The Chaos of Cowes…

The few days I spent at Cowes were a bit of a blur to be honest…!! Sleep was a pastime we did not have too much to do with, and being a habitual early riser did not help my cause at all…!!

Early morning in Cowes... All peace and tranquility...then the sun goes down...!!

Borge sails "No: 38" out to do battle, leaving me nursing the mother of all hangovers back on shore...

The night I arrived, we partied until the early hours of the morning, clambering back into the boat just in time to have three hours of sleep before getting up to begin the day… I had eaten very little on the ride up from Luxembourg, and by the time I arrived, the rest of the crew had already eaten… Huge marquees had been erected in half a dozen places along the shoreline, and it seemed to me that we stopped at each and every one to sample the drinks they had on offer… By midnight I was a “few sheets to the wind” as they say in sailing circles, but Borge, Charlie, John, Gordon and Dave were still going strong… They had been practicing from the night before you see, and had their livers “dialed in” before I arrived…

Just as I was beginning to think I would fall down somewhere, a few rounds of “Jager-Bombs” were prescribed to pep me up… These seemed to do the trick, and my second and third wind kicked in simultaneously…!!

Cowes seemed to be one huge party with thousands of revelers out on the streets until the very small hours of every morning. Live bands entertained the crowds in a few of the bigger venues, and the thump of music filled the air… Sailing seems to attract the “Beautiful Set”, and the women seemed to parade around in the tightest and sexiest outfits they could lay their hands on… Just when I thought I had gotten over the culture shock in Spain after my long ride through Africa, Cowes took things to another level…

Sun Sail Racing Headquarters...

When I awoke on Sunday morning, I walked out onto the deck of our yacht, and the very slight movement from the boat caused my stomach to do a few quick somersaults… I knew that there was no way I would get through the day without “feeding the fish” out there on the water, and managed to persuade Borge that I was too ill to sail… I could not remember when last a bout of liquid entertainment had had such a negative effect on me… I must be getting old…!! But I’d prefer to blame the lack of food and the long hard ride the previous day, for my lethargic state…

My brain has turned to jelly... That's Woks Happening...!!!

Antonia discovers that the combination of a helmet and high wind do very little for one's hair...

What I would have liked to do, was find a quiet spot to try and sleep off the effects of the night before, but that was not possible, as the “room” I was staying in would be a few miles offshore for most of the day…!! Antonia was also feeling the effects of evening before, and decided to give racing the yacht a wide berth as well… While the boat sailed out to the start of the day’s race, we walked along the shore to watch the hundreds of yachts take up their positions for the start… About 800 yachts were taking part in this year’s Cowes event, and were divided up into many different classes according to their sizes… Our yacht was part of a fleet of about 40 boats… SunSail 38 is a 37 foot cruising yacht, and needs to be crewed by at least six able-bodied people… I do not believe the term “able-bodied” applied to anyone that morning, but Borge still managed to get a 6^th position in the race…

After lunch, Antonia and I took the Big Fella on a short run to the Needles on the western tip of the island, which are only 20-odd miles from Cowes. The winding, narrow country roads were great to ride on, but too many tight corners and hidden entrances to farms and houses meant that we had to keep it slow and easy, which suited my current fragile condition perfectly…

The Needles, a rocky outcrop on the western tip of the Isle of Wight... A few years ago we had sailed straight through them in an attempt to get ahead of the rest of the fleet... Some of the crew still wake up screaming at the memory of that day...

The Big Fella regales these two Vespas with tales of his exploits...

Chips are bad for birds too...!!!

Charlie and Antonia went back to the mainland later that afternoon, and with the rest of the crew, I settled down to another liver-bashing session, which again saw us stagger aboard the boat in the small hours of the morning… I had no idea how I was going to cope with racing later that morning, but just as we were casting off, an American sailor asked if he could join us for the day and Borge agreed… We collected Alex and his son Joelyn from their yacht “Savage” which was moored out in the bay, and headed for the rest of the fleet that were far out on the eastern horizon, waiting for the committee boat to set the course for the day’s race…

Our skipper Borge Leth... If the other yachts were looking for trouble, they had come to the right place...

