We had entered a race. But it was no ordinary race. I wanted a boat. But it was no ordinary boat.
For almost two years my heart had been set on having a Spirit yacht. I had seen them on the water and I had also met the extraordinary Karen (Underwood, Spirit MD), legendary Sean (McMillan, Spirit designer), and members of the Spirit family at last year’s boat show and at the Spirit boatyard in Ipswich. Stephen, my husband, took more persuading. He had been hankering after a completely different boat, much to my disappointment. But after seeing Io at her berth in Dartmouth, he was convinced that she was the boat for us. She had been lovingly built and beautifully maintained by Stuart, her owner. Stephen and I fell in love with her on the spot!
This was the first Spirit yacht ever to enter the Fastnet. The conditions, as many sailors know, are unpredictable and sometimes punishing. Less experienced yachtsmen are warned away from some of the waters in the most benign of conditions, never mind a Force 8 or 9. I am not a natural sailor who has grown up on boats. I love being on the water and cherish our crews, but I am also horribly sick and rely on copious pills.
2023 was a special year: it was the 50th edition of the Fastnet. But this year’s race was tough from beginning to end.
Saturday 22nd July
We began the race on Saturday 22nd July at 2pm. We were a crew of eight and had organised ourselves into two shifts of four on; four off on a rota of: three, three, three, three, six, six hours. This rota system worked well throughout the whole race. Having six hours off during the day meant that we had good quality rest, preparing us for the three hours on and off at night.
We knew the start would not be easy. With a south-west force of 7-9 against an ebb tide, the Solent was challenging. The funnelling effect at Hurst made for extremely lumpy seas. Within two hours of the start a boat had sunk right next to us. We even saw the boat’s dan buoy float past. The two sailors, having issued several Maydays, were eventually rescued in their life raft.
Three of us, despite swallowing everything anti-nausea, were very sick.
One of our crew members, Charlie Palmer, noted his experience:
‘36 knots of breeze. A third of our class has now retired and one sunk right next to us. All ok. We heard them over the radio stepping onto the life raft. We had a surreal view of Yarmouth’s Severn Class lifeboat crashing through the waves behind us through the Needles and the coastguard helicopter off our port side. The weather looks calmer for the remainder, so good to have put the boat through the paces close to home with no issues. Next on to Land’s End!’
Sunday 23rd July
Io was fine. The crew were fine, albeit a little fragile and wet. The big problem was that we had not remembered to tighten the hatches so the bedding at the front had soaked through. This did not dry out for the rest of the week. We are still trying to dry it out now!
Sunday was the day the dolphins appeared by our side. And they didn’t leave us for the duration of the race.
Monday 24th July
By Monday afternoon we were doing a very respectable nine knots through the water. The wind was a steady 24 knots and had turned to the north, which was a little chilly but manageable, even though our clothing was rather damp. We heard the friendly Cornish fishermen over the radio as the wind pushed us towards the Isles of Scilly.
Tuesday 25th July
Two days after the start of the race, we sailed south past the Isles of Scilly and then north past the last shipping exclusion zone.
The Isles of Scilly during the day seemed at the same time magical and menacing. This was even truer when we passed them in the moonlight two days later. Famous for its wildlife, fortresses, shipwrecks and lighthouses – and threatened by rising sea levels – these isles are a sober reminder of the past, present and future.
We had come through rough seas, nine dismastings, one sinking, and many retirements. Io was still going strong. And still the dolphins were with us. We felt Neptune’s blessing.
But then the wind died. We were becalmed for eight hours.
In Charlie’s words:
‘It’s a rather odd feeling being in the middle of the sea and not sure what the next weather front will do.’
To those watching from the land (and thank you to you all who were cheering us on and looking out for us all the way), it looked ominous.