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7 Aug 04 For details of the race please click here. Even the Beast needs a holiday. I have often felt that my best laid plans only exist to show how far fate can take me from my intended course, and of course in acknowledging the existence of fate there comes an acceptance that somehow fate had other plans of its own to foil and usurp all my good intentions. Maybe the measure of intelligence is how far you can stretch your understanding through the literal and apparently obvious stimuli to access the underlying nature of life's incongruous continuity? I seem gifted in my ability to doggedly pursue aims regardless of space, time or misfortune. To rush in where fools fear to tread. How can so many other people apparently negotiate life's patterns with such grace and style, whilst I am doomed to swim against the tide in short jerky movements? Why does my car always play up the day before a holiday? I had intended to save some money by asking my son, who has a keen interest in all things motorised, to conduct a simple service on my car. Straight forward, just oil, filters and plugs. So I bought the bits at the local 'motor factors' calculating the huge saving over the usual 'Garage Service charges' and left him to it. With my last night shift to complete I took to bed relaxed and calm. I awoke and found him clearly not that far ahead with the service. It appeared that the oil filter was the wrong one but he had changed the oil anyway; the HT leads would not come off the plugs so he had started to unscrew them twisting the cables. The air filter was OK though, perfect fit but I now had new oil running through an old filter. The car was definitely not running right. So assessing the damage to the plug leads as the cause for the poor engine performance I contacted the Motor Factors and ordered a new set. I gave him the details of the car and the man said they would be in stock for collection the following morning. The following morning I went to collect the new leads with the buoyant optimism of a witless fool. I paid my money and took the box full of promise home. I opened the box and there were only two plug leads inside, "Swines!" I though "I have been diddled!" Sets of plug leads in my experience have always matched the number of cylinders on the car, in my case a four-cylinder engine, therefore four plug leads in the set. No matter I thought, only one of the leads is really damaged so I offered up one of the new ones and it was suspiciously short. Still I had the rest of the day to sort this out, plenty of time to pack the camping stuff, get the boat ready for towing, buy the food and have everything else ready for her ladyships return from work that evening to a lovingly prepared 'Hubby dinner', then off to our holiday destination with a pleasant evening drive easing into holiday mode in a relaxed and calm fashion. I began to extricate the damaged plug lead from its connection to the plug. With the engine being a double overhead cam type (DOHC) the plugs are recessed some 9 inches down into the engine. The plug lead and attachment having already suffered severe abuse the day before now fell apart leaving a significant portion of cap firmly fixed to the plug, in a hole not more than 40mm across in a very inaccessible place. Before I could fit the new plug and the new plug lead I would have to find a way of removing the remains. Two hours of drilling and pulling with very long screws finally managed to break up and remove the final pieces of the plug cap. A quick vacuum of the resultant detritus with the indoor Dyson and the new plug was fitted. I reached for the new plug lead and it clipped reassuringly onto the newly fitted plug. I routed the HT cable to the other end and it was 20 mm short, I tried a different route and it still would not reach. Foiled! My 2 ½ year old grandson had arrived for the pre arranged baby sitting agreement. It had been negotiated into my day's plans the previous afternoon. Now with my plans so far astray as to be off the chart altogether and my only working transport a bicycle and now I was in charge of a minor. I set to removing the child seat and rack from the family tandem and fitting it to my mountain bike, keeping said child amused with a toolbox full of shiny spanners, sockets and sharp implements. Finally strapped in and ready to go we set off towards the Motor Factors. "Listen mate that's what they have listed for that car" he
said emphatically. Stating the obvious was water off a ducks back to this hardened professional. He phoned his supplier who assured us both that the supplied set was right. I stood in cycle shorts and cycle helmet with grandson, bike and box of two plug leads, bleating some more about the dubious logic of a plug lead set for a four-cylinder engine with only two leads. "Hang on!" He said, what's the registration number. Exactly the same information as last time he had asked. "It could be the 210 or the 124?" he said. Undaunted I cycled home and hit the phone book, grandson well impressed with the trip out on the bike. I found a supplier 5 miles away who had a universal set for my model, and it was cheaper. The more expensive set was not a stock item and would take 24 hours to get in. I asked him to keep the universal set and rode off again. The travelling in the child seat was losing its novelty value for my grandson but he was strapped in regardless. Able to learn from recent mistakes I checked the new lead set, yes there were 4 and had varying length, all definitely long enough. The plug fitting was the same so I paid and left the shop with a familiar feeling of optimism. There was a definite reluctance for my offspring to be subjected to the 'baby seat' and he began to regard it as a device of restraint, had he been