“The Wizard of El Sobrante”Latitude 38 June, 1994 Author: Shimon Van Collie Ask any veteran Bay Area sailor to name the most influential local yacht designers of the past two decades and you’ll end up with a familiar list: Gary Mull, Bill Lee, George Olson, Ron Moore, Carl Schumacher, Tom Wylie, Chuck Burns. One who might or might not make the list is Jim Antrim, which just goes to show that perception doesn’t always match reality. If anyone has mastered the art of producing the excellence of the “usual subjects’ while not drawing too much attention to himself, it’s James K. Antrim. Tongue in check, he’s known as “The Wizard of El Sobrante,” a reference to his sagacity and to the small Contra Costa County hamlet where he works and resides near San Pablo Dam with his wife, Cheryl, and two daughters, Sommer, 13 and Kaeli, 9. Possessing a 20-year resume that includes working on two America’s Cup design teams, 52 boats ranging from IOR Half Tonners to single-handed dinghies, the U.S.-to-Japan speed record holding Trimaran Aotea and a new 30-foot production Trimaran, Antrim could be the Bay Area sailing scene’s best kept secret. To those who know and have sailed with the quiet, dark-haired 43-year-old with the bushy moustache and piquant sense of humor, Antrim is just as much an asset on board as he is at the drawing board. “Jim’s little shy if he doesn’t know you,” says Oakland sailmaker Kame Richards, with whom Antrim used set a new course record for the Doublehanded Lightship race, “but not otherwise. As a sailing companion, it’s hard to imagine anyone better. He can handle his job and half of yours if something goes wrong.” We recently took a trip to Antrim’s home base, a cozy, lived-in abode built during the Eisenhower years in a development that fashions itself after Robin Hood’s Sherwood Forest. Out back, at the corner of Nottingham and Archery Way, nestled next to a towering pine, is Antrim’s new office. Jim built much of the square wooden structure himself. Also occupying the backyard are a couple of plastic-wrapped Wing Dinghies, a horse-headed see-saw, a small brood of rabbits and a friendly old dog named Sookie.
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Inside, the combination kitchen/living room space yielded a few more indicators of the Antrim mystique. An electric guitar sat poised for amplification in one corner. Stacked next to the dining table were some volumes on Mozart. “I tend to play rock and roll on the guitar and classical music on the piano,” Antrim admits almost reluctantly. “I keep it at enough to amuse myself and sometimes give the kids lessons when they’re interested.” On the walls are family photos, including one of Jim’s rather large collection of brothers (four) and sisters (two) and along with various in-laws and his parents. His father Bill gets some credit for Jim’s interest in sailing, which started as family project when they moved from New York to Nahant, a shoreline community just north of Boston back in the 1950’s. Bill Antrim had an itch to go sailing, largely since it wouldn’t cost as much as buying gas for a powerboat. He soon purchased a 170foot lapstrake wooden sloop, which was named Kiki after one of Jim’s sisters. Father Antrim modified the craft for cruising, adding a cabin for sleeping and a keel to replace the centerboard. The latter was hinged to the bottom of the keelson so it could be raised for beaching or gunkholing. In an article he wrote about Kiki in 1982 for Rudder magazine, Bill Antrim described “one early memorable cruise (on which) I took my number two son, Jim.” The two – Jim was 7 at the time – set off up the coast of Massachusetts, spent the night at Gloucester Harbor and beat their way back in a nasty southwester. On the latter leg, Jim and his old man traded the helm while the other bailed to keep the leaky, torquing hull afloat. Jim’s memories of the outing focus more on what didn’t happen, which was that he missed his first Sunday Mass. In his young mind, committing such a sin was not to be taken lightly. “I really struggled over whether or not to go with my Dad,” he recalls. “The odd thing was, the priest died of a heart attack at the pulpit that day. I remember being sorry I missed that!” Religion’s loss was sailing’s gain, and many cruises followed. Bill Antrim traded up to other boats, including a 25’ Alden design on which Jim and his siblings cruised the New England coast. The kids also had their own craft. Jim and his older brother Sean spent many hours racing a 9-ft Turnabout dinghy. He was also known to take off for a nearby island, spend the night in the little boat and return in the morning.
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Boats occupied Jim’s mind even when he wasn’t on the water. At 13, he thought he wanted to become an aeronautical engineer, but two years later he decided boats would be more fun. He’d been sketching sail plans and interiors since he was a tyke. One of his earliest cabin arrangements, in fact, including a playroom for his toys. “I always thought it was an oversight by other designers not to included room for them,” he remembers. Once Dad informed him that people who design sailboats are called naval architects, Jim’s path was established. In 1968, he entered the Webb Institute of Naval Architecture in Glen Cove, New York. Along with MIT and the University of Michigan, this was the only school in the country offering an undergraduate degree in the subject. Part of the ‘Webbies’ curriculum includes real world experiences, which for Jim meant a stint as a seaman in South America and a summer as a ship fitter’s apprentice in Southern California. Yacht design, however, was the goal. Prior to his senior year, Jim served an apprenticeship as designer and draftsman for Dick Carter, one of the hit IOR designers of that era. Jim’s graduate thesis reflected that influence: “An Investigation of Sailing Hull Design to the International Offshore Rule, Mark III.” He also found a spot on the foredeck of designer Brit Chance’s racing yacht Fling, a move which he parlayed into a four year job at Chance’s Oyster Bay, New York, design office after graduation.
The experience with Chance provided valuable experience. Jim assumed the role of optimizing Chance’s designs on
FORTRAN computers, predicting performance and analyzing tank tests.
His timing, however, left something to be desired.
Their first big project together was the ill-fated 12 Meter Mariner
which Chance designed for Ted Turners 1974 America’s Cup bid.
Long on theory (Chance’s strength) and short on performance, Mariner
featured one of the oddest sterns ever seen in yacht design.
The squared off rear end of the underbody was supposed to keep
water flow attached to the hull longer than other pinched-in designs.
However, as Turner himself pointed out, “Even a turd is tapered
at both ends.” Antrim survived the disaster, and helped Chance redeem himself with boats like Huey Long’s maxi Ondine, One Ton world champion Resolute Salmon and the 46-foot IOR sloop Bay Bea. For Resolute Salmon, Jim |