2005 Reports

Simply click on the race that you wish to read about - or scroll through the whole lot! Cherbourg Nab Tower Solent St Vaast Yarmouth Deauville Weymouth Le Havre Round the Island Race Santander Double Cowes Week Alderney St Peter Port Poole Cherbourg (October)HRSC Winter Series Cherbourg

Ah - the eager anticipation of the first JOG race of the season and AAARGH the realisation that only hours before the off, the magic navigation box was not talking to the boat! Several very long and incomprehensible calls later the bloody thing decided to wake up and do its job and we could finish getting ready to depart.

After a cunning scheme to get the spreader patches on the new main without climbing the mast (it involved a long bit of string, some knots and sticky tape - and was only 50% accurate!) we set off to our spiritual home - Cowes - and, we hoped, a few quiet beers in the ISC; they obviously had not been briefed that we were in town and the bar was shut so it was back to The Anchor, to catch up with the crew of Xploiter and for some people watching.

Despite our planned early start, it always seems to be a rush but we got it together and, still debating headsail choices, motored off for the usual cheery wave from the start team followed by the stooging around that passes for our pre-start routine!

With a couple of last season's stalwarts departing in search of lucre (something to do with property) and lust (following girlfriend to St Barts) and a last minute drop-out due to a cold by Tony Velcro, resident crooner in Whistler's Starlight Ballroom (mind you Bryn Tyrfel dropped out of the Wagner's Ring for the same - ouch!) we had a weakened crew but with only light winds forecast we didn't worry unduly.

After our usual start - with the fleet clearly in our sights, we opted to stay on the Ryde Middle side of the deep water channel in order to get a slight tidal advantage and clearer wind. It all worked well until the forts where everything went a bit wobbly and the fog came in, which was interesting with all the traffic leaving Portsmouth for France ! Our biggest weakness is keeping focused in light airs and as usual it started to go downhill. We hung it together round Bembridge but then the wind gods decided to vomit on us (yes, Blackadder was on TV last night!) Somehow we got into a hole and then, when a flutter of breeze was felt, we were in the strong tide off Dunnose which, guess what, was going in the same direction as the tide; result - wind speed zero, boat speed zero. Judging by the boats around us later, we were not alone in this.

A lesser crew would have given up or gone to pieces but, inspired by yours truly, we decided that we couldn't be that crap and that it must be the instruments that were not working; this lead to a scientifically based attempt to recalibrate the log by dropping crisps off the bow and timing them down the side of the boat!

After much motivational shouting at both crew and wind, things filled in and we were off and, had a most enjoyable sail across the channel, experimenting with different headsails and kites to keep moving. As the wind picked up several Class 3 boats came past and we enjoyed a tussle with Xarifa, clawing past them but never able to get away.

The lights of Cherbourg promised a welcome landfall and it looked like we would make the bar but, once again, nature was about to leave something warm and squishy in our boots... with only a few miles to go the wind went. Xarifa leapt past us and the brand new main slapped aimlessly above our heads, this time showering us with condensation. We would not give in and tweaked, twiddled and fiddled (sometimes with the sails!) to keep creeping along. Agonised we could hear boats call in and wondered how long it would take to finish; having tried ranting at the wind gods we also tried a more reasoned approach but with equally little result. Somehow we kept moving and covered the last few hundred metres to sanctuary.

Alas by the time we got tidied up the bar was closed but we were there - and there was the drinks party to look forward to!

The next morning we lined our stomachs with coffee and croque monsieur and were ready for the fray; as usual all good intentions went out of the window early on and it was a long and confused one, ending up in the funfair at closing time - you can always tell when it's been a big one because there is no money left in your wallet, just lots of credit card receipts from the bar!

Result - 10^th out of 12

Now another r eport by "Tim the Helm", on the return race...

There was much confusion aboard Whistler as to what time the race back to Cowes started on Easter Sunday, given that GMT changed to BST early that morning, together with the fact that French time was an hour ahead. The fact that we had been in the yacht club bar all day may also have had something to do with it!

I recall somebody mentioning at the bar that JOG operate on 'JOG' time no matter where we are racing but nonetheless confusion remained. So it was that a certain member of our crew (not your correspondent), arose on Sunday morning an hour earlier than absolutely necessary (possibly because he had slept most of the way out?) and proceeded to stomp about the boat to a cry of "I say old chap would you please turn that light out and refrain from making any more noise". At least I think that is what the English translation is for the torrent of Kiwi abuse he got from Veronica.

After some close manoeuvring at the start, followed by some verbal encouragement from a group of French anglers on the harbour wall, we set off for England . The wind was fine and Whistler settled nicely into the short chop at between 6 and 7 or so knots. We had a bit of a drag race with a few boats notably Ocean Cavalier, who seemed to be coping less well with the wind and chop than Whistler, to the extent that they appeared to change headsail, with the result that we left them behind.

The Skipper who, it has to be said, was in less than perfect trim due to a combination of beer, age and funfair rides, snoozed on the rail for most of this time waking occasionally to offer encouragement and motivation as all good skippers do.

For the most part it was an excellent few hours sailing with us able to hold good boat speed on a good close hauled course taking us to the east of the rhumb line in preparation for the west going tide later. All was going well, we had overtaken a few boats, and the navigation was telling us we would be finishing early in the evening, fantastic. Everybody was happy, except our time confused new crew member, who retired below again. We should have known better, this was a JOG race after all. In a familiar manner, the fog rolled in, the breeze faded and died and were soon drifting around in close company with Veto about 20 miles from Bembridge ledge. We waited, we tried the kite and so did Veto, we put the kite away and so did Veto and we waited some more. We swore at the wind, we cried to the wind, we tried reasoning with, cajoling it, even offering it biscuits but the ungrateful sod wouldn't play!

As the weather forecast did not offer any real hope of wind, we reluctantly decided to retire and motored home to Gosport , arriving at about 2330 (or was it..?)

Despite our retirement, team Whistler had another great weekend in Cherbourg . Thanks very much JOG.

Result - Retired

Nab Tower

One of the downsides of not working is that it allows the Skipper too much time to fret about the fact that it was a JOG weekend and there actually seemed to be some wind forecast - was his diary wrong, or the Met Office?

