3-Day tour

3-Day Tour

Oahu is not that big an island – you can drive around it in about 3 hours, you can sail around it in around 17 hours, or you can divide that sail into three legs and take three days to go around the island.  Memorial day weekend is host to the 3-day around the island regatta where the Hawaii fleet competes to see who can sail the fastest around the island, but still take three days to do it.

By telling the story of the three-day race I will have use some sailing jargon.  I apologize in advance for the technical jargon and also because I don’t speak sailor as well as I speak climber and will probably get some things wrong.  Still, I will try my best to avoid bogging down the action with extensive narrative about boat parts and stuff. Also, let me just thank Scott -- the owner -- early on for giving me the opportunity to sail in Hawaii. 

Now, to set the scene:  as one guy on our boat (MikeE – at least this is how I imagine he would spell his name if he were a rapper, but given we have two Mikes on the boat, I have to distinguish them somehow) has astutely observed, most people when they think of sailing, think of a lazy day floating around with a glass of wine on a beautiful yacht in crystal clear water. 

I hear this type of sailing exists, though I have not personally experienced it. 

CaZan sailing into the sunset -- looks picturesque but we are still racing.  Photo:  Jeff Davis

                                         

For me, sailing is about racing and racing is a far cry from calmly floating around, unless of course there is no wind.  Then, everyone just bobs about until they give up and motor for shore.  

Competitive sailing involves a lot of maneuvers, yelling, and stuff going wrong.  There are lots of lines (ropes) and sheets (ropes) that can become fouled, and then there is the fluidity of understanding the water, the wind, and how the boat needs to move in relation to these things which changes constantly.  

Also, most sailors drink beer, not wine.

I’ve been sailing on the same boat and with the same racing program, CaZan, for four years now.  Technically, I guess it isn’t the same boat because the owner (Scott) bought a new boat last year – a DK 46. The 46 stands for 46 feet, meaning this isn’t a small boat. 

Also, I guess, it technically isn’t the original crew either – Scott was able to recruit new sailors with more experience and their friends when he bought the new boat.  Only five of the original crew that started out on CaZan remain (counting Scott).  People come and go fairly frequently.  You may not think it, but people leave Hawaii all the time. 

All this being said, despite a new boat and a mostly new crew, the concept of CaZan transcends any specific crew or boat, in part because Scott named the new boat the same as the old boat – so now there are two CaZan’s in Hawaii.  

The new CaZan used to be called Shockwave (see below). 

This is the "new" CaZan -- used to be named "Shockwave," hence the EKG symbol on the sail.  Photo: Unknown

So, the three-day around the island race is broken into three legs – Honolulu to Kaneohe, Kaneohe to Mokuleia (down the North Shore of Oahu), then the final leg is from Ko Olina (area) to Honolulu.  We get to skip (by motoring) the leeward section because typically there is no wind there – on past races we have at times been floating for hours along the leeward coast – sometimes not in a forward direction.

Despite being able to stop at night, the 3-day race is a long race and each leg is a lot of sailing.  Any long race involves a lot of sitting around – called hiking – which is an odd name for sitting, but to be honest, is a very active kind of sitting.  The goal on a windy day is to have as much of your body as possible leaning over the side of the boat.  Some people seem less inclined than others to sit this way, because it is not comfortable. Humans become ballast for the boat and if the crew doesn’t hike, then the driver can’t take the boat in the best possible direction.  The windier the day the more people need to hike.  I end up with bruises around my hips from hiking.

At the start of the race on Saturday, we knew that it was going to be a windy day. The first day from Honolulu to Kaneohe involves going upwind towards Makapu`u, rounding the tip of the island, then reaching all the way past Kailua and into Kaneohe bay.  I’m sure everyone knows that the Hawaiian Islands pretty much rise directly out of the open ocean and so you can be in some crazy conditions without much in the way of protection even fairly close to shore.  This leg of the race involved going through a segment of water termed the washing machine – which should be self-explanatory for what the water and the waves are doing.  To sail upwind is to beat upwind, and this is an apt description because it beats the hell out of you. 

