Leg 8 Race 1 .. Long overdue.. last efforts!

09.07.24

Following the frustratingly effective travelator that was the Gulf Stream, we have been left slightly behind the leading pack entering into the final stages of our final ocean crossing. The fast downwind fury that was the first half has come to a stagnant close. We now find ourselves beating upwind, tacking on every wind shift as we sail at record slowness to avoid being snatched by the continental sized beam of high pressure, a colossal windhole, that is seeking to delay our supping of an early, and deserved, actual pulled pint of Scottish ale. But, before the ale, podiums are at stake.

Up until this point, our homeward crossing over the North Atlantic has been a dream. After escaping the extreme warmth of Washington D.C. we soon sailed into a cool breeze and a warm wash from the sun; people would be inclined to wear shorts and sunnies in the sun, and a light jumper in the shade of the sail, you couldn’t complain about the weather, no matter the birthright. On top of this the wind was perfect. The kites were up in a constant rotation, we were given light, swift winds for the code 1, powering along at 11knots, mixed with some hardcore hammering of 40knot cells that warranted the application of the Code 3, our heavier kite; neither staying too long for us to get bored, nor too tired.

Throw into the mix the whole Code 2 kitemare debarcle, in which a slightly over extended kite decided one of its botched wrinkled stitchings would refuse to hold, causing a slight tear; we were inches away from blowing the tack to save it, but as we uncoiled the safety turns from the release button, the matriarchal tapestry decided to fall ahead of its time, tearing down its side, flapping viciously in the air. The tack was blown, Rick inquired briefly on the sail plan whilst I was helming to which I replied “Code 2” before pointing low to our beam where it floundered in the water, I think shoulders were shrugged before the life jacket was fitted. At this point we had just flown by the Charity boat, potentially correctly still on white sails, but managed to maintain 17knot surfs with just our staysail as we hoisted and continued forward, quickly following it with the code 3. Santa may have some work to do, but I hear there may be a very rare opportunity for prospective Clipper members to have a first hand sail repair lesson on a REAL torn kite.

This left us with just the code 1 and the 3, polar opposites for either extremes of the downwind variety, the versatility of the 2 could no longer be relied upon. Over the next few days we went through maybe 5 kite changes… just on our watch. This was where we were amazing. With never a complaint, and the most driven, calm, competitive nature, our now fairly experienced watch processed the cloth like a Chinese sweatshop, upmost efficiency. These sail changes happened almost without a word spoken as halyards and sheets were swapped, eased and ground, yankees were hoisted and dropped intermediately and the kites snatched forward by the breeze. Not a mistake to be seen from Puff watch, Santa, Rambo, Chickpea, Wallace, Grommet, NY Giant, a super squad of Clipper veterans; not that our other fellow crew mates have been anything less than amazing, I’m just very proud of our watch.

We battled hard to keep our place at the front despite the lack of current, but soon the idyllic scene presented to us in the North West Atlantic petered out into a hopeless struggle on our side of the pond.

Our run of success is in peril as we find the likes of Puta D.E. ahead, and the usual suspects in Ha Ha, Dutch boat and the Other Chinese boat, who are all battling for the top spot overall. For the past few days we have been painstakingly trailing these jokers (Zhuhai and Perseverance) with the power of our own joker lying in the balance as well. Every tack we make we seem to gain a couple of measly miles, and every other six hours they claim them back. It’s a game of margins as each of our well trained, well weathered crews trim our boats and steer sharp tight courses to present a nautical divine. But the wind won’t play game. The tacking angle of these 72 foot beasties is currently around 120 degrees, our course to Oban right now is around 63 degrees, with a true wind angle of about 60 degrees; this means that the two tacks we can be on, whilst close hauled, pinching to the extreme, are either 120 degrees or North; enough saily chat, it’s about as far from where we want to go as possible making us take the slowest possible course, boring. All boats now are waiting for the wind to shift just enough that they can crack off just a little, getting that extra speed to carry us ahead of the rest and claim everlasting glory, I’m sure that must be the name of some Scottish pint…

Outside of the yachts in our immediate 30 miles, two have gone on flyers up north to try and run around this nasty high pressure, good luck, and the Charity boat, who had run off towards Morocco and has now swiftly tacked up into first place. Bekezela are doing Bekezela things.

Amidst all this maddening meandering we have been frequented by some of the most incredible wildlife we have experienced across the race. Hundreds of dolphins seem to be migrating across our bow daily, often the common dolphins will stop to surf alongside us as we cascade down four meter waves at 20knots, one nearly jumping through our kite, grazing it with its fin. We were also followed by the dark shadows of Long Finned Pilot Whales, which, like an ominous gang of spirits, caught our scent and tracked us for a good twenty minutes, black bulbous heads powering through the slight swell. Fin Whales also swung by, a mother and calf coming up to breath in tandem, a big ten metre spray of water next to an aspirational spurt beside it as the sea greyhounds cautiously investigated our dragon from a safe distance.

Not long now until we are back. My shoulder has been a bother and I’m looking forward to some proper investigation into its roots. The Corticosteroid course I was on for the first few days of this race, as well as the general exhaustion of ocean racing, had wiped me, writing became very difficult. Not an option again, methinks. On the mend now and ready to race!

Will x