As usual the cunning plan was brisk motor up to Cowes on Friday night, a quick beer and then a good night's kip in anticipation of the day ahead... in reality this turned out to be a last minute panic to find enough bodies to eat all the pasties that had been bought, followed by a very brisk motor to Cowes in conditions that Ray Mears would have relished, followed by various bars and drinking until nearly 2.00AM at Vee's house (even though she wasn't racing, she opted for an earlyish night - asleep on the sofa under a sheepskin!)

The next morning, the hand-picked crew and a last minute addition invited at 1.00AM that morning arrived at something like the allotted time and, following another demonstration of textbook "unparking", we were off. Having sorted out the disruption caused to the interior of Whistler by digging out all the neatly stowed lifejackets, we started well clear of the pack (i.e. well behind!) Despite the fact that we had been in plenty of time for the start, it was of no benefit at all, as we (OK, the Skipper) completed misjudged it. In his (OK, my) defence, it was difficult to focus on helming, timing, positioning and keeping several new bodies on board at one time!

Tactics would be simple - we would avoid our usual trick of going the wrong way and stick with the pack.

With the Skipper praying that we could stay on a broad reach and delay the inevitable kite hoist we were tracking nicely down the Solent and working our way into the pack, keeping Electron in sight ahead. The kite went up OK (only requiring correction to the Skipper's attachment of the sheets and guys) and with only minimal broaching (compared to some of our races), we were keeping up good speed, past the floating testament to "Dubya's" commitment to bringing liberty to oppressed people (had they come to free us from Blair's grip... don't get me started on that one!)

Through the forts, the next challenge was the tactics to get to the Nab - try to soak down there in one leg and drop the kite and gybe round the mark under the headsail, or sail a little higher and faster, gybing the kite with "new crew" and risking a tangle; prudence and the magic box indicated that the first was achievable. Three quarters of the way to the Nab we could see that Electron and Girolle had gone for plan two and it was paying off; we lost further ground as we hoisted the genoa and dropped the kite as it seemed all too slow and wallowy. We rounded outside Slipfree, who were spectacularly trailing their spinnaker from the mast head on an ever lengthening halyard, at one stage it looked as though they were simply going to let it run all the way until it was lost.

We hardened up, with the change down to the No:3 looking wise and settled down with Domaine alongside us. It was here that we made our best call of the day (well done Yiorgis!) and headed towards the mainland earlier than quite a number of people, where we thought we would be able to lee bow the tide rushing into the Solent, rather than getting hurt near Bembridge as it started to swing south of the island. Across the channel we though we could lay the forts and probably carry the tack well up the Solent.. wrong!

The wind gods once again teased us with 30^o shifts which lifted and headed us at their whim but we had both Domaine and Girolle near us and focused on sticking with them, as we would beat them on handicap if we were close enough. We went a good way toward the mainland before tacking back to the island, following the deeper water. Thankfully no real shipping traffic to worry about, just trying to keep on course and on the numbers (as the only one who could both see and understand Whistler's targets, no one was able to nag the Skipper!)

Snowden seemed further out than when we left but after a couple of tacks we were round it and fetching the line (note to self, must get colour vision of crew tested to avoid confusion between yellow and orange.) Mentally timing both Girolle and Domaine ahead, we crossed and turned for home - and wondered what to do with several packets of uneaten pasties.

Result - 9^th out of 19

Solent

Lost somewhere in the ether!

St Vaast

There are those whose idea of an exciting weekend is a day trip to a new garden centre - the more adventurous among them not even packing a picnic; it is this type that cannot understand why salt-stained JOG racers seem so underwhelmed when they pronounce that "it looks nice for the Bank Holiday"!

The crew were looking forward to St Vaast - always a nice place to go, "Tim the Helm" had not been there before and Stavros was looking forward to sampling some real food, rather than the kebabs that we seem to subsist on whenever we are in Cowes .

Whistler was ready once again and, undeterred by pessimistic doom-sayers forecasting light winds and heavy fog, eager to be off! With another carefully selected recruit on board (one who hopefully would avoid sharing their supper with the fishes) we strolled up to Cowes , moored at the ISC and had supper. A missed ferry meant we left later than planned but we felt good. Round towards Gurnard and the skipper was convinced that the Class 5 start must have been delayed as no one had come past; as we made our way through the ID gate the reason was clear - they had started but seemed to be either stemming the tide of kedged (not our favourite occupation after the last race!)

It was grey and gloomy at the start and with two completely different wind directions either side of Cowes it was going to be interesting. The start was OK (pretty much anything would be OK compared with what was to follow) and reacted with our usual sporting attitude when Electron had to go back round (although all credit to them they were very soon back up and then past us.) We opted to keep close to the shore to try to cheat the tide and managed to keep creeping along in company with Xarifa and Heavens Above V.

The plan had been to head for the mainland side of the deep water but with the wind wobbling around and up and down we settled for just keeping going. The visibility was going and, after a close up view of the Portsmouth to Fishbourne ferry, by the time we were off Ryde only the brightest lights were shining through. We ghosted past the Forts and after a while tacked towards Bembridge.

It was already getting spooky with foghorns continuing and vague glows resolving themselves into large ships - and we weren't past Bembridge! Anticipating a long one, we rested half the crew and went from some quite good sailing speeds to slopping around. Changing watches, the skipper retired below expecting a few hours kip and was just drifting off into a nice warm fuzzy place when what sounded like a herd of wildebeest stampeded across the cockpit (just above his head) and the flash of a light was briefly seen through the cabin porthole. Thinking that we were about to hit the Nab, the skipper staggered on to deck to try and find out who was making the racket and why - apparently we had come quite close to a starboard tacker in the gloom.

With the risk of a collision we kept everyone on deck for a pretty tiring and frustrating night. The visibility was appalling, with Whistler cocooned is a faint glow from the trilight and the sea barely visible; shadows fore and aft gave the impression of other vessels in the fog and every now and then a drop of water would fall from the masthead, catching the light and making us think that someone else was out there.

As seasoned readers will recall, we are not at our best when tired, in really light airs and poor visibility and our course wibbled and wobbled in pretty much every direction but the right one! Holding a course was tough without a reference point and more than once we managed to a complete 360 when tacking!

