Amadea versus Wave Warrior, I can tell you who would win. If you had been on the Hoe or anywhere with a view of Plymouth Sound you couldn't have missed the anchored Phoenix cruise ship Amadea standing at 192 metres long. I can tell you it is even more imposing close up as I looked over from my father’s fifteen foot dinghy and that was from half a mile away, as close as we dared get.
I was fulfilling my sailing fix that day as a couple of hours later I was back out on the water in something more substantial, the racing yacht Wave Warrior. Having come straight from a dinghy the yacht seemed so big and stable. This time we were on the water with more of a purpose - it was Summer Series race night. The sailing conditions were perfect and we had two races back to back; the first one just a single lap in towards the land then back out and around the Breakwater.
The rules of the water state that sail boats have right of way over motor powered vessels, however, this does not include ships as large as Amadea. The cruise ship pulled up her anchor and began her journey out to the Channel in perfect time for us to avoid her and hindered some of our competitors behind us; that was until we rounded our mark and both headed for the west side of the breakwater. The mindset 'win at all costs' was almost taken one step too far by our skipper, and Wave Warriors' owner Angus McPhie, as we were on course for a very close shave with a twenty-eight thousand tonne ship. We had a ten second horn blast, five short blasts followed by a desperate final blast plus a warning from the pilot ship which managed to push us in the wrong direction - under sail with a spinnaker flying there are only certain angles you can make. As crew we had faith in Angus but I knew we were pushing our luck. I looked up to see the bow wave of the massive ship and all we could do was hope.
Thankfully the wind didn't drop - we made it through by the skin of our teeth and were not the next day’s headlines.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
Being British
It's no wonder that foreigners laugh at our "Britishness" - on Saturday night my friends and I had to have a little chuckle ourselves. The British love nothing more than to barbecue and on the whole this summer has been perfect with long warm evenings, that is until now. It's only August and we should still be able to enjoy alfresco dining even if it means turning a blind eye to the falling temperatures and occasional showers.
My hosts and I were determined to stick to our principles even if it did mean that we were dressed in our ski jackets, scarves and had to pull our hoods up a couple of times. I know that I couldn't begin to explain such eating arrangements to any of my foreign friends who live in hot climates but our stubborn pride means we will enjoy our food more outside even if it does require an extra glass of something to keep us warm and smiling.
I'm not sure how many more barbecue opportunities there are going to be this year, we have been so spoilt I can't believe it can last into September. I have become so accustomed to wearing shorts or skirts, never taking a jacket with me and generally being able to travel light that autumn may come as something of an unpleasant surprise. I had my first warning sign of how soft I have become on Sunday morning. I'd set my alarm for an early cycle and woke to see horizontal rain out of my window. I am slightly ashamed to admit it but I decided that my bicycle would prefer to stay dry and clean so pressed that alluring cancel button. The winter is going to be a shock.
My hosts and I were determined to stick to our principles even if it did mean that we were dressed in our ski jackets, scarves and had to pull our hoods up a couple of times. I know that I couldn't begin to explain such eating arrangements to any of my foreign friends who live in hot climates but our stubborn pride means we will enjoy our food more outside even if it does require an extra glass of something to keep us warm and smiling.
I'm not sure how many more barbecue opportunities there are going to be this year, we have been so spoilt I can't believe it can last into September. I have become so accustomed to wearing shorts or skirts, never taking a jacket with me and generally being able to travel light that autumn may come as something of an unpleasant surprise. I had my first warning sign of how soft I have become on Sunday morning. I'd set my alarm for an early cycle and woke to see horizontal rain out of my window. I am slightly ashamed to admit it but I decided that my bicycle would prefer to stay dry and clean so pressed that alluring cancel button. The winter is going to be a shock.
Monday, August 11, 2014
The season
After the baby boom of the last two years the wedding invites have slowed down considerably. When they do come it seems to be all at once with back to back weddings over the last two weekends, although both held in incredibly different settings.
Last week I headed up to Oxford for a very British wedding. The service was held in the majestic Christchurch Cathedral with the reception in the garden just behind, courtesy of the Dean of the College. I've been to Oxford a few times but this was my first in the famous College grounds. I mentioned there was a film like feel about the place which made more sense when I was told that the famous Hogwarts dining hall from the Harry Potter films is the actual dining hall at Christchurch College. I refrained from visiting it as I still imagine the scenes from the books at my old school whenever I read them and didn't want to shatter this illusion. Irrelevant of any Harry Potter resemblances the wedding was magical partly thanks to the amazing summer we are having backed up with croquet and lawn bowls to play whilst sipping champagne.
