Piracy

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You probably think of Las Vegas as a profoundly superficial place, a place where, when you scrape away the glitter you findŠmore glitter. Of course, there is some validity to this view, considering that this city of over 1 million people is built upon the following formula:

1. Stun visitors with a lot of bright flashing lights.
   
2. Take their money.
   

But something good and true and significant has come to Las Vegas. For several years now, there has been a thing of purity in the midst of the crassness, a lovely flower blossoming in the shadow of Wayne Newton. And this thing is of particular significance to sailors. It is our Grail, our Fountainhead, the template upon which (after editing out some of the more severe pathologies) we base our aspirations to swashbuckling, derring-do, and wearing ratty clothes. Yes, I'm talking about 18th century piracy.

Picture this: you're walking down by the Strip one evening, trying to clear your head after the last round of blackjack at one of Vegas' 143,679,422 major casinos (games are also available in most restrooms, dentists offices, and daycare centers). It is hot, you're tired, and the traffic is starting to get on your nerves. You round the corner onto Las Vegas Boulevard and stop. There before you is a beautiful lagoon, about 500' long, with shops and houses built along a quay. Off to one side there's an 85' on deck full-rigged ship, the Sir Francis Drake. A bunch of larcenous-looking types are lounging about in the waist, chatting.

Suddenly a skiff rounds a headland off to your right. It's rowed by two more nasty-looking types, and they have a bulging sack of jewels and other swag in the bow. The rowers are warmly welcomed by their mates; but before anyone has time to figure how this is going to affect their tax bracket, a lookout on the mizzen t'gallant yard shouts, "sail ho!" and around the same headland comes the Britannia, a British man o'war. It's at least as big as the "Drake", and with all sails set; its ponderous magnificence dominates the scene, casting a distinct pall on the pirates' conversation.

You blink. You wonder if there was something unusual in those Margaritas. But there's not time for analysis, because first verbal abuse, and then cannonballs are flying back and forth between the two ships. Suddenly you're in the middle of a full-scale omigod sea battle.

Cannons are run out and fired. Water geysers up form a near miss, and then the balls begin to strike home, toppling masts, blowing deck cargo and crew alike into the water. A round hits a warehouse behind the pirate ship. There must have been powder stored in there because a huge explosion blows the shuttered windows open and a ball of flame the size of Dolly Parton's hair bursts out, engulfing the buccaneer's mainmast rigging. The lookout is blown off the yard and falls, tumbling backwards, to the water. Another crewmember comes hurtling out of the rig, is saved from smashing into the deck by a line that snags him by one foot. Both ships suffer damage, but the British clearly gain the upper hand and call for the pirates to surrender. The pirate captain, standing by the mizzen shrouds, grabs a line and swings forward, out over the water, with a torch in one hand. He lands at the foremast shrouds, and lays the torch against the touchhole of a canyon, setting off a shot that hits the Britannia at the waterline. The Britannia's powder magazine catches fire, then goes up in a huge explosion, and the few crew left aboard leap off and swim for their lives. Except the captain, who stays at the rail, indomitable. His ship tips to one side, then sinks beneath the waters. The captain's hat floats away, and the battle is done.

What you've just seen is a free show, staged 6 times a day, 7 days a week, weather permitting, in front of the Treasure Island Hotel. Behind the scenes, a bank of computers interface ship motion, pyrotechnics, and recorded voices and music. The ships crews are the cast of the show, and a very highly trained cast at that, considering that they have to move about in the ships and perform some serious stunts in synchrony with all the mechanical gear, with a lot going on behind the scenes.

For example, while the "cast crew" of 16 is out front wowing the crowds, a similar number of "tech crew" is working to assure that all the effects work correctly and on cue. Among their mechanical charges are: wave making machines that create a 2'-3' sea in the lagoon; hydraulics for things like making masts topple, an underwater railway to roll the "Britannia" into battle; and a huge table that clamps onto the "Britannia's" hull, then tips and sinks, taking the boat with it.

Before each show, the tech crew loads up the pyrotechnics, then checks to make sure that each effect is green-lighted at the computer that runs the sequence of explosions. The computer is constantly analyzing data and will shut down the show if anything is off spec. If, for example, the "Britannia" is traveling too fast, or if any test circuit is red-lighted.

In addition, an actual human ­ the technical director ­ monitors each show, and can stop everything from the booth overlooking the action. Finally, each of the ships' captains really is a captain, responsible for monitoring the positions and movements of all the crew to see that they hit their marks and stay out of the way of explosives. Each of the captains can also stop the show at any time, by means of a hard-wired switch they hold throughout the performances.

The show has been running since June of '94), and so far no one in the crews is getting bored. As pyrotechnician/diver/maintenance worker Allen Wasson puts it, "Working here is like a day at the playground".

All right, you could say that this is just another Las Vegas show. And it's true that inside the hotel you'll find faux nautical shops with names like "Loot n' Booty" and "Damsel indis Dress". But before you dismiss the action out front as mere spectacle, think on these compelling parallels, with the real world of sailing:

1. Just like a sailboat race, the show is called off if there's too much wind. Not because it makes these boats heel, but it blows too much flame into the rope rigging.
   
2. The crews call out derisive remarks to each other before doing battle. But these guys get to aim the starting gun at the competition.
   
3. Just as in modern multihulls, these ships are equipped with trampolines. They're just smaller, and used for making great arcing leaps overboard, timed to coincide with on-deck explosions.
   
4. The Drake's captain, as he swings through the air to fire off that last cannon, is undoubtedly repeating to himself the ageless captain's mantra, "Do I have to do everything myself?"

P.S.

Actual sailing is available on nearby Lake Mead, just a long cannon shot outside of Las Vegas. The 247 square mile lake has a very active sailing scene (windsurfers and 20'-40' boats), and several no-charge launch ramps. The lake lies in the old Colorado River channel, so it's formed of 3 large basins with cliff-lined "narrows" in between. Great gunkholing.

PPS.
A slightly different version of this story appeared in Sail magazine some years ago.