Around this time the electrics all went dead, despite what should have been a well charged battery; this necessitated a thorough rummage to get tools and a spare fuse and then fix the engine so we could charge up again - if things carry on like that we will start making a video diary!

The next morning the wind was down to 2 to 3 knots and the visibility not much better; the forecast didn't sound too promising and the shipping lanes were looming (yes we were that slow!) The sensible answer seemed to be to play it safe and turn for home; we knew that although it was a tough challenge, the finish team would be able to cope with all the booze without us!

The clockwork went on and the autopilot was told to point at Bembridge, which it did remarkably well; a few tins of "All Day Breakfast" perked us up and by the time we had had a couple of pints in The Castle later on the world looked a lot better!

Result - Retired

Yarmouth

Having brushed up on his pile mooring technique (sounds painful!), the Skipper's big focus of attention on Friday was not so much Saturday's race but more immediately would we be able to get out of our berth with a 25 knot wind whipping down the fairway! Much to the relief of the publicans of Cowes it eased for a few minutes and we squeezed out and off up the Solent .

For the Skipper Friday night/Saturday morning blurred into fairly sleepless tossing and turning (enough of that already!), with whistling wind, rattling halyards banging fenders and a bouncing boat giving a fair indication that it was lively out there! This was confirmed by the Berthing Master at Shepherd's Wharf relating tales of the problems hitting some of the RORC fleet.

Reinforced by a hot shower, plenty of tea, nice bacon butties and the fact that everyone had turned up on time the world looked a better place as another tricky piece of unparking was accomplished and team Whistler set off to the start and relatively benign conditions.

Funnily enough we can't actually remember much about the race - the boat seemed to be going OK and we stuck to our usual trick of hanging on to Girolle and Domaine, in search of a leg up on handicap. Our biggest cockup (although minor in contrast to what Sunday had in store) was the fact that we didn't really make a decision on what to do past Lepe and could really be described as "neither fish nor foul" (although some people beg to differ!) so, instead of hiding from the tide or sailing hotter angles (sounds good) we ended up plodding down the middle.

We got in and got tied up (hello!) and it all went swimmingly from there, with trips to the RSYC, The Bugle and other pubs - you always know it's a good one when you are on the rum and cokes!

Result - 13^th out of 20

OK - so why doesn't rum & coke taste so good the next morning?

Things were not looking good for the team with some sore heads and the prospect of having to choose between breakfast and being on time for the start; this was exacerbated by a series of texts about one member of the crew indicating very limited movement - if any!

After a display of masterful delegation and self interest, the skipper was fed and watered and all the crew were on board, on time for the second day!

The Skipper had a cunning plan, which was somewhat spoiled at the start when we had to avoid Draig M'or coming down the line on starboard but we eventually set of under a deluge of mocking texts from our "friends" on shore. Cunning plan one did not work (at all!) so in true Whistler style we shot to the other side of the Solent (where everyone else was) and got stuck in, rounding the first mark near Electra and Tai Pan; once again we were a little uncommitted on the down wind leg and ended up dropping the kite too early and sailing a very poor line into Champagne Mumm - however worse was to come.

Obviously by now the rum and coke had fully deadened the Skipper's senses so, on rounding he decided to tack and go completely the wrong way for several minutes. being the Skipper, his response to helpful advice was to become even more settled on his choice and to ignore any suggestions that as everyone else was going the other way it might be worth looking at!

That was it, no way back by now - but at least the Skipper (I) has admitted where the fault lies!

Overall it was cracking weekend - some really nice sailing, great party in Yarmouth and despite the result a lot of smiling faces - which is good!

Result - 17^th out of 18

Deauville

After Yarmouth, much head-scratching was going on in Team Whistler (judging by the Skipper's patchy thatch, quite a bit was going on before - Ed) and after extensive researches (a phrase which reminds the author of a song more suited to the rugby club bar than these hallowed pages), we had unearthed even more baffling information about wind and, although conversing knowledgably as we motored towards the start, weren't really much the wiser.

Alchemist pipped us to our favoured pre-race berth at the ISC, so we detoured to Shepherd's (not a problem for those on the boat but a pain for Vee who was waiting with her kit on the ISC pontoon!) A decent start and it was time to deploy our new wind-nous! Spotting the slight breeze immediately off East Cowes and the clear air well over in the deep water, we smoothly gybed - straight into the dead patch in the middle - oh, fiddlesticks! The wind book was consigned to the bilge and we initiated the easier strategy of following (at a discreet distance), Electron and Xploiter.

Through the forts, we hardened up and, as everyone had very generously parked to allow us to catch up, we did! We even got past a few but can't help wondering what would have happened if we had had the courage to go wider, where it looked like the breeze had held. After the usual JOG Race practice of sitting around for a while with flappy things hanging off the sticky-up thing (sorry?), the kite went away, the No:1 up and we were off again.

A good sail across through the night, although perhaps on reflection we could have been more dynamic in sail choice - and we even managed to get some kip.

However, whilst all this was going, a minor problem was building up. warmly snuggled down in his sleeping bag the Skipper was dimly aware of a persistent beeping noise which, thinking it was nothing more than some French fishermen struggling with the complexity of the VHF, he ignored. Sadly, it was condensation dripping onto the computer and making the keyboard short out (or something technical like that). Drawn from the fuzzy delights of whatever bevy of beauties he had summoned into his imagination, he went to investigate; luckily the Skipper knows what to do with errant technology - although after his treatment none of the keys work (and if the dongle hadn't been screwed in the whole lot would have gone over the side)!

We spent a long time running along with Veto, who we seem to find most races, although we were not sure who else was around us until - hallelujah - we saw Tai Pan's kite burst out behind us.

Up to the finish and time to get into Deauville and the usual nonsense of "we'll just pop out for a quick one before a shower"; 8 hours later we were sitting (unshowered) on someone else's boat with yet another beer - if Tony Blair and his nanny state watchdogs could see us, we'd be legislated out of existence before you could say "mine's a pint, please".

Cheers!

