Good afternoon everyone. 

Sorry for the delay in this month’s letter. I have been bed bound due to my second Covid jab….If you haven’t had the second one yet….good luck! 

I woke up from my little coma to the sad news that HRH Prince Phillip has died. In memory of our patron, if anyone has some stories from his visit to HY Tyne, feel free to send them in. 

Our flag is now at half mast now in tribute to HRH Prince Phillip. 

Over the last few months I have shared all of your stories and have enjoyed reading them. So I thought I would share one of my own….

Grab yourself a cup of tea and get reading.

Fastnet log 2017 

Jonathan and Pippa Wallis

We are not quite sure how it all started. Perhaps it was our daughter who had sailed in the 2015 Fastnet telling us that our venerable Swan 36 Sheevra was not a suitable boat for such a race. Perhaps it was the lure of becoming a member of the Royal Ocean Racing Club. Or maybe a need to re-inforce the conceit that we were still young and active. Walking past the RORC office in Cowes one day in early spring when down to work on the boat we called in and had a friendly chat with a very pleasant fellow called James. Rather than put us off he positively urged us to join in. Then we heard that another Swan 36, Carte Blanche, was also planning to do the race. We are not, we believe, dependent on alcohol, but it does seem to facilitate some aspects of our lives. That evening in our favourite Cowes watering hole, the Duke of York, over a steak and Ale pie and a bottle of merlot, and possibly a small post-prandial, we began to plot what would be necessary. First we had to equip Sheevra with the safety equipment required for a Fastnet campaign. This we argued was only sensible whether we were cruising within the Solent or doing offshore racing so that the cost could be discounted in any case. Off to Storrar’s chandlers for an Epirb and a Jonabouy and various other devices. By the time we had finished, the prospect of falling overboard looked positively enticing. Next we had to qualify by completing 300 miles of offshore racing in the boat with half of the crew we would do the race with. Crew, there was a problem. Could we do it double handed? Tempting but the RORC require evidence of previous two handed racing experience. We doubted that pottering around the south coast with a rubber dinghy in tow would cut the mustard. Fortunately for us the human spirit is essentially an optimistic one and in the long winter evenings, dreams of glory outdo any thoughts of the cold and damp weather rail. Our third son Hugo duly swallowed the family shilling and was impressed for duty. Some rapid e-mails found some previous crew with an interest, and Nick and Harry, Newcastle University Sailing club alumni, were signed up. We planned two qualifying races, the Cervantes trophy, a race from Cowes to Le Harvre via other marks, and the Myth of Malham race from Cowes to the Eddystone light and back.

The Cervantes Race

The Cervantes trophy began at Cowes, with a start off the Royal Yacht Squadron. Crew was myself, Pippa as navigator, Hugo and Harry. Nick was working for BAE in South Korea and not available. This was our first major offshore race other than various attempts at the Bass rock race in Northumbria and a previous channel classic regatta race in 2016. Some 180 boats were lined up at the 1130am start including famous names in ocean racing, Tonnerre de Breskens, Rambler, Winsome, Foggy Dew, and many others. We felt slightly awed but made a respectable start and sailed out of the Solent on a tight reach to the first mark off the Owers (The Owers is a shallow and tidal bank sticking out from the mainland ten miles East of the Isle of Wight and famously the site of sinking of one of Edward Heath’s Morning Clouds). Pippa was navigator and advised keeping up to windward (the Island side) in the force 3/4 south easterly. ‘Are you sure?’ questioned the skipper, noting that most of the illustrious fellow sailors were opting for the downwind and mainland side of the Solent. The navigator was sure and made it quite clear to the skipper that she, and not he, was in possession of the relevant tidal details and other facts. Perhaps luckily for the skipper, Winsome, a well known S&S designed and Dutch owned aluminium 41 footer had also bucked the trend and was passing close to the island shore, and encouraged by this example he chose to follow the navigators instructions. Exiting the eastern Solent it transpired that we would all have to tack to make the mark. The faster boats kept the east going tide under their keels all the way and rounding the Owers Cardinal buoy, bore away to the North to the next mark off Littlehampton. The slower boats such as ours were struggling to reach the Owers before the tide changed. Thanks to the wisdom of our navigator we squeezed past just as the tide changed and with a small port tack only required. The previous night we had been moored next to a 33 foot Bavaria with racing credentials. They chose the northern mainland route and as a result spent 6 hours beating against the spring tide to make the mark whilst the rest of the fleet disappeared over the horizon. The faster members of the fleet with the last of the flood were just able to lay the second mark with spinnakers or asymetrics raised. As the tide changed the course to lay the mark tightened and we and others could not do so easily. The navigator declared it to be a reach and not a run and the spinnaker remained below. Those that hoisted offered an interesting spectacle of sequential broaching in the force 4 to 5. However they did go fast between the broaches.