able to form a coherent sentence he would have cited it as a crime against his human rights. Nevertheless in he went, against his will. It had started to rain; grandson had fallen asleep and was lolling alarmingly in the baby seat. Concerned for the sustained integrity of his neck I reached back and steadied his head with one hand, steering through the rain using the other. With less than 1 mile to go the pop and hiss of a back tyre puncture brought me to a wobbly halt. I pushed the bike the final mile, with the additional weight of said grandchild asleep in the baby seat I could only watch in horror as the wheel rim slowly chewed its way through a perfectly good tyre. I returned home with grandson in time for collection by his mother. My grandson was well rested and only a little damp. Released from baby-sitting duties I returned my focus of attention to the car and the fitting of the new plug leads. I slotted the plug cap into the plug recess and pressed it over the plug with the same reassuring click. I routed the HT lead over the engine and to its other end, plenty of lead to play with, fitted the rubber cap and pushed the lead home, well almost home, it went part way in then sort of fell back out. Horror and disbelief, I got the torch and made a closer inspection, the end of the new lead was different! That is the same as every other plug lead I have ever seen but different in every dimension from the female end that was to receive it. There was a brief moment of denial, like the light switch that needs to be actuated several times in quick succession when you already know the bulb has blown or the electricity is off. I tried again despite the futility hoping that some miracle would meld the offending pieces together. Leaving the 3 old leads in place I butchered a new one to fit knowing my chance of a refund had entered the realms of fantasy and my engineering skills in the realm of Heath Robinson. It was now 14:30, I had started this farcical pantomime at 08:00 and up to now had failed the simple task of finding and fitting a plug lead. I had accepted the role of horse's rear end; I had missed my lunch and I was over an hour late to collect the boat. The car started and ran well, despite my dodgy bodgering it stayed together. With help from Ade up at the club we dropped the mast and secured Animal to the trailer in the pouring rain. I drove home with the full list of chores still to do. The hall was soon filled with boxes and bags of kit and I awaited the return of my wife with no dinner prepared, the house littered with camping type equipment and my mood in the red zone marked 'It's gonna blow!' The weather forecast was abysmal. Heavy rain and thunderstorms, typical start to a camping holiday. Despite a desperate attempt to maintain some hold on the critical path with due consideration for the time line and in the face of adversity, I folded, I telephoned my crew and I took the decision to leave the journey until tomorrow. I watched the sheets of rain plunge downwards as the lightening burst across the Wirral sky scorching the air. The pile of kit that had been weeded out with decisive certainty "Won't need that, and I won't be needing that or that!" had now returned to its original size as all weeded out items were put back in with "Hmmm, just in case, I might need that, and you never know!" The next morning after the obligatory delays we hit the road. Towing any Cat is an experience; towing Animal at 8 ½ feet wide is as daunting for the driver as it is for the oncoming traffic. Take the A55 under Conway and down the peninsular to Pwllheli was the plan, but the A55 was closed at Penmaenmawr due to an accident and we detoured to the A5. For some inexplicable reason I headed past Snowdon and into Nant Gwynant. The road narrowed, and wound and then narrowed some more. I had to stop to let cars squeeze past. Other drivers had baulked at the sight of a 6 metre starboard hull approaching their bonnet at speed and yielded wisely in grass verges and ditches. A long queue had built up behind me and as the road narrowed again a large box van appeared ahead. Even pulled fully in there was not enough room for him to pass. He offered to reverse back to a wider corner just as several cars appeared behind him. Total gridlock and my fault entirely, brilliant!
We arrived at Llanbedrog late and went straight to the carpark above the beach. The car park attendant said, "Haven't you been in once already?" with a slightly confused expression. Simon S had already arrived earlier with White Tiger and to the untrained eye all cats look the same, especially when towed by the same model of car. We paid our fees and reversed Animal down the windy road to the beach. We lifted her over the bollards and set up as fast as we could, the sun was shining and there was a good sailing breeze. My holiday had begun. Day 1
The sun was shining and the breeze was a warm 2+. In anticipation of the holiday at Llanbedrog with the plan to sail up the coast and meet up with the sunbathing contingent cunningly avoiding the launching fees at Abersoch I had booked the use of a beach hut for the storage of wet suits and boat gear. It had been presented to my spouse as a beach hut, she apparently heard the words 'beach chalet' and anticipated a summerhouse type structure with balcony, running water and wicker furniture. Suitable, she had imagined for the entertaining of friends and evening candlelight suppers. No 39 in the colourful row of beach huts was in fact a rather compact garden shed. She could not hide her disappointment as at the end of the day sundry boat items and soggy wet suits filled the small dark space. It was suggested that for the price of the hire I could have purchased a comparable garden shed on Ebay, and the hut was cruelly named 'most disappointed'.