The start of the race is always exciting because boats are maneuvering for a position on the line and there are lots of quick tacks (turning the boat) and yelling about who has the rights to be where.  At the start, the boats will sometimes come within feet of each other before tacking, and often it seems like a big game of chicken.  There are, however, well-defined rules about who needs to move and under what conditions.  Still, no matter what your rights, if you find yourself between two large boats with nowhere to go it can get exciting.  Surprisingly, there are very few crashes at the start, but the Hawaii fleet is pretty small, maybe it would be different if there were 20 or 30 boats.

Starting the Race:  Photo: Phil Sammer

Above photos taken by Phil Sammer.  They depict our starting strategy

Our first day start was pretty good, even though I don’t really see the starts because I am looking at my watch timing the starting sequence.  This means that up to and during the start, I am counting down the time. I have to look at my watch all the time because I am not good at math, but I am also time obsessed so it is a good job for me to do.  These things have to be sort of exact because if you cross the starting line early you have to turn around and do it again.

This is not fast. 

During this start, we came in from the windward side of the course, which gave us rights over the other boats and allowed us to be in a position to push other boats off their intended course, which slowed them down. 

Being fast while other boats loose speed is a goal.

Then the beating (literally) began.  As we tacked up the coastline and into the washing machine, the waves got increasingly larger.  Roller coasters don’t really have anything on 2 hours of going up and down waves.  You can ask Lisa this (I will not elaborate more).  Combine this with having to periodically climb from one side of the boat to another and you have a sense of what the entire day was like.  I like the climbing over the boat part, but it is also the part primarily responsible for the bruises derived during sailing.

We had gotten off to a good start but for some reason kept loosing ground.  On any given race, there is a lot of conversation about tactics, directions, etc -- I call the guys involved in this conversation the big boy sailors.   

Phillip, Mike Fisher, Fuzz -- Big Boy Sailors.  Photo:  Mike Fisher

These big boy sailors think about the big picture, call out tactics (though they may or may not be the tactician), think about course angles, points of sail, and tell the driver where to go.  The driver is a big boy sailor too, but while driving has to remain focused on that and can’t necessarily get a sense of the big picture. 

Jake Driving -- around Makapu`u  Photo:  Mike Fisher

 Generally, the big boy sailors are in the back of the boat, which means their jobs include driving the boat, calling tactics, trimming the main sail, trimming the jibs (the smaller sails in the front of the boat but controlled from the back).  Anything beyond that is too far away to really be part of the conversation.

This is from the start again, but shows the back of the boat plus jib trimmers.  Photo:  Phil Sammer

Russ trimming and looking serious.  Photo: Mike Fisher

Being a big boy sailor is as much attitude as anything; it doesn’t have anything to do with size or age.  I adopted the term from a bank loan meeting Jim (my ex-husband) and I once had when we were considering financing some significant enhancements to his business that for some reason involved our personal finances as well.  The banker told us what we wanted was a “big boy loan,” which in his description seemed to mean the bank would give us lots of money that we may or may not ever have to pay back, unlike the loans they give to normal people. It was a ridiculous meeting and I had a really difficult time playing wife for its duration  (a job I am otherwise fairly accomplished at).  I blame the big boys for the financial crisis. 

Back on the boat and well away from global financial decisions, our tactician for the day, Fuzz (he has a real name but I don’t know it), was quite puzzled about our continued slowness.  Fuzz is one of Hawaii’s best sailors and gets asked to go all over the world to sail.  I take this to mean he knows what he is doing. 

We were not sailing badly but we continued to fall behind, which puzzles those in the know.  Even I was a bit puzzled, and I am not encouraged to think or talk on the boat and am whatever the opposite of a big boy sailor might be.  Going upwind, my only job is to sit on the rail and hike, which I like to think I do well.  

Upwind towards Diamond Head (I think).  Photo:  Phil Sammer

Upon arriving in Kaneohe (taking second place), the reason for our slowness became apparent.  We had taken on a ton of water, and when I say we "took on a ton of water," I mean a literal ton of water was now inside the boat.  We spent the next couple hours pumping out the water that had come in through an unsealed hatch in the front.  Our #4 jib had also been pretty battered, and Fuzz sewed it up while several of us used 16 oz party cups to scoop the water that had accumulated into a bucket.  We only had one pump and it was going full time to pull water out of the bow.  We scooped and scooped with our party cups, but the water kept draining towards us through the interconnected channels under the floorboards.  

 I can now add bailing out a 46 foot boat with a party cup to the list of things I have done in life.