Result - 11^th out of 14

Weymouth

The wheels occasionally come off even the best organised machine, and for Weymouth not one but two fell off! Having been discharged from the alcohol abuse clinic after Deauville , the skipper was immediately back on the bottle when a succession of emails arrived "Mark, got a lot on this weekend, really appreciate it if you manage without me", "Skipper, rather busy at work and need to work through the weekend". With short notice, it was difficult to get back up to strength but we found one brave volunteer (who one their last outing had "fed the fishes" on the Nab race). With the forecast there were not going to be a lot of fancy manoeuvres - but weight was still going to be the order of the day, so a big breakfast would be called for!

We experienced something of a first on Friday night - only two pints in the pub and then a proper meal! Replete, sober and just before midnight the team were back on Whistler, snugging down for the evening when the Skipper's phone rang. It was Vee. "Skipper where are you? We're having a drink and there are some people (women) you've got to meet" A warm sleeping bag, gently rocking in Cowes or back out into the night and some dodgy, Indian restaurant wine - you know the answer!

The empathetic reader will therefore appreciate that the Skipper was less receptive than he might have been to a text from the two crew members coming over on the Red Jet, advising that they had missed it - why is it that the simplest organisation tasks, like parking a car and buying a ticket, seem to be so far beyond the grasp of women?

At 0902 they were frog-marched onto Whistler and we set off debating whether it would be a No:2 or 3... we went for the No:3 as a conservative choice with reduced crew weight... wrong! We rounded the corner and could see reefs and small headsails - we reefed the main, off came the 3 and up went the No:4.

All this left us a bit off the pace at the start but we had a good sail down the Solent, exchanging tacks with the usual suspects, although there didn't always seem to be a reason why we made or lost ground. It was quite lumpy through Hurst so we opted for quieter water where possible and, following the fleet (always a sound tactical device for us), continued down through the Needles where we stood on following Tai Pan and Girolle out somewhere between a Southerly and South Westerly course. This fitted with our cunning plan, which was to stay south and keep away from St Alban's.

Conditions were described by some as a "boisterous passage" (which inspired several topics of conversation!) and, "entertained" by the skipper's entire repertoire of obscene rugby songs (except the one he didn't remember until the way home), we were in the groove!

With some concern we listened in on the Electron and CG conversations (and were glad to find out when we got in that all were OK) and concentrated on reeling in the boats in front, which we were doing nicely when a particularly big lump of water stopped us and cracked the headsail out of it's track, requiring 3 increasingly frantic attempts to get it back up (story of the Skipper's life, we are told!) Just to put a final nail in the coffin, the Skipper managed to cock up the one tack we had to make to aim for Weymouth .

Eventually we settled down pretty much bang on the money for the line; we poked (just with a finger) the rail crew to see if they were still with us and were off. It can't have been pleasant sitting on a bouncy piece of plastic with buckets of cold water being flung over you for 8 hours, but that doesn't explain the almost sacrilegious dereliction of duty which resulted in the skipper and helm getting splashed a couple of times - you know why you are there!

The strain of playing the mainsheet required running repairs to the trimmers delicate little handies (made with electrical tape to save opening the medical kit), all of which lead Tim the Helm to start a slightly distracting line of conversation about "taping up his ring when he goes sailing."

With about 6 miles to go we shook out the reef and even considered the No:3 but a few gusts changed our mind. Xarifa appeared on our tail so we concentrated on keeping going and trying to do the mental arithmetic on how much time we would give them over 8 or 9 hours; we thought we might have done it when they seemed to stand on a bit before tacking up toward the last mark but, as the results show, we couldn't quite get away from them! The finishing horn was welcome sound - as was the hiss as the first bottle of beer was opened when we were safely tied up. On reflection, a satisfying race - a great sail, testing the boat and crew, and getting there in one piece was a result in itself - now, if we could only apply that same maturity to our post-race antics!

Result - 10^th out of 18

Le Havre

It was a bit of a boat week for Team Whistler, especially the Skipper. After a particularly excessive night out in Weymouth we had a very pleasant (albeit damp) sail home on the Sunday; Tuesday/Wednesday saw Vee and the skipper making their qualifying passage for the RSYC Santander Double, Thursday was other Santander-related stuff at the coast and Friday saw the Le Havre race - God knows how people with jobs manage!

On top of this, we once again struggled with the imperatives of the employed leaving us short-handed for the race (they really need to develop the same sense of priority as the Skipper!) The forecast didn't look too ominous, in fact with luck we would once again avoid the need for the brightly coloured flappy thing that is attached to all the stringy bits and the stick up at the sharp end, and would be able to reach all the way there.

Buoyed by good luck messages from the rest of the team (some of whom were still stuck in ring-taping territory from last week), we bimbled off to Cowes in time to pick up a buoy for a spot of supper, which was enhanced by some freshly picked rocket (yes, even we on Whistler are developing culinary aspirations); the only problem with this relaxed approach is looking at your watch to see that there are only 25 minutes until the start and everyone is lolling around in shorts! This at least avoided the need for hurtling up and down the line with a compass in hand and any form of strategic planning was right out of the question, so we settled for lurking near the line (sparsely populated with the reduced fleet) and then, in time honoured fashion, following Xploiter (one day they will realise what the bit of string tied to the back of their boat is for!)

The start was OK, despite missing the 10 minute gun - certainly no more than 4/5 in front of us (think about it!) - and with the skipper helming like an old pro (sadly more like one from the Southampton docks, rather than one from Team GBR) and desperately trying to remember what the tide was doing, we settled for a long leg out toward the mainland, which seemed to work. We exchanged tacks with Xara and were happy with our position (this weeks is number 37, the reverse lotus.) when a minor disaster struck - the No:1 was not cleanly released in a tack, backed and holed itself on the spinnaker ring on the mast. With a wet and salty sail we couldn't get a patch to stick and eventually had to change to the No:2, which ended up being something of a palaver, and cost time during the change and power later.

Eventually settled, we did not feel that all was lost and, if only we could keep it going, who knows what would happen. We opted to stay a little high of the rhumb line, if for no other reason than we were following what we believed to be the stroboscopically flashing tri-light on Xploiter (who only informed us when we arrived that they had fixed it and that it no longer flashed, so we have no idea who we actually followed!)

