Crew's Log: Stewart, Round the Island Race 2011

Friday June 24th, 9am, and Catweasel's crew were at Basingstoke station, hungover and ever so slightly sleep deprived after the last leg of Tim's tour of leaving dos. The plan was to head for the marina, get out onto the Solent by early afternoon and get some sailing time in ahead of the race. Carlos was a sailing virgin, Neil had sailed before but not for a while and Tim and I have both sailed on and off over about 25 years. Basically we weren't up to much and were all popping our RTI cherry - all the practice we could get was needed.

Within 5 minutes of leaving Basingstoke things had started to unravel. There was a fire by the railway line and we were running about an hour late by the time we reached Winchester - normally a 15 minute journey. This put our already mid-morning arrival at Wicor marina back to early afternoon, a delay compounded by the thoughtlessness of Portchester's planning authorities, who had consented to the building of a pub between Portchester station and the marina.

The next problem was with the sail. We'd taken the spare main in to get GBR numbered (for sailing in foreign parts), for some reason assuming it wasn't already wearing Catweasel's class number of CO170. It was. The meant that rather than slapping a few numbers on, the old ones had to be removed along with any remnants of glue, delaying the process considerably. By the time we left our mooring it was getting on for 5:30pm. No matter, we'd attach the sail to the boom, head off and worry about the rest as we motored out of harbour and get at least some tacking under the belts of our new crew. No - that wasn't to be either. The sail slide at the head of the main had been replaced as a precaution and had come with about two milimetres of bonus width. That meant some frenzied filing was needed and, while the Leatherman is a great tool, it's not the quickest way of slimming a sail slide and sat at the foot of the mast in the swell of the Solent isn't the best place in which to do it either, especially with Carlos having a roaring time at the helm and homing in on the biggest of the swells. Amongst nautical types there is a term for someone like that and the term is "bastard".

Delays and sail problems aside, we arrived at our swinging mooring on Cowes Road without incident, called the Island Sailing Club launch and made for the Vectis Tavern PDQ. This was our penultimate chance to settle on a clear strategy for the race so we got drunk and had a kebab.

Race day dawned in rather a grey manner with a fresh wind on the go, largely down to the kebabs I think. Having failed to use the previous evening to nail down a strategy we decided to go ashore and have breakfast at Eegons, where a "freshly cooked" fry up went from order to table in around 2 minutes. The strategy arrived at was that we would endeavour to to neither sink nor drown.

Back to Catweasel in the nick of time, assuming our intention was to be still on the mooring and halfway through the safety briefing when our start gun went off - I don't know if it was but we were. It was always a given that we were cruising and not racing so missing the carnage at the start line was a bonus really, and the delay would provide our first excuse for our anticipated poor time.

In no time we were underway and in no time Carlos, our sailing virgin, was feeling rough as hell. We must have been about halfway to the Needles when he broke Catweasel's chunder cherry. It was done with a degree of class mind you as a Harrods carrier bag was used to catch what should have flown off to leeward. Progress to Hurst Castle and the Needles was slow and, with the wind and swell increasing, the majority of cautious cruisers around us started to turn back. Our caution was driven by collision avoidance but we were all up for the wind and swell. Well, everyone apart from Carlos, who had retired below to hide on a bunk, held in by a lee cloth where he was kept nervously entertained by Mayday Panpan FM with nothing but a Harrods bag for company.

The only OMG moment we suffered was a failed tack whilst getting up close and personal with the Needles. The wind was slightly south of the swell so the momentum that took us through the wind was bludgeoned into submission by the swell while the sails were still luffing in the wind. This OMG moment was shortly followed by our only OMFG moment when the same thing happened again, this time even closer to the Needles. It was quickly decided that our only routes to safety were a disqualifying engine start or bearing away and jybing onto the port tack we needed. Desperate not to bow out on the first leg we turned our butt to the wind and before you could say "What comes after OMFG in the scale of escalating exclamations?" we had the Needles moving away from us.

The leg from the Needles to St Cat's point was a lonely one for us. Most of the people we'd started with, at the very back of the last fleet, seemed to have a greater sense of their own limitations and mortality and had turned back before the Needles. Carlos popped up from below briefly on this leg and got some sound advice from Tim on dealing with seasickness, threw up and went below again. Neil then decided he was going to take over on the wretching relay at which point, relieved of the burden of chunder monkey duty, Carlos started to recover. The swell we had on our beam down to St Cat's Point gave way to some lumpy stuff around the point itself and then it all got rather dull past Sandown Bay to be honest. We passed the capsized trimaran that we'd heard of so many times on Ch16 just in time to see the Bembridge Lifeboat not tow it anywhere. I don't know how that one came back in the end but it won't have been easy.