Jake and Phillip (the boat captains for the weekend) had the honor of spending a few extra hours sealing up the forward hatch where the water had been leaking so that we wouldn’t take on more water during the second day of the race.  In general, they worked their collective asses off that weekend – both on and off the boat.  They make a good team.

It should be noted that sailors drink a lot.  The race was too windy to really do much drinking.  After the race, drinking ensued.

Day Two:

The second day of sailing began in Kaneohe bay, to a buoy, then out the channel and down the coast.  On this start, as we were coming towards the line, we didn’t make it before getting shut out by Heartbeat (one of our arch-enemies/competitors).  Again, I didn’t really see everything that happened because I was looking at my watch.

Somehow we had lost our opportunity to hit the starting line on time, had to circle around and come back to the line behind all the other starting boats.  Heartbeat had managed to foul another boat, which meant they had to do some penalty turns.  When we finally got over the line, Heartbeat was doing their turns off to the side.  LocoMotion (our other main arch-enemy/competitor) was away free and clear. Even with our slow start, we were headed towards the buoy ahead of Heartbeat.

Upon rounding the buoy, we headed out the channel.

We are the next boat and Heartbeat is behind us.  I think we are already out of the channel here but I can't tell.  Photo: Jeff Davis

Heading out the channel, we set our first asymmetrical kite for the day.  Let me introduce the front of the boat.  The front of the boat is controlled by the bow person and the mastman/person (a man on our boat). They generally cannot hear anything that is decided in the back of the boat and so have to do their jobs pretty much in the dark or while being yelled at for doing whatever was said 10 seconds ago instead of what is being said now.  Mostly everyone in the back of the boat expects the bowperson to go quicker than is feasible and get off the bow as soon as possible.  The back of the boat people don’t have much sensitivity to the front of the boat.  There is much discussion about the communication chasm that exists here.

A spinnaker (kite) is one of the really big sails that goes in the front of the boat when going downwind.  An asymmetrical kite is a really big sail cut so that it can function like a really big jib, but can also go forward if necessary.  Some boats only have asymmetrical kites, but I don’t see the value in this particular design.  However, there is a lot I don’t understand about sailing or sailors yet.

There are numerous other technical things about these kites that are relevant, but I’ll leave it at that for now.  The bow person (Phillip) gets the kite all hooked up.   

Phillip and the main sail -- not near the bow but dressed for it.  Photo:  Mike Fisher

The mast person (MikeE.) and the pit person (Lisa) then work together to hoist the spinnaker.  

MikeE at the mast
Photo:  Me

Lisa dresses in lemon yellow in case she falls overboard -- this way we will find her more easily.  That is Tom behind her -- he is an excellent hiker plus good jib trimmer.  Photo: Me

 Once the kite is up, it must be trimmed like any other sail.  My job is to control the pole that is attached to one side of the kite – this position is called the afterguy.  Associated with the afterguy are two other possible lines (ropes) – the tack line or the foreguy, these are used depending upon the type of sail we have up.  Sophie, who was color coordinating for the race in a bright orange hat, sunglasses, and matching wrist cast, was in charge of the tack line (the foreguy not being used in this particular scenario).  

Sophie, Heather and Bob -- not making sailboat racing look hard.  You can't really see the cast but the orange hat is hard to miss.  Note:  I think this photo was taken after we broke everything so while we are still "racing" we are not really racing anymore.  Photo:  Mike Fisher 

Another person controls the sheet (rope) attached to the other side of the kite (the different sides of the kite are called tacks and clews, but I figured this might get too complicated to describe further and it doesn’t really matter for this narrative anyway for the most part – I just put it in to demonstrate that I mostly know the correct names for things).   

We started out the channel with a kite up and Heartbeat behind us.  It is kind of cool to watch the boats all lined up in the channel with their sails up.

At a certain point, the channel begins to head seaward and as the direction of sail changes, meaning we need to change to a different sail.  In this case, we need to take the kite down and put a jib up.  There isn’t a lot of time in which a maneuver like this can take place, in part because we are racing and so everything is pushed as long as possible in order to maximize speed. 

We want to be fast.

