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Highlights:
Race One was a blast - outsailing the others on water and on handicap, negotiating our way through heavy rain and squalls.
Downers:
DNF on Race 2 - out of control in about 35 knots of gusts on the first bloody leg of the race.
Result:
First on IRC. First on CN handicap for Race One.
DNF on Race two. But still winning the duffer's prize - for pulling out first.
Lessons Learnt:
Reefing really does have its place in competetive yacht racing after all. And I thought it was only for 'wimps'.
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Autumn Series Race 4 and 5. Friday 1st December
Wind 8 - 13 knots North Easterly - 35 knots under thunder showers.
I get up at the crack of dawn, hung-over from a night of Scottish dancing and booze, ready to take them all on, (if my head would shut up for a moment). Feeling somewhat the worse for wear I head down to the Club, having loaded all the gear into the jeep, just at the start of the rain. The heavens open during my drive to the Club and I enter the carpark to find it awash under nearly a foot of water. We could race here today.
Several strong coffees later in the shelter of the clubhouse, I look out at a dark, forbidding sea with mixed feelings. Do we really want to race? Should we cancel? It's only water, rain... and just a bit of wind to boot.... There's much to lose if we don't get out there though, with only 1 point seperating us from those Rappers in the Annual awards.
Briefing is delayed while we wait for the hurricane to blow through. After all, we're used to sailing in heat. This is plain miserable. Wet, wet, wet. The thought is rather off-putting. Rig the boats and head out to sea, while it's raining hard? This is not Bahrain racing, surely.
After a one-hour delay we run the briefing, and get out on the water for a 12 noon start. It's the usual transit of Pumphouse to West Pole. we start reasonably well, on starboard and head up to East Bouy, our top mark. Eric, our natural-born-US-Navy-killer, is with us today, (Bob has snuck off to the Rugby 7s in Dubai for the weekend) so we're hoping for some brilliant sail trimming (he's good at that) and military intimidation of the rest of the fleet - at least to the only three other boats out today. We pass 'Rapscallion', trying hard to barge us onto the reef, plead for water and slip past making the top mark first, head around and set the spinnaker for our run to Pumphouse Port. 'Rapscallion' is slow setting their spinnaker and rather early to down it again, so we pull ahead nicely. Around Pumphouse and beating back we get into the groove, although slightly uncertain of the wind which is flat, full of holes and gusting heavily as rain clouds come through. But we hold our lead and continue around the course.
Up to East Bouy again and down, on a run to West Pole, we keep our lead (despite a horrible, prolonged hourglass in one spinnaker set after rounding Green and White mark) and extend on each leg. Our final beat to East Bouy sees us draw ahead more and the final run to the finish of West Pole in transit with East Bouy sees us end the race on a time of 13:13:35, some 8 minutes ahead of 'Rapscallion', the nearest boat. Confident in our victory, we head back for lunch.
The warmth of the Clubhouse revives us. The crew of 'Rapscallion' heckle us. We head out again for our second race, determined to repeat our 'am' performance.
The wind seems stonger as we reach up and down waiting for the five-minute time, so we can suddenly get strategic. We havn't bothered to unfurl the jib, as we're flying along really well. I position us to starboard of the start line and wait. At 2 minutes we unfurl the jib and set to drive to the line, the concept of crossing at speed etched in my mind. 'Rapscallion' is upwind in a better position (they're really pretty good at starts, I have to admit) but I reckon that well point higher and sail faster in clean air.....
There's a line of purple black on the horizon, coming in fast from the North East. I watch the rapper and helm hard to the rather strong wind. Eric yells "we're gaining slightly", but I'm struggling to hold my course.
Minutes later the wind hits us. We're lee rail under, right to the cabin sides; water's in the cockpit and I've got negative helm. We've lost flow over the foils; we're driven flat on the water and are moving further sideways than forward. The mast is shaking like it's going to whip itself in two, and I notice a slack of about a foot and a half in the leeward shrouds while the main flogs with utter violence. There's a reef quite close to leeward, and a bloody shame there isn't one in our main.
I stuggle to keep Jackal upright. Upright? I struggle to keep her at less that 60 degrees of heel. We try furling the jib. That doesn't work. We try half furling. That does nothing either. The gust doesn't die. And sensibility takes over from competition. "I'm sorry, guys, but I'm retiring" I yell against the howl of the 35 knot wind, (I'm told later that it was only in the mid 20's, which is surprising) and ask for the jib to be furled. We manage to turn off the wind and scream back down to our start line. I daren't head to wind to drop the main as we would have to gybe to miss the reef, so we struggle to haul the main down while full of wind. Under bare pole finally we manage to turnm and, under 5hp engine, attempt to motor back to the Club, me, all the time, feeling like a bit of a 'wimp' for worrying about Jackal's mast and rigging.
In the finally reached shelter of the Marina, we are cold, wet and eager for a warming drink, so we head up to thebar, where a coffee and Drambui warm us before we tidy the boat.
But it seems that we come first after all. First to pull out. Second is 'Touch & Go' and third is 'Helmwind', leaving 'Rapscallion' to bravely finish the race course. Well, they are a bigger boat with far thicker shrouds.... I challenge the other 'defeatees' with the fact that if you're going to pull out of horrendous conditions why wait for a hour into the race, when they could have pulled out after 10 minutes like us. Now, if you're going to have to DNF, you should do it as soon as sensibly possible....
After what seems like 3 hours, Mike enters the Bar. Soaking wet, shivering and exhuberant. Three drop-out boats and crews give him a round of applause. (We've downed quite a few hot toddies, and it seems the decent thing to do. After all, he's the idiot that stuck it out in very un-middle-eastern weather).
The lengths some people will go to, to gain a victory never fails to amaze me.... especially when we realise that the 'gust' of wind that finished us off wasn't a gust at all - it stayed that way for over an hour and even built in strength.
Grudgingly, I have to hand it to the Rappers. They're braver than us. Or perhaps, given what could have gone wrong, richer. Ah well, money talks.
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