Peaked Too Soon 2010 Post Mortem

After last year, we all joked it couldn’t get any harder. Don’t ya love it when mother nature turns round and slaps you firmly in the chops for being so silly?

Last year might have been gales, more gales and yet more gales, but in retrospect that was slightly reassuring. You had the wind to make it to tidal gates, and with plenty reefs you could keep going forwards. This year, if you wanted to go forwards you had to grab an oar and make it happen. Anyway, this year’s race:

Oban prologue

Caroline set off with the dinghy to go collect Dave G and Ross after the short dash round Oban. This year we’d upgraded to a dinghy that was actually capable of carrying 3 people at the same time, so we felt a much better prepared bunch. The guys put a good pace down and arrived to the dinghy mid-pack, much better than last year where we deliberately held back and paid the price later, and soon we could spot the dinghy heading our way. How those guys ran so hard in such heat is beyond me.

Oban - Mull

The pace round Oban seemed pretty frantic, and while the boys were laying down the first few miles Dave S and I reckoned the wind from the South meant an ideal spinnaker run start, collecting the dinghy while racing out of Oban bay. Cue much action on deck, rigging spinnaker lines, pole, uphaul, downhaul, getting it all ready. 10 minutes before the runners are due back, the wind (what little there was) swung round to the North. Cue much action on deck, detaching spinnaker lines, pole, uphaul, etc etc etc. Having grabbed the runners when they did appear we killed the engine and set off out the top end of Oban bay. The race has a fabulous quirk whereby the start of the run is at 12 noon, and at 1pm the Calmac ferry arrives into Oban. They have right of way, and know it. Almost inevitably, we have no wind and can’t get out the way. Out came the oars, and we rowed and rowed to get past the first light marker at the top of the island. Once past it we were able to pick up a little speed and the tide’s grip loosened off enough for us to start to sail off towards Lady Rock and the entrance to the Sound of Mull. Looking behind, there were still around 17 boats that couldn’t get past the tidal currents and out of Oban bay, so we considered ourselves lucky. One thing we had done much more of since our first attempt on the SIPR in 2009 was to learn how to trim sails, and we also had the demon of all demon sail trimmers, Dave S on board. So gradually we worked the most out of the boat and caught a number of others heading for the channel. But behind us, we could hear announcement after announcement from ferries leaving and arriving into Oban, until one evidently had enough of the drifting boats in his way and let rip a long burst of horn blasts until they got out his way. Glad I wasn’t there for that.

As we arrived at Lady Rock it was pretty clear that the tide was well set against us, so we crawled up in the shadow of some rocks to give us as short a hop as possible to clear the current. Spinnaker up, crossing currents, it was quite disorientating to be going sideways and feel like you’re going forwards. Eventually we burst through and started hunting down the boats in front. The run through the sound settled into a long series of wind bursts – enough to knock boats over on occasion – and wind holes where you just had to wait for the next breeze. The margin between the two was tiny. At one point we sailed up at 5 knots to a group of 11 boats lolling around in a total wind hole, sailed within 5 metres of the nearest one of them, kept our wind and passed the entire lot. They, meanwhile, didn’t see a hint of breeze for another 5 minutes. Unfortunately once they did they all pretty much passed us straight away, but for a brief moment we felt like champions!

The rest of the sail to Salen passed in ever-decreasing amounts of wind and ever-increasing amounts of rowing, until we eventually crawled past the old pier at about 7pm, in the middle of a gaggle of other boats. Close quarters, lots of yachts, all throwing their runners off into dinghies – not a bad way to get the blood pumping before a long run!

Ben Mor, Mull

Top tip #1: If you decide to do any of the runs, don’t sit up till 2am the night before the race with Bequia’s Jeremy putting the world right over a bottle of 10-year old malt….

