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Forum Index: DISCUSSION: Dock Talk:
1979 Fastnet Race - 30th Anniversary
Team McLube

 

 


The Publisher
*****


Jul 9, 2009, 2:34 PM

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The Rolex Fastnet Race 2009 will begin on Sunday, August 9th with 300 registered crews to set sail in the 608 nautical-mile offshore classic. This year’s race will mark the thirtieth anniversary of the saddest chapter in the race's illustrious history.

It was thirty years ago…1979… when the 303 entrants had began a race that was to take them from the Isle of Wight off the southwest coast of England to Fastnet Rock off the Irish coast and back. Little did they know of the storm that would lead to 24 boats being abandoned, five that would sink, and 15 sailors who would die.

John Rousmaniere was there, and in his book
Fastnet, Force 10, he tells the tragic story of the greatest disaster in the history of yachting, of a race that began in fine weather, then suddenly became a terrifying ordeal.

I asked John if he would write a brief reminder of the race, and I encourage others to share their stories as well. They can be
emailed to me, or posted directly into this thread.

As John states below, “Talking leads inevitably to stories, stories attract people’s attention, and so, as long as there are veterans of that wild August night telling those stories, lessons will be learned.”


- Craig Leweck, Scuttlebutt




The Publisher
*****


Jul 9, 2009, 2:35 PM

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John Rousmaniere
July 9, 2009
For Scuttlebutt


The Fastnet at 30

By John Rousmaniere


Why didn’t you call your book Fastnet, Force 12?” my new friend half-asked, half-demanded. “Maybe it was blowing a mere Force 10 where YOU were, but not where I was.”

As our boat drifted around foggy Narragansett Bay last September, waiting for a starting gun, this shipmate and I reviewed some of the startling events that had been thrust upon us 3,000 miles to the east and half a lifetime ago.

Hair-raising tales of the 1979 Fastnet Race are told sometimes by acquaintances. My friend was in an American boat, a 64-footer, running at 20 knots toward the finish under number 4 jib alone when a crewmember decided she was carrying too much sail. They cut away that handkerchief – tack, sheet, and halyard – and watched it fly off through the dense cloud of thick spray suspended several yards above the sea. Other stories come through the interior voice of memory. With a shiver, I recall balancing precariously on the boom of a Swan 47 and tying in the third reef as she smashed toward Fastnet Rock with great wads of water simultaneously rising up from the sea and pouring down from the sail.

The Fastnet, our destination, is a ship-shaped lighthouse perched on a rock. It’s the outer turning mark in the odd-year 600-mile race that’s been run since 1925 from southern England to near Ireland and back again. Rarely easy, the race, with 303 boats, was hit in 1979 by a surprising, shockingly strong and unstable westerly blow, with gusts in the 60s and shifting constantly, and waves 30 feet and higher.

Boomerang, the 64-footer, and Toscana, my ride, came out of it with minimal damage. Not so lucky were the 100 or so boats that capsized or nearly so, the 24 boats that were abandoned, the five that sank, and the 15 sailors who died – all this in a sport whose total fatalities, until 1979, could be counted on two hands. For us in Toscana, the outlines of the calamity began to take shape on radio broadcasts as we ran home from the rock. Our navigator, John Coote, stuck his head up the companionway, paused for a few moments, and mournfully intoned words that I had never expected to hear when I first went to sea: “Men are dying out here.”

We did not feel the full thrust of the tragedy until after we finished at Plymouth, when Toscana approached a wharf crowded with silent, solemn women and men staring blankly out toward the Channel. On shore, I was approached by a man with an arm in a sling. Peter Johnson had sailed his boat and suffered the arm injury and broken ribs during three wild knockdowns, and now he was asking me to write a book about the race for his publishing house. The race was hard, but writing about it was harder. The seaman’s chores and the roll of the vessel are welcome distractions at sea, but on shore all is still, and the uneasiness planted by the sight of those people on the wharf grew with every interview with a survivor.

Back to hard facts, a proper question to ask is, “What’s the larger importance of the Fastnet storm?” My answer is that this is the watershed event in the long history of pleasure sailing, dating back almost 200 years. I don’t know of any other incident that has been both so catastrophic and so constructive in our sport – or, for that matter, in any sport.

The post-race review conducted by the Royal Yachting Association and the Royal Ocean Racing Club gathered more solid information about the behavior of boats and sailors in extreme weather than had ever existed through generations of anecdotes and cruise narratives. Building on this enormous data base, the boating industry and several non-profit organizations came up with the Lifesling, new rescue techniques, better safety harnesses, and other valuable innovations. Towing-tank tests of boat stability, heavy-weather steering, and storm tactics were run by the U.S Yacht Racing Union (now the U.S. Sailing Association), the Society of Naval Architects and Marine Engineers, and the Wolfson Unit in England. The Cruising Club of America produced a manual on offshore design and gear, Desirable and Undesirable Characteristics of Offshore Yachts, with chapters by Olin and Rod Stephens, Jim McCurdy, Bill Lapworth, Tom Young, and other leading sailors and designers of that era. When Olin wrote, “Some modern ocean racers, and the cruising boats derived from them, and dangerous to their crews,” people paid attention, and rating rules were improved.

