As I rode the two carriage train to Holyhead with it’s dirty lime green hand holds and sickly used smell looking out over the manicured farm fields and snow speckled hilltops I imagine a heavily wooded rolling countryside still wild with bears and wolves. I see about me evidence of man with houses, powerlines, roads, neat hedges, farm animals and noisy factories. I’m puzzled that we would complain about something as elegant as a wind powered turbine with it’s aerodynamic blades gently turning in the breeze inaudible at a distance. The thought of the spinning sails brings me sharply back to the amazing week I’ve just had learning to sail a huge yacht with such a wonderful skipper, mate and crew.
Setting out a week earlier, an hour sooner than required for fear of being late to the Clipper Race training centre for the first of four training sessions, not yet used to relying on the punctuality of public transport was somewhat well founded as I hopped on the first bus that stopped. During the prior week I’d made the trip almost daily and thought no more until noticing the bus was different. Through the window the route too looked different. Chatting to a kindly woman in the seat behind me with artificial knees and a stick to help her, my mind was set at ease. Turns out I’d jumped on the number nine but that it fortunately stopped at the very same terminus in Gosport I had intended to go.
Lugging my hastily packed sailing gear past the Castle Tavern and chandlery I turned right into the Clipper car park prepared to wait until the doors were unlocked. American Ronald soon arrived and we greeted one another and I followed him into the training centre surprised to see that most of the other trainees were already there. A good spread of fruit cake, teas and coffee immediately endeared this coffee junky to the organisation.
The hubbub of excited conversation died down a little when our crew allocation for the week appeared on a large television monitor. We divided with our two skippers and mates and were shown onto what would be home for a week, Charlie Victor Three a Clipper 68. Down the companion way, through the saloon and the other side of a watertight steel door the thickness of a safe door were arranged our double bunked pipe cots adjustable to the heel of the boat by means of a rope tackle and v-shaped jammer which was demonstrated could be altered as we lay upon them. We were shown ably by our mate Kym how to secure the lee cloth to prevent us falling out in our clumsiness or sleep. Boat safety was taught to us by our skipper Cliff and we all enjoyed his pulled-pork supper.
The weather was kind to us and ideal for learning the next morning. We raised the mainsail, staysail and yankee and Lori recovered our first man overboard to much excitement and hilarity her exuberant, infectious and bubbly personality seducing us all and bringing huge fun and enjoyment to the rest of us. A strap broke whilst lifting Bob our dummy sailor and no way was Lori letting go of him to meet Davy Jones. Both Susan and Maite were equally upbeat creating an excellent atmosphere aboard. The guys too were special, helpful, supportive and participative and all much stronger than me.
Everything aboard is operated manually and nothing can be done alone without working in unison. The boat is spartan built for nothing but safety, speed, racing and strength. The feeling of camaraderie, teamwork and satisfied accomplishment permeated the yacht. Steady improvement was incrementally noticeable as understanding and skill was acquired with tacking, gybing, reefing, hoisting and dropping and flaking of sails.
The first night we returned to Gosport and predictably the Castle Tavern after enjoying our own on duty cooked meal. One novelty is getting used to squeaking fenders as they rub against the hull, another the gurgling of the breather pipe on the water tanks which terminated above my head. The vent pipe is crossed over the vessel so as not to leak when we’re heeled over. The second night we moored up on the pontoon in Cowes Yacht Haven on the Isle of Wight with our sister yacht tied up on our starboard side. We enjoyed fender squeaking in stereo that night after yet another hearty meal served up in huge salad bowls then retired to the Anchor Inn conveniently situated across the street from the main gate.
Off to Gosport and on to Portsmouth to be measured and fitted with our colour coordinated racing clothing. With our sizes trapped inside an apple tablet and a drink and fudge safely in our bellies we returned from Gunwarf Quays and the Musto Lighthouse store on the ferry. Another night in the Castle Tavern and back to sleep aboard.
The following day was off to an anchorage off Sandown Bay after weathering a mild hail storm. We had done a tackathon with us manning each of the winch posts and helm for two tacks to become familiar with all the duties. We gybed too to gain exposure to it’s requirements. Looking back at the storm we’d come through gave us an atmospheric look at a rainbow over a foreboding sky. We winched up the anchor from the rope locker using a halyard and laid out all the chain and sufficient warp for the depth flaked up and down the foredeck and fastened the warp to a cleat and round the two primary winches and let it drop to the sea floor. Motoring sternwards we set the anchor and tied a bridle to the warp to keep it from destroying our bowsprit which was routed through a midships fairlead and winched tight. The tide was running and set the yacht at ninety degrees to the rolling swell which rocked us like an enthusiastic grandmother in a babies cradle. This provided the galley watch with a fair amount of entertainment trying to keep the pots on the gimballed stove and preventing the mugs from swapping their contents. We all did duty on two hour overlapping anchor watches to ensure predefined depth range and took three sightings of lights to ensure we weren’t dragging our anchor. We had to go forward to the bow on tethers with our torches to inspect the warp for fraying in addition.
Next morning we weighed anchor manually tug-of-war fashion and safely stowed it back in it’s hidey hole in the rope locker. We returned to Gosport. On the day of departure we all rowed our tiny inflatable dinghy between the pontoons and then enthusiastically set about a deep clean of the boat with antibacterial potions and scrubbing. After a meal at the Boathouse we were treated to a first look at our race yacht and the yacht Suhaili fully restored, the actual yacht founder of the Clipper Race, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston had made his epic non-stop circumnavigation of the world in.
Mangled Neuron 