The day was spent blasting up and down the coast in perfect conditions, the trials and tribulations of holiday preparations and normal modern living melted away. The sea a perfect blue, the full length of the dagger boards could be seen from the wire as they sliced through the clear water. Animal was on song purring happily through the gentle waves. We sailed up and down the coast through the afternoon beating and reaching as the sun headed slowly down to the horizon. The tide was almost fully out and reluctantly we wheeled Animal the ½ mile across the wet sand up to 'most disappointed' the beach hut formally known as 39.
To ensure the maximum sailing time we had left finding and setting camp until that evening. Kate S, Animal super crew had been talked (against her better judgement) into camping. She had said she would prefer to B&B. I convinced her of the virtues of holidays under manmade fabrics and she agreed. After all as crew she has of her own free will elected to be battered against the unyielding hulls of a 6 metre Cat and be jet washed with sea water at 25 knots so camping should be a piece of cake. I had put a 3-man dome tent at her disposal and once it was erected she said that her bed would not fit. I was surprised, as we had used it several times with two camp beds. I had misunderstood; the bed she had brought had a frame, legs, springs and a mattress. Concerned for our reputation amongst proper campers we managed to squeeze this luxury slumber chariot diagonally across the tent surreptitiously to avoid ridicule. We installed the bedside lamp and bedside cabinet, bedroom mat and makeup table. We fell short in supplying a socket for the hairdryer but Kate was in too deep and would just have to rough it.
A small breakdown in communications for the shopping had resulted in an unusual combination of hot sausage salad for dinner. Red wine is an appropriate accompaniment for any such dish.
Day 2 The Princess left her chamber black and blue after a sleepless night, someone had placed a single dried pea under her mattress and being so delicate. Oops sorry wrong fairytale. Breakfast was sausage and bacon batches and a dash to Abersoch for a trip around the shops to gawp at the hardware in Land and Sea. Then it was back to the beach for some hot sailing action. The beach hut door was opened and it released the putrid aroma of festering wet suits and soggy boots, the stench was impressive. The sun was warm and the water inviting. We sailed down to Abersoch and rendezvoused for lunch of French stick and meat. We and conducted several capsize drills, practiced our man overboard and Kate single handed successfully picked up a bobbing helm. A rewarding day on the water and then back to camp for barbequed chicken and all day breakfast for dinner with more red wines to temper the pallet. First this way Day 3 A bright and sunny morning for a third day, in England, in July, considering the weather of the past weeks we felt truly blessed. We spent the day on the water consolidating our sailing skills and shooting the gentle breeze. We finished early and cleaned up to step out for dinner. The Ship Pub in Llanbedrog serves good wholesome food and made a welcome change from the creative culinary camping combinations experienced to date. Two more friends who had travelled down that day joined us. Now with four tents we practically had our own village and despite the family status of the site we made our fair share of noise. Day 4 There was blue sky and light winds on the beach so we set off for our lunch stop at Abersoch expecting the short sail to take about an hour. Half way across the bay the wind died, completely, not a breath. It took and hour to reach the shore at The Warren and another hour to walk the boat along the shallows to the inlet at Abersoch. The sun was warm and in our suits we were broiling nicely. The 3-day wet wetsuit smell rising in the shimmering heat. We put the sails back up and inched around the headland to Abersoch beach. I heard my name shouted, I looked around suspiciously, I scanned around and the place was busy with boats of all makes, types and sizes. There was the cacophony of people on the beach swimming, playing, boating or sunbathing. A head appeared at the side of the boat followed by a body as the swimmer came aboard. It was Dave H of DSC Mirror fame. He was holidaying in Abersoch and had spotted Animal out in the bay the day before. Now drifting weakly to the beach Animal was tamed, and beached and shouldered herself a space on the sand. We exchanged tales and we set off to join the others up the beach for our late lunch. As I sat baking in the sun a gentle sea breeze sprang up. There was a flurry of activity as we headed back to Animal, threw the sails back up and sailed slowly back to Llanbedrog. Teresa was in a state of polite 'beach hut' envy as Julie H kindly showed off her exspansive and well appointed beach hut with catering facilities. I left knowing that this was going to cost me. That night we had the Chip Shop treat, tales and jokes in the dark and some red wine
Day 5 There was wind and lots of it. The camp was packed away as each tent pulled and struggled against the blow. At the beach the wind was off the sea and the waves were large. The forecast was for the wind to build during the day. I took the decision not to launch and we packed Animal away. At 11:30 we were ready to go and a quick calculation showed that we could make it back to the Dee for the Champagne Series races that afternoon. Back at the club the wind was still strong and the postponement flag was up giving us a chance to fully rig Animal. We made it on to the water in a sweat and a flurry of sails. Race 1 was in the bag with a lead of 10 seconds over Colin T on an Inter 18. During race 2 the wind built and we were starting to be overpowered. We hit a huge squall on the way to the line and got stuck in irons during a failed tack. Helplessly we watched Colin take line honours. Race 3 was pulled as the wind built and dangerous squalls prowled the estuary. We heaved to but the Port dagger hit the sand and Animal finished the journey to shore on her side. Tired and smiling we agreed that it was a perfect end to a special holiday.