Taking the sail down involves a lot of people.  Heather (our sewer person, which means she goes down below to haul the sail in) went down below and was handed the retrieving line for the sail.  Once the sail is released, the trimmer, the afterguy person, the mast person, and any other free hands rush to the low side of the boat to haul the sail in.  We are talking hundreds of square feet of sail here and depending on lots of factors, getting the sail in can be difficult.  Phillip’s job on the bow at this point is to “spike” the sail, which means he uses this metal spike thing to unclip the sail from the pole (the afterguy that I am controlling).  I HATE this part because Phillip insists on putting his head between the pole and the forestay and as you can imagine this places his head between some fairly strong forces.

Giulia, our old sewer person, whom we called the underbunny, used to say that she could tell how good a takedown was by how the kite came into the sewer.  If it came down easy, then packing it was easy (she could pack a sail in under 5 minutes).  If it came down badly, then packing it was a bitch. 

Let’s just say this one was a bitch. 

First, the tack was twisted in such a way that it would not release, despite Phillip’s best efforts, making me more nervous because his head remained in the danger zone that much longer.  This went on for much longer than we had time for and so we began to shift directions, making the inevitable takedown all that much harder.

Phillip finally was able to release the sail.  However, there was so much pressure on it, that instead of being able to pull it into the boat, it ripped away from us.  Heather, who couldn’t see any of this happening because she was down below, found herself having a rope ripped through her hands, leaving really bad rope burns in its place.

Now the sail was flying in no controlled way off the port side of the boat and we had to get it into the boat.  It took considerable time and energy to finally get the thing in and down below.  After finally getting it down and the jib up, we are on the rail and watching as Heartbeat attempts to make a move to pass us.  Some yelling about rights ensues but I don’t see most of this because after a minute or two, I go and retrieve the spinnaker bag from the bow and take it below to help Heather pack the kite because I know we are going to have to reset the kite once we exit the channel.

This picture doesn't technically fit in the narrative here, but it is really cool and I wanted to include it.  Photo:  Jeff Davis

When I get below, it becomes immediately apparent that Heather is not ok – she is in shock from the rope burns.  Because I am a bad person, I tell her that we need to pack the sail first and then I will take care of her hands.  My thinking is that if I can get her mind off her hands it will shake her out of her shock.  This does not happen and my approach does not help her.

It takes what seems like 40 minutes to pack the sail, which comes up in a knot later anyway.  Part of this time is spent being flung about the cabin like a rag doll as the boat tacks or hits a wave.  I clearly have to work on my packing skills, though having run all three sides of the kite, I still have no idea how it came up badly.

Anyway, we get the kite packed, and Heather says she is OK and will now take care of her hands. 

I believed her. 

I don’t know why I believed her because I typically am quite skeptical about everything people say to me.  I should have known she was lying.  It is a flaw in my ability to perceive reality, I know.

When she does not re-emerge, we send MikeE down to help her with her hands.  Between MikeE and Phillip they get her hands bandaged, gloves on them, and Heather rejoins the above deck world. 

Sailing continues along the coast.  Besides the big boy sailors and the foredeck people, the remainder of the crew works somewhere in the middle of the boat, we crawl over the cabin during the upwind tacks, and spend a lot of time hiking on the rail.  My job, the afterguy, is controlling the pole attached to the spinnaker, and is part of the downwind portion of a race.  During the downwind periods I am positioned in the middle of the boat clutching the guy sheet.  

This picture is of CaZan when it was still Shockwave -- not during the race I am describing.  However -- it demonstrates what the pole is and also what the boat looks like and where people would be/sit on it.  Photo: Unknown

I hold on to the afterguy even when it is tied off because of my fear that it will somehow break free, hit the bowman and crush his head.  Conversely, it could hit the forestay and break it, which will result in the mast falling down and general catastrophe.  Don’t get me wrong, my job is unimportant in the grand scale of things and amounts to pulling on a rope for about 30 seconds and then sitting there the remainder of the time, but the consequences of the afterguy failing can be serious.

My job is primarily meaningless because despite the fact I am supposed to act autonomously and control the pole based upon the wind angles, in reality if I try to make an independent decision I am immediately questioned and told I am wrong. This is how I've learned to sail.  Also, I am wrong a lot.  My own personal learning curve aside, because the pole is attached to a line that is attached to a winch that I am holding, my position remains in the middle of the boat. 

This is important for later in the story.