After the mandatory 5-minute time out to get our kit checked, Dave G and I headed off for the long run in to Ben Mor. The heat was like a kick in the face, after so many hours out at sea the lack of wind and the humidity left us both struggling to find a decent rhythm. After just a couple of miles I was baking in sweat and slowing. It wasn’t until the long flats I managed to get a grip and get moving. A decent trot along past Loch Ba was slightly ruined by missing the turnoff to the path up toward Ben Mor, but a short field-hop later and we joined in with Mara’s runners for most of the ascent up to the shoulder. They promptly left us for dust on the rest of the never-ending grind towards the contour you skirt round for the climb up to the summit ridge. Dark closed in and I did my usual squealing and complaining on the last exposed section – some poor other pair had caught us and suffered my whimpering very patiently. As soon as we hit the summit it was time for a quick text and off before the last of the daylight died. Just as we approached the checkpoint at the burn headtorches finally went on, and we headed over to the last hill checkpoint in pitch darkness with just the occasional bit of aircraft and frog/toad/slimy things for company. The descent route was a gamble – last year in daylight we managed to pick out sheep paths and run them, this year it was straight line and keep going. Eventually we hit the track, then the last checkpoint, then the road home. A few bursts of cramp came and went, and finally we ran into Salen in thick fog, totally missed the turnoff to the marshals tent, headed off down the refurbished pier and straight into a wire strung across in front of us. Suitably chastised, we backtracked, found the correct turning, and came home in a frankly shocking 7 hrs 20m. After all the training (that we didn’t do last year, really) we were 40 minutes slower? I blame the dark…. We arrived back on board, got to the boat to find that while we’d been off plating on hills the crew had nearly been rammed – twice – by departing boats, one of them crewed by Caroline’s brother and cousin. Oops. We crept off into the fog, and out came the oars.

Mull to Jura

After a couple of hours kip, I popped back on deck to find a breeze had built up and Dave and Caroline had expertly passed a number of boats along the way. Things looked good, although reports from teams leaving much earlier were that they were struggling at Duart. The fleet was a lot tighter than last year. On we went, hoping to catch some more of the faster running teams, until we all ran into the same wind hole at Duart, with the tide firmly set against us. Some sensible boats simply dropped anchor and waited, while the rest of us engaged in a strange display of synchronised failure – sail upwind and creep up the coastline until the shore forced a tack. Swing away from the shore, catch the foul tide, drift gently backwards past all the other boats. Tack towards shore, creep up the coast, get too close, swing away on opposite tack, drift backwards, tack to shore……you get the drift. 6 yachts putting on a fine display for the somewhat bewildered tourists on shore. Eventually, patience wore thin, out came the oars and we hugged the coast so tight we could touch it. 2 on rock watch, 2 rowing, one on the helm – painfully slowly we made forward progress and started to catch Mara. The others behind had followed the same plan but seemed to be making less progress, so when the wind finally came up we headed off with Mara into quite a lead from the chasing pack. A dip in wind round Insch Island saw us crawl past Easdale and finally pick up the tide through Luing. Shooting down to Corryvreckan, safely past and on down the sound of Jura, we realised we were now on our own. We managed to ride the wind for another few miles until, once again, it died. After 4 more hours of rowing we had barely made it to Lagg Bay, 6 miles from Craighouse, with the tide now slowing us to less than half a knot. Caroline had just zoned out in the dinghy tied to the back of the boat (more efficient than it sounds) and was content to row, and row, and row…..until a black face appeared not too far away. Then closer. Then closer again. She had her very own seal stalker, who then properly freaked her out by working in partnership with another seal to get close and take a proper look. Brave Dave G swapped and on we rowed. I made the (unpopular) executive decision to stop for a couple of hours till the tide swung back in our favour to give everyone a chance to rest, marked the spot where we bailed out, got the anchor down and set the alarm. And promptly slept through it, waking an hour and a half late. We shot back to the point where we’d bailed, rode the tiny amounts of wind until they faded altogether, and started rowing. Again. Until we met Mara. Again! Several other boats caught up on the tide, and we headed a group into Craighouse to drop Dave G and Ross off for the Paps run. Just as they rowed away, Dave S and I threw the engine switch, pressed the start button, and…..nothing. First things first, get moored up. Drifted onto a mooring, and got busy with the batteries, starter motor, anything we could think of. Ultimately it came back to us having no juice, so a search for 12volts in Jura commenced. Eventually a star chap called Nicol appeared with his mate and a charge pack in tow. We reassembled the batteries, fired it up, and left it to run for the full duration of the stop. Relief! After putting the rest of the boat back together, getting some food down, planning out the tide gates, we heard from Bequia that they had retired off Gigha after hours of bobbing around going nowhere. Eh? We were sitting in 12-15 knots of wind, revelling in the chance to get some sailing done!

