A bit of cloud, a bit of wind, and she's gone.
To the ordinary, earth-bound man, clouds mean two things. The sun is
going to go in, and there is a possibility that it will rain. To the
yachtsman, it probably means more wind as well. At sea, the wind
normally arrives before the cloud and the rain. Today was no
exception. The kite was flying in all its full-shouldered magnificence -
you've heard it before, I've banged on about it often enough. It had been
up for two nights and two days, and the Skipper had visions of flying it for
ever, certainly he had no intention of taking down before we crossed the
finishing line, some 1500 miles away. At just past eight this morning,
Graham, Mandy and the Skipper were in the cockpit, watching the squall as it
meandered towards us, watching the white crests as they came nearer. And
watching the dials as well. The log was the most satisfying; speeds surged
to eight knots as the wind gusted to over twenty. The Skipper always said
that his beloved 25-year old spinnaker was still nearly brand-new, it had hardly
been out of the bag before he and Cleone became an item, and it was good to
twenty knots apparent. But he and the others knew that the colours had
been fading lately, and they should have been on their guard. As it was,
Mandy, just coming off watch, had decided the squall had peaked, and she had
just got into her bunk. But the wind surged a little more, Cleone leapt
over another wavelet and the bang as the spinnaker blew out brought everyone on
deck, Mandy easily in the lead. Remembering his adage, the Skipper tried
to remain calm. He did not need to point out that there was a problem with
the spinnaker - it was obvious to all. "The halyard's gone" he announced
succinctly. But he was wrong; the material had rotted and a great big tear
had developed, and Mandy watched as well over half of the middle part of the
spinnaker blew out of the boat and landed useless in the ocean behind us.
It was not worth even trying to pick it up.
As it happened, things could have been a lot worse. The meagre
skeleton of the spinnaker was still intact - the reinforced leeches (sides),
foot, clews (bottom corners) and head all still held. So we unfurled the
genoa and brought in the tattered remnants as if it were a normal drop, and soon
everything was tidied away as if nothing had happened. But now we've only
the Genoa and the light-weight Ghoster, so we stand to lose a mile for every
hour sailed. You'd expect also to hear about a committal at sea; it's red,
white and blue so there would not even be any requirement to wrap it in
the Union Jack (large size, carried for such a purpose). But the
skipper insists that we carry what remains of the carcass so that an autopsy can
be carried out later if ordered. So a now very slim light-blue bag rests
amongst the spare sails to remind us of what was.
Things could be worse; there was no collateral damage and we are all well
and so is Cleone. But the wires will soon be hot with e-mails to
sailmakers, and the choice of style and colours for the new kite will
be keenly debated!
Meanwhile, all is well with us, and very best wishes to you all.
James, Graham, Jenni, Shayne and Mandy
Yacht Cleone
15o43'S 012o37'W