My America’s Cup Quest

September 1977. I was fourteen years old, living about an hour north of Boston, Massachusetts in a typical New England college town. My life was ice hockey, baseball, football, and building models of World War II airplanes, tanks and ships, and beginning a new hobby; photography.

I was always interested in the news, especially the local evening television news broadcasts that aired at six o'clock every evening. The Boston stations, WBZ Channel 4, WCVB Channel 5, WNAC Channel 7, and our two New Hampshire television stations, WMUR Channel 9 and WENH Channel 11. In those days, long before cable television or internet streaming, we were lucky to tune in five television channels; maybe six if the wind was blowing right.

I'd watch the local and national news stories with only slight interest, waiting for the weather segment, and finally, the sports reports.

During the early fall, only two things mattered in New England sports; baseball’s Boston Red Sox, ending their season, and the New England Patriots of the National Football League, starting their season. It was during one of these sports broadcasts that I first remember hearing the words "America's Cup". I remember hearing something about Newport, Rhode Island, and seeing aerial footage of these small sailboats, limping across the water, not thinking much about it other than as a novelty, in a far-off city.

Fast forward to 1980, and again, there was news about the America's Cup, but being my senior year in high school, still glowing from the gold medal victory of the U.S. Olympic Men's Ice Hockey team that February, it didn't register much more than a sports side note. But what did resonate was that the America’s Cup was a competition of the United States versus far away foreign countries. And anything that was the United States against anyone, be it the Olympics, the military, or a sailboat race, got my attention.

By the Fall of 1983, I was entering my junior year of college, where I had developed my photography skills freelancing for the college student newspaper while working on my degree. I went to college in a very small, northern New Hampshire town, where television was practically non-existent. We learned about what was happening beyond the mountains listening to the radio, specifically the town radio station, WPNH-FM.

I worked part-time at the town book and record store, mostly unpacking and filing the week’s delivery of LP records along with running the register as needed to relieve the regular person. The radio was always echoing through the store, playing the local hits of the day, and then at the top of the hour, reporting the local and national news brief, always a notable event for no other reason than to mark another hour closer to getting out.

Then, September 26, 1983, a day that would live on in my mind for a long, long time. On this day, semi-listening to the news brief, the reporter said that startled me, resonating deeply in my patriotic soul; a team from Australia had won the America's Cup. He said that it was the first time in 132 years that the Cup was lost by an American team.

From that September day, I began a quest, to learn everything I could about the America's Cup, with the hopes of one day seeing the event in person. My fraternity brother Ken was from Newport, so I often asked him about it, planning one day to visit the city with him when he went home. But that never happened.

By February of 1987, it was America's Cup time again, but this time was different. Television coverage of most if not all the races was accessible, live from the never before heard of Fremantle, Western Australia. Given the time difference, if I wanted to watch the races, I'd have to tune in around 11:30PM! Given I now had a full-time job, that was a tall order! But I intently watched every broadcast I could, mesmerized by the way these tiny sailboats were being tossed around by the huge waves and gusty winds of the "Fremantle Doctor" as it was known and to say it made watching the races interesting is an understatement.

Whereas before the team representing the United States had for 132 years been the New York Yacht Club, this challenger was from the San Diego Yacht Club, with its enigmatic skipper Dennis Conner and his boat "Stars and Stripes". Just the name of the boat was enough for me to cheer them on, and on Wednesday, February 4, 1987, in the midst of a cold snowy New England winter night, Stars and Stripes completed a four-race sweep, winning back the Auld Mug, bringing the Cup back the United States of America, where it belonged. At least I thought so.

The next few months it seemed that the America's Cup was in the news every day. Front page stories in the Boston Globe, and most memorably a cover of Time magazine, a smiling Dennis Conner, at the helm of the Cup winning sailboat, an iconic image if there ever was one. More stories and memorable magazine covers continued, as the Cup was brought home in a First Class seat of the flight bringing it back, and then to the February 16, 1987 Sports Illustrated cover, with Dennis Conner and President Ronald Reagan holding the Cup in the White House.

The possibility, however remote, that I could actually see the Cup with my own eyes, and even see the races, was now within reach.