I may have misunderstood the purpose of the race, but having started off the Royal yacht squadron, in a race organised by the Royal ocean racing club, I was mildly disappointed to find the second mark of the course was in fact a sewage buoy off Littlehampton. It seemed out of keeping. King George Vth was reportedly fond of holidaying at the neighboring watering hole of Bognor, bestowing the suffix Regis on this pleasant seaside town. Could Trinity house I wondered have perhaps not have called this the Royal Sewage Buoy as a mark of respect for the regent and his maritime subjects? Whatever we scraped past and laid a course for the next mark on the other side of the channel, the A5 cardinal 22 miles to the north west of Le Harvre. The leg was a close reach but the wind was due to veer sometime that evening and the skipper thought it prudent to put something in the bag and sailed slightly higher than the direct line. In retrospect this was a mistake as the wind did not veer and we sailed a longer course. The wind did increase to a steady F5 and we changed down to a number 2 headsail. The fleet spread out but as we were all required to transmit on AIS, we could follow our fellow competitors on the Seapro navigation system we use. It is a bit like social media for offshore racers. A pity you cannot send twitter feeds at the same time. VHF is limited but we heard that one of the boats, Silver Shamrock, a Ron Holland half tonner from the 80’s, had lost her rudder and was limping home but did not require assistance. Silver Shamrock would feature prominently in the rest of the summer racing. Arriving at the A5 cardinal at 2am we came hard on the wind to make the next mark, the General Metzinger cardinal buoy. Hugo was on the helm. We had already put a reef in the main. The roar and bite of the cold April wind, a brisk tidal chop and a horizon liberally illuminated by anchored ships, winking buoys and fellow yachts gave the scene a raw and exciting feel. Harry slumbered in the cockpit. As the tide turned we were no longer able to lay the mark. Starboard tackers began to appear under the blade jib. Hugo averted a close encounter with a French yacht. We tacked up in the dark and at 430am Pippa radioed the committee boat as required and we texted our finishing time. Sails down and motor on. We tied up in the Le Harvre marina as daylight came for a few hours sleep.

Myth of Malham

The Myth of Malham race is named after John Illingworth’s famous yacht, a post war design of the same name that though considered ugly by many was a revolution in yacht design. His description of passing through the Portland race in a force 8 gale is quite something. The race runs from Cowes to the Eddystone lighthouse off Plymouth, and back.

