25/08/2020
Feeling quite sore and disappointed, here's the story from another failure.
My opportunities to complete the 1,000 mile qualification are limited (I have to try to earn a living!). This window of opportunity that I tried to use was narrow, too narrow as it turns out.
I left on Saturday knowing that it was going to be demanding. When the decision was made the forecast was for maximum gusts of 29kts, on the morning of departure that had gone up to 33kts, pretty strong for a small boat. I was tense in the build up, I got up at 3am to sort out some of the last minute bits and pieces and went back to bed at 7:30 for an hour to try to get rested. The departure itself was a little emotional with such great support from so many. Supported by Phil Cawood driving our RIB I was out in the river getting sails up (reefed jib and 3 reefs in the main) and then finally on the way. Spirits were geed up by dolphins playing with the boat just a few hundred yards into the channel. I was soon into the 30+ knots and getting bashed up. For a bit of a break I headed down below to make a log entry and when sat in the sitting hammock came off a wave, there was a tearing sound and then I was deposited into the bottom of the boat. This was a blow, the hammock gave some level of respite from the bruising, I felt it was of such importance I set about sewing a repair. In those conditions forcing a needle through tough cloth takes some concentration.
If I thought 30+kts was going to be the biggest hammering I would take I was about to be introduced to a different level. Just north of Wylfa power station I could see some nasty stuff coming down the track, when it hit just minutes later visibility went down to a hundred yards or so and the wind decided that 35kts was taking a break and when it was in its stride 40kts was the norm... I saw 47kts on the instruments at one point. This by the way isn't apparent wind speed, this is true wind speed so 50kts across the deck wasn't unusual. Weirdly when it first started to flail its fists at me the sea state flattened out... that changed.
It's hard to give some comprehension of what it's like on a mini in those conditions, the best I can do is ask you to imagine being on one of those 'fairground' bucking broncos, you've long since lost the idea of looking cool waving the stetson around in the air and are simply hanging on with whatever part of the body you can keep in contact. Try this for an hour...
Having rounded the north west tip of Anglesey and set course for Bardsey off the end of the Llynn peninsular I then hit foul tide. I probably wasn't sailing the boat particularly well at this point and as a consequence of both made really poor progress. This put me behind schedule. I should point out at this point 'schedule' meant averaging 7kts and was important because I needed to be well south (off Brittany) before storm Francis (that which is battering us as I write this) came through.
As the tide turned I picked up speed but not enough to compensate for the slow section. More importantly the promised westerlies didn't materialise so I was unable to sail the direct line and was continually be slammed by all the upwind work (imagine standing 2' from a wall and unexpectedly getting shoved from behind into it). Oh and the other corner of the hammock tore as I came off a wave.. great that means sleeping on wet sails in the bottom of the boat.
For those in the nautical 'know' I had planned to go round the outside of The Smalls (essentially trying to avoid a minefield) however I needed to save time and take the shortest route so opted to sail down the side of Ramsey. This was a little heart in mouth moment but turned out fine without drama.
With Ramsey behind I set course for Lands End and at first thought the gods were on my side as there was now sufficient west in the wind to point where I wanted to go.. it didn't last, and I still wasn't going fast enough. After listening to the Maritime Safety Information Broadcast from Milford Haven Coastguard that confirmed when storm Francis was likely to hit it was obvious I wasn't going to make it. The big decision had to be made. There are many things that go through your mind at a time like that, "am I weak, wussing out?" being top of the list. My experience made the decision and in the cold light of day after a good rest I can feel confident that it was an excellent decision, but galling none the less.
Just to add to the feelings of dejection just minutes after turning round all my instruments started shutting down and then coming back on again. Perhaps unsurprising given the hammering and soaking it looked like we'd got a short in the wiring somewhere. By a process of elimination it looks like there might be two, the autopilot shut down and has gone into sulk mode since as well as the VHF throwing tantrums. So a return home without autopilot or VHF... great obviously the boat was as pi**ed off as I was. Not sure we've properly bonded yet!
Whether this means the end of the mini-transat dream or not remains to be seen. It's unlikely that I'll have another window this year and to get 1,000 mile qualifier, 1,500 miles of racing as part of qualification and then cross the Atlantic in one year seems pretty unlikely, but we'll see.
Thank you to all who have supported, in particular my wife Sheila who has been amazing in so many different aspects of this project, Nick Pridding who has been a massive part of this and helped so much, Jonathan Simpson who despite being quarantined has done whatever he could. Thanks too to those supporters who have contributed gear - ROSS Personal Protective Wear, Northspar Rigging and Norwest Marine. The guys on the marina have been great and very understanding, particular thanks to Steve Ryder.
For now this is BOOM Mini Transat Racing - out.
