My First Solo Ocean sailing race
Solo Concarnaenu blog
Ocean racers are a strange breed, we leave the harbour with grandioso dreams, having killer speed that makes it impossible for our rivals to keep up or pulling off some brilliant strategy, by the time the races near its close our dreams have somewhat become more human, after 52 and half hours of the 2021 Solo Concarneau all I wanted was to take off my leaking shoes and dry my feet. I rounded the final headland with my friend Mael Garnier pressing at my heals, with shot onboard electrics which left me using a gimmicky Phone app more reserved as something people use in the bar to make sailing related jokes to find the finish line with the only thought was how much desperate I was to take off my leaking shoes.
After 53 I had crossed the finish line of the Solo Concarneau, the Jury do what I imagine makes them feel like James Bond and jump from a speeding chase boat onboard. First checking my engine was still sealed, emergency gear was in place and I hadn’t used my phone to illegally download weather information. ‘C’est bon?’ I enquire in about the only French I could think of, ‘Oui’ was the only part of the jury’s response I could understand and with that I made my way to the Harbour I had left some 380 miles previously.
It was a hot and sunny Thursday lunch time when we had set off, after the usual pre-race warm ups, speed checks and last-minute navigation plans were made the starting boat made their signal and so the jostling for position began.
Dix, Nuef, Huit….. the starter counted us down, at 8 I accelerated I don’t know why but since the age of 11, 8 seconds before the start has been the moment I’ve chosen to attack. Slightly shocking myself as I had managed to pull off one of my better starts and was at the pointy end of the fleet. As lunch became afternoon and into evening those grandioso dreams of success were rather closer to reality that I thought, I was able to fight at the very front.
That first night the racing was frenetic as we worked our way north, the race had a nervous atmosphere maybe it was the confused weather forecast about what lay ahead or maybe it was that everyone was keen to assert what ever small advantage they had. Either way, we slalomed our way passed islands, rocks and subtle changes in the tidal flow each seemingly deemed by someone as ‘their moment’ to make their bid for first.
As Thursday became Friday turning south still with the racing holding its intensity, clouds started to grow, the expected storms were building around us. By 6am the mood was very different. The previous days sun was replaced by thick clouds rolling in across the Atlantic Ocean, the sound track of the boats now drowned out by the sound of thunder and lightening in the distance. I tucket into breakfast, which the manufacturer amusingly named “gourmet breakfast”. I can assure you their there is little gourmet about eating dehydrated food, I was content, holding a position in the front group, the speed was good and I had a plan of how to execute the next few hours.
I watch the wind speed rise through the morning with the sound of the building thunder, from 16knots to 20 finally settling somewhere between 25 and 27, around me I could see the lightening edging ever closer. The boat wasn’t happy she kept spinning out of control. I took the rudder from the autopilot and I could feel relentless tugs at the rudder, I pulled and released every bit of rope or control lines in sailor lingo to try to change the power distribution but nothing. Eventually I settled on the idea to reef (to make the sails smaller). I don’t know what it is about sailors maybe it’s an ego thing, maybe it’s a French thing but no one likes to reef. In that moment my gut knew decision to make, eventually after a few more tugs on the rudder my brain agreed too. Pulling on the sail at the mast, the maneuver took a little over my minute target time that I had trained to do. Taking the rudder from the autopilot the boat was light, responsive and happy. I looked over at my rivals who hadn’t done this, and screamed “wahooooo”, I took a mental note of their position relative to mine in the hope of seeing evidence of killer speed I’d dreamt of before the race start.
My excitement was brought back down to earth, while brushing my teeth when instruments went black, I looked at the navigation screen black too. The autopilot had turned hard to the left, I grab the rudder and tried to regain control, using friend and rival Francesca Clapcich’s position as a basis for my heading I tried push to keep the speed not wanting my hard work to come undone. The lightning had caused my electrics to short out, rendering my displays, navigation equipment and autopilot useless.
My friends who work in IT always suggest doing a “soft reset” in situations like this. With his thick Yorkshire accent playing through my mind, I switched everything off and turning it back on. Success. An hour later they went black again so I tried again. Success. I released that I had two options, every hour for the next 250 miles I was going to have turn the whole boat off and on or try a ‘hard reset’ aka pulling the wires out and putting them in again. Pulling out wires in 3-meter seas soaking wet seemed to go against all electrician’s guide in history.
This internal debate about how to handle this was short lived. With a loud bang as the boat came to a shuddering halt. My job as an electrician was replaced by a new one, sailor. The storm front had passed leaving no wind, the huge seas and rain. An English summers day some might call it. Friday afternoons challenge was to keep the boat moving in no wind and waves pushing us away from the direction we want to go. Throughout the next hours there were few gusts of winds, the wind gods had full control of our destiny, toying with us showing us a glimmer of hope with every new gust. These gusts had a hidden poison, they kept coming from a new direction, making for a slightly disorientating situation. Every so often checking the manual compass a releasing I was pointing the direction I had just come from. I kept remining myself “nothing lasts forever”.
How people handle a lack of sleep is different, in the moment I believed I was making smart choices, I was conscious to my lack of sleep, I had woken up at 8am on Thursday and it was now 3pm on Friday and still I had not managed to close my eyes even for a moment. Increasingly the new challenge as the wind filled in was a lack of speed, I was being passed by rivals with ease. I could not understand why. I checked and checked everything. When suddenly I had my lightbulb moment, I had managed to hoist a sail upside-down and sailed in this configuration for 40 minutes. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Saturday morning dawned, by now hanging on further and further toward the rear of the pack, I confessed to myself that I should give up some time to my rivals and rest before we rode the final storm. I set my alarm for 20minutes sleep, it rang I checked all was ok, and repeated the process over the next 3 hours until the final turning buoy approached. The Rochbonne Plateau 20 or so miles off the coast of one France’s most famous sailing towns, Le Sables D’Olonne. I turn the electrics on to find out the direction I needed to sail to the finish, 330 degrees for 110 miles.
After 3 hours sleep, I felt like I had some sort of reincarnation, with a clear mind, I planed the tricky maneuver of pulling the powerful Code 0 spinnaker the hoist mechanism for which was damaged. I rounded the buoy, immediately turning fully away from the wind to slow to the boat. Frantically carryout the instructions I had crudely written on the boat for myself for how I thought it was possible.
The final storm front of the race emerged with a sudden downpour of rain; the wind speed jumped from 16knots to 35knots this time pushing us toward the finish. The boat speed jumped from 10 knots to 20. Using a hand-held compass for direction, I was sailing the boat like a child on a dinghy free from the worry of outside pressures. In was beautifully pure no distractions just me, the boat and the ocean. As the speed increased waves washed across the boat, the inside of my supposedly waterproof shoes now more of a cold bath than the jargon they put on the label when their new.
So why do I do this? The truth is, I do not know. But to race on the ocean alone involves maximum concentration, in a funny kind of way its peaceful, only a few thoughts run through your head. Someone once told me you do not compete in elite sport because you like winning, because those moment are so very rare, 28th position in the Solo Concarneau on paper means I should be tasting the bitter pill of defeat for the 1000th time. Perhaps I like the taste of the pill of defeat? My victory in this race was in being confident in my decision making, calm throughout and my speed at times was there. Yes, I will rue the 3 big mistakes I made in that race and yes, I will start the next race with that little voice that dreams grand still very much on my shoulder.
What interests me is discovering what truly I am capable of, something that I appreciate I do in an incredibly selfish manor and how lucky I am to have this opportunity. Ultimately to take Just a Drop on this journey with me means that I can use this platform to bring about a small change for good.