Your wife can't be that bad
Did you hear the one about 2 sailors chatting on a 34 foot surfboard during a storm ?
John Searjeant was about twice my age when we found ourselves as watch buddies on Innovation, a Doug Peterson designed 34ft racing sailboat, during my first classic offshore race in August 1979
As a novice ocean racer, I wanted to understand the motivation of the other members of the of crew of seven aboard Innovation. Why were we all crazy enough to want to get cold, wet and hungry on a small boat for days on end?
Of our crew, 2 of us were new to the RORC Fastnet race, although Steve Tattersall and I had both done shorter races of up to 250 miles earlier in the season. However, the 600+ miles we were facing was a totally different ball game. Sailing to the South East coast of Ireland and around that lighthouse on a craggy rock is the legendary classic ocean racing
On the first night out, the weather was typical for the English channel in August; light to moderate South West wind. Due to the relatively small 34 foot waterline length of our boat, we were not fast enough from the Cowes start line to make the tidal gate at Portland Bill. So we dropped the kedge anchor on the Eastern side of the headland to wait for the tide to become favorable. This gave John and I some anchor watch time to chat
The owner, Peter Johnson, had completed every one of these biennial races for over 20 years, and I learned later that John had done 5 of them with him on various boats. As a newcomer, I felt confident that I would learn a lot from the experienced guys aboard
Peter was a maritime publisher, writer and journalist. His Nautical Books publishing house would later be acquired by Macmillan, a leading UK publisher. As well as being a prolific author (The Guinness Book Of Yachting Facts and Feats was one of his best sellers), he also penned a column in Yachting Monthly, the go-to monthly publication for sailors in England. One of my favorite pieces in the magazine were Mike Peyton's witty cartoons on subjects around sailing, sailors, and their boats
John's reply to my question “so why do you go ocean racing?” that Saturday night surprised me. After thinking for a few moments, he said quite calmly “to get away from my wife”
With no serious girlfriend, and being some 11 years away from getting married myself, I had no concept of what he meant. However, his reply stuck with me
Sunday saw the wind die to a whisper in the afternoon, and it backed to the South East. We set up the lightweight spinnaker (that big colorful sail at the front of the boat) and even played with a funky sail called a blooper for a while
In the wee hours of Monday morning we were all getting a little frustrated at the lack of wind and our slow progress along the race course. We had just made the tidal gate at Lizard point, and then jubilantly let our guard down
Around 7:00 there was a “pop”...the light spinnaker had blown out. We sailed over it and were left with just three white tapes attached to a halliard, a sheet, and a guy
The wind velocity had creeped up and we had not been paying attention
The BBC radio shipping forecast was the only weather information we had in those days. It was way before weather faxes, GRIBS and all the fabulous technology and communications stuff we have today. Tuning in to that BBC radio 4 broadcast the synopsis included “...deepening low pressure system West of Shannon moving rapidly East...”. The forecast for the Scillies and Fastnet areas told us to expect freshening wind with the direction becoming South West then veering West
Great, I thought, headwinds for a 100 mile sail to the SW coast of Ireland...
With the medium weight spinnaker now set we were picking up speed and approaching Lands End. Right on cue, the wind shifted to the SW, we dropped the spinnaker and set the #1 Genoa headsail on a tight reach
The wind velocity increased
10 knots apparent wind speed, then 15, then up to 20 knots over the space of a few hours
It was heavy duty sail change time – peel to the #2 Genoa, then 1st reef in the main, then the #3 genoa goes up. After almost 48 hours on the boat this was getting challenging, especially after we were now sailing in the deeper water West of Lands End and met those long rolling waves, leaving the short chop of the English Channel in our wake
I came back on watch late on Monday evening and we were down to 2 reefs with the wind up at 25 knots, about 30 degrees off the bow, as we pounded through the swell
As darkness fell, the working jib goes up...then reef 3 goes in and we were seeing gale force 35 knot winds across the deck
The boat was handling this really well, riding through the long rollers, thanks to Doug Peterson' expert hand at the drawing board
Cooking was impossible with 40 degrees of heel and the violent motion of the boat dropping off the waves, so I was glad of my secret stash of mini Marathon bars (branded as Snickers in the US)
Shortly after dawn on Tuesday I was on deck and we were down to the storm jib and 3 reefs. The analogue wind indicator dial was consistently showing over 40 knots, regularly gusting to 55 with the needle occasionally hitting the maximum reading of 70 knots. The spendthrift was streaking across the deep blue water. The waves were getting bigger
We were all following the 3 basic golden safety rules of ocean sailing
#1 – “don't fall off the boat”. Harnesses were firmly attached to the jack lines on the deck; #2 “clip on and don't fall off the boat”; #3 “don't fall off the boat”
Then boom!
Out of nowhere, a massive rogue wave hits us on the port quarter. The boat goes over. I get thrown from the windward side of the cockpit into the water and the boat is vertical above me. My harness held and within a few seconds, the keel did its job and the boat rights itself. I clamber back into the cockpit from the leeward side and the boat picks up speed
Doing a visual inspection for damage, I notice that the instruments above the companionway were not working after we went over. I called below, thinking that perhaps the batteries had become dislodged by the impact
The batteries were fine, and all the electrical systems checked out. So, why no wind speed, wind direction, or wind angle? Boat speed was working just fine, though. Very curious...
The guys below continue to troubleshoot this problem, and with the exception of boat speed, the instrumentation readouts in the navigator station down below showed the same as the repeaters on deck. Zippo. Nothing. Nada. Zilch
I look up at the heavily reefed mainsail and notice that there is nothing on the top of the mast. When we took the hit, we had gone over beyond 90 degrees and the mast was under the water. The masthead instrumentation cluster must have been wiped off by the seas. I later learned from the Fastnet '79 inquiry report that this type of incident is termed a B-2 knockdown
We had 2 more B-2 knockdowns, and at that point Peter made the smart call to bear away from our race course, and keep the big waves on our quarter, rather than continue to beat into these punishing seas. With about 100 miles of sea room to the South Wales coast this made a whole load of sense
Our watch routine now became 1 person on the helm looking forward, and the 2nd person looking astern and calling the waves. The trick was to steer the boat for minimum damage down these monster waves.
We were riding a 34 foot surf board with a cabin
When the helmsman got it right, there was an amazing shudder that came up through the helm, spray more than 30 feet up in the air from both sides of the boat, and the most incredible surge of speed through the water. This was truly white knuckle stuff
Later on Tuesday, still running before these huge seas, John and I were back on watch
“Your wife can't be that bad” I said
John smiled
When we were back in Plymouth on Thursday, we swapped our individual stories from the ordeal. I related my little interchange with John
6 months later, Yachting Monthly carried a cartoon. Peter later confessed that he had shared the story with Mike Peyton over a beer following an editorial meeting…