So Kate and I have practiced some very useful safety manoeuvres, I have proved that when you are camping red wine goes with anything and everything and Teresa has proved that next time I will book a bigger, better beach hut or else. Finally I went to collect my replacement plug leads, the expensive ones, OE approved? Guess what? Only 2 in the box and they are too short!. Mark Emptage 17 Aug 04
Like many of life's most valuable experiences, our 'cat cruise' from Dee to Beaumaris was both tough and best enjoyed from a retrospective vantage point. However, the following diary was written within hours of arriving home and so may be considered as rather too fresh in the author's mind. With the benefit of a couple of days' hindsight, this was most definitely a trip I would repeat, in the expectation of better weather, fantastic views, great open sea sailing and a faster time in easier conditions. Recognising that my recommendation may not necessarily represent a solid endorsement for the saner club members, here's Ali's view: "Despite the tough conditions some of the sailing was excellent, the views of the coast and the Clwydian hills, sense of achievement, and whilst it should never be taken lightly it is perfectly achievable given a suitable catamaran. Would we do it again ... probably yes." Even Ade's initial refusal to respond to my invitation to sail in the Anglesey Offshore Dinghy Race on the next weekend melted by the morning after this trip. He's bought a pair of goggles, I'm taking my snorkel, and we're off! Simon, 27 July. I'll Never Have Another BLT Like This One I wish I had been with Ali Davidson and Jon Dayton when they walked into
the Royal Anglesey Yacht Club in Beaumaris on Saturday lunchtime. To set
the scene, as I saw it a few minutes later: While the water was quite
flat in the Straits, there was no shortage of white-caps, but there was
a notable lack of anything operating under sail-power. This being Beaumaris
on a Saturday in July, and the start of the Straits Fortnight just a week
away, the only explanation could be the Force 5 that had been blowing
down the Straits all morning. Clearly, the locals had decided that this
was not sailing weather for any sensible person and the best way to start
a Saturday afternoon in these circumstances was to do so in their favourite
bar with a beer in hand. Against this scene, Ali and Jon wandered into
the club, fully kitted out in dry suit / wet suit and spray tops, with
arms full of kit bags, announcing that they'd just sailed down from Dee
Sailing Club, and enquiring if they would be so kind as to allow us to
use their showers. While the Dee to Beaumaris run is an obvious one for the yacht sailors at the club, which stares at you from any map, it has never to my knowledge been attempted by the catamaran sailors. The club holds regular races out to Hilbre Island in the mouth of the Dee estuary, some people have even reached the Point of Ayr, and Ali did make it to Llandudno a couple of years ago. Based on his previous experience of completing that leg in a little over 4 hours, in light winds, an attempt to reach Beaumaris was always on the cards. What was lacking was the trigger to organise such a cruise, and to find some company for safety and to share the adventure. The trigger came from the least likely source - namely the Dee Wayfarer Open, during which local sailor Bill Brockbank gave us a presentation of a journey he'd made in the 60's from Scotland to Norway, during what turned into the 100 Year Storm in the North Sea. Such was the power of the story and strength of character displayed that Ali was prompted to bring out his barely gestated plan to go for Beaumaris. A quick look at the Sailing calendar showed that the bigger boats would be heading for Anglesey on an early morning tide in July, and that the following weekend would be the Anglesey Offshore Dinghy Race, which is a regular must-do event for a good handful of the Dee cat sailors. Ali saw a great opportunity to go for the challenge, with the safety cover of accompanying yachts, and the company of other cat sailors making for the AODR. Hence the call was raised a few weeks in advance. I had spied this route after completing the AODR a couple of years ago, and had my own half-formed plan to do it as a group of boats over two or more days. Hence I was ready to leap onto Ali's shirt tails straight away. We were both stuck for crews, since we each needed to find someone as stupid as ourselves, but with the experience, strength and in my case, the ability to look after me, while we were out there. Given the requirement for a 5 am start, they needed to live nearby and be able to put me up for the night, and ideally be a generous host providing good food too. That narrowed it down to Adrian Mould, who I had crewed for in this year's Pwllheli Raid. Ali was relieved from the task of going solo at the 11th hour by Jon Dayton, who manfully stepped forward for his first sail of the year. In the week beforehand, we watched the development of the local weather forecasts and wind patterns. They consistently predicted a Westerly F3-4 with sunny spells. I took my trailer down to Beaumaris on Friday, and found ideal racing conditions - flat water in the Straits, warm, sunny, with a steady Force 3. Whilst driving along the coast road, the seas appeared flat with some whitecaps - but not too many. The decision