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Malisi - 190 Miles to Mindelo



Malisi boat log, 13 th of November 12:46

The heat is coming. Even in the shadow. We are slowing down, the boat has slown down. Since two days we are witout spinnaker.  (Except this, we are doing fine!)  We are at first position, but  considering our handicap, we are not. We feel a litte bit like a lame duck here!

Read the story how it happened:

We are sailing with a catamaran. It is a Outremer 64 light. I arrived in Las Palmas a week ago,  to help with delivery of the boat to the Carribean. There I am going to command the boat during the winter , until then I will be a  watchleader. What has happened on Malisi?

In the night after the start of the ARCplus-Rally we were pushing our luck. The tradewinds, increased by the Canary Islands, blew with up to 29 knots. We were dashing down the atlantic swell with no reef in the mainsail and under spinnaker, listening to all kinds of sounds, which arose from the speed. When the Log climbed above 20 knots a singing was rising, a humming choir, beautiful but threatening at once. And, as we are operating in a watchplan, it is difficult to rest, when the singing comes and goes. It stirs your attention, when it is getting louder. You feel awake all of a sudden, your body  is getting ready to act, even if you tell yourself: „22 knots are not that much. I could do it with my bicycle…“ And to calm yourself, you think about cycling on the countryside,  a nice summerday, you are going downhill with a breeze in the back.

Shortly  after I managed to fall asleep, Matt, my mate, was knocking on my door. He said calmly:  „We have been called.“                                                                                                                                                                               

„Is it urgent? Or do I have enough time to dress in peace?“, I asked.

„It is urgent, I guess.“ He replied.

Outside was uproar. The spinnaker was wrapped around the furled Genoa. It seemed impossible to get it down, and the wind was getting  stronger. To be unable to get a sail down in high winds, especially a spinnaker, is a nightmare. It means that you can’t stop, even if you want to. Imagine yourself in a carriage. The horses are mad and in panic. You do have no idea, when they will become tired or if your vehicle will fall apart before and you go astray. I tried to stay calm, as I always intend on yachts, but really, it is difficult with a threat like that. The spinnaker was wrapped around the forestay like gigantic hourglass. How the hell had it happened at all? And would it not soon be torn to pieces, with these fluttering for days up there and blocking our foresail? The whole crew was standing on the deck of the catamaran, pointing up to the mast with torches. The yacht, steered by a processor, was running down the waves. The whitewater was spraying up through the nets between the bows. It took us ages to figure out  a plan:  But then we  put a rope around the lower part of the saill, and worked our way up. We tried to wrap as much as we could to prevent, that the wind could open it again. Then we turned the sail with six men around the stay,  evntually it got free again and we could release the halyard.

Morning came and we were only 50 miles away from the african coast. It would have been ideal for a stopover, but we jibed and had the Cape Verde Archipelago in front of our bow, even it was still 700 nautical miles to go.

Next day we were sailing along with the atlantic swell pushing us. Sometimes it feels like riding a sledge. Remember when you were a kid? That moment, when you let go to ride your sledge downhill? Sailing downwind feels a lot like that. Gravity is pulling you, wind and waves are pushing you. The hills you surf down never stop. Seabirds with enormous wingspan are flying through narrow valleys. Sometimes the dolphins come with curiosity and strength. Water is gurgeling and whisteling along the hull, especially with a light catmaran.

Monday evening the wind had increased a again. We had the spinnaker up once more. The  trades were blowing with up to 29 knots. This time it happened  in my watch. A gust came, and then a sound like a knife cutting trough silk. The sail had been cut in half. One side was fluttering from the mast top, the other - with the sheets – was hanging down in the water.

It was a dark moment for our ambition to win the rally, that our biggest sail was gone!  

Rainer Holtorff


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