The first wave that crested over the bow of the boat on our downwind run came seemingly out of nowhere.  Phillip, who was driving at the time, simply said – “everybody watch out” just in time for us to looked up and see a massive wall of water in front of our faces.  We are used to getting doused by waves going upwind, but it has never happened downwind before. 

The wave hit the spinnaker trimmer, Joseph, first.  He said later that the wave fully engulfed him – and he was standing up.  He had fortunately wrapped his arm around the stanchion just prior to the wave hitting him. The boat is at least six feet above the water line.  Joseph is at least 5.8, meaning this was a pretty big wave.  The rest of us were submerged and crushed into each other and pushed into the boat.

I lost my sunglasses. 

Sophie, somehow, retained both her orange trucker hat and sunglasses [see picture above], despite being fully submerged under water.  The water gods clearly do not like orange.  She did end up with a wet bright orange cast, which I imagine got really smelly later in the week.

Massive waves coming over the boat are not all that common in the races we have done, but there really isn’t much to do about it. 

We continued to sail down wind. 

We were sufficiently behind now that we were able to watch as both LocoMotion and Heartbeat were battered by the winds we were heading towards.  LocoMotion laid on its side for an extended amount of time.  When you are not in such dire straits it is easy to look at other boats and voyeuristically enjoy their mishap. 

It is entirely different when it happens to you.

By this point we had changed from an asymmetrical sail to a symmetrical sail, one that was pretty heavy and able to withstand some powerful winds [see picture above for illustration of symmetrical sail].  We passed Turtle Bay when the winds, which had been blowing in the mid-20 knots (around 28 MPH), went to the mid-30 knots (around 40 MPH). 

As we began to feel the wind pick up Phillip kept saying, “here comes the nostrils!”   

I am not sure what this means, but at the time I interpreted it to be some sort of sailing term for really getting blown away.

When going downwind, being pulled by a massive spinnaker, it is generally a good idea to keep the bow (front of the boat) from digging into the waves.  Water is a massive drag and if the bow goes under, lets just say it isn’t a good thing. 

The call was made to get all weight (meaning people) to the back of the boat, so everyone but the spinnaker trimmer, the grinder for the spinnaker and myself were now in the back of the boat to offset the massive power of the spinnaker in the front of the boat.

It was not enough.

The first wave to break over the bow didn’t do much.

I was sitting by the afterguy mid-way up the boat, but began scooting towards the back of the boat to contribute my weight to the ballast there.

The second wave to break over the bow also seemed to subside quickly.  However, we were flying downwind and the ride was just started.

At this point we all heard a massive “bang!” Hearing things break on a boat is never good, and is especially bad in 30+ knots of wind.  While it wasn’t clear what broke, we all knew something had blown.

Only later did I learn that the spinnaker halyard (the rope holding the spinnaker to the top of the mast) had released a few feet, enough to bring the massive sail closer to the water and further push the mass of the boat downwards.

I was sitting by the driver when the third wave crashed over the bow, coursed down the side of the boat and swept me backwards.  Without letting go of the guy, I was pushed into the lifelines at the back of the boat by the wave. I knew what this looked like because I had watched a former teammate be swept in this exact way towards the back of the boat in a previous race – during what we refer to as the Kahuku slapdown.

It could also be that the boat had rounded down too, but since I was underwater, I’m not sure of the sequence.  At a certain point, I figured I was going to have to figure out how to get above the water.  Fortunately, MikeE dropped down from the high side of the boat and pulled me out of the water and the boat came out of the water on the low side around the same time.

We did this on the opposite side -- but I was at the underwater part.  This is a picture of Shockwave accomplishing the same maneuver we did -- it is not encouraged and is not fast.  Photo: Unknown

 

I don't know that we went this far over -- I just included it for the dramatic affect.  However, when I emerged from underwater, the boat appeared to be at about this angle.  Again, the same boat, but not a picture of our race -- for illustration purposes only.  Photo: Unknown

I probably have the sequence of what happens next (and also before) incorrect, because we are entering one of those Rashomon moments.  At this point, the story breaks into 11 different viewpoints, only one of which I can tell.  

Let’s just say that for the next indeterminate amount of time, all hell breaks loose. 

The spinnaker has been released and while still dragging us along is not under control. 

The pole has broken, though I am not sure when this happened (making the afterguy irrelevant).  Basically, because it is made of carbon fiber, I was told that when it touched the water it snapped. 