Paps of Jura

Dave G, Ross and I had been here 2 weeks before on a recce trip, but despite knowing what was coming, Ross seemed keen to set off regardless. Apart from a minor mishap at the check-in where the set of tags were nearly forgotten, they were soon on their way in a baking morning heat and little breeze. The initial run-in seemed fine, the Paps themselves the usual torture, mixed with adders and eagles, and for a more complete report I will have to refer you to the runners themselves. I do know they hooked up with Mara (again!), found out just how unstable the scree is a couple of times, and had a bit of a chase on the way home after knocking half an hour off our trial run time, and arrived back to healthy doses of food and calorie-recommended Stella. With little fanfare we completely messed up picking them up from the dinghy and headed out towards the Mull.

Jura to Arran

Last year, this was a bit of a nervous section – plenty boats had backed out ahead of us and we knew the Mull was taking few prisoners. This year, we had sunshine, some breeze and if we kept the speed up, a shot at the early tide. Of course, the minute we figured that out, the wind died. Unlike before, this wasn’t glassy calm, there was a small swell running and the little breeze there was simply vanished in the flapping sails. Finally after much frustration and messing around with sails, (spinnaker up, spinnaker down, poles out, poles in, etc etc) we got a breeze and carried on, Mara (who else?) in hot pursuit. As we neared the Mull we could pick out other boats – Mischief, Loonautics and others – who had followed the coast approach in, where we were taking the direct route. Quickly though, they all fell from sight as thick fog descended and we were left in an eerie world of our own, listening to the foghorns of others and wondering where on earth the coast had gone. I find sailing in fog very disorientating, and it was a real effort to stay on course with no points of reference. Eventually, we could see the tide start to turn against us, and our speed over the ground diminished by half a knot…..a knot……two knots. The breeze filled in though, and suddenly the fog lifted enough to find ourselves in a 5-boat huddle with Mara, Mischief, Loonautics and (I think) Caol Ila. Finally too we could see the Mull lighthouse off to the east, where it stayed resolutely refusing to let us past as the tide pushed against us harder and harder. With the wind picking up (to 20+ knots according to our instruments), a swell running against the tide and complete darkness now robbing us of any ability to predict the waves, we found ourselves surfing waves at over 8 knots boat speed, over-canvassed, and going absolutely nowhere. We made a play to catch the early turn of the tide against the cliffs, but chickened out given the conditions. It looked like a couple of others tried the same, and we criss-crossed each other in a higher-speed version of the Duart ballet. Eventually the sails were giving too much power and we called the runners on deck while we stuck a reef in. Slow, steady and safe until the power was out the rig, with Dave S excelling at the mast. The genoa lines were caught round the spinnaker bag (optimistically left on the foredeck) so we went main-only until round the Mull. And as much as we were stuck for hours, the minute the tide started to slacken off, we managed to hug tight to the cost and get out the swell into calmer water, going to right direction. With a following wind, the faster we went the calmer it felt and we finally had a chance to unwind some of the tension. We’d been advised at Jura to run charge into the batteries every hour, so we threw the engine into neutral and started her up to get some power into the batteries again. When we switched off we discovered the keys had been caught under a stray foot and snapped off. One to add to the Lamlash fix list. A minor navigational error (well, Sanda lighthouse looks a lot like a red marker buoy when you’re tired and it’s dark – so said all three on deck. I’m colour blind – that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it) and we were off through Sanda and happy to report to the Coastguard we were round. A nice breeze finally settled in and we headed for Pladda, sending Dave S below for much needed sleep. The early light, the peace and the night sail all caught up with me, and I started to nod off at the wheel. Standing up to keep myself awake, I remember thinking that it’s lovely to be drifting along…….and woke up toppling towards the guardrails after a wave lifted the stern suddenly. A quick grab of the wheel and I was very, very awake. Lifeline was attached, thank goodness. Unfortunately it was only attached to me, not the boat. Stupid. I lasted another fifteen minutes then handed over to Dave S and went below for a power nap. Again, Dave S and Caroline blasted through some more boats and we were first of the group into Lamlash. Unfortunately, our one charge hadn’t been enough and we were engineless again. Quick change of plan in the blowy conditions – chuck Dave G into the dinghy and get him to row to the mooring buoy with a rope, we can then aim for Dave (literally) and have an easier time tying up. A quick shout on the VHF to tell the other boats we were sans engine, and on attempt 2 we got tied up. Running kit on, bags ready, head for shore. Unfortunately we’d lost 2 spots while getting the boat secured, but so what? It’s sunny and we’re going to do Goat Fell in daylight! Miles better than last year’s darkness epic.