It was to happen much sooner than I could have imagined. A college friend was stationed at an Air Force Base in Southern California, not far from San Diego, and her sister lived in the San Diego suburbs. I had already planned to visit later that spring, but now it became a quest to find the Cup.

The day finally arrived and we met up in San Diego, with plans to go sailing. As luck would have it, we were going to be sailing out of the San Diego Yacht Club! I don't remember very much of the afternoon on the water, other than fleeting images of me in a red and white broad striped sweater, clinging to the wheel, in my mind recreating the iconic Time magazine cover photo.

After several hours on the water we returned to the harbor, to have a late lunch and a drink at the Yacht Club. As we entered the Club, I vaguely remember being overwhelmed by the trophies, plaques, flags and other memorabilia displayed from regattas long past. We sat down at the table, and I took my seat at the opposite end of the table, facing the way we had just entered.

I don't recall how long we had been there, or what we discussed, ate or drank; but at some point, the Man himself, Dennis Conner, came waltzing in, that famous smile gleaming. He walked right past our table, waved and gave a "Hi folks!" and continued on his way.

Now this was long before cellphone cameras, selfies or getting photos taken with a famous person was common. I remember being stunned; did that just really happen?

A few days later, we learned that one of the "Stars and Stripes' 12 meter boats was on display at a restaurant or hotel in the San Diego area, so we went to see it. It was my first time seeing a 12 Meter, and although it wasn't the actual yacht that had won in Fremantle that winter, it was nearly identical. I was finally able to understand the size, and shape of a real America's Cup yacht. I snapped several pictures as a memento.

At some point we discovered that the actual America's Cup, the now 136 year old sterling silver mug, was going to be on display, available for anyone to see. I was beyond ecstatic. I don't remember going there, getting there or leaving, and I'm not even sure where we went. I vaguely remember it may have been in a gymnasium of some sort.

But when we walked in the door, there it was; glistening on its oak base, encased in a glass cover from the base to over the top of the ornate sterling silver ewer. I remember just staring at it, taking it all in. Fortunately, I had my ever-present camera with me, and I ripped off a few quick pictures of it. I was so close, and it was so tall, that I had to take two vertical photos, that I would later tape together to make the full trophy.

That was the last time I would see the trophy with my own eyes, for the next 37 years.

After that, I intently followed every America's Cup regatta, still dreaming of one day, seeing it again. The spectacle of the America's Cup grew exponentially from 1987 on. In 1988, the infamous Deed of Gift Match race challenge by the New Zealand Mercury Bay Boating Club; the 1992 regatta, against the Italian Compagnia della Vela; each time, the Cup was successfully won and defended by the San Diego Yacht Club. But in 1995, the Royal New Zealand Yacht Club crushed Dennis Conner's San Diego Yacht Club, in a best of nine series, 5-0, and the Cup was again headed to the South Pacific.

It would be five long years before America's Cup regattas would resume, when in 2000 New Zealand held the first of its defenses, successfully blanking the challenger Yacht Club Punta Ala of Italy, 5-0, but then losing the trophy in 2003, when the upstart challenger, Alinghi representing the Societe Nautique de Geneve of Switzerland wrestled the Cup from the Kiwi's, returning it to Europe for the first time in over 150 years.

The Swiss successfully defended the Cup in 2007, again defeating the Kiwi's five races to two, but losing the Cup in 2010 in another Deed of Gift Match race. This time to BMW Oracle Racing, a team led by billionaire Oracle CEO Larry Ellison, representing the Golden Gate Yacht Club of San Francisco.

I had intently followed and watched each of these events, but nothing prepared me for the 2013 defense by Oracle Team USA, against the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron's Emirates Team New Zealand, in the new AC72 foiling catamarans. I watched every race of that regatta, and when the first to nine wins score was Kiwi's 8, Oracle USA 1, I was resigned to the fact that the Cup was going back to New Zealand.

In the comeback of the Century, Oracle Team USA team won the next eight races in a row, to retain the Cup in shocking fashion.

I was hoping to be able to see some portion of the 35th America's Cup to be held this time on the island of Bermuda, in 2017, but life intervened and the dream would have to wait. When the defender Oracle Team USA lost that regatta, again to the Kiwi's, I then committed to seeing the 36th edition, in Auckland, New Zealand scheduled for January of 2021. I started basic planning in early 2020, but we all know what happened then. The COVID pandemic shut the world down, and again, I would have to watch the races on television in the middle of the night.