It was a long night with a lumpy sea, wind that was never quite right for either a kite or white sails and a tiring crew. Heads were lolling, so one person was rested on rotation (on a spit might have been more effective in keeping them alert!) - all except the skipper, who heroically kept going, providing a towering beacon of light and inspiration to all around him (in his eyes at least). It is now time for him to admit that at sometime during the night he stopped following the lights that he had been (following) and took off after some others - whoops! Perhaps next time a quick look at the nav station would be in order.

At least we managed to eat some of Whistler's supply of Posh Noodles before they went out of date!

The sun rose and so did our spirits as a plentiful supply of bacon rolls appeared on deck. We didn't care that the wind toyed with us, teasing us into a short-lived kite hoist; or that it went very wobbly near the final headland. The wind settled, the kite went up again and we were there.

The nice thing about Le Havre is that it is big and parking is easy - and no matter what the time is when Whistler arrives, it is almost "beer o'clock"!

Result - 6^th out of 6

Round the Island RaceAnother one lost in the ether!Santander Double

Well the big day was almost upon us. Friday evening saw us up at the RSYC, supported by a few friends, for the pre-race briefing and an opportunity to eye up the other competitors... we also got relieved of yet more money but did get a shirt each; it was good to see that the JOG contingent decided to show solidarity by spurning RSYC battle flags in favour of our trusty JOG ones - somehow we knew we would find each other in Santander!

After several beers we retired to Gosport for the first challenge of the trip - trying to make sense of the menu and instructions for the "all you can eat for £13" in the Great Wall restaurant. Having decided that the best course was to stick solely with starters we did that with gusto, accompanying them with a stream of bottles of sauvignon blanc...

Saturday - position at 0730 BST - Gosport Marina

Mark - I'm not sure that that evening was the ideal preparation for a long offshore race. However, I'm sure that after taking on a good breakfast I'll be ready to rock and roll... Vee is out practising the Haka in preparation for the Lions match - it could be a long and trying morning!

Vee - RSYC put on a good informative briefing last night in Southampton which consisted of us all standing up in front of the other crews to give them a quick look at their competition, they gave us varying bits of information and topped it off by furnishing us with a free shirt each... Susie arrived for the evening with us, and Mair and Simon managed to duck down to wish us well. The evening was a blast but now I just want to get on with it!

We set off early for the start and, to be frank things started to go wrong from there... can you imagine what it like as a keen rugby fan, to face 5 days trapped on a 31' bit of plastic with a jubilant Kiwi.

We had, for us, a decent start at the pin end (i.e. not last across) but followed it with a slight hiccup when a gust rounded us up and backed the headsail right in front of Electron - whoops! We effectively stopped dead in the water and had the option of releasing the genoa and tacking onto their bow or shouting - luckily Paul and Matt saw the problem and ducked behind us (I think some other reporters have mentioned "whimpers" but going back to my earlier rugby comments imagine my quandary - 100+ hours of gloating All Black, or pissing off a mate and landing a big repair bill - it was a tough call!)

We beat down the Solent in 15-23 knots and rain; past Needles and headed S on ebb tide, tacking west as tide turned. We also changed from No:3 to No:1 at 1730 as wind dropped to 10-12 kts. Nice curry for dinner!

Saturday evening - position at 2130 - 50 27.8N, 002 10.1W - heading 270, about to tack on tide

After dinner on Saturday we had to change back to the No:3 as the wind picked up, costing the skipper an hour in his pit! Managing the No:1 single handed was something of a struggle even for a big chap and when the No:3 kept popping out of the tuff-luff, those who know him will be able to imagine how he reacted!

A reasonable sail through the night - we struck out S on the ebb tide but then had to tack back W earlier than ideal in an effort to avoid the complications of the Casquets TSS. During Sunday morning we cleared that and when the wind eventually veered a little we tacked back to a S heading.

On Sunday the wind played games and dropped right off before filling in again but with a forecast of 4/5/6 we were cautious (probably too cautious on reflection) about changing up to larger headsails

Mark saw a shark which came within half a boat length and Vee several aquatic pigeons; she has also seen some white boobies (Mark is hoping to see some brown ones in Spain!) B&Q went past us at 1300, but as they seem to lack our ability to harness the wind we think they had an engine on... probably still smarting after finishing behind us in the RTIR!

Sunday afternoon - position at 15:18 - 49 36.0N, 03 19.2W - heading 300

Vee - I have left Mark on deck as he managed to pull a bird, so I figure he needs some space. No really! The aquatic pigeon that I saw this morning off the stern that dipped gently into the water for some sort of morsel, and then flew in and out the slot between the genny & the main before attempting to land on the spreaders has returned this afternoon. He...or she, has two tags on her feet, so we figure that she is probably a racing pigeon. As I write this Mark & the bird are sitting quietly together in the cockpit enjoying... just being together! Awwwww

Mark - We are still waiting for what the Met Office has forecast and desperate for some of the fast reaching on promise....this bimbling along in 5-9 knots of breeze is both frustrating and SLOW!!!!!!

Sunday night got interesting as we made our way W towards Ushant , the wind picked up, and we both stayed on deck through the night. Eventually we managed to grab an hour or so each, fully clothed in case we were needed. We also had an interesting experience with what turned out to be a trawler, which was showing a combination of lights that were way beyond the ability of the team to decipher; it seemed to follow us as we tacked around it but eventually the situation was resolved and it drifted away behind us.

Monday 4th July, 1300, just rounding Ushant, off the coast of France

Vee - Big seas, big waves and water down my shirt... Coldish water, but not that brown freezing stuff from the Solent . Sea is getting bluer and warmer. Our third crew mate (the pigeon which Mark has named Captain Crapper) left us after spending 24 hours in the cockpit and being on watch all night. We are glad to say that we think he flew off to France where he won't speak the language but he might find something really good to eat.

Mark - pretty impressive, the wind was only 15-20 knots but with a really gnarly sea we put a reef in. Some huge lumps of water house, or at least cottage size - the more worrying were those that were breaking. Also really threatening low clouds, some of which were causing sharp gusts - they looked either like a menacing science fiction craft, hunting us down - or like some supernatural apparition, again up to no good! I think that after 2-3 days off the pop I'm starting to get hallucinations!