was made to Go. Given the forecasts during the week, I decided to use the Spitfire instead of Animal (Nacra 6.0), having previously declared that I wouldn't use it because it can be quite flighty and requires constant attention, rather than relaxed cruising. Once I saw that a Force 4 was on the cards, and I knew I had Ade on board, I figured that the Spitfire was going to be the easiest for us to keep under control for the full length of the journey due to its lighter sheeting loads and smaller sail area compared to Animal. Of course, Animal's extra four feet of waterline represented a huge attraction in terms of comfort. So I tussled back and forth all week over which would be the safest and most comfortable choice, only making a final decision on Friday afternoon. I think Ade had preferred the thought of Animal for several reasons: Ali had told Ade that he hoped we'd take it (thinking of comfort I assume), Ade had crewed Animal with Mark E in last year's AODR and found it extremely comfortable as they flew a hull all the way round the course, and he might have been influenced by my relative inexperience with the Spitfire which I have successfully capsized with three different crews on three out of my previous five outings - including an impressive pitchpole in a F5 at the windward mark and nice capsize sideways in a F3 at the leeward mark as we retrieved the spinni while leading the field. Nevertheless, Ade went with my decision, without showing too much disappointment. I'd just need to prove we'd done the right thing! Final preparations were made on Friday evening with the boats as fully rigged as we dared leave them overnight and ready to roll on their trolleys, alarms were set for 3:30 am, which is a record for me, some sleep was had, and we were out of the door, in darkness, at 4 am. Had we been stopped on the way to the club for any reason, we would have presented a curious sight, with all four of us fully gee'd up and dressed to step aboard our boats in dry/wetsuits, sailing boots and harnesses, etc.
Down on the beach we found that the yachts had departed on the receding tide as planned. Simon Wright had promised Claire, sister Sarah and her boyfriend Nick a fantastic introduction to sailing with a cruise along the North Wales coast as the start to their week cruising in the Beaumaris area. Guest sailor Richard Mounce had probably realised it wouldn't be quite so idyllic. We completed our rigging in the dark, thankful for the security lights of the club, and wheeled the boats to the beach. The Spitfire's jib can be awkward to hook on at the top, and this occasion proved to be the most difficult so far. Thankfully, all it took was for someone else to try - Ali got it second attempt. Otherwise we'd have been capsizing the boat before we started! The conditions were pretty good with a steady F3. We were expecting a Westerly, and weren't disappointed, other than the fact this meant the wind would be on our nose all the way. Although beating, it did allow our exit on the retreating tide out of the estuary, with long legs in the right direction to take us out and avoid the sandbanks. Ali was on his Nacra F18, which he can get 'in the groove' with relative ease it would seem, so he was leading the way. We followed in his tracks to be sure of missing the sandbanks, which I had previously proved to be exceptionally skilled at locating with either dagger boards or rudders. It took us about an hour to reach Wild Road just outside the mouth of the estuary. I only found out this particular patch of water was so named when Ade told me as we climbed one lump after another, most likely in the hope that it would be distinctive as the wild part of the journey. All I'd noticed until then was that the water was getting lumpier all the way, as the wind was against the tide, and clearly building as we cleared the shelter of land and headed West. Also noteworthy was that the sun was obviously rising but stubbornly staying out of sight behind cloud. I had been relying on the 'sunny' part of the predicted 'sunny spells' to provide some welcome warmth, so was a little disappointed at this point. As we passed Rhyl, I realised that the waves would not be decreasing, nor would the wind, and hence the fire-hose effect of the Spitfire's bows punching into the waves was not going to stop either. I now know why people wear sunglasses in the dark, but hadn't realised quite so many people had experience of being jet washed with salt water for three hours before breakfast. I have to say that at this point - perhaps less than two hours in - I considered the options of turning back, to conclude a) the water would be gone by the time we reached the club and b) sitting on Hoyle Bank while we waited for the next tide in our private version of the Commodore's Cruise but without the sunshine and BBQ would not be pleasant. We would battle on. We sighted Simon's Hunter Delta off Rhyl, and Ali made it over to them for a check-in and chinwag. I was already too focused on forward motion to entertain the idea of a diversion, even if it was to produce the promised cup of coffee upon making a rendezvous. Apparently morale aboard was not at its peak either, with sea-sickness affecting many on board, and already colouring the view of some first-time sailors. Ali came over to us and turned back in an apparent attempt to lead us over to the yacht, but I was