Finally, we are still racing in 35 knots of wind with no ability to stop. 

After a brief check to ensure that nobody was hurt and everyone was still on the boat, we all set to work getting the spinnaker down.

Mike Fisher, who normally trims the main had the (mis)fortune of driving when this all began.  All he could do was drive and watch as the remaining 10 sailors raced forward to try to pull the sail in. 

I am not sure where everyone was positioned during much of the time. 

I had my legs wrapped around the mast and was trying to help MikeE and Tom pull down the dangling  pole pieces to release the sheets from it and hopefully get a handle on pulling the thing in.  Every time we gained a few inches, however, the wind just ripped it right out of our hands. 

The other side of the sail was still attached the sheet and the guy (the other ropes) and they were wrapped around the forestay.  It seemed to me that we needed to release that pressure or we could end up breaking the forestay. 

At some point, MikeE and Phillip went forward to try to work on the sail there.  Let’s just say that at this point MikeE gained the nickname slip n’ slide and some heroic teamwork ensued.

Looking down from the mast towards the lower side of the boat, there were several people trying to pull pieces of the sail in there.  We had begun to gain some traction on the sail in the front of the boat.  I looked back and saw that the sail was now trailing in the water behind the boat so ran to the back to start pulling in the sail there.  It was at this point that I noticed the sail was completely shredded, though clearly this happened way earlier in the take down.

I was pulling in the two taped edges of the sail (these are colored so you can tell which side of the sail is which). 

As a climber, I have lots of pulling muscles.  I don’t every really lift weights, but the last time I did a lat pull, I could pull 240 pounds (well, that was when I stopped measuring).  I say this because I am not weak and pulling in those strips of sail dragging in the water took considerable energy.  Jake came back to help.

I have no idea how long this took, but we finally got the sail in the boat.

Because we were still racing, we then tried to raise our #4 jib, which had already been beaten up the day before.  It didn’t even make it half way up before it too was shredded.

We brought it back down.

We were now sailing only under the power of the main sail, but still going over 10 knots.  The race for the day was basically over for us.

Even though the wind was still loud, we all took a collective breath and began to try to figure out what had just happened.

Somebody asked – who wants a beer?

Even I couldn’t say no.

The race ended uneventfully about an hour later when we passed the land-based buoy by Mokuleia.  In theory, we had planned to round Kaena point and BBQ while motoring down the leeward coast.

It is called the leeward coast because the wind doesn’t really hit that side of the island.  We were not so lucky -- it blew around 25 knots all the way to Ko Olina and we hardly put the motor on at all.

We limped into Ko Olina, gathered up the torn sails and broken pole, cleaned up the boat, and then Jake and Phillip spent the entire evening sewing the #4 jib back into existence so we could complete the race in the morning.

Our crew normally debriefs after a race.   It is safe to say that the debrief for the second day of the race was an ongoing event – well into the evening and the next day.

Day Three:

After the second day, there really isn’t much to say about the third.  It was mostly upwind and the winds were still really high.  We missed first place by seconds and we arrived back in Honolulu with most of the boat intact, the crew mostly in one piece, and an eventful race to talk about.

During my first few years of sailing after every big event, I always looked back at it and thought – I’m glad I didn’t know it was going to be like that going in. 

I can’t say that anymore.  Two years ago, we got slapped down on the old CaZan in a similar way, but didn't’ break anything.  We called it the Kahuku slapdown.  I knew going into this race that something similar could happen.  In fact, I anticipated it.  Mike Fisher called this the Kahuku slapdown times two. 

I have heard that Hawaiians have over 200 names for the wind.  For example, olau koa is the name of a strong wind, sufficient to blow the leaves of the koa tree.  We encountered something much stronger.  Each island and each part of the island has discrete winds that are named.  I’m not sure what the name of the wind we encountered around Turtle Bay might be, but what seems clear to me now is that if I am going to keep sailing in Hawaii, it is time to learn the names of the wind and pay my respects to the power they have over our miniscule and irrelevant lives. 

Finally, I hope I can sit on my tailbone without pain before I get on a plane for Australia… being flung like a rag doll around a boat has some consequences.  

Also, stay tuned and to see what kind of trouble I can get into down under.

  

The race ended at the lantern lighting festival so I thought I would include a nice peaceful picture of lanterns.  Photo: Me