The pigeon did have to be encouraged to leave with the application of a size 11 boot but it really was too much - trying to tack both a boat and a pigeon without waking up your resting crew mate was getting ridiculous!

Now reaching S towards the final mark (Chausee de Sein, WCM, S of Brest) before the Bay!

Tuesday 5th July - position at 0800 - 47 01.1N, 004 19.8W - heading 171

The wind went very wobbly on Monday evening and we went round in a circle trying to follow it. Another boat (we now know it was Doris Minor) crept upon us but we got away again. They then stuck with us for the rest of the night before creeping away. Still feeling reasonably perky, eating very well but it is a very big place out there - although the solitude and silence are so refreshing after the continual chatter of the Solent and Channel.

As the wind built we reefed the main (and then shook it out again). Tuesday saw the wind build to 20-25 knots and we gradually went down to the No:4 and 2 reefs in the main. That night was wild with the wind and the boat charging along at full chat in complete darkness - all you could do was keep the wind on the beam and hope that you didn't hit anything - imagine doing a ton down a bumpy lane with your head in a bin liner!

Wednesday 6th July - position at 0800 - 44 27.9N, 003 56.1W - heading 097

As they say "the rich get richer and the poor get poorer"! The wind gods once again vomited their bile upon us as the breeze became more fitful and veered behind us. With a rolly sea and occasional gusts we opted to stick with the white sails and made a couple of gybes to bring us down towards the coast but it was slow work... the final few hours as we neared the finish were fretful as, mindful of many a JOG race, we anticipated the wind going before we could get home! After a bit of a discussion as to where exactly the finish was, we finally made it in at 20:54 .

We motored up to the RCMS for a shower and, despite the best efforts of the bar staff to thwart our desires by going home, a much needed beer (thanks Rob!) The next day would see the start of a marathon (and most excellent) session for the Joggers, eventually ending when we set off back to Blighty on Saturday night!

We may have been so far off the pace that the other competitors were worried about us (fools, you know we always get to the bar eventually!) but this was the first time that we had done anything like this and our inexperience showed in many ways - but all in all a huge sense of achievement for Team Whistler - we'll be back!

Mark - my final comment must be a big, big thanks to Vee for all her support in preparing for this, being great company and 100% there on the race - and putting up with my ranting for nearly five days without a single complaint!

Result - 11^th out of 11 (Dead F**king Last!)

Cowes Week

Day 1 - a bit of a curates egg today - good but hectic start (not good for skippers BP), banged the corner unsuccessfully on the second beat, but undeterred did it again in the third and final one which paid in spadefulls! Sadly the last five minutes hurt, as a combination of foul tide, moored boats, Snowden and other competitors, saw several extra tacks made which cost a couple of places to be sure... Result - 18th in IRC 6, 4th out of the 31.7s.

Day 2 - YES! Our first bullet!!!! A short course as the RC expected little wind but luckily we got a nice 10-15 knots. Great start in clear air and first 31.7 away, fourth boat round first mark and hung on pretty well. Had a slight wobble near second to last mark when we had to tack away from a boat on starboard and then lost a bit on the final kite leg as we delayed the hoist with the wind on the beam but when we went for it just hung in there!!! 10th on the water but in our class there are so many boats with a handicap advantage the final result was 15th in IRC 6,1st out of the 31.7s!!!!! And the really good news is that tonight is the 31.7 drinks/get together!!

Day 3 - no racing today due to a lack of wind; at least we can say that after three days of Cowes Week, we have only been beaten once!

Day 4 - not a good day for the Team! Started badly with a hung-over skipper, a postponement until 1350, an ill-advised comment to a competitor (which has resulted in lashings of humble pie) and then, after a decent start to the race a succession of twisted halyards, knotted kites/sheeys/guys/etc and, finally, a grounding off Lepe Spit... only salvaged by the retirment of Manaru and OCS of Puckoon! 24th in IRC 6, 6th out of the 31.7s - we'll be back!!!

Day 5 - a better day but not great... A poor start and didn't really get it right on the first kite run so spent the rest of the day playing catch up; decent boat speed and all manoeuvres went ok - and we kept off the putty.19th in IRC 6, 4th out of the 31.7s - only 3 days to get it back!

Day 6 - improved again - another good start and we were alarmed to think that we would be first around the first mark, which would not have fitted our normal "follow the leaders" navigational strategy! We lost out to Electra on the second beat as we were unable to maintain boat speed whilst pointing. The final windward mark was interesting with a starboard rounding straight into the rest of the fleet but we held the final kite leg together ok to finish 18th in IRC 6 and 2nd out of the 31.7s...

Day 7 - another good day - and quite a challenging one as well; once again all the moves seemed to be working and boatspeed was good - we were also helped by Electra getting an almighty wrap at the last mark! 15th in IRC 6 and again 2nd out of the 31.7s... we now need to beat Tai Pan and Electra (ideally in that order) to move up to second; a tall order but we've managed it for the past two days...!!!

Day 8 - perhaps the week was too long, perhaps some people were distracted, perhaps the skipper was in a filthy mood... whatever the reason we were off the pace throughout the race and never looked like getting the result we needed. 19th in IRC 6 and 4th out of the 31.7s... time to go home!

Overall (6 to count) - 21st of 36 in IRC Class 6 and 268th of 463 in Black Group; 4th of 9 in 31.7 Fleet

Alderney

After an enjoyable week of round the cans racing at Cowes , Whistler was once again loaded up with all the paraphernalia required for an offshore race, which was slightly sad in a way as she settled deeper into the water with every load.

The duly appointed meet and depart time came and went, with 5 of the crew present and, as usual, a woman still in transit; her excuses of delays caused by accidents would have been more believable if they hadn't been preceded by a warning that she was running late! It is a frequent a recurring topic of discussion on Whistler that mankind's exploration of the Universe would have been considerably more advanced if it hadn't been for women and their problems with timekeeping and direction - that should be worth a comment or two! Luckily, the skipper is used to these little niggles and as a punctilious timekeeper himself, had built a bit of slack into the timings.

We set off up the Solent (most of the hour-long passage was spent trying to get the crew to understand the new watch rota), dropped off Vee's camera in Cowes and picked up a pre-race pizza (or two) before getting ready for the start. Cowes Week had driven home the importance of a good start and we went for it... as did several other people! It was a bit too close and we were pushed up in a most un-JOG like manner by the Draigies and had to go round and hit the line again - fair enough chaps but it's a yellow card for that one - don't make it a red!