The second wedding was a much more local affair, held in a pretty Devon village. After the marriage with a singing vicar referencing Tina Turner there was a short rural walk back to the garden marquee for the reception. There may not have been the impressive buildings of Oxford University surrounding us but the stunning view of luscious green Devon countryside went one better. Thankfully there's no sign of an end to this fantastic weather which made for another wonderful day to enjoy with friends.
Last week I headed up to Oxford for a very British wedding. The service was held in the majestic Christchurch Cathedral with the reception in the garden just behind, courtesy of the Dean of the College. I've been to Oxford a few times but this was my first in the famous College grounds. I mentioned there was a film like feel about the place which made more sense when I was told that the famous Hogwarts dining hall from the Harry Potter films is the actual dining hall at Christchurch College. I refrained from visiting it as I still imagine the scenes from the books at my old school whenever I read them and didn't want to shatter this illusion. Irrelevant of any Harry Potter resemblances the wedding was magical partly thanks to the amazing summer we are having backed up with croquet and lawn bowls to play whilst sipping champagne.
The second wedding was a much more local affair, held in a pretty Devon village. After the marriage with a singing vicar referencing Tina Turner there was a short rural walk back to the garden marquee for the reception. There may not have been the impressive buildings of Oxford University surrounding us but the stunning view of luscious green Devon countryside went one better. Thankfully there's no sign of an end to this fantastic weather which made for another wonderful day to enjoy with friends.
Monday, July 28, 2014
No excuses
It probably comes as no surprise that after five weeks at sea I missed my own bed and dry land but just four days after getting home I was already back on a boat and missing my bed (again). It isn't as tough as it sounds - I didn't leave many home comforts behind when I went camping for the weekend in North Devon.
Every now and then I do have to mention the weather, after five weeks on a boat it is a constant topic of conversation so I can't wait any longer without commenting on this amazing summer. I was certain that the process of digging out my tent would summon the rain and I must confess I was a little worried when I was woken on the beach by the sound of thunder getting closer. I packed up, ran back to the campsite and waited nervously to see if my ancient tent would keep the downpour at bay. Thankfully it turned out to be very localised and must have just missed the campsite.
In this amazing weather there is no excuse for me to not to commute by bicycle; the only limiting factor being my lack of fitness after nearly two months doing very little exercise on a boat. I might have been a bit ambitious last week when I fitted in three hilly, twenty mile rides but I had no choice by the final one as I had to get home. The best thing at this time of year is I'm not alone on my bike and I found a fellow commuter to keep me company on the long slog out of Plymouth and up to the Moor. It is amazing how much quicker a hard ride can seem when you have some company and I'd like to extend my thanks to the kind gentleman for cycling at my slow pace and helping me home.
Every now and then I do have to mention the weather, after five weeks on a boat it is a constant topic of conversation so I can't wait any longer without commenting on this amazing summer. I was certain that the process of digging out my tent would summon the rain and I must confess I was a little worried when I was woken on the beach by the sound of thunder getting closer. I packed up, ran back to the campsite and waited nervously to see if my ancient tent would keep the downpour at bay. Thankfully it turned out to be very localised and must have just missed the campsite.
In this amazing weather there is no excuse for me to not to commute by bicycle; the only limiting factor being my lack of fitness after nearly two months doing very little exercise on a boat. I might have been a bit ambitious last week when I fitted in three hilly, twenty mile rides but I had no choice by the final one as I had to get home. The best thing at this time of year is I'm not alone on my bike and I found a fellow commuter to keep me company on the long slog out of Plymouth and up to the Moor. It is amazing how much quicker a hard ride can seem when you have some company and I'd like to extend my thanks to the kind gentleman for cycling at my slow pace and helping me home.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
I'm back
It is so good to be back on dry land, in a real bed and using a flushing loo; the list goes on. A week later I think I have just about adjusted to normal life although I did have some form of what I am labelling 'land sickness' - the land wasn't moving but I was regularly feeling queazy for no apparent reason. The turning point seemed to be Wednesday and subconsciously I must have been missing the ocean as I was back out on a boat in Plymouth Sound.