Goat Fell

Kit check – easy. And a nice flat mile to warm up on the way out. Apparently time to beat was 3hrs 18mins – aye right! We felt confident of besting the 8hrs+ at the opposite end of the scale. Checkpoint one dispatched, we set off over Prospect Hill and straight away the heat was suffocating. We had a litre of water each, never going to be enough, and planning water refills gave us something to think about as we trotted round to the bottom of the path up Goat Fell. The opening 6 miles went past in 1hr 15mins – we were happy with that given the lack of sleep and the lack of food. I’d managed a banana and a hot dog since Jura, Ross had managed some stew and half a hot dog. Still, we had water and go gels, who needs more? At the bottom of the path we met a lovely lady working at the café who gave us a water top-up, then off we went. A long slow slog saw us summit in 2hrs 50m, again, happy with that. Setting off downhill we passed Mara’s runners – it wouldn’t have been the same without them by now! – and started to feel the thought of finishing drag us home. Hitting the bottom of the hill just over an hour later, we sooked another go-gel (4 each so far) and started to run. Even the smallest incline was starting to hurt by now, but we managed to make it through Brodick without too much drama. The long slow climb over Prospect Hill again seemed endless, and water just wasn’t enough any more. Thoughts of cold Irn Bru, cold Coke, cold Stella….start running again! After Prospect Hill, run all the way home, thanks to the man in his garden cheering us on, the last mile we hardly spoke, just ran, then ran a wee bit faster, then saw the pier, then saw Dave G, then we’re home! A brilliant welcome in from Nick and the other marshalls. Dave G must have wondered who the wild-eyed loonies were dragging the dinghy straight into the sea, yelling to get moving. Cold beer is some incentive, sorry Dave!

Arran to Troon

On board, collapse, get the sails up and head for home. While we’d been off playing, Caroline had done sterling work tracking down another engine starter pack in Lamlash and getting us going again, as well as finding time to tidy up the boat and generally have us ready to go. We had parked the boat on the outermost mooring from shore to make it as safe as possible when we arrived, but that meant a long, long row in and out every time she had to go to shore. Yet more rowing points for Caroline. Rather than play around with ferries or head into Troon marina without engine power we left the engine running in neutral all the way home. A couple of sails far ahead – Mischief and Thembi – should have had us all guns blazing but we were tired, happy to be finishing and close to home. I grabbed some sleep, then sorted babysitting extensions – welcome back to the real world! – and soon we were swinging out the swell into the outer harbour and Dave G and Ross went to take the line. A lovely cheer when we came into the harbour made it all worthwhile and soon the boat was parked, the beers were open and someone bravely mentioned “Next year….?”.

Aftermath

Good points? For me, Arran in the daylight. Demons from last year well and truly put to bed. Dave S and Caroline sailed brilliantly, and despite our shallow keel we managed to coax Ogun along to second in class on sailing times. The rowing effort was incredible, from Caroline particularly. Ross seemed happy he’d given up his spot in the Edinburgh marathon to join the team, and both he and Dave S seemed to enjoy their first SIPR. Dave G really seemed to get on top of his seasickness, what a revelation – can’t stand to see the big man not eating – and even enjoyed having his runs out the way early on in the race. The whole race is still madness and exhilaration all wrapped in one and simply brilliant. Well done Curly & co once again. And of course, our team polo shirts are spectacular.

Bad points? The heat. Since when do you get to complain about the heat in Scotland on the water in May? The engine failures (or battery failures to be more precise). Sleeping in at Lagg Bay – my fault.

Finally, thanks to Mark Critchley, Dave G’s Mum & Dad and Ross’s wife & daughter for coming to see us at the finish, and for bravely sitting next to smelly us when no sensible person would.