Regulations and gear can’t solve every problem, which is why one of the most important developments in the wake of the 1979 Fastnet was that large numbers of sailors finally began to talk about safety – until then the elephant in the yacht club – at safety at sea seminars and other forums. Talking leads inevitably to stories, stories attract people’s attention, and so, as long as there are veterans of that wild August night telling those stories, lessons will be learned.

Attached: Toscana running home as the storm began to die with John Rousmaniere steering.




Attachments: JohnRousmaniere.steering in 79Fastnet storm.JPG (198 KB)


skipallan
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Jul 9, 2009, 8:54 PM

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  Thanks to John Rousmaniere for re-telling this story so well. How could I forget that night and the next morning? At 2000 hours the wind had veered to the SW, leaving us with a 15 mile beat into what seemed like a William Turner painting maelstrom.

As the Fastnet Light came into view through the spume, our staysail stay, with the storm jib hanked on, pulled out of the mast. We carried on under triple reef main, making about 4 knots through the water and 3 knots sideways. All hands were on deck, and Jesberg was soaked, having left his foulies home "to save weight."

At about 0300 we rounded the Fastnet Rock, with it's rotating light illuminating the eerie and wild scene. Except for the 39 foot ECLIPSE some 10 miles astern, we were the last two boats to get around the Fastnet Rock near the height of the gale and before the course closed down.

Daylight brought a profound scene. IMP was beam reaching in about 40-50 knots of wind. The seas were huge, 25-50 feet, with breakers foaming off their tops. We went to two man watches: the driver being encouraged not to look aft, and the lookout calling the breakers during which time we ran off, quartering the seas. Safety harnesses and tethers were snug in case of roll over, which seemed a real possibility if one of the monsters caught us.

We had no idea of the life/death dramas being played out in the vicinity. By midday the conditions had moderated and we set the #4 jib. A few hours later the wind veered even more and we set the spinnaker. Other racers popped up on the horizon. A photo of our crew taken that afternoon shows a weary but happy group running for the finish at Plymouth.

Not so happy were our wives and girlfriends waiting on the dock at Plymouth, victims of a nasty rumour. "IMP and the two other American Admirals Cuppers were unreported and presumed sunk." (NY Times)

We could not initially comprehend their concern until we learned of the tragic toll exacted by this storm at sea.

The phone lines into Plymouth were jammed and there was no way to call my family in CA. As I walked down the street to our hotel in Plymouth, the pay phone in a nearby red phone booth rang. Out of habit, I answered. It was the sports editor of the San Jose Mercury newspaper. With all the private lines jammed, he had somehow gotten this phone booth's # from an international operator. This chance conversation allowed me to give him the story on the promise he would call my family and tell them we were alive and well.

~skip allan
IMP (39' Ron Holland sloop)


Ginny Jones
*

Jul 10, 2009, 9:07 AM

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Reading John Rousmaniere's thoughtful piece about the 1979 Fastnet reminded me of the storm and of the many positive developments which emanated from that tragic race: life sling devices and better safety harnesses, all sorts of testing and information about stability, storm tactics, etc. The book that he mentions DESIRABLE AND UNDESIRABLE CHARACTERISTICS OF OFFSHORE YACHTS (and which he modestly doesn't mention was edited by John Rousmaniere) is one of the really seminal books for anyone planning an offshore (or even coastal) passage, racing or cruising.

Although written in 1987, most of the information contained within is just as important today as it was then, and perhaps even a bit more so. With all the modern equipment, modern electronics and sophisticated weather forecasting and navigational equipment, many folks have gotten a bit complacent. Although many sailors use all the modern gear, the skills and "rules" of basic seamanship remain supremely important, as does a sea worthy, well found and well sailed boat. Every sailor should have this book, and if it isn't currently in print, it should be! And where else could you get so much accumulated and concentrated wisdom, from the likes of Rod and Olin Stephens, Richard McCurdy, Daniel Strohmeier, C William Lapworth, Mitchell Gibbons-Neff, John himself, and other highly experienced and wise sailors?

As to the storm, at that time I was working in the du Pont Preservation Shipyard at Mystic Seaport Museum. Around 4 pm on a summer's Friday afternoon, I was making my way home across the bascule bridge which spans the Mystic River. A nasty storm had been brewing in the west, and just after the Museum's sail training schooner BRILLIANT motored through the bridge opening, the storm hit. The wind rose dramatically, the heavens opened and a deluge of rain came pouring down as she was moving up river towards her dock. Within a minute or so the storm was so intense and the rain so heavy that I could no longer see her. As I recall that was the American beginning of the Fastnet Storm and in one of Alan Watts' books on weather I think there is further information about tracking the storm across the Atlantic.

