Team W2N Canasta – Round the Island Race Report.
As I reflect on what was, for me, an extraordinary experience in so many conflicting
ways, I can't help wondering if the memories of 28th June 2008 will emerge one day
as psychological scarring or as a sepia-tinted 'Beken of Cowes' style image of effortless
grace, dignity and world-class teamwork! Here’s my perspective on the day;
Friday 27th Pre-race preparations...
I'd love to tell you that, like all successful campaigns, our meticulous pre-race
preparations were key to a glorious victory. I can't lie... so I'll have to admit
that of the eight crew making up the formidable Team W2N Canasta, I had only met
four – ever. In fact, Hugo, a friend of mine from Torquay and his girlfriend Kate,
woke up on race day just as we entered the preparatory holding area east of the race
start possibly making them, ironically, the most experienced sailors, yet arguably,
the least prepared crew in the history of the race! Donna and Alastair (AJ) signed
up for the W2N newsletter having been told about the project by AJ's mum and my good
friend Sheila. To say that their combined sailing experience was 'limited' would
be a laughable understatement but what they lacked in knowledge (and volume), they
made up for with enthusiasm of such an infectious quality that to have them on board
and to have made the experience possible for them was an absolute pleasure. You'd
think that Chris, another subscriber to the w2n newsletter and the proud owner of
a virtually identical Grand Soleil 42, would have been the most likely crew-member
to assert his knowledge of the boat and assume a commanding role in the tactical
elements of the race. Not so – with Kate on board, any aspirations of that nature
were sadly futile! Chris though had sailed Canasta twice before but in his characteristically
laid-back and unflappable nature, he seemed content to winch when told to winch and
tail when told to tail. Then there was my friend Tim who has entered the RTI race
twice before on my old boat Bright Flyer in desperately light winds and who, having
failed twice to complete the lap of the island, was I suspect, as determined as me
to make it 'third-time-lucky'! Only Tim and I started the race this year with any
preconceptions or expectations based loosely (and naively) on previous experience
but I can't have been alone in my surprise at the difference a bit of wind and a
slippery boat could make. Then there was my older brother Tony who despite some dinghy
sailing experience, was perfectly happy to join Donna and AJ on the windward rail
absorbing the magnificent spectacle and helpfully shouting instructions to tack simply
because they preferred the view on the other side!
So, Hugo, Kate, Chris, Tim , AJ, Donna, Tony and I piled on board late on Friday
night with a plan to set off in search of a mooring at The Folly as the sun sets
over the Solent . With a howling wind pinning the boat to the mid-channel mooring
though, the plan was losing it's appeal. With a forecast predicting that the wind
would moderate in the morning and with a crew already fading from their respective
journeys; Peterborough (AJ and Donna), Torquay (Hugo and Kate), London (me and Tim
), Brighton (Chris) and Dubai via Manchester ( Tony ), the decision was made to stay
on the mooring and make a very early start at 0430hrs in the morning. And so it was
that a seemingly endless supply of food and drink was prized into every available
cupboard and shelf in anticipation of a leisurely, relaxed and comfortable day on
the water... How wrong could we have been?