Keen to put my newly acquired knowledge gleamed from the Clipper transatlantic race into practise I rejoined "Wave Warrior", the thirty seven foot yacht I have crewed on a few times in the past, for one of the summer series races. I distinctly remember the first time I sailed on this boat it seemed huge. Perspective is a funny thing and after living on a 'seventy footer' I was seriously questioning if this was even the same boat. I couldn't comprehend how much smaller it was, so much so I hardly even recognised it.
I know that Devon is a small world, sailing is too, combine the two and I shouldn't have been surprised at this coincidence. One of the crew on "Wave Warrior" was talking about coming up the Thames last Saturday, then I heard him mention St Katherine's Dock (where the Clipper boats moored up) and sailing a seventy foot yacht around the world - it turns out he had just sailed one of the Clipper boats back from London to their home in Gosport. I then had to be careful what I talked about and there was no room for exaggeration as I shared my transatlantic experiences with the rest of the crew.
Keen to put my newly acquired knowledge gleamed from the Clipper transatlantic race into practise I rejoined "Wave Warrior", the thirty seven foot yacht I have crewed on a few times in the past, for one of the summer series races. I distinctly remember the first time I sailed on this boat it seemed huge. Perspective is a funny thing and after living on a 'seventy footer' I was seriously questioning if this was even the same boat. I couldn't comprehend how much smaller it was, so much so I hardly even recognised it.
I know that Devon is a small world, sailing is too, combine the two and I shouldn't have been surprised at this coincidence. One of the crew on "Wave Warrior" was talking about coming up the Thames last Saturday, then I heard him mention St Katherine's Dock (where the Clipper boats moored up) and sailing a seventy foot yacht around the world - it turns out he had just sailed one of the Clipper boats back from London to their home in Gosport. I then had to be careful what I talked about and there was no room for exaggeration as I shared my transatlantic experiences with the rest of the crew.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Happy Hour
The morning before our grand departure from North Cove Marina in downtown New York we had our third and final briefing. With all of the sixteen crew plus our skipper it was our final chance to contemplate what might be ahead of us; not that anything would have changed my mind by this stage. That was, until I heard about “growlers”, “The Perfect Storm” and the “Titanic”.
Admittedly it sounded as though the skipper was just trying to make us laugh. I did manage a small nervous smile but mainly because I had no idea what he was talking about. From my teenage years I have fond memories watching Kate Winslet and Leonardo Dicaprio in Titanic, with the wind flowing through their hair and Celine Dion crooning in the background adding to the romance of the blockbuster film. I was, however, too swept up in the Titanic's romance story to fully comprehend the details of that fatal night other than I knew an iceberg somewhere in the Atlantic had been the cause. It therefore came as quite a surprise when our planned route passed just north of the mark where the infamous cruise liner sank one hundred years ago.
This apparently tied in with the warning of growlers. It turns out they are not a type of angry sea animal but small pieces of ice that have broken free. When I say small, I mean the size of an average car and definitely substantial enough to cause some serious damage to a seventy foot racing yacht – or so we were told.
These facts hardly seemed significant especially when on day four I was still in my shorts, but then overnight it changed. Suddenly I had on all of my layers and sat shivering on deck whilst scanning the chilly waters for potentially dangerous growlers. I am pleased to say we have passed through the danger zone and left the sites of the two aforementioned film tragedies in our wake.
On a lighter note the skipper mentioned in his brief that every day we would be rewarded with a “happy hour” at one of the watch changeovers. He continued to explain that it rarely lasts an hour and actually isn't even always that happy. I must admit the point of it was lost on me until yesterday. We combined a birthday, the improving weather and most importantly a win through the first Scoring Gate as an excuse to be happy for a whole hour.
It took us just over a week to reach this celebratory milestone yet this shouldn't cause you concern - we are in good spirits far too regularly to celebrate it daily.
Admittedly it sounded as though the skipper was just trying to make us laugh. I did manage a small nervous smile but mainly because I had no idea what he was talking about. From my teenage years I have fond memories watching Kate Winslet and Leonardo Dicaprio in Titanic, with the wind flowing through their hair and Celine Dion crooning in the background adding to the romance of the blockbuster film. I was, however, too swept up in the Titanic's romance story to fully comprehend the details of that fatal night other than I knew an iceberg somewhere in the Atlantic had been the cause. It therefore came as quite a surprise when our planned route passed just north of the mark where the infamous cruise liner sank one hundred years ago.