The start off the Royal Yacht Squadron line was against the tide and the beat up the island shore required steely nerves to go in to the shallows and tidal relief. Pippa took us up the inside of Gurnard ledge and nearing Newton creek we were crossing tacks with Xara, a well sailed Swan 38, which gave us hope. The wind was force 5 off Yarmouth when we suddenly found our port side primary winch spun freely with no ratchet effect whatsoever. Fortunately the tide was now just turning and we were able to put in a long leg across to the mainland without too much loss. Having found the correct Allen key I deconstructed the winch while Hugo helmed. Pippa acted like a scrub nurse taking the bolts and storing them safely. The problem was too much grease which had become solid over the winter and was holding the cams in. Anderson winches are said to only need servicing once in two years, but perhaps three years had passed. Easy to forget. Fiddling with tiny cam springs was not required thank heavens and in time for a tack off Hurst castle the winch was reconstructed and working. Very quickly, with the now favourable tide, we were out of the Solent and into the channel. The blade jib was working well and we beat towards the west with the hope of getting past Portland before the tide changed. Harry and Nick, both naval architects from Newcastle University and both now working for British Aerospace took turns on the helm. Nick had not done a lot of offshore and succumbed to the seastate but never complained. At about 8pm we approached the Shambles bank just to the East of the Portland races. The tide had slackened and the first of the flood was about to begin. Being one of the smaller boats in the fleet we were naturally near the back. The wind remained at about 20 knots and we were cracking along but progress over the ground was slowing. It was at the very top of one of the largest spring tides of the year and the published rates off the Bill are of the order of 5.7 knots at a standard spring. We did not have long and on top of that the wind was forecast to die in an hour or so. If you can make it past the Bill it is possible to dip northwards into Lyme bay and after a mile or two be in a much reduced tidal stream. Could we make it? The position of the famous race is clearly marked on the tidal charts in the almanac and we tacked out to go to the south of the building race. With every minute that passed the flood tide was increasing and beginning to drag us back. It was still light and we could see the race now boiling in front of us. We soon realised that if we continued out to go around we would never make it. In the words of the famous childrens’ story, you can’t go round it, you can’t go over it and you can’t go under it. You have got to go through it. The south Westerly allowed us to point pretty much in the right direction and after all we were only passing through the tip of the race. Boatspeed was good at 6 knots through the water and the sea though horribly confused and steep, was not as bad as it looked. Slowly we pulled the Portland lighthouse abeam. Around us the sea boiled but no water came into the cockpit. We could see flat water beyond perhaps 200 yards away. But with every minute our Speed over ground lessened until despite 6 knots on the clock we were going nowhere. The Bill became stationary abeam, flat water now just 50 yards ahead and all the time we were charging through a washing machine at 6 knots, the boat behaving beautifully. Then the wind began to slacken. Pippa pointed at the SOG on the GPS. Look we are making 1.5 knots she said we can make it. Then we saw the COG, 090, ie we were going at 1.5 knots but backwards in a 7.5 knot tide, and slowly but without doubt we began to slip backwards against the Bill and the flat water ahead began to recede. We tacked to the South to find calmer water which we soon did. The wind dropped further. We changed the blade for the number one, but too late and too little, as the tide sucked us back Eastwards towards St Alban’s head and the Isle of Wight. By 2300 the wind had dropped to less than 5 knots. The grib files had forecast exactly this and we knew that no wind was due for 12 hours. In 60 hours both Pippa and I had to be at our desks in Newcastle. We did some sums and reluctantly turned tail arriving back at Hurst narrows at 6am. Those who persevered, and just over half the fleet did, mostly arrived back late on Monday evening or in the early hours of Tuesday. Some consolation that we would never have made it.

That gave us a problem as we needed to complete 300 miles of offshore racing with at least 50% of the crew to qualify. Pippa rang RORC and talked sweetly to the boys in the office. She can do it you know. OK they said, if we completed our planned classic channel regatta and the Morgan cup the committee might take a favourable view.

That meant less gardening and more sailing. Not all bad then. The Morgan cup this year began on a Friday and went via the Nab tower and the West side of Guernsey to St Peter port. Nick and Hugo were our crew. The start was at 1830 on the Friday evening and we had flown down earlier in the day to prepare the boat. The day before MMC divers had kindly scrubbed her bottom, an essential requirement.