With more than enough bodies on the boat, I took up station behind Borge, and had very little to do with the rest of the day’s racing… Which was a very good thing, as it gave me an opportunity to familiarize myself with the boat and watch the race unfolding around us… We did not have the best of starts at the line, and spent the afternoon playing “catch-up” with the rest of the boats in our class, coming in 13^th at the end of the day…

This meant that we had to make a few “unconventional” moves to improve our position… One of these would remain etched in my mind forever… It involved sailing into the middle of a large group of yachts, all bearing down on us from what seemed like every point of the compass…

How Borge managed to get the 7 ton yacht through the middle of them all is still a mystery…even to him…!! Imagine running the wrong way in a marathon, trying to avoid all the runners…or driving your car on the wrong side up a busy motorway in rush hour traffic… All I saw was a blizzard of sails all around us and shocked expressions on the other sailors faces as they zoomed past on either side of us… All I heard were shouts and curses from the other skippers and a loud squeal which I later discovered had come from Borge himself… I was holding on so tightly, that it took a few minutes for my fingers to unlock themselves from the stays I had been hanging onto for dear life…

John braces himself for another near collision while Joelyn pretends to have something in his eye... Or is he appealing to a higher authority for help...?

"Did you see what that bloody Dane did today...?? Nearly sunk us, he did...!!!"

I have no idea how we got through the chaos without touching any of the other boats… Neither, I am sure, did the rest of the crew or fleet for that matter…!! When we got back to Cowes, we fully expected to be called into the committee room to hear a long list of official objections from other boats in the race, many of whom had been “fouled” by Borge’s little maneuver, and had to take evasive action to avoid collision and possible sinking…

We sat waiting for the call, which never came… Apparently skippers have an hour after the final gun to lodge their objections, and Borge was convinced that this had not been long enough for them to recover from the shock of a near-death experience, and hence no objections were handed in…

The sign should say "Extreme Drinking Series"...!!

The fact that we were never again greeted by any of the crews on the other boats spoke volumes of what they thought of us… But we didn’t care…the Guinness was flowing and another huge party was warming up in the hospitality tents around us…

Our American friend, who was supposed to sail with us again the next day, mysteriously disappeared shortly after we docked, and was never seen again… Perhaps he got lost in the crowds…

The next day was our best day of racing, and with a better start we sailed the entire race near the head of our class… It seemed to me that most of the boats were giving us a very wide berth, but I may be mistaken… We sailed in open water for most of the race, never coming within more than a few boat lengths of our competitors… Joelyn and I handled the Mainsail, and with his prompting, we worked well enough together to get a few rare compliments from our skipper… Although on a few occasions I was politely asked “if I thought I was on a bloody cruise liner”, and told to “get my arse up on the “high side”, NOW…!!!!”…

"Anyone seen No 38...?? We have a warrant against the crew for attempted murder...!!"

All right boys, what more can we do to try and get an objection lodged against us...

It's a bloody jungle out here...!!!

Along with the constant tacking into the wind and scrambling about, came a fine set of bruises to my shins and knees, which far exceeded the total number I had collected over the last 30 000 km of riding… We finished in 5^th or 6^th position I think, but this was not confirmed as we had to pack up the boat and get all our kit off it before handing it back to SunSail Racing…

"Ahoy No 38... Stay the hell clear of us...!!"

The fleet is left far behind as we sail back towards Cowes...

We dropped Alex and Joelyn back at their yacht Savage...

Cowes marina from on board the Red Funnel ferry...

The Ferry sails across the front of the marina, lights ablaze...

I had to load the bike, ride it across to West Cowes and take the Red Funnel ferry back to Southampton, while the rest of the crew took the much faster passenger ferry to where their cars were parked on the mainland… I arrived at Borge home in Burgess Hill at a little after 8.00pm, and after dinner, we sat on the patio re-living the last few days, with a few “Stumblefoot” Beers, aptly named I thought, as that is exactly what I had when I finally dragged myself up the stairs and into bed…

Big Fella stands parked outside Borge and Antonia's home in Southern England...

Another Cowes experience was behind me, and before I went to sleep, I did a quick stock take to make sure I still had all my fingers and toes… Satisfied that I was still in one piece, I drifted off to sleep, thinking of Robyn and our planned meeting in London later that day…

©GBWT 2010