Given our imminent return to the Solent and all it's business we decided it was time to get some charting action on the go, so Tim went below to retrieve one of Imray's finest. Seconds later he was back on deck displaying the internationally recognised facial expression for "F#ck that sh#t!!" and spent the next half an hour trying to hang on to his lunch. I should point out at this point that our stowing was not up to the desired standard. To be honest it wasn't up to any standard and between the first four or five tacks off the start line the inside of the cabin started to resemble a badly loaded skip. Neil bravely went below and shovelled for all he was worth but, whilst dramatically decreasing the clutter and hazard, there was no real sense of what might be classed as order. Obviously this scared the life out of our neatly organised RTI folder and it had run off to cower in a corner, taking with it its contents of charts and instructions and leaving our downfall in its place. Without a chart upon which to plot our lat and long we fell back to basics - keep a big number of the depth finder and relying on the only available navigational aid, namely an out of date Collins road atlas of the UK (scale approximately one to a number with an awful lot of zeros on the end). At this point we noticed a nearby yacht sporting the familiar purple pennant of our fleet so decided we ought to stay close to him. Close enough in fact that we could clearly hear her helmsman when he yelled "You didn't round the Bembridge Lege Buoy. We're going to protest you." and for him to hear our response of "Er...OK". The wind and swell had pretty much died out by this time so I had another stab at finding the race folder and succeeded. All that was left in it was a note about protests, which was handy. Take it on the chin and get a 2% time penalty or argue the toss and risk a 5% hit. We had no idea about whether we had or hadn't rounded the buoy so called race control to 'fess up.

Once safely past Ryde Sands we half drifted toward Cowes and into the most painfully slow approach to the finish line in the history of the race. Any dignity that hadn't been lost already was jettisoned in the worst series of tacks bar none, the culmination of which was Catweasel losing all way and sort of drifting sideways across the line at 19:35 on the race clock, 11 hours and 55 minutes after our departure.

First contact with shore revealed that we had been disqualified but that we had confirmation of our completion and finish time courtesy of the official race blog. Okay so we'd cut a corner but had an outstanding day and had got round. On further enquiry it turned out we'd been disqualified because of the Bembridge Ledge Buoy incident, had not been protested for it and had basically grassed ourselves up in a vain effort to cut a deal with the race committee.

Another call to the ISC launch, followed by showers and we were back in the Vectis. This was followed by a meal and then a mooch around the entertainment laid on by JP Morgan before a water taxi took us back to our mooring.

Sunday dawned bright up and misty to the sides, with only the top of the Fawley chimney visible to the north of Cowes, so we launched back to Cowes after a wok full of sausages, bacon, beans and mushrooms, having decided Eegon's was a maybe a greasy spoon short of a cutlery set. The day brightened still further and after a healthy mooch around, and discovering that the Vectis was a late opener, we went back to the ISC for some San Miguels in the sun while Tim watched the prize giving.

As as soon as the ceremonies were finished we launched back to the ready to go Catweasel. With the engine running and Neil on the foredeck to cast off, the mooring line conveniently broke, chaffed through by the shackle on top of the swinging mooring. If we were to have pondered the carnage that might have ensued were this to have happened at any other time we'd have been mighty worried, so we didn't. A hefty piece of chain has since been purchased for future use.

A short motor across a misty Solent later and we were back in Pompey harbour and closing fast on Wicor. We'd had a truly fantastic weekend and a great kick off to Tim's round the world exploits. Both yacht and crew had done the necessary and done so with, if not style then certainly humour. It was, without doubt, a weekend that will not be forgotten.

Cap'n's Log - Preparation

My woman and I watch the rugby in Champs last night and then went to Godor and proceeded to get fairly hammered with some very good friends. That's two leaving do's down, one more to go. Fingers crossed my liver survives and I make it to the boat (ps: as I'm writing this I'm watching Long Way Down and dribbling at the thought).

Today is my last day in Hungary, I leave for Vienna first thing tomorrow (and then onwards on Wednesday). My bags are packed....cue John Denver. I've totally loved being here in BP for the last six months. It's such a different city from Vienna, far more my type of town, it's rougher, dirtier, smellier, younger, more vibrant, the music's awesome and easily found. I'd definately come back.

Preparation continues apace. I've ordered a new toy :-) a 70w solar panel, an Imray of the Isle of Wight (for the race). With luck the sail numbers will be ready on Tuesday and we can switch out the "old" sail for the "new" (they're both old though). I'm still umming and erring about a storm jib or a trisail and have yet to order a drogue.