Despite that slight hiccup and a seeming inability to get the boat going on one tack (which is always something of a handicap as you beat down the Solent !) we set to it and went through the Needles ahead of Imperator, Annokia and Xploiter (who at one time looked as though they were heading for a night at Buckler's Hard rather than Alderney)!

As usual we struggled through the slop past Bridge and had to work hard to get moving again, something we rewarded with a delicious, freshly prepared curry (thanks June!) We opted to stay higher than most, partly to keep moving and partly with the thought that we would benefit from the position when the wind backed; a difficult strategy to follow as you do find yourself inexorably drawn to follow everyone else and end up dropping down towards the fleet!

Due to the large electrical load on the boat and some rather knackered batteries, frequent charging is required so at around 2330 we fired up the clockwork. after about 5 minutes a loud insistent screeching and flashing light told us that the engine was over heating; a quick glance over the side showed no water spurting out. something of a problem! Without wishing to bore everyone with the details, in an unaccustomed (and as usual expletive-laden) hour of activity, the skipper replaced a broken impellor, dismantled the sea-water cooling system and eventually diagnosed an unreachable blockage outside the seacock - but inside the leg of the saildrive.

We experimented with supplying water to the engine through buckets of seawater but couldn't keep up with the demand, so that wasn't an answer. This left something of a quandary - we were virtually out of domestic power but we have spare nav lights, VHF, GPS and a vague collective recollection of "proper navigation", so could get to Alderney . We were confident of being able to pick up a mooring under sail and could probably run the engine for a few minutes before it overheated BUT whilst the skipper had done his mechanical work, focus on the race had slipped and we were well out of touch AND whilst we thought we would be able to get to Alderney we still had to get back - in all likelihood without an engine. The skipper's view was that it was better to be in the shit on the English, rather than the other, side of the channel. Sadly, we tacked Whistler and set off homewards.

The slightly annoying thing was that after about 45 minutes of the return the skipper belatedly had a brainwave and identified and alternative intake for the engine cooling - too late (but at least we could run the engine, which was useful as we negotiated the Needles in a foul tide and dying wind!)

The only good bit was the fantastic display of meteors and shooting stars!

Result - Retired

St Peter Port

After the frustration of Alderney , a bit of high pressure hose-work, some poking with a screwdriver (ouch!) and the usual ranting and swearing saw water flowing through Whistler's mighty power plant again. Not satisfied with mid-channel boat bodging, the skipper also took some time out to think about work - and contrary to rumour it did involve (slightly) more than shutting his eyes again, rolling over and going back to sleep!

In a strange and warped sense of priority, Tim the Helm was staying at home to celebrate his wedding anniversary, so the Whistler standby list was once again mailed and the crew soon back up to what passes for "full strength" - if only Nelson had the internet, he wouldn't have needed the Press Gang (although on reflection...)

Confident that plenty of time was in hand before departure an extra cup of tea was enjoyed at Gosport (no pre-race alcohol for these athletic leviathans) before we gently sauntered out into the Solent and the first cock-up of the weekend - faced with 5-10 knots more breeze than anticipated, on the nose and with lumpy wet stuff bashing into us, it looked like we would be late for the Poole races let alone St Peter Port. With a bit of a thrash (yes please, mistress!) and a zigzag up the Solent we got to roughly the right place at roughly the right time and got the flappy plastic bits ready.

As the wind built, our smugness that we had remembered to put the first reefing line in was fading fast and with less than two minutes to go we were faced with the choice of switching to the No:4 or sticking with the 3 and trying to set up the second reefing line (yes, mistake number two). Option two seemed best so we set off at full pelt in the direction of Southampton trying to feed bits of string through holes in the main; now it doesn't take a tactical mastermind to work out that heading north away from the line isn't the ideal piece of pre-start positioning for a westerly start - which is why some of our fellow competitors thought we intended to start with Class 3!

All sorted we had a fairly uneventful sail down the Solent and even caught up with a few people - which was nice. Out past the Needles and using a weather forecast that it seemed only we had access to, we opted to stay a little low (the course, not our spirits) - mistake number three, although one day one of these bits of guesswork will work out! After supper we started dropping the reefs and, with occasional breaks to allow at least half the crew to deposit their supper over the side, went through virtually all our headsails, which kept us occupied - as did trying to fathom out this week's variation on the watch system.

As dawn approached (why she keeps following us is beyond me), we were lurking in company off Cap de la Hague, with Electron, Xara, Just Enough, Zest, Imperator and perhaps some others. We were off the Casquets mid-morning as the tide turned against us and the wind dropped away; for the next six or so hours we tried everything to keep moving in the right direction, although as the plot on SeaPro shows, we spent a lot of time drifting across the tide. Following Zest and then Just Enough, it seemed that sticking out a bit to the west helped so we dutifully did that, alternately cajoling and then threatening the wind gods, who treated us (and our offerings of HobNobs) with their usual disdain. With a focus that is rare on Whistler we kept at it, chasing breaths of breeze until the tide turned and the wind built enough to make headway. Zest had shot away during a demonstration of spectacularly inept helming from the Skipper but we could see Just Enough going down the Little Russell with their kite up; we had ours ready and switched to it for the last few miles, nudging down toward the finish with Electron powering along behind us. Some dawdling in the harbour entrance convinced us that they would not catch us so we parked up and set off in search of the traditional post-race nourishment (for latecomers) of beer and peanuts and a bit of light hearted banter in the bar.

The return trip was uneventful - motoring all the way - although the Skipper's fuel consumption calculations might have been more useful if he had known how much there was in the tank to start with!

Result - 9^th out of 13

Poole

Don't actually remember much about this one now as it was in September and this is being written in October!