Saturday 28th Race Day
After a few hours sleep, we slipped the lines and motored out into a grey and misty
Portsmouth Harbour with nothing more than a gentle breeze in the sails. The incredible
number of boats registered for the race was well publicised and I think settled at
about 1,800 boats so I don't really know why it was such a surprise at 0430hrs to
see an improbable number of boats leaving the narrow entrance to Portsmouth Harbour
bound for Cowes. Spirits were remarkably high though considering the time and we
made it to the start line just in time to see the first start. Amongst the elite
classes setting off into the fog for the beat to the Needles was Chris's son Dan
crewing on board Mike Golding's Open 60 Ecover. They narrowly missed taking the gun
but were awarded line honours in the protest room when Hugo Boss was disqualified
for general hooliganism (as we’ve come to expect from Alex Thompson!). So, fuelled
by bacon rolls prepared by Donna and Tony , we lined up for our preparatory signal
at 0700hrs. With most boats tending to favour the pin end of the line for a starboard
approach, I decided to head for the clearer Cowes end of the line where it would
be less congested and where we'd have clearer air but would risk starting on a port
tack. The wind, just as forecast, had increased significantly since leaving Portsmouth
and was building from the southwest for an upwind beat off of the line. We put one
reef in the mainsail whilst picking our preferred approach and trying to stay out
of trouble. In the excitement of the start I had neglected to discuss everyone's
specific roles. So, with one of our rookies AJ sat next to the starboard side primary
winch, it became, by default, his job to grind the genoa in on the new tack. Predictably
then, without any instruction on how to load a winch correctly, AJ couldn't really
be blamed for the rising turn that denied us a dynamic start. It also betrayed my
own motives as, having suggested that we might just bimble around enjoying the spectacle
at a leisurely pace, I was already yelling and shouting like a man possessed! Thankfully,
we got going pretty quickly and despite a few close calls with the predatory armada
of starboard tack boats, we settled into some pretty slick teamwork. It's frightening
to think how close I came to losing my spinnaker over the side on that first beat.
I had stowed it, in its bag, lashed to the starboard toerail. With the boat heeling
over and plunging into the swell, one end of the bag had become detached and it was
now fully in the water attached by just one small sail-tie! I don't even want to
think about the replacement cost but Tony and Hugo were very quickly getting a thorough
soaking at the bow in a successful effort to haul it back on deck. Could have been
an expensive mistake!
Approaching the needles, we had our first really close encounter. We were on starboard
tack and as such, were confidently exercising our 'right of way' over a port-tack
boat approaching on a converging course. It looked to me like he had spotted us but
as he drew closer, he didn't seem to be making any effort to tack or to alter course
below us. Instinctively, everyone on Canasta with any knowledge of the rules duly
shouted “STARBOARD” in perfect unison. Okay, so he tacked at the very last possible
moment but having narrowly avoided a catastrophic indecent, he then turned sharply
towards us in what was either a severe 'rounding-up' or an aggressive attempt to
force us as 'windward boat' to yield. Either way, it forced me to 'crash-tack' momentarily
while he got himself back on some kind of vaguely predictable course. He shadowed
us all the way up to the Needles and was clearly hugely over-pressed with a full
suit of canvas causing him to swerve dangerously more than a few times. What was
interesting for me about that was the way Canasta behaved. With a gross weight of
15 tons, she carries a lot of momentum and I remember being surprised to discover
that having crash-tacked, she held enough forward speed to bring her back around
without having to sheet in on the new tack. When our friend in the Jeanneau had regained
control of the helm, I simply resumed our original course without any discernible
loss of speed. Anyway, after asking 'politely' what he thought he was doing and having
acknowledged the expansive shrug as an admission of his incompetence, we plunged
into the huge Needles swell that welcomed us to the next leg of the race.
The broad reach down to St Catherine's Point was my cue to relinquish the helm and
let someone else take over. I was exhausted, wet with sweat beneath my oilies and
still shaken from the excitement of it all. After shaking out the reef in the mainsail,
Kate volunteered without hesitation and held us steady as we lurched and surfed down
the unexpectedly large waves. With the wind now gusting around 24 knots, this was
no time to relax. Even on this straight forward drag race along the southwest side
of the island, the sheer density of yachts struggling to hold a predictable course
was a constant threat. I was below deck and thankfully oblivious of the near-miss
when, so I'm told, a boat to windward of us, veered inexplicably and narrowly avoided
making contact. Back on deck, I took the opportunity to wander to the bow and look
back along Canasta's sweeping expanse of teak. In that moment, it struck me that
the crew I had so haphazardly assembled and who had never met, were laughing, joking
and enjoying the spirit of the race, the iconic view, the boat and each other's company
with such enthusiasm that I knew we'd have a great day regardless of our race position.
I had been worried about Donna and AJ. They had both been so quiet since arriving
the night before that I was afraid they were either feeling unwell or were cold or
bored or, despite their inexperience, disappointed at having been designated 'rail-monkeys'.