My thoughts turned to visas today so I just had a butchas at the map, just for Africa, I need to check requirements for 22 countries* but it's also focussed the route down a tad more. Before it was "head south to SA and turn left" now it's "UK to Gib to Turkey to Gib to SA to Madagascar to Seychelles to Maldives and turn right".

Anyway, back to Long Way Down and checking visa requirements. Next blog from Vienna.

Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania, Senegal, Gambia, Guinea, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, Benin (never even heard of that one), Nigeria, Cameroon, Gabon, Congo, the Dem Rep. of Congo, Angola, Nambia, SA, Mozambique, Madagascar.

Captain's Log - preparation

Sooooooooooo.....

Last Thursday I travelled from Budapest to Vienna on my Moto Guzzi Breva 1100. A party was had and much beer was consumed at Charlie P's. Saturday my woman and I drove to Leuven and then on to Brighton for a night of Comedy on the Sunday. Monday rolled around and 3 boxes of "stuff" was dropped off at the boat. Another drive back to Vienna and a train and I'm back in Budapest.

Alas for my bike though - being of limited budget I've decided to sell it so it's currently with the dealer and I'm hoping they're going to offer me a fair price.

Anyhoo, got myself a few more toys today, a Navtex so I can receive weather forecasts in English and a SPOT GPS tracker so my friends and family can have a rough idea where the Catweasel is. It should be noted that SPOT isn't 100% accurate and that it can turn off from time to time so if the signal is lost it's not because I'm at the bottom of the Solant.

Had a bit of a last minute hiccough here. I'd hoped to stash the stuff I'm not taking with friends in BP but sadly they told me a few days ago that it was a no go. Luckily I've found a self storage company in BP that can take my stuff for a year. These last minute expenses are building up. For example I've had to abandon my idea about customised dodgers (spray guards for the cockpit) as they're now cost prohibitive.

Apart from that, things are going fairly smoothly. I'm tracking progress with a google docs "to do" list and meeting more or less daily with my brother using Skype (although now we've moved down to the last few days I'm using my mobile to call him for critical issues). The list currently has 30 items on it ranging from installation of my wind vane to passage planning Portsmouth to Plymouth.

With my flight scheduled for Wednesday, and my woman's name day on Tuesday, I'm, hopefully, travelling to Vienna on Monday. My BP leaving party, where I say goodbye to more friends, is this Friday. So...between now and 6am Monday I have to pack, drink, get a tad maudlin, cheer up, eat, drink some more, panic pack and then drive to Vienna. Easy :).

Someone here (BP) asked me about my emotional state. With luck that'll come over as I write but, just in case....I've moved into my last things stage. Last ride of the bike, last train ride from Vienna to BP, last time seeing certain friends so it's kinda sad. But I'm also moving very close to my first of a kind stage....if that makes sense. First time sailing around the Isle of Wight (RTI), first time living aboard, first time starting a "round the world", first meal, first...etc etc. so it's all sort of balanced right now.

Anyway, back to packing.

Captain's log - preparation - continued

So far it's been a very disjointed blog (my posts that is). I'm starting to think that because of the very nature of preparation - non linear-ish - that it's going to remain this way. Maybe it's that very fact that's made it easier than usual to not post.

Anyhoo...very quick update on the plan. Am in Budapest (BP) but tomorrow (Friday) I ride the Goose to Vienna for a leaving party in Charlie P's with my friends. On Saturday Alicja and I drive to Brighton and then onto Fareham to drop boaty stuff off (kaks etc) before driving back to Vienna. Then we (my fabulous bird and I) head to BP for another leaving party at the Embassy and then Champs. A day or two of packing before heading back to Vienna for my final flight to the UK - 23rd Jan. A night in Brighton with a good mate before heading to sunny Basingstoke for my last leaving party. On the 24th the crew of the good ship Catweasel head to Cowes and on the 25th we're racing in the RTI. Although we're using the RTI to kick off the circumnavigation I actually have to get Catweasel back to Fareham to do some last minute work (self draining cockpit & windvane fitting). That means that the actual departure is currently set for the 5th July. Oh, and I also have my VHF license course on the 2nd.

So..what has preparation included so far? well, whilst I'm expecting to be primarily single handed that's only because I'm not waiting around to find crew. If they turn up, they turn up, if they don't..ces't la vie. So far I have a Lithuanian to roughly Plymouth and my brother until Spain. A "may join" in August that I met last night (a lawyer even - so when he shouts Starboard you'd best move).  Crew makes everything cheaper so I'm open to suggestions and may even post on YBW once I get going.

