Living with unlimited hydroplane "fever"

I'm not a boat owner. It never seemed prudent to want possession of something that soaks continuing maintenance and can only be used for a few months each summer

But—every year, when the pits in Seattle start to fill with airfoil equipped thunder boats and tool trailers, cranes and crews, it's all I can do to stay at work and not dash across the floating bridge to participate in Seattle Seafair's annual unlimited hydroplane regatta.

Though technically not aircraft, the cabover, pickle-fork, tunnel hull unlimited hydroplanes use ground effect technology to operate the airfoil. Coupled with the small "footprint" high pressure aircraft turbine (which also uses the Bernoulli effect), hydros are the flashiest, noisiest action in town for a solid week.

Miss Budweiser, 1978-79 edition, taking the starting gun of the 1979 Atomic Cup in Pasco/Kennewick, Wash. on the Columbia River. However, it was the legendary Atlas Van Lines—the Blue Blaster—driven by Bill Muncey, which won the trophy.

And when the U.S. Navy's Blue Angels came to town with the thunderboats, it was really an aircraft show par excellence. When the FAA told the Angels they were flying into commercial air space for Seattle's two big airports, the Navy pulled the plug and they stopped coming. We struggled for a few years—a local car dealer bought a used MIG-21 and flew it along the course one year; the Canadian Air Force SnowBirds team flew for several years; and there were other weak attempts to compensate.

Finally, everyone bent a little. The FAA said if the flight path was changed to north-south instead of southwest-northeast, the Blue Angels could fly again. The Seattle Seafair sponsors agreed to schedule the Blue Angels practice times and aerial show. Someone (the city, I think) put up a hefty insurance policy in case of incidents.

I love the sound of the old boats, though, the ones powered by 16-cylinder Rolls "Merlin" and "Allison" piston driven aircraft engines. They were slower, rode bumpier, overheated even in the coldest water—but they had a deep, robust roar that was as much felt as heard.

A number of years back, I took the kids to watch the time trials at Seattle's Stan Sayers pits. We sat in the sun and had a huge picnic lunch, and they got to play in the water and run around. Terri was serving at a Walk to Emmaus weelend as I recall.

The boats were still loud, only those big turbines whine instead. I was disappointed—when I think "thunderboat," I really anticipate hearing a full throated fuel injected roar.

I guess the boats are a lot faster … and the stakes are considerably higher. It used to be you could buy a Ted Jones/Ron Jones unlimited for $150,000 and always place in the final heat. Now a million in cash won't make you a contender.

But the race day excitement is still just as "edgy" as always. The air is thick with anticipation. Crowds are more intense (even though they built Safeco Field where we used to park for the race-bound buses).

The pits are busier. I remember, as a kid myself, wandering along the finger piers, trading hydro buttons with other boys, eavesdropping on the crew conversations, and smelling the oil and high octane mixed with water. No one stopped us, they merely made us move if we perchance happened to be in the way of activity. Now, they have an eight-foot high fence all the way around and photo ID badges are required.

I remember the hoorahs that the rabid Seattle racing faction used to get into with the Detroit boating aficionados. That was in the days of the APBA (American Power Boat Association), when the Gold Cup was a much vaunted symbol of civic pride—and the city who's boat won it could legitimately crow.

Now they have the Unlimited Hydroplane Racing Commission and things have quieted down considerable. Seattle doesn't get the Gold Cup anymore (does it even still exist). We have corporate-sponsored things like the Texaco Trophy and the Winston Cup. I guess free enterprise is fine but I yearn for the old, fervid, storm-the-ramparts ways of racing.

I twice met Bill Muncey, the legendary hydroplane racer who successfully transitioned from the Merlins to the turbines, and in doing so, was the winningest driver the sport ever had. He was also its biggest publicist and you could always count on Bill for a good quote—and a warm smile.

The first meeting was in 1962, the year of the Seattle "Century 21" World's Fair, for which Muncey was a kind of informal ambassador. My family was newly in town from of northern New Mexico (Farmington) and I eagerly tasted the big city. Dad got us tickets to a dinner with Big Bill at our church. Don't remember much of what he said (hey, I was only 11), but I remember the other attendees treated him like royalty. And he DID win the 1962 Gold Cup that summer, driving the legendary Miss Thriftway.

My second meeting with Muncey was at the 1979 Atomic Cup in Kennewick, Wash. I was a reporter/photojournalist for the Columbia Basin Daily Herald in Moses Lake. My wife and I drove to the Tri-Cities for the races, which I recall were windy with choppy water and boats not running very fast (it's always windy in central Washington).

A fellow graduate from our college journalism program (EWU, class of 1976) was a whiz-bang, bigshot reporter for one of the Spokane television stations and when he found the press bleachers filled with print journalists and their families, he went ballistic. Demanded that we "get out of his section" so he and his cameraman could have space to do a leisurely report.

The rest of us—two dozen or so professional journalists—laughed, believing he had to be joking. Several other TV crews got involved, then, echoing the jerk's demands. The fight spilled over to the race headquarters, when his outrage escalated to encompass throwing us off the course entirely. And it got loud—there were a few punches thrown.

Finally, Muncey and his crew chief came over to see what was happening. In short order, he convinced the "TV boys" that freedom of the press meant all the press and that if they didn't back down, he would stop the race. He talked race officials into setting aside a shady patch of embankment away from the bleachers where they could do their on-camera standups. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Muncey won the day's trophy and my unending admiration, but Terri and I never went back to the press bleachers.