I needn't have worried. Tony , a fellow 'rail-monkey', later told me that not long
after leaving Portsmouth , Donna had very quickly started to make plans to take sailing
lessons. Both she and AJ were quietly enjoying the experience more than anyone on
board could possible have guessed and I can't even find the words to tell you just
how relieved that makes me feel.
Hugo then took the helm with the challenge, set by Kate, to see double figures on
the speed log. A gust of wind, a perfectly timed wave and just enough warning for
Hugo to straighten up the helm... then, just for a brief moment, the log displayed
11.8 knots! It wouldn't be beaten although there were plenty of moments when all
eyes turned anxiously to the B&G instruments. I had made the decision not to hoist
the spinnaker – a sentiment shared by virtually every other boat in our class. In
a little less wind, we could have flown the spinnaker all the way from Needles to
Bembridge Ledge but with a boat speed seldom falling below 8 knots, I'm really not
sure it would have been worth the hassle. We did watch as one small yacht just to
leeward of us launched an asymmetric spinnaker and took off like a greyhound to the
sound of whooping from the crew – Hmm, maybe next year!
More of the same for the bear-away at St Catherine's Point and up the southeast corner
of the island to the first compulsory racing mark at Bembridge Ledge. Up until that
point, the fleet had spread out a little but it didn't take much to work out that
we would all be aiming for exactly the same little bit of the English Channel! This
was going to be interesting. All along the south side of the island, we had been
picking off boats carrying white flags on their backstays (in our class). One such
boat was Wild Child who seemed very well matched but who, while Hugo was at the helm,
slowly fell back into our wake. I'm really not a big fan of downwind sailing – particularly
with no spinnaker. As such, having resumed the helm approaching Bembridge, I took
the decision to sail higher than was entirely necessary in an effort to make it a
bit more comfortable. Wild Child sailed lower. As such, as we all converged on the
East Cardinal buoy at Bembridge, our quarry was right back on our tail and was looking
pretty determined! Now, the next leg back up to No Man's Land Fort was, in principle,
fairly straight forward. Just a simple hardening up at the mark for a close reach.
The wind though had built to 28 knots and we were now over-pressed and struggling
to avoid rounding-up amongst a closely packed fleet. Even with the kicker loosened,
on each gust, Kate was dumping the mainsail but even that was having little effect.
When it became clear that the mainsail was more frequently 'dumped' than 'powered-up',
it was time to put in a reef. I asked for two reefs but settled on just one when
the wind seemed to lighten slightly. It was while Kate and Hugo were reefing the
mainsail that Wild Child showed her upwind superiority and sailed over us – never
to be caught again!
The next compulsory mark is No Man's Land Fort. Once again, we could see from quite
a distance that this was going to be perhaps the most critical point in the race.
It would mark the start of the final beat back up to Cowes but rather then just simply
hardening up at the mark to begin the next leg on a port-tack beat, about half the
boats were tacking onto starboard at the mark and scattering the rest of the fleet
still trying to weave through on port. To be honest, I was more than just a bit anxious
– I was dreading it! We had got ourselves into a luffing match with a boat from an
earlier start who, having been overtaken by us to windward, had decided to throw
his toys out of the pram and forfeit his own race position to force us (as windward
boat) to yield. He kept luffing up forcing us to follow but with too much canvas
up, he couldn't match our speed and soon fell back allowing us to resume our approach
towards the nonsense ahead... and it didn't disappoint!
For an intense ten minutes, we slotted ourselves between an unyielding succession
of starboard tack boats. We were poised like coiled springs for a quick tack and
were forced to take action when a gap we were committed to closed up. We were now
the predators and sailed towards the island until an opportunity opened up to tack
back into clear water. It did eventually and with a huge sigh of relief, we were,
for now, in relatively unpopulated water. The wind was still building so it was time
for another reef in the mainsail and one in the genoa. It seems counter-intuitive
but looking around, it was clear that all the boats struggling to bring up the rear
of the earlier start boats were still carrying a full press of canvas. Canasta was
now out of trouble, nicely balanced and on the last stretch of an immense race. We
were enjoying calculating our finish time having each guessed at it the evening before.