After the Royal Yacht Squadron successfully defended the Cup against Italy's Luna Rossa, I eagerly looked forward to the 37th America's Cup. When it was announced that this edition would be held in Barcelona, Spain, I again started to believe that this would be the opportunity I had waited for since 1983. My life's events had progressed to the point where it was not inconceivable, either financially or timewise, to travel to see the now global event. Its popularity had grown exponentially since 1983, with exciting new yachts, preliminary regattas, a full challenger series, and then the final event, the 37th America's Cup.

I started mentally planning in early 2023. I researched flights, hotels, sites to see and everything required to undertake the trip of a lifetime. I had initially estimated that I could spend up to ten days in Barcelona based on the expense, and amount of vacation time I could manage. I intently searched for anything I could find on the schedule, location, everything I would need to know to make a successful and memorable visit. When the America's Cup website came back on, I perused every page, every update every story. By late 2023, I finally began to believe that I could pull it off.

Given my line of work, and place of employment, I have a lot of flexibility in my schedule. This meant I could swap shifts with my colleagues as needed and carve out longer blocks of time off, almost at will. By this point, timelines and event dates had been firmed up, enabling concrete plans to be put in place.

By the time specific dates were announced, from August 22, 2024 through to no later than October 27, 2024, it was not just a plan to attend a small portion of the months long event, but a master plan, to spend at least six weeks in Barcelona to attend all the events possible, from the Preliminary Regatta Finale August 22-25, the Louis Vuitton Round Robins from August 29 to September 8, the Louis Vuitton Semifinals and Final from September 14 to October 6, and then the big event itself, the America's Cup Final between whoever the Challenger ended up being against Emirates Team New Zealand in the Best of 13 series, from October 12 until potentially October 27.

In addition to these primary events, there were other events I want to see; a weekend regatta featuring classic and historic yachts and sailboats, including several 12 Meter yachts from America's Cup's past, a week of the huge J-Class yachts racing, and the newest events to be associated with the America's Cup, the Youth and Women's America's Cup regattas, featuring teams representing the six main America's Cup teams; New Zealand, Great Britain, Italy, Switzerland, France and the United States, along with six invited countries; Spain, the Netherlands, Sweden, Canada, Germany and Australia.

These last two events would be contested in between the various rounds of the main event, in the new AC40 class foiling sailboats, I really wanted to see these races, if for no other reason the novelty of it and the new boats.

By December 2023, I had been overcome by that which plagues every America's Cup follower. Obsession.

I realized that for an event this big (at least for me) I needed to prepare and plan as much as possible, and being an avid photographer for nearly 50 years, my way of enjoying and living an event includes the art of taking photographs to capture what I see. I wanted the best possible access, the best chance of success, producing, if not for anyone else, for me, iconic images of the event, as I had seen over the years from many photographers that I wanted to emulate. My experience covering NASCAR races and a variety of college and professional sports during my freelancing days had prepared me for the level of organization and planning required.

What camera bodies should I bring? What lenses could I bring? How would I save and process the likely thousands of images I wanted to capture? Where were the best places to shoot the races from, as well as all the other places and tourist areas that I needed to know? It became apparent that I need a scouting mission to Barcelona to answer many of these questions. In January of 2024, I embarked on the first of what ended up being three separate trips to Barcelona, again in late February, and finally in mid-May. I undertook a methodical plan to test cameras and lenses, locations, and address the many other issues I wanted to manage. I also needed to find a place to live for at least a month, as by now I had settled on an initial month-long stay from mid-August through to mid-September, with the potential to return for the finals in mid-October.

I was fortunate on each early visit to Barcelona to see several teams out on the water, training and testing. Seeing the original American Magic “Patriot” for the first time, along with Alinghi Red Bull’s “Boat Zero”, and several other teams AC40’s at various times, was intoxicating. I visited the America’s Cup Experience several times, learning more about the history of the America’s Cup, and meeting several people who would become friends over the next several months. Walking around the city on these trips, I was thrilled to see many of the staff of the teams out and about, be it at restaurants, or riding their bikes.