not going to be diverted. It has to be said that from here the trip became an endurance test. We were initially twin trapezing but by the time we reached Colwyn Bay we were both suffering. Ade said he was feeling a bit seasick and wanted to slow down, to reduce the washing machine effect we were experiencing. In hindsight, we think he was feeling sick because of taking too much salt water on board (allegedly through his eye sockets), rather than the motion. I didn't know what was best for him, but bowed to Ade's greater sailing experience agreed to slow down, whilst wanting to keep the pace up in order to finish the ordeal as quickly as possible. Soon after, Ade asked how I was and I admitted to feeling chilled - on the surface rather than to the core, as you do when you want the sun to shine to make all the difference, rather than being jelly-brained and useless. Ade quite rightly took control of this situation and insisted I eat. We had started without breakfast, and hadn't taken the chance to eat - there simply wasn't any chance to dine in any kind of comfort, as we were being jet washed and cork-screwed by the steep chop and erratic waves. We've since decided that food stops have to be a feature of such a trip! We'd packed enough to feed an army, but just couldn't face stopping. Ade took over the helm from the wire while I sat on the tramp with my back to the jet wash. I'd bought a monster BLT sandwich pack, which had spent the journey thus far in the ex-spinni bag on the tramp. Needless to say that between us we had squashed the sandwiches and their plastic container into a 3D puzzle that defied stiff, cold, wet fingers. I ended up ripping chunks from the packet and stuffing them straight into my mouth before the jet wash could completely soak them. It was then that I realised the advantage of the triangular pack: it has nothing to do with its merits as a mini display cabinet, rather its purpose is to protect their contents from the salty sea spray by keeping the triangular side facing forwards while you eat. My energy levels did pick up, and we settled into a slower routine, taking the journey one wave at a time. The Little Orme had been looming large for a long time, and took an age for us to pass it at this speed. There was a point where Ade told me he'd lost his lunch - but at least he'd eaten it first, and had been decent enough to avoid sharing it with me, despite being upwind in a stiff breeze. We saw Ali coming back from the Great Orme - he was making much better speed than us, and coping very well with the conditions it appeared, and was taking good care of us by staying in sight. At one stage he appeared to have gone past the Great Orme while we still hadn't quite reached Llandudno. He reappeared coming downwind looking as though he was quite close inshore beneath the cliffs. We initially assumed he was returning to stay in touch, then wondered if he was OK as he landed on Llandudno beach. (It transpired they'd stopped for breakfast. Marmalade butties by all accounts). We debated going in ourselves, but figured that being on the beach he was safe, whereas bearing off to reach across would expose us to greater likelihood of a capsize than heading to windward. We had opted to sail well offshore, to avoid turbulent wind conditions and erratic wave patterns that the cliffs might induce. I later asked Ali if he had found staying inshore more sheltered and any easier to cope with. His response was unusually terse and to the point: "No." Once we passed Great Orme, we headed in closer to shore, looking for more sheltered conditions. It didn't make any difference, so I decided that although Ade preferred to take it carefully, we should crack on as quickly as we could. This was primarily because we were making so little headway and were only prolonging our agony, whereas Ali was motoring. He had been quicker throughout, but in the early part of the trip we had stayed in touch, so were capable of much greater speed than we were making at the time. Ade suggested I let the traveller out, which settled the boat a lot. There were times when we were making good progress upwind with the traveller right out in the downwind position, although we mostly had it about halfway out. All I could think of was the sailing instructions on the Spitfire website that advise you to keep the traveller centred upwind at all times, except when the windspeed exceeds 21 knots, at which time you might crack it off an inch or two. I felt as though we were being hit with some very localised big gusts that seemed to pass through my body and the boat like a ghost on speed, but we were pointing so high that they didn't threaten us and they were gone before I could react anyway. Ali told me later that Simon had reported gusts over 30 knots aboard his boat. We were mostly in control, but I admit that some of the tacks didn't come off as they should, and others happened quite involuntarily. I was grateful for Ade's experience and his very trim 17 stones on board, especially during the tacks I hadn't asked for where quick instinctive reactions were the order of the day. In turn, despite his initial disappointment, Ade said several times I had made the right choice in going for the Spitfire rather than Animal, since we were able to control it despite the wind and sea state. The spray wasn't pleasant but at least we stayed the right way up. It