 nautical miles or an idyllic race depending on the wind gods. At the end awaits the very quaint and picturesque Mackinac Island.
No matter the conditions there is one constant; the water coming over the bow is always sweet. Lake Michigan is fresh water and that alone is a big selling point for the race.
The race dates back to 1898 and a simple beginning when two prominent sailors couldn’t come to a firm conclusion who was the better team and so they decided on a race to Mackinac Island to settle the situation once and for all. The skippers were heading to the island for the summer anyway. I can’t find any info about who won, but it doesn’t matter so let’s let it remain one of the mysteries surrounding the event.
The Mac Race managed to continue during both of the big wars and it was only in 2020 when COVID-19 stepped in that the race was canceled for the first time.
For this 2026 edition there are 252 entries in total including eight in the double-handed class. The forecast is for light southerly winds over the entire course for the weekend and beyond so it does not look like any new records will be set. In 2024 Maverick set a monohull record of 22 hours and 24 minutes and way back in 1998 the late Steve Fossett cracked a speedy 18 hours and 50 minutes on his trimaran Stars and Stripes.
I have only done the race once and it was memorable for two reasons. We were closing in on the finish in thick fog. There are no cars allowed on Mackinac Island, just horse drawn buggies that move people and in the very early morning deliver groceries and goods to stock up the stores. It’s very quaint and lends a lot of charm to the island. We knew that we had to be just a few miles from land when there was suddenly a strong smell of horse shit and moments later we crossed the finish line.
I had raced with Micca Hutchins who was then the editor of Sailing Magazine. She had organized me a ride out with a certain Mr. Terry Kohler (RIP). Terry was the owner of North Sails and, well, he made more of his fortune selling toilets and bathrooms fixtures than he did selling sails. Terry had his Lear Jet parked at the far end of the island and I took a horse and buggy to get there. I was dropped off on the runway and in moments we were sky bound at 500 knots heading back to reality. – Brian Hancock.