The Morgan Cup

The race started with a tight reach eastwards on a favourable tide, similar to the start of the Cervantes race. As we passed No Mans Land fort most boats broke out spinnakers. We thought about it when the phone rang. Good reception in the Solent. Our daughter had just completed her penultimate exam of finals at University and was in floods of tears as she assured us that a third class degree was now quite out of reach with just one exam to go on the Saturday. Pippa went into full time mother mode and the spinnaker stayed below. We did not lose more than a few minutes before tightening up onto a beat south round the Nab tower. The AIS showed us a mass of boats all around us and the dark evening was dancing with masthead lights. We were holding our own and spotted a Sigma 36, British Beagle to leeward and Silver Shamrock, the Ron Holland half tonner with a lower rating than us a little way behind. Those boats were to haunt us through the rest of the race. At present we were heading towards Cherbourg and needed to tack at some point to make the Casquets light which we must leave to port. We saw a couple of others in our section of the fleet tack westwards knowing that the wind was due to back before morning. We decided to tack early, a good decision in hindsight. I went down to sleep at 0200 leaving Pippa and Hugo for a watch. When I awoke the sea was flat, the dawn had broken and the wind had backed Southerly to order. We were charging along tight on the wind, heading for Alderney and easily able to lay the Casquets light. It was a beautiful morning and Sheevra was going like a train. I still savour it in my thoughts as I ride to work of a weekday. There is a small tidal advantage from going close to the north of Alderney and I decided to remain on the wind to use this. British Beagle and Silver Shamrock headed straight for the Casquets a touch off the wind. Good decision, by them. Our tidal advantage did not pay and we lost 2 or 3 miles by the time we reached the light. One of my work colleagues had once been wrecked there in a family boat many years before. It did not look friendly. He tells me that the tide was going down so fast that they stepped ashore on to the razor rocks and barely got wet. We shall not be trying it. From Casquets we headed south west down the west side of Guernsey making good speed with the tide. A little way ahead we could see British Beagle. As we approached Le Hanois light on the south west tip of the island at around 3pm we could see a number of boats ahead of us tucked close in to the shore hoping to avoid the last of the contrary tide on the south side of the island. Looking on AIS we could also see that they had effectively stopped dead. We were expecting the wind to go light and headed wide around the corner overtaking several of these rock hoppers as we went. Hugo on the helm whooped as we passed another Sigma 38. The wind fell away but the tide was just turning in our favour. Ahead we could see British Beagle struggling inshore. Behind Silver Shamrock was yet to come round the corner. We tacked out again as the wind went lighter, hoping to miss the evident wind hole off the shore, but it seemed not far enough. Completely becalmed we were at least going forward with the tide. It is only 10 miles along the south side of the island and we were half way along, but at 1 knot 5 miles can take a while. I remembered a Havanna cigar left in the top drawer from the previous year. In hot sunshine I lit up, purely you will understand to see which way the smoke was blowing. The wind seemed to be behind us now, perhaps 2 knots. Silver Shamrock had come even wider than us and was now just half a mile astern and to seaward, but had fallen into the same hole. British Beagle was creeping , inching, around St Martins point for the final run home to St Peter port. The main sail slatted and banged. The genoa did nothing. Why don’t we take the main down and try the spinnaker on it’s own asked Pippa. I looked at her with a mix of scorn and pity. Silver Shamrock then took down the main and tried the spinnaker on it’s own. Hmm I said, let’s copy them. And it worked , for a while, briefly, we had 2 knots boat speed, then the faint zephyrs of wind closed down again. A hour or two passed until at 6pm we were drifting close to St Martin’s point on the South east of the island when a faint hint of breeze came up from abeam. British Beagle beat us by nearly 2 hours on the water and we were lucky to hold off Silver Shamrock by 6 minutes on the water, but well behind them on handicap. We crossed the line at 1830, hoisted the iron topsail and along with many others headed without stopping back across the channel. A glamorous business this offshore racing lark.

