| May
30– June 5 |
Great American II - 2004 |
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30
|
Took
a good step this morning, after my final run around The Hoe, toward managing my asthma
today. My asthma doctor had forwarded my new injection drug Xolair to me. Carefully
following the directions, I reconstituted the freeze-dried powder and gave myself the
injection, as I'd been shown before in anticipation of this time away from Boston. All
went well. Diver came this afternoon to clean the bottom of the boat, check the lower rudder bearing, check the zinc on the propeller sail drive: all's well below the waterline. Forecast for the start is upwind to Eddystone Rocks, the first mark of the course 10 miles away, then 40 miles to a waypoint defined by the Race Committee off Lizard Point 40 miles further. With a cold front forecast to shift the wind from SW to W to NW through the night, the challenge is to try to get past the Lizard before the shift and get north of the Scillies, so that when forced to tack to starboard, I can stay north of the Scillies. A high pressure system beyond the cold front will mean diminishing winds, and those further north will benefit by having a shorter period of light winds. |
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31
|
Today
is the day, race day—what we've all been waiting for. After three weeks of bright
sunshine, warm winds, blue skies, and completely non-typical English weather, it reverted
to form today with windy, blustery, cold, gray, rainy weather. The fleet departed the
marina by 11, and then huddled together with sails down, in the corners of the bay. The
start was at 2 PM, with all boats starting at once, separated into three lengths of the
same line. An inflatable came to get Rick off of GAII after we hoisted the
mainsail to the second reef. Then I was alone on the boat, with 38 other high tech wonders
around on a blustery day, and a big spectator fleet and inflatable boats zipping around
like ants. Boom! Ms. Kournikova fired the gun on the warship acting as the starting line, and we were off, or at least those on the line. I stayed back, wanting to miss any confusion at the line. My new friend Eric Bruneel took off in Trilogic and zipped away. Mike Birch even stayed behind me in the windy conditions. Crashing our way out to Eddystone Light, we shipped wave after wave. Slowly we pulled away from several of the monohulls on the next line. Rounding Eddystone, we could bear off for the next waypoint off the Lizard. I thought that we could handle the first reef, and so went about making the sail change. GAII leapt out of the water and took off at 15 knots. We bounced off a wave when BOOM! Suddenly the mainsail came crashing down the mast into a heap on the boom. I looked aloft with horror to see the main halyard broken at the top. I gathered the trailing reef lines, and wondered what to do. Could I get aloft in these conditions to rig another halyard? That would be exceedingly difficult and dangerous. Could I get to Falmouth before the wind changed? Probably not. Reluctantly, I turned the boat and headed back to Plymouth. The competition headed to Boston. I'd have to try to find helpers and equipment to get a new halyard installed as soon as possible. |
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June 1
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We’ve
really never broken any equipment aboard GAII, so when the main halyard broke
yesterday, a host of emotions erupted. So much work toward the race, and now, at best,
we'd start a day behind. Our preparation has always been good, but I missed on this one. I
remember looking at the splice, and it had a peculiar screw-like twist. I thought that was
just from the winch imparting a twist each time the sail was raised. But I didn't truly
understand the twist, and didn't talk to anyone who would know. As the great American
single-hander Francis Stokes once said, "the sea finds out everything that you did
wrong." I felt as though I had let down the side for sure. Sailing back to Plymouth, I called the race committee to tell them I was returning. I asked the marina if they could call a few people that would still be in the area. I thought about how the repair could occur. We carry a spare main halyard aboard GAII, but we couldn't use it until we could got the other one out of the inside of the mast. Since the halyard had fallen down from the top, about 90 feet of line remained inside the hollow mast. Upon arrival at the dock at 8 PM (sailed back to the breakwater per instructions and then motored back to the yacht club), I found a group of people: Lesley (my wife); Rick Williams (our boat manager); Brian Harris (a friend and former boat manager); his friend Laurent; and Josh Hall, an accomplished round-the-world single-hander. It was getting dark and raining. What transpired next demonstrated the best of the sailing world: a sailor needed help, and everyone pitched in. Over the next 11 hours everyone put in about 48 man-hours of work to sort out the problem out. The solution was complicated and involved impact screwdrivers, grinders that sent sprays of sparks out from the mast, and lots and lots of work aloft. It was a heroic effort all around. The group worked straight for many hours in the rain and dark. Some then went home, and Rick and I stayed, working straight to dawn. At 6:48 AM, I left the dock, re-started the race at the breakwater at 7:22 AM, and then took off in pursuit of my friends and competitors. I was 16 hours behind. King Neptune smiled on me with the wind, and by noon, I was past the Lizard, then Lands End, and then Wolf Rock. Last were the Scilly Islands, those famous islands where the British Navy lost so many ships that the King posted a prize for finding longitude so that navigators could more accurately find their positions and avoid such a dangerous and costly place. Sailing close aboard on the north coast, I could understand why: I saw jagged rocks from horizon to horizon. |