proved itself to be a tough little critter, quite happily punching through waves and landing with a belly flop in the odd trough. It might be held together with string, but there was nothing to work loose or come undone and it felt solid throughout. Once we were twin-wiring again, we finally left the Great Orme behind us and made good progress towards Puffin. With the tide still quite low we now had to stay out to sea to avoid the extensive sandbanks. We trod a fine line of staying in to shelter behind the mass of Anglesey and out far enough to avoid an abrupt stop. We noticed a large yacht coming from Conwy and more or less on the same heading as us at higher speed. There was an immense bow wave, and it looked like he meant business. We crossed its path with adequate clearance as we headed inland - this turned out to be the first of many times as we later made our way up the straits. As we neared Puffin, I could no longer see Ali. He had gone above Puffin, and round the windward side before coming through Puffin Sound into the straits. I don't know why he did that - I must ask. All I wanted to do was stay in as much shelter as we could. Once we closed in on Puffin the waves calmed down, allowing us to enjoy some twin wiring as we raced the boat we'd met previously (now seen to be about 40 feet, with twin masts, and a big engine!). We even managed some racing tacks and pulled ahead of our companion. The first tack was a bit close, but each one thereafter was 30-40 yards further ahead than the last. I wonder what they'd have thought if they realised we had been doing that for 40 or more miles from the Dee. We came closest to a capsize just before coming into sight of the slipway at Beaumaris, in flat water, when I lost grip of the tiller while I was on the wire. I felt the boat bear off and lift the hull. Despite the fug in my head, I figured if I stood on the tiller arm as I fell back onto the tramp it should turn us into the wind before I fell off the other side. It worked and we scrabbled back into control pretty damned quickly given we were now sailing at some speed amongst the moorings. We spotted Ali and Jon waiting for us on the slipway and they walked down to receive us as we landed. We remembered to let everything off, and to raise the dagger boards half way. I hadn't figured that the slipway extended as far as it does and that we were right over it, so was a bit surprised and a little miffed when the dagger board grounded. It was up in a trice and not greatly damaged. Given the trip we had just done, a few millimetres sanded off the bottom of a board was a small price to pay. My mind had turned to mush, which I guess Ali realised when he asked me where my trailer was, and where was the trolley. I think I stood and mumbled for a couple of minutes before it dawned on me that I'd better go and get them from the Green rather than let three people stand in the water holding my boat while my faculties gathered themselves. It was great to have them to receive us - and I must mention too that as Ali and Jon sailed through Puffin Sound, the Wallesey YC race crew stationed at Penmon Point to finish the yachts competing in their Offshore Race radioed ahead to a couple of friends so that they too had a reception committee when they reached the slipway. I thought that was a very nice touch from a neighbouring club. We remembered to stop our watches as soon as Ade leapt off the boat. We had agreed to time the trip from a measurable start and end, which became the second one aboard to the first one off. The initial plan was for Ali and me to start from the causeway at the Dee, to the slipway at Beaumaris, with the idea being we'd leave and finish together. This would become the 'record' for the Dee - Beaumaris run, to be broken by fellow intrepid sailors. Given Ali's greater speed on the day, he understandably went ahead, so now we have two times to beat: With pit stops and doubling back: Alasdair Davidson and Jon Dayton, Nacra
F18, 6 hours 30 minutes total elapsed time. I think Andy Morley had a shock too. He saw us putting the boats to bed on the Green and came over with an incredulous expression on his face. He knew the answer before he asked whether we had just sailed down. In his opinion we're all 'bloody mad'. None of us argued with him, but we all felt good about it. Simon's crew and his Hunter Delta made it in around 13 hours, having spent quite some time motoring at 3.5 knots against a 3 knot tide, in very lumpy water. All I can say is that his crew looked much better than I expected when we met them for dinner! I guess the final measure is that their plans to sleep aboard the boat were replaced at the last moment with bedrooms at our B&B. Many thanks to Ali for making that final push to realising an ambition, and for diligently keeping an eye on us during the trip at the expense of spending more time in hard conditions. Thanks too to Ade for going for it and being damned good company and a safe pair of hands in trying circumstances. Simon Stannard, 25 July 2004 And just for the record:
Hilbre Island weather station Dates are centred upon mid-day 03 Aug 04
The brigs are almost identical and the main specifications are as follows:
The rigging comprises of nearly 9 miles of wire and rope and there are over 150 individual lines to haul, which are all handled manually by the crew, without the aid of winches.