Classic Channel Regatta

Two down and one to go. The last of our qualifiers was part of the Classic Channel Regatta. This event organised by Bruce Thorogood takes place every 2 years and races from Dartmouth to Paimpol in Brittany in a variety of stages. We had taken part two years before and enjoyed it hugely. We were racing in the Solent the week before and would not make it in time for the inshore races of Dartmouth. Leaving Cowes on the Friday after prize giving for the Swan Europeans Pippa and I motor sailed westwards out of the Solent anchoring in Swanage bay at 1am. Up early we took the first of the tide around Durlston and St Alban’s head marking the beginning of the Jurassic coast then in to take the tide around Portland Bill via the inner passage. The Bill was awash with fishing boats sitting just inside the race. No washing machine experience this time. We had a sunny motor sail across Lyme bay and arrived in Dartmouth at 9pm. The next day was spent on minor repairs until our crew, Hugo and friend Harriet arrived in the evening. Harriet spends her working days teaching Iraqis how to avoid land mines. Dodgy job you might think. So far she seems to have got it right. The race began at 2pm the next day and the briefing was in the town hall. Simultaneous translation into French was a mixed success partly because the race instructions were rather complex. In essence the faster boats were to sail south and round the Roche Douvres plateau before turning North to Guernsey. That afternoon we started off Dartmouth. The course took us initially North to Berry head off Brixham, rounding and leaving the Orestone to Starboard before the long leg to Roche Douvres. The wind was force 5 westerly giving us a tight fetch all the way south. Night fell as we crossed the shipping lanes and the light of Roche Douvres beckoned us on to it’s lethal plateau of semi submerged razor sharp rocks. Avoiding their sibilant charms we approached the south west corner of the plateau where we were to round a cardinal buoy. The position given by the race instructions was different to the position given on our electronic chart. To port we could see the bright flashes of the south east cardinal buoy, but where was the ostensibly closer Roche Gautier SW cardinal? There I shouted, there it is. I had spotted a dim flash becoming more difficult to see as a grey dawn broke. A French boat, Griffon, in front and well to leeward of us tacked back to make the mark. We tightened onto the wind and could just make it without tacking. On AIS we had watched a number of boats apparently slip inside. In fact, the mark was neither on the charted position nor the race instruction position. Nor was it easy to see being a small buoy in the middle of nowhere. It did not matter; it was not that sort of race. Spinnakers up for the final run into St Peter Port, and this time no wind hole. We crossed the line in time for a late breakfast and after a quick shower, one at a time please, went for a gourmet fish lunch with a very precious waiter, is everything to your taste monsieur? It was and Hugo headed off to the airport as he was at work again the following day. We retained the lovely and I must say fearless Harriet for the next stage to Paimpol, which it turned out was just as well. The skipper made two serious errors. One, he tried to leave Guernsey with a starboard pole, when it was quickly evident that only a port pole would do. Gybing with 3 up in a lumpy sea was not fun but thanks to Harriet was achieved with only minor blushes. Two, he decided that all the other boats were wrong to leave the Plateau of Roches Douvres to port and that we would leave it to starboard and come shooting out the other side while they smiled on the other side of their faces. We did not and they did not. Some sort of tidal accelerator, a positive conveyor belt, which the local French sailors, about a third of the fleet, knew well, whisked them in ahead of us. In the light winds by then, we watched in amazement as they skirted the Breton coast apparently well behind and then were catapulted out ahead. Arriving at the finish line off Paimpol we were gathered in predefined groups marshalled by charming and efficient Bretons, before processing through the locks lined with cheering locals. We were made to feel extremely welcome and Pippa and Harriet played up shamelessly to the crowd while the paid hand (Skipper) hunched over the tiller trying to hide from the attention. It was a glorious welcome.

We texted RORC and after a week of uncertainty they gave us a ticket for the Fastnet. Phew. Now for the real thing.

To be continued…….

Baby Wipes.

Malcome Collins

Single handed sail to the Azores (Jester Azores Challenge 2008) on Helix.

After 7 days into the Atlantic I decided to give myself a good clean, especially in area’s that didn’t see the light. I dug out this big cylinder of baby wipes that I’d bought in Arco, They smelt very “disinfectanty” and certainly cleaned my hands. Well, I stripped off totally naked, lay on my bunk with legs akimbo (This may well be “too much information”) and “assumed the position” as they say.

Pulled out 3 fresh wet wipes and started the cleaning job, front and back.

AAAAAAHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh! ! ! Bloody AAAAAAHHHHHhhhh ! ! I screamed with the heat and sting then the PAIN ! I jumped up to douse myself with water but the water pump seemed to take forever as I was gradually developing a deep red tan like a nappy rash. My language was disgusting as I found words that I hadn’t used for years. Using about 2 litres of my fresh water, no time to get sea water, I soaked myself and the floor. After 15 minutes I was back down to just a sting and I grabbed the wet wipes. They must be off, I thought. I had to wear my glasses to read the print on this unusually large container of baby wipes.

“For sterilizing and disinfecting industrial surfaces, protective gloves must be worn”

There was a list of nasty sounding chemicals and a long list of “danger do not”s..

Good job I didn’t have a baby on board, I would have cooked it !

I hope you all enjoyed this month’s Newsletter. Hopefully I will get to see you all face to face for some stories and some gossip soon! 

Take care.

Lynne x