Well here we are. An anonymous Friday afternoon. And we’re about to do our first ever double handed yacht race. Destination Cherbourg. I think we’re pretty both nervous. We run through our checklist, exit the marina and head off to get some diesel.
As we set up to leave the fuel dock, another sailor is keen to give us advice about boat handling. Unfortunately, I simply cannot process anything anyone says to me while I am absorbed in a task. My brain treats the interruption like it’s being attacked. It signals to my body that I should escape as soon as possible. HoD is tied to the fuel dock by a midships line. She is being blown off the pontoon and the rail is about 3 feet away. Obviously, I should shorten the midships line and climb aboard. But the sailor is still yapping away in my ear. My brain sizes up the gap and decides taking the leap is preferable. The gentleman is somewhat take aback. “I can see you are an athletic girl". I recoil. He explains to me that jumping a long way from the shore to a yacht is a bad idea. I refrain from explaining to him that I am actually just trying to get away from him and would jump significantly further than 3 feet in that endeavour. We slide away from the dock none too tidily and I am furious. Alice is laughing fit to burst.
While I try struggle to contain myself, Alice drives us out into Southampton water. On the way, she tries the autopilot. It doesn’t seem to be working. It engages but only holds course for about 30 seconds before swinging off wildly. We try changing the modes but no luck. Looks like we’ll be hand steering all the way to Cherbourg then. Always good to make it challenging.
The start line is busy. There are about 70 boats doing this race. We have agreed two lofty aims for our inaugural start as a double handed pair. First, don’t hit anyone. Second, don’t be ocs. Set the bar low folks. The tide is hoofing over the line so there is a real risk of being early. We ping the start and do a few run ups. Cal has coached us on this. We’re trying to work out how quickly we get up to speed in full upwind mode. But I keep getting distracted by riding turns on the jib sheet. What is going on? Then I notice the jib sheet has run out of the block on deck. I re-rig the line ruefully remembering Cal’s comment about putting figures of eights in the end of the lines. We’re back in business.
With about a minute to go we start our run up to the line. Inevitably, we overcompensate for the tide and we’re super late. But we’re across. We should have tacked into clean air immediately but we’re a bit shell shocked. Are we really doing this? We set about trimming the sails for the upwind leg out of the Solent. Cal has given us so much coaching on trimming but today we really struggle. The back of the jib is ok but the front is terrible. We can’t get it to set nicely and it makes the helm super unbalanced.
Being among the whole rorc fleet exiting the Solent in the setting sun is a pinch yourself moment. We head past bridge and the sea state is wild. Huge steep waves, and the faster boats flying past us. We give Chris a wave as he whips past on LoD.
After the fairway, the sea state settles into rolling waves on the starboard quarter. It’s going to be a fast reach all the way across the channel. At gusting low twenties we opt to stick to white sails at least for the moment. We move the jib on to an outboard lead. I’m worried about the low friction ring putting pressure on the stantion. While trying to come up with a fix, I watch sadly as one of my soft shackles makes a break for it and dives into the sea. I hope he’s having a nice time wherever he is. Dejected, I crawl back to the cockpit to explain the problem to Alice. She has a stroke of genius and reruns the outboard lead to the cockpit which keeps the low friction ring well forward of the stantion. HoD settles beautifully on to the reach and the jib looks happy.
Unfortunately, as darkness falls I start to feel nauseous. I stay on the helm for as long as possible and then, while Alice is downstairs, I succumb. Imagine a cat coughing up a fur ball. Every 45 minutes. Absolutely charming. Thankfully I can still helm periodically so Alice can snatch some rest. But that’s pretty much it. Forget trimming the sails properly or tactics. That’s all on Alice. At one point I look down to dump the main as we get rounded up. I promptly vomit all over my lap. Classy.
Alice works super hard to keep the boat speed high. It’s a boat speed race so not too much tactical nouse required. We’re grateful for that for our first race. This is surely going to be the fastest ever crossing for me. We don’t put up the code. We’re doing pretty well on white sails and I just don’t think I could set it up at this point. Plus I think trying to helm solo with the code and no autopilot would be pretty tricky.
We discuss whether we should home given my sea sickness but decide to press on. I’m not particularly keen to bash back upwind to the needles. I go to get some rest for an hour. When I stagger back on deck we are already closer to Cherbourg than hamble. I ask Alice plaintively if we can go any faster. Astonishingly, she doesn’t thump me. We navigate safely through the shipping lanes. Alice keeps handing me water and chunks of baguette. I express my thanks by vomiting her offerings all over the deck. It’s a warm night, so when I’m not helming, I lie on the deck under the glow of the nav screen. I feel like death but the stars are incredible and HoD is having the time of her life.