It looked certain that AJ would be closest with his guess at a 1615hrs finish. We
all thought his estimate was rather ambitious but in fact, it might even have been
a little conservative.
The finish still offered one last heart-stopping moment. The finish line was positioned
well inshore just off of the headland west of Osbourne House and being an upwind
beat, prompted one last port-starboard scrum in what had become a very confined space.
We were lucky in many respects. I had found clear water on port tack north of the
main fleet as we set up to tack back into the fray. In principle, it was simple –
we would be on starboard as we crossed in front of the line before tacking again
for the short sprint to the line. And that's exactly how it worked out except that
we were scattering port-tack boats all around us until we came upon one unfortunate
chap who, with another boat tucked right under his windward side, was unable to tack
and unable to dip underneath us. Thankfully, when I was already clenched for the
sickening sound of fibreglass splintering, the boat to windward tacked, he tacked
and we all realised we hadn't breathed out for a while! Incredibly, I remember thinking
how odd it was that his crew were all amiably grinning with that 'Ooh, that could
have been nasty' look. I would have expected more internationally recognisable hand
signals!
So, one more tack – just one more tack. One more short 100m sprint to the line. And
then, over the line with a united and heartfelt cheer. To the race officials on the
committee boat – just another boat. To Team W2N Canasta – a spectacular achievement,
an epic experience and for at least one crew member, a baptism of fire! I had given
everyone instructions to make a note of our finish time, the boat in front and the
boat behind for the requisite declaration information so it took a moment to get
all that jotted down. Once done though, I glanced around the crew who, without exception
were grinning idiotically. Each one of them had come aboard with very difference
expectations, pre-conceptions, fears and hopes and yet everyone had now ticked all
the boxes. None more so than me though I suspect. I had been looking forward to this
day for a very long time but I have to admit, the forecast had caused me some anxiety.
I knew as well that with a faster boat, I would be sailing amongst the masses and
not bringing up the slower handicap boats as in previous years. I made some huge
sacrifices to buy Canasta in April and hadn't yet tested her in such challenging
conditions. I needn't have worried. Okay, so there were a few very close calls and
we did see evidence of other people's misfortune but on the whole, Canasta was absolutely
sensational. We sailed hard – sailed to win race positions but had not emptied the
water tanks, hadn't removed any of the 150 litres of fuel, hadn't flown the spinnaker
and were carrying enough food and drink on board to support an army (of which, most
is still on board!). Even so, the published race results would reveal that we finished
in 8hrs 31mins - 11th in our class (8 minutes behind Wild Child!) and 227th overall
out of 1,750 finishers – not too shabby at all don't you think!?
The official race website (www.roundtheislandrace.org.uk) quotes the following statistics..
Out of 18,000 people taking part in 1875 boats entered:
4 Boats were dismasted
5 Boats were damaged and needed a tow
1 Boat sank
1 Boat capsized
11 Man Overboards
5 Injuries including one person lifted off by helicopter to Southampton General with
a head injury - we understand this person is now out of danger
5 Boats aground
Canasta suffered some very minor damage. A sail batten worked loose and came to rest
sticking out in front of the luff just above the 2nd spreaders. It hadn't broken
and wasn't dangerous but it was preventing the sail from being dropped. That of course
meant that someone would have to go up and get it! Interestingly, there were so many
volunteers that the decision came down to weight and with Donna being the smallest
and presumably (I was too polite to ask!) the lightest, she was swiftly strapped
into the bosun's chair and hoisted up to the offending batten. It's worth just mentioning
then at this stage that we were still sailing – and before arriving on Canasta, Donna
had never even sailed before. It takes a lot of courage to climb the mast but I really
pity AJ; he's going to hear that anecdote justifiably repeated more than a few times
over the course of the next few weeks!
Thank you to everyone on Team W2N Canasta!