What else? Electronics. I've ordered a McMurdo PLB (£216) (fingers crossed I never that), a hand held GPS (£65) (a Garmin eTrex) which is primarily for the grab bag (which reminds me to get a large scale chart or 3 for the bag), I've yet to order, but will, a Horizon HX280e hand held VHF.  The Catweasel has a fixed VHF so this one will also go in the grab bag. I got it as it'll take a battery pack that uses "normal" batteries (easier to buy and carry AAs etc and thus no need to recharge when in a life raft). In addtion I decided to order a SPOT GPS tracker. That's going to get used to send re-assurances to friends, family and loved ones that the Catweasel and her crew are still on track and OK. It'll also backup the PLB. On top of these toys I'll add my two laptops, my iPhone and my iPod. I'll charge these from the 2 x 85ah batteries. That leaves an open question as to how to charge the batteries. I was pretty close to ordering a wind gen but the techie guy at Marlec reckons I'll be better off with solar. I'm waiting to hear his "whys" before I place my final order.

Navigtion - currently it's based on large scale charts, a pilot book, Open CPN plus the CM93 maps, 2 x GPS units and a compass. I can't afford a plotter or rather decided not to afford one. Long live working out CTS (course to steer).

The Catweasel herself is, I hope, pretty much ready but I'll use the sail to Plymouth as a stress test (for both boat and crew) and then repair on the fly. Am also waiting to get the RYA sail numbers on the sail, the SSR need to get their arse in gear a bit, a few dodgers need making, the chart table needs fixing (I *embarrassed cough* sat on it). I need to make her "batten down-able", fat arse proof and brother proof (if you recall he's already set her on fire, run her aground (twice now) and stress tested the forward hatch beyond its breaking point). I see a lot of duct tape in my near future.

Personal stuff - I'm burning as many of my movies as I can onto HDD, I've packed most of my stuff into storage boxes (am hoping a few of my friends will help out with storage). I'm selling everything I can't carry (tables, sofas, chairs, my *weep* 50 inch plasma, my blu-ray, and white stuff). The other type of personal stuff - the leaving parties, are arranged. My parents are coming down to see us off on the 25th so that's gonna be pretty cool. That leaves Alicja and I. It's going to be pretty hard to be apart I reckon, maybe even the hardest bit of the whole thing but I reckon it's going to strengthen our relationship and that's all I have to say on that subject :)

So...16 days of preparation time left.

Talk later peeps.

Windvane Frolics

It seems that the last 2 days have been exhausted entirely on trying to get the fitting of Catwesel's new windvane sorted in time for the first leg of the journey on July the 4th or 5th.

What had seemed a simple task of getting the windvane's designer/builder and the shipwright in the same place at the same time turned into an epic struggle but one that is hopefully now done. Everyone was fully co-operative but, as is probably going to be the case quite a lot in these early days, Donald Rumsfeld's "...things we did didn't know we didn't know..." reared up to bite proverbial behinds.

Having lined up Trenchard, from Neptune Windvane's, and Ian Foster, the shipwright, for an installation on June 28th, all that was needed was to arrange for Catweasel to be lifted out of the water the previous day. I say "All". Wicor Marine, Catweasel's current home, is nestled in the relatively shallow waters of Portsmouth Harbour's north west corner. As it turns out, this means that getting the boat close enough to the slipway to be lifted out of the water can only be done around high water. Couple this with the fact that the Wicor's staff, quite understandably, don't work 24 hours a day and we're left needing a high tide that falls between 8 and 5. This is also complicated by the fact that the lower level of water around weaker, neap tides aren't up to it. Consequently the 28th fell by the wayside.

One chat with the very friendly chaps a Wicor later and a provisional date of June 30th was pencilled in, with the work to be done on July 1st. This suited both Ian and Trenchard but just as I thought we were in the clear, Trenchard asked whether Ian was a welder. Another phone call confirmed that not only was he not a welder but that the resident welder at Wicor was unwell and wouldn't be able to assist.

Thankfully, Wicor maintain a list of approved service providers on their website and a company called Fabtech came into view. Another phone call and we were there! The tide, Wicor's crane, Trenchard and the windvane, Ian and Fabtech are now all lined up to leap into action and, subject to a lack of further complication, Catweasel should be back in the water and sporting a beautiful new windvane in time for the scheduled departure date. Here's hoping!

Crew's Log: Stewart, 01-04/06/11

What do you know - all was well and good after all. Well, mostly.