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June 2
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Noon, 49°31'N 10°30'W—Through morning sailed with full sail on starboard tack into a westerly wind, trying to stay as high and north as possible, to not get pulled into the calms of the center of the high pressure system. It worked well until noon when suddenly the wind died. A glass calm ensued. I rolled up the jib to avoid wear from slapping, and did several circles without steerage way. A whale surfaced about 50 feet off the starboard pontoon, but he disappeared for good when the camera came out. Finally a bit of breeze came in from the SW, the expected direction, but it promptly went into the west. I sailed on port tack to go perpendicular to the axis of the high's ridge to get out of its clutches as quickly as possible. Into the evening, made very good speed WNW. Midnight position 50/20N 12/33W. | |||
June 3
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June 4
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Went through about a dozen sail changes today in the changing conditions. Eating constantly, but no chance to sleep with the wind and sea shifts. One weather system is moving out, and another will be coming in; in between there is atmospheric indecision. Great American II doesn't like these conditions, and she tacks in wide angles. And we can't tack quickly enough to be able to take advantage of the small windshifts of the west wind. I'm pretty worn out after pushing so hard to get back into the vicinity of the leaders. I've even found myself standing in the cockpit once and falling asleep—literally on my feet. Some internal bio-mechanism caught me and my knees would grab just as they buckled. Having a hard time making sense of the geometry of the navigation situation, and I love geometry! I have to get some sleep soon. | |||
June 5
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Overslept
twice last night. Fatigue generated by halyard episode, then pushing hard to try to catch
up, accumulated to last night. Early evening, charging batteries with the engine on, I lay
down for a nap—75 minutes later, I woke up to a strange sound and boat motion and
finally traced to autopilot Off Course alarm. We'd been sailing with the #1 reef in the
mainsail plus the staysail, a standard combination, but sometimes this sail combination is
hard for the autopilot to control with the mainsail overpowering the staysail and pushing
the boat up into the wind. GAII was going backward with the staysail aback. I'd
been cutting the angle to close in trying to sail upwind. I rushed into cockpit, grabbed
the tiller and centered it, then gradually steered us around backward; let the main out
completely so it wouldn't push us back into the wind. Finally got us under control and on
the way again. Later, with 2 reefs in main and staysail, a better-balanced sail combination, I took another nap. So tired I didn't want to take time to program the loud alarm clock and so went with the easier but less loud timer. Slept for 4 or 5, I don't know which. Was refreshed this morning. With a big low forming to west, I spent considerable time looking at weather maps and the animated GRB files that show rotation of systems and wind velocities. I'd been undecided on a path, and finally decided to take the north route. Even if being at 50°N in the North Atlantic isn't alarming enough, I'd go further north a couple of degrees. The plan is that this will allow me to get on the north side of the low, with the wind behind us, rather than in front of us. Problem for the day was that the wind was still from the west, so to try to get to our entry point at 52°N 30'W for the low, we were sailing NNW, essentially for Greenland. But the files showed that the wind would gradually shift in time for us to come to our point. So 2 reefs in the main plus staysail, worked its way to full main and jib, and we took off for a day and evening ride at high speed. Our official Transat polls logged us at 11-13 knots during various reports. Mike Birch was closing rapidly, so I pushed hard, too. One of the great parts of the race was the first leg (before the halyard broke) where I got a chance to watch Mike sail. He started last on purpose to avoid confusion and was right behind us. His boat is a sistership to GAII. He sailed it so beautifully. He hung right behind and to leeward (he couldn't sneak by to windward), and when five miles later, I sailed too high and slowed, Mike bore off 10 degrees, added 5 knots of boatspeed, and before I knew it, he'd snuck through to leeward and was gone. He did the same to the next boat. Even in the blustery start, his sails were perfectly trimmed, and Nootka looked entirely under control. Wow! |