This apparently tied in with the warning of growlers. It turns out they are not a type of angry sea animal but small pieces of ice that have broken free. When I say small, I mean the size of an average car and definitely substantial enough to cause some serious damage to a seventy foot racing yacht – or so we were told.
These facts hardly seemed significant especially when on day four I was still in my shorts, but then overnight it changed. Suddenly I had on all of my layers and sat shivering on deck whilst scanning the chilly waters for potentially dangerous growlers. I am pleased to say we have passed through the danger zone and left the sites of the two aforementioned film tragedies in our wake.
On a lighter note the skipper mentioned in his brief that every day we would be rewarded with a “happy hour” at one of the watch changeovers. He continued to explain that it rarely lasts an hour and actually isn't even always that happy. I must admit the point of it was lost on me until yesterday. We combined a birthday, the improving weather and most importantly a win through the first Scoring Gate as an excuse to be happy for a whole hour.
It took us just over a week to reach this celebratory milestone yet this shouldn't cause you concern - we are in good spirits far too regularly to celebrate it daily.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Decorating the Deck
I learnt through sport to always take the rough with the smooth but that did not help me to prepare for the real Atlantic. The Caribbean weather and spirit is now but a distant memory. I had started to worry as after each day of mirror flat sea came another beautiful sunrise with more perfect cruising conditions – the longer this lasted the more shocking the contrast was going to be and sure enough, it was too good to be true. After four days of topping up my tan, reading my book and being cooked for there was a dramatic change; reality hit.
Along came the Atlantic I had heard about - the temperatures suddenly dropped overnight as the wind and sea state began to build. This was what I was expecting and had signed up for; it is supposed to be a race after all. With the change in conditions came a change in pace. Suddenly there was work to be done and I had a chance to make myself useful.
Unfortunately my body had other ideas and pulled a pretty good get out of work card in the form of seasickness. I was determined not to be defeated but I had a fight on my hands. After any small amount of exertion, whether that was helping to change a sail or even just putting on my wet weather gear, I had to hang my head over the side. Sadly I did not always make it and have to admit I succeeded in decorating the deck a couple of times. Once looking at the horizon with the fresh air on my face all would seem fine again, as would lying in my bunk, but it was the effort getting from one to the other that I cannot describe.
During my time hugging the toilet basin something occurred to me. I had always wondered why the “bathroom” on a boat was known as “the heads”? My personal conclusion: it is down to the fact that your head is likely to spend as much time there as any other part of your body when at sea – I am open to any other suggestions.
I had just started to recover and managed my first small meal. I thought at last I could make myself useful. Alas the one small task that was asked of me only succeeded in adding to the previous decoration albeit in a slightly different way. I tripped on deck and spilt sausage grease all over the ropes. I thought I had made a good job of cleaning it up with the help of a few waves until the skipper muttered something. Apparently he had presumed it was the result of some more seasickness but then felt the grease on his fingers. The rest of my watch kindly covered for me but I had to confess.
Thankfully we are only just half way so I still have time to redeem myself.
Along came the Atlantic I had heard about - the temperatures suddenly dropped overnight as the wind and sea state began to build. This was what I was expecting and had signed up for; it is supposed to be a race after all. With the change in conditions came a change in pace. Suddenly there was work to be done and I had a chance to make myself useful.
Unfortunately my body had other ideas and pulled a pretty good get out of work card in the form of seasickness. I was determined not to be defeated but I had a fight on my hands. After any small amount of exertion, whether that was helping to change a sail or even just putting on my wet weather gear, I had to hang my head over the side. Sadly I did not always make it and have to admit I succeeded in decorating the deck a couple of times. Once looking at the horizon with the fresh air on my face all would seem fine again, as would lying in my bunk, but it was the effort getting from one to the other that I cannot describe.
During my time hugging the toilet basin something occurred to me. I had always wondered why the “bathroom” on a boat was known as “the heads”? My personal conclusion: it is down to the fact that your head is likely to spend as much time there as any other part of your body when at sea – I am open to any other suggestions.
I had just started to recover and managed my first small meal. I thought at last I could make myself useful. Alas the one small task that was asked of me only succeeded in adding to the previous decoration albeit in a slightly different way. I tripped on deck and spilt sausage grease all over the ropes. I thought I had made a good job of cleaning it up with the help of a few waves until the skipper muttered something. Apparently he had presumed it was the result of some more seasickness but then felt the grease on his fingers. The rest of my watch kindly covered for me but I had to confess.
Thankfully we are only just half way so I still have time to redeem myself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)