Thomas and I met Philip at Hornet as planned and after a quick run through of vital systems we'd waved farewell to him and were chugging into the heart of Portsmouth harbour with Wicor on our mind. No massive problems on the way other than another yacht being on the mooring we were supposed to pick up, and we spent the rest of the day getting familiarised with those finer points that hadn't seemed significant enough earlier in the day to bother Philip with. Oh, and the wind caught the forward hatch while I was getting the dinghy out, slammed it into the the deck and did for the hinges. Nothing major and a repair ought to be a simple enough thing. Honest Tim!

The following morning we visited the local BP station to stock up on fuel and then headed out into the Solent. With a light but steady wind we decided to get the sails up and in no time were approaching Cowes. We anchored in Osborne Bay, just to the east of Cowes, for lunch and Thomas promptly decided he was going to suffer from a bout of seasickness. Luckily it passed as soon as we were under way again and he was untroubled for the rest of our time aboard.

Having returned to the mooring that night we decided to putt down the river in the dinghy and see what we could see. The answer? Not much - we'd got about a mile downstream and ran out of petrol. I had it in my head that I'd filled the tank but all I'd done was drain the fuel can. We, or rather I, had to row upstream so I did not row gently, neither did I row 'merrily merrily merilly merilly' and life was certainly not a dream - particularly after I let the painter slip when we got back to Catweasel and watched the sodding dinghy slowly drift away. I leapt back to the cockpit for the boat hook but by the time I was back on the bow and trying to catch the dinghy she was gone. Shorts off, shirt off, Stewart in!

A strong northerly blew all night and was still at it come Friday morning so I decided it would most likely not be a sailing day. We motored out and I had my first experience of why Portsmouth harbour can be such a sod. Well, actually my first experience (aboard a yacht at least) of why a sod can be such a sod - As we came through the relatively narrow harbour mouth we had a gin palace bearing down on us at a rate of knots as he came in from the Solent. I looked about to make sure we were in the right place and all was well but this chap just kept coming. Time ticked slowly by and it became obvious he had no intention of moving to pass on out port side so I heaved the tiller to my left, lurched to starboard and then had to straighten up again before we had an altercation with the harbour wall. The helmsman on the gin palace seemed amazed by this as he looked down from his flying bridge and slammed his vessel into reverse. A member of their crew was despatched to the foredeck to demand an explanation and as I yelled (with perhaps a little too much help from Thomas) "We should be passing port to port, what are you doing!?!?" she yelled "Your supposed to pass on this side of us!", pointing to their starboard beam, "It's the rules of the road!". I was too stunned to reply. I kind of hope they learned from it after a "You'll never guess what happened to us today!?" conversation with a wiser skipper but know that there will be a hundred more out there with the "If it's got a steering wheel I'll drive it like a car" approach.

So that was Friday. Saturday morning was a time of tidying up, locking down and heading home and so we did.

Crew's Log: Stewart, 31/05/11

After a frenzy of emails and shopping and arguments with train companies, my son and I are ready to head for Portsmouth to collect my brother's new yacht, Catweasel. She's being moved from her previous owner's mooring at Hornet Sailing Club to the slightly less glamorous but, Hornet being a Forces only club, infinitely more available Wicor Marina at Fareham. All being well and good, all should be well and good, however my record aboard Catweasel does not shine like a beacon in the night...

Erroneous action the 1st, day 1 - Catweasel runs aground:
Yes, I was at the helm but no, it was not my fault. No seriously! With Lewis Hamiltonesque misfortune I was a victim of circumstance and blamed by those who should know better. All I did was turn to starboard - the mud shouldn't have been there! It turned into me!! Stupid mud. It didn't make no never mind though, as we managed to "kedge off" - something that I learned by observation and participation to mean "send the idiot who got us into this mess down stream to drop the anchor directly over a submerged power cable so we can winch ourselves off the bottom". If I'm honest, I'm not 100% sure the involvement of the power cable was intentional but then I'm only crew, and working hard on maintaining my blissful ignorance.

Erroneous action the 2nd, day 2: Catweasel catches fire:

Yeah, so this one was my fault. I lit the meths stove while we were motoring and forgot that I needed to unlock the gimbals. What was iffy while motoring became damn near disastrous when we raised the sails and headed into the Solent. Thankfully Philip, the previous owner, was aboard to save the day. He's probably wondering what his baby is going to suffer at the hands of her new crew.

So that's a howler per day aboard and tomorrow will be day 3, unsupervised, apart from by Tom the cabin boy, in one of the UK's busiest harbours. Tim, it has to be said, is a tad nervous.