In some cases, the upper yards have to be hauled up to unfurl the sails attached to them, which is extremely tough work, requiring much ‘heave-hoing'. When the sails are furled, the sheets are released and the clewlines and buntlines are hauled in, bringing the square sails back close to the yards. The crew then range out along the yards and fold the sails into big sausages on top of the yards and secure them with the gaskets with a hitch done with one hand, the other hand for yourself!
A full complement of crew is three watches of 16 and seven watches are kept, i.e. middle, morning, forenoon, afternoon, first dog, second dog, and first watch. Each watch is allocated to a specific part of ship and everyone is expected to steer, keep lookout, do galley duty, clean the heads and, if there is any time left over, handle the ropes and sails, going up the rigging as far as one dare.
The mast is about 120 feet above the waterline, so it gives you an idea of what Ellen MacArthur achieves solo in her open 60 and more recently, her new 75ft trimaran. This is a basic description of the working of the ship; I suggest a trip to discover the finer points of the life in a square rigger. It certainly fills one with admiration for the true sailors who went to sea in all weathers in these ships and in many cases, never came back. In my case, I did, after some great experiences.
We sailed overnight to Dominica, passing Montserrat, where the volcano was spewing hot rocks and ash, a dramatic sight in the dark. Roses lime juice used to have many plantations on Dominica, which is one of the most lush and beautiful islands in the Caribbean and is still home to the remnants of the Carib Indians, after whom the Caribbean is named. The lime plantations are no more; Roses is owned by Coca-Cola now and the limes come from Peru or Mexico, but there are plenty of bananas, which are marketed under the Fair Trade label, guaranteeing a fair price to the producer for his crop, something we firmly support, as a family. We met one of the growers, who knew exactly which stores sold his bananas in the UK. Dominica is lush because the windward side has an annual rainfall of about 300 inches, the leeward side only having a tenth of this figure.
Hurricanes are quite a regular feature between June and November and there are many wrecks along the coastline as a reminder of these vicious storms, as is the case elsewhere in the Caribbean.
We had one night in Montserrat and had a party for the local dignatories, with a one man steel band. We got a stamp in our passports from immigration, which is a shamrock, as many Irish settled on the island in times past.
The overnight sail was pleasant in the warm Caribbean air, as we drifted along at about 2 knots gazing at the stars and trying to work out what we were looking at in the sky, dotted with so much light.
Another evening departure and we headed for the BVI, when the wind got up a bit more and we managed to set most of the sails. We went through Drake's passage under full sail, which must have looked a splendid sight and tied up alongside in Road Town, where the main attraction is Pussers Bar and where large quantities of rum are dispensed to thirsty sailors.
Tortola was the last island on our trip and as the wind was on the nose, we motored back to Antigua to end our fascinating voyage.
We flew home the next day by Virgin Atlantic, but the owner was nowhere to be seen; pity, as I was hoping for an upgrade. Another tough trip completed with the Tall Ships Youth Trust; I thoroughly
recommend it.
03 Aug 04 It was about 11 o'clock when I set off in my Optimist. I sailed up to Tony who was in a Mirror with two juniors. Then he told me it was time to go. There was light westerly wind so it was behind us as we went to Heswall. It was only when we got to Sally's Cottage that I realised I hadn't put on my new sailing gloves. I managed to put them on without dropping them using my foot to hold the tiller. I saw a flock of seagulls sitting on the water right in front of me, they took one look at the shark's teeth on the front of Killer White and they took off, just missing my sail. We followed the mirrors through the channel and landed at Heswall. I stowed my tiller and centreboard and climbed out armed with my watergun.
Thank you to the organisers, Tony Marston for showing me the way and
Simon Moruzzi for driving the rescue boat. This was an excellent day out
and I would like to do it again, tomorrow please! |
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© 2003-4 Dee Sailing Club
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