Another part of the scouting trips was to find the team bases, to see what I could see. It was easy to find them, and, on the last trip in May, I was able to watch Ineos Britannia launch their AC75 and catch it out sailing on the water.

But nothing had prepared me for the excitement upon my arrival in August. Everywhere you looked, there were people decked out in every team’s swag, from t-shirts, to jackets and hats, and everything in between. The Race Village and Fan Zones had come alive, from what a few months earlier was just open space. The huge television screens, at the two beachside Fan Zones, and the main stage at the Race Village, complete with food stands, impromptu street bars, and a multitude of sponsor suites. This area became alive at Noon every day, rain or shine, race day or reserve day. There was no shortage of things to do, and this Race Village became the central meeting point for the many new friends I would come to meet over the next two months.

It was at the Race Village main stage, on the afternoon of the prizegiving for the Preliminary Regatta that I met some of the people that would make this a truly once in a lifetime experience. One of them was associated with RIB Spectator Barcelona, an organization offering on the water access to the races and boats. That would lead to many days out on the water during races, in what felt like the middle of the action. That single opportunity, and the kindness of everyone associated with them, resulted in finally, fulfilling the long-awaited dream of photographing the races, up close and personal.

But there was still one thing left; to see the America’s Cup itself, like I had almost 40 years earlier in San Diego. That day came on Saturday, October 19, 2024. I was able to watch the final race, out with the massive spectator fleet, as Emirates Team New Zealand again defended the Cup, then being in and amongst the flotilla of yachts, sailboats, RIB’s and pretty much anything else that could float surrounding the Kiwi AC75 as it made its way into the harbor and back to the team base. Being in the middle of the celebration was something I could not have ever dreamed of.

Later that afternoon and early evening, the crowds at the Main Race Village grew beyond capacity for the final prize giving event. It was literally, shoulder to shoulder, as fans, the media, the final two teams, and the assembled dignitaries flowed into the Main stage. It was total jubilation, mixed with a sizeable dose of chaos.

I wedged myself into the best position I could manage, which turned out to be the front row of the tunnel of humanity that connected the dock to the Main stage. I could quite literally have shaken the hand of every single Ineos Britannia and Emirates Team New Zealand team member as they walked the path. But, still wearing my photographer’s hat (figuratively) I maintained at least the appearance of professionalism, as my feet were stepped on, and my ribs pummeled by over-zealous fans, trying to get closer.

After what seemed like an eternity, a large ornate case, ostensibly holding the America’s Cup, was placed on the stage, front and center, not more than 30 feet in front of me. The anticipation of what was to come finally began to set in, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. I had to wait a little while longer, but finally the real America’s Cup was brought out, and placed in front of the aforementioned case.

At first I could only stare at it, glistening in the stage lights. At that moment, I know I cracked a smile. More like a smart-assed smirk, realizing that all my waiting, planning, expense, and everything else, in that moment, had come to pass.

I calmed down enough to rip off as many images as I could, documenting the entire process, from the introductions and speeches, and finally of the Cup being presented to Peter Burling and Nathan Outteridge. I captured many memorable moments that night, but my favorite, the money shot as we say, as Peter Burling raised the Cup high in victory, confetti pouring down, and Moet champagne spraying up, and the emotion in Nathan Outteridge’s face as he lifted the Cup.

At that moment, we shared a similar emotion, fulfilling a longtime dream.

My America’s Cup story is probably like many others, and for many more, still a dream. But it’s about more than just a bunch of rich kids seeing who has the fastest yacht. It’s about dreaming, tireless planning and working to fulfill that dream, and executing that plan to make a dream a reality. It’s a lesson that too often goes unlearned.

I recently completed a book containing many of the images I captured during the five trips to Barcelona during 2024. From my first steps arriving in a foreign country where I knew no one, to the last day, a dinner with many of the new friends I met along the way, and who made Barcelona and the 37th America's Cup more amazing than I ever could have imagined. I thank them from the bottom of my heart.

My book is dedicated to Lou, Michaela, Yvonne, Christian, Iam, Carla, Ignasi, Dani, Justin, Magnus, Natalie, Julia, Yuliia and Sasha, collectively known as my Barcelona Family.

Michael Silverwood