All things end one way or another. As we get closer to Cherbourg I start to feel better. Alice jumps on the helm for the final approach and truthfully it gets a little nerve wracking. We are at the back of the fleet but we’re still in the mix and we’re sandwiched between two other boats. The sea is on the starboard quarter and the wind is on the starboard beam. Maybe 16- 18 knots gusting low twenties. We are all at risk of broaching and the other two boats feel so close. None of us are gaining or losing ground. The boat on the right rounds up and it feels like their stern is within inches of our bow. The rational part of me is sure that both boats are further away than we think. But the ancient part of my mind is screaming danger. Alice asks me what to do. So, because I am a natural racer, I suggest slowing down. Alice depowers the main and we fallback and head up to gain some separation. Absolutely dreadful tactic (sorry Cal) but we feel happier. And after all, we’re taking annual leave for this nonsense.
We scan the horizon for the port can buoy. Roches Northwest. There she is. We zip past the buoy recording our finish time when it bears 90. The lights of Cherbourg beckon.
Getting the mainsail down is an absolute joke. It’s like I’ve forgotten how my limbs work. And it feels like the damn thing is stuck. I pull tonnes of slack through and still the main won’t come down. So I stumble back to the cockpit to discover I’ve been manfully pulling through the jib halyard. Good thing there’s plenty of space behind the breakwater at Cherbourg. Alice watches me impassively from the helm. I’m impressed by her sangfroid. She hasn’t rolled her eyes once. At least not for me to see.
We head for Port Chantereyne with a shocking mainsail flake. Probably be ostracised by the fleet. There are a lot of lights so picking out the nav lights against the background scatter is challenging. But I do love this part. Arriving into port at the end of a passage. It’s so satisfying. Two incredibly bright lights appear. "What the hell is that?” cries Alice. "Car headlights..". You can tell we’re tired. I also discover I am wearing Alice’s shoes…
Rorc and jog have a kindly welcoming committee in the marina who direct us to raft up. Then it’s showers and longed for sleep. Next day, we check the rankings. Incredibly, we’re not last. We see Stuart at the prize giving who has been skippering One Way for Unity. He gives us a great bear hug congratulating us on getting there. We swap notes. Sounds like some of the other boats had real problems in the shipping lane. We feel lucky. Being at the back can have its perks.
On the way home there is zero wind so we fill up with fuel. We screw up the tides and it takes us ages to get home. Alice is pretty shattered. I feel good so I can do a bit more and hopefully return some of Alice’s incredible hard work during the race. I am learning this is a big part of double handed sailing. There’s a lot of give and take. You have to get on with your coskipper. You have to be able to deal with each other when you’re both at your worst. I feel super lucky to sail with Alice. We laugh a lot and we don’t hold grudges. Plus, we apparently have the same shoe size.
It’s a busy night in the shipping lanes but there are no dramas and we are safely through.
As we come past the needles the new day breaks. The golden hour. And I realise I’ve forgotten to submit the customs form for clearance to return to the uk. Bugger. I call border force. The chap on the phone is ever so kind. "Do try to remember to submit the form next time". Noted. They’re happy to let us back into the country. Phew. Not sure how I’d explain that one to Chris.
Later, Alice pops her head on deck. "We don’t have any fuel". What? But I feel like we’ve done nothing but fill up! We had a quarter of a tank at the needles. I go and look at the gauge. It sits at zero and then flicks to a quarter of a tank and back to zero. Hmm. What should we do? Should we go into cowes? We filled up when we left the Hamble and again at Cherbourg. We’ve motored the whole way across the channel but I’m convinced we should have enough diesel. We switch the engine off. I go and look at the tank in case there’s an inspection hatch but I can’t find one. I switch the engine on and look at the panel. The low fuel light isn’t on. We decide to keep on to Hamble and the breeze fills in so we can get the sails up. Downwind up Southampton water. Sails down and hanger right into Hamble. We keep the jib ready just in case but Alice puts HoD sweetly on to the fuel berth. No problem. Then it’s back to Mercury Yacht Harbour, tidy up, gear off and a late lunch in the Gaff.
There’s something funny about this game. I had an objectively terrible race. But as we talk through the highs and lows (and Alice bizarrely expresses a keenness to do another race with me), I know we’re going again. Because even though it wasn’t my best race, it felt like an incredible achievement for us. I used to idly think that double handed sailing would be cool in the way that I think being an astronaut would be cool. I didn’t seriously think I’d ever do it myself. The question is what’s next. Coastal please Alice. Make it coastal…