The team was once again depleted by pathetic domestic and business pressures (note to self - recruit a crew of unemployable, unlovable loners for next year...) so we roped in a couple of young ladies (that's more like it...) but even so were reduced to a crew of five. With only light winds forecast we weren't unduly concerned - although what was more worrying was that, jobs done, the Skipper could only delay going to the pub until 7.00PM - and, as the crew turned up and drinks were drunk, once again the team descended on Gosport's finest dining establishment, The Great Wall, for another "all you eat" feast (more like eat something but all you can drink.) Words can barely describe the sight of the Skipper taking a spicy chicken ball in one mouthful and discovering just how hot and spicy a chicken ball can be... and why do chickens have such big balls???

The next morning was so pleasant that we dawdled up to the start and were almost late as we had completely underestimated the tide - which at least saved us the bother of any pretence at practicing or checking the line! At the gun it has to be said that we lacked pace (perhaps because the skipper was on the mainsheet) but we hung on; next the skipper confused West Bramble and Lepe Spit (what he said to them is anyone's guess) and then we just nudged past the oncoming tanker with encouragement to "crack the whip, boys!" coming from the accompanying pilot launch!

We opted to hang out a little more than others on the way down the Solent in the hope of picking up the ebb tide a bit early and then, once through the Needles, banged the corner with style by continuing in the strong ebb down past the Shingles rather than opting for the inside, shorter passage via North Head.

As we crossed Christchurch Bay , "Grandma Buggins" removed the various layers of her Slovakian peasant woman disguise, ending up looking quite normal (for someone from the foredeck!) Unfortunately, having christened her (sorry?!), Whistler was accompanied for the rest of the weekend by the strains of "Grandma, we love you..."

It was all working fine and we pulled back to within a couple of hundred yards of Tai Pan and Electra until the wind died. They disappeared, Baby Blue and everyone else sailed through and we were left to battle the fickle conditions to the finish, where we watched an obviously over-sexed Electron attempt to mount the committee vessel!

Despite the long slog to the marina, we were in and left with a lot of drinking time ahead of us - which we attacked with rather more gusto than usual, ending, after a tour of several pubs, a fine meal with Aquaholix and Electra, Tony Velcro's overwhelming win in the "hairiest crewman challenge", in a nightclubby bar place in the early hours.

Another all too brief, alcohol induced coma and it was time to set off for another slog against the tide, accompanied by the delightful sounds and smells of sizzling bacon.

A fitful wind and soon after the start we found yet another sodding hole! Realising there would be a number of retirements and reading the weather signs with the skill of long experience (OK phoning Marinecall) the Skipper realised that just finishing would bring some rewards, so the iPod was plugged in to keep up spirits and we stuck it out - and had a very nice sail once the wind filled in!

Result - Cowes to Poole - 20th out of 23; Poole to Cowes - 11th out of 18

Cherbourg (October)

Despite a "robust" forecast, the Skipper felt in unusually good spirits as Whistler and crew headed up to Cowes - perhaps something to do with a fine lunch and more than a couple of glasses of red! Another misjudgement of the tide meant that time was tight as we picked up the last crew member from the ISC and rattled off through the ID gate. After a suitably heroic motivational team talk from the Skipper - "it's going to wet and windy, so you'll all have to stay on the rail all night" - the clock was counting down.

With a full main plus no:3 we had a good start and popped the heavy kite, with the skipper doing some unaccustomed trimming as we bounded down the Solent with Electron snapping at our heels. Now we don't know what Paul has been up to, whether he has upgraded his deck gear or merely wired up everything to the sound system, but every creak, crack and strain of the sheets sounded more like an America 's Cup boat than a fellow 31.7!

The drop at the Forts wasn't great but everything was tidied up (i.e. dropped down the companionway and left there until we arrived in Cherbourg ), we settled behind Electron who had been sharper than us and, with Xarifa and Xara in close company, we tucked in the first reef and rounded Bembridge. At this time everything was very comfortable, we freed just a smidge and, as Whistler settled beautifully into the groove, we were off with a surprising burst of pace - accompanied by many whoops and pirate impersonations (you had to have been there) - spirits were so high that the Skipper was even allowed a go on the helm!

As midnight approached, the wind built with gusts approaching 30knots and the seas became lumpier; we lost our first crew member to sea sickness (despite a lack of supper he managed to produce a surprising amount!) He was soon followed by a second member of the team who, as he had been on mainsheet, didn't get to leeward but deposited it just where the Skipper likes to rest his hand whilst helming - luckily a couple of waves soon cleaned things up! That was two down and four to go...

Being a callous bunch we kept the girls on the rail, whilst the Skipper and other (male) crew mostly stayed in the cockpit; "Grandma Buggins" was virtually voiceless after calling "wave" almost continuously since Bembridge and Mel huddled in what we could only imagine was abject misery on her first offshore race. The breeze continued to build and, on reflection, we should have tucked in the second reef and changed down to the no:4 but at the time it seemed to work if we played with the headsail shape to depower it, so we ploughed on amidst an alarming amount of flapping and banging. At some time in the early hours the masthead wind instruments tried to tell us that the wind had changed by 180^o, obviously the continued shaking was taking its toll. This sorted itself in true "Whistler style" when, after coming almost to a complete halt in a wall of water, the "masthead" became "seabed" instruments!

With some outrageous waves dumping on us and Whistler doing her best to impersonate the thing that the Beatles sang about in the song the Skipper's mum doesn't like (?!) the night wore on and we had to relent eventually and allow people to warm up below - although only one at a time and they had to sit at the naviguessing station to keep the weight to windward!

As Cherbourg loomed it was time to dive below and double check what the lights should look like; coolly munching his second sandwich of the night and nimbly stepping over the various prostrate members of the crew, the Skipper noticed that instead of lying on the cabin floor, the unused sails seemed to be floating around the inside of the boat - it seemed that we were attempting to cross the Channel by putting most of it inside the boat - time for the bilge pump!

The lack of wind info hurt us a little as we realised later that we hadn't followed the wind round far enough and ended up down tide at the finish, which required something like a 30 minute tack back to make the line, which was bore as it delayed Cherbourg and breakfast! Thankfully tied up, we put the sea back where it belonged and tried to dry ourselves and kit, before a much needed shower and a visit to the Salon de "the" (to get the full impact of our outrageous sense of humour you have to replace the French word " thé " - pronounced "tay" - with the English definite article... well, it amused us all weekend!)

Despite the intensive ablutions, a noticeable odour remained onboard (something of an