At that time I had only made a few off shore passages but watching BRILLIANT disappear into the storm, and reading about the Fastnet made a very substantial impression which has lasted through many other passages, and during all the years that I worked in boatyards in the wooden boat industry. If you are a boat builder, sailing through one storm at sea will teach you an enormous amount about what works at sea, and more importantly, what doesn't. No one would willingly set off to encounter a bad storm but sailing only in sunny weather and relative calm doesn't teach much about sailing.

Thanks John, and Craig for encouraging readers to share their reminiscences.

Ginny Jones





SKing
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Jul 10, 2009, 9:21 AM

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In 1979 I was a token yank sailing on Mistress Quickly as bowman for Bill Whitehouse. We approached Fastnet Rock at dusk with a full main and #1 up. The maxi’s Kiaola, Condor and Siska had rounded not too long before us and were headed home. In the next few hours things detiorated rapidly with changes to the #2 (miserable sail), then a reef, then the #3, the second reef, the #4 and finally the 3rd reef. I went off at midnight but we changed to the #5 next.

Sometime after midnight I was below in the mid, port cabin on the floor trying to rest, still in my gear and life harness. I happened to be on top of the storm staysail when we blew out the #5 so I helped bring it on deck. I looked back at Don Tracy on the helm and yelled to him that we would take the #5 down first before setting the staysail on the inner forestay.

I will never forget that sail change on the narrow bow of Mistress Quickly. I was clipped on (unusual in those days) and had one hand on the lifelines as I struggled to get the remnants of the #5 down on deck. MQ was 72’ feet long and CLIMBING waves as I wondered what in the hell a simple boy from Nebraska was doing in the Irish sea getting his butt kicked in the middle of the night. We got the pieces down, then hanked on the staysail and eventually got it sheeted in. The boat was doing 10 to 12 knots if I remember right and we knew we were threading through the entire fleet approaching Fastnet Rock with a combined closing speed somewhere between 15 and 20 knots. Except you could not see anything and could only sense the boat climbing up a big wave and knowing that it would be breaking at the top. You simply put your shoulder down, warned the boys huddled in the mid deck, held on to the wheel and hoped the life harness would hold if you got taken off. After the race the helm was bent 4 inches out of round from someone clinging to it.

I don’t remember the course that night but I am pretty sure that every single helmsman added 15 degrees to the right of what the navigator was telling us to steer. I know I did anyway! No one was coming into the Scilly Isles with the possibility we would have to tack to round them…reaching down TO them would be okay with us.

The next morning we were finally around and heading down the channel for Plymouth. It was blowing too hard to shake the reefs but we had some sort of headsail in the groove forward and a blooper (remember bloopers?) flying. The blooper didn’t stay up long if I remember correctly and at one point we felt the boat settle into a particularly large following wave and she just took off. The analogue speedo only went to 20 knots and we just pegged it there with spray shooting above the shroud rollers and everyone screaming on deck.

We finished fourth over the line and after a few beers I hitchhiked out of Plymouth to see a friend off at Heathrow. I really had no sense of the tragedy that had unfolded. Two days later in London I did buy some papers and at the urging of some English friends called my parents back in the states. I didn’t really think this was necessary since “no one in the states follows yacht racing…” but the folks were pretty upset. They had been calling the State Department for news, didn’t know the name of the boat I was on and had heard nothing from me. If my daughter ever does that to me I will strangle her.

In retrospect I would comment that no one ever intentionally puts themselves in those kind of conditions (with the around the world sailors being the exception I guess) but coming through the experience marks you for life in some intangible way. I was on a really solid boat crewed by friends with multinational experience so my race was not tainted with personal loss. Looking back now I would not trade the time on the bow of Mistress Quickly that night for anything…but it could easily have been something else.

Regards,

Scott King, Bermuda



Andrew Bray
*

Jul 10, 2009, 9:30 AM

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John Rousmaniere refers to the importance and influence of the 1979 Fastnet Race Inquiry Report. For those who have never read this it is now available in full on the Yachting World website: http://www.yachtingworld.com/yw/fastnet/

And for those wanting to read more on that disaster there's 28 pages of it in August's Yachting World.

Regards,
Andrew Bray
EDITOR, Yachting World





Warren Brown
*

Jul 13, 2009, 11:46 AM

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As owner and skipper of War Baby (ex American Eagle) I was pleased how well the yacht stood up under such unusual weather conditions. I do not think that many other 12 metres would have handled the situation but thanks to the very strong hull built by Billy Luders using the cold molded West System all went well. I had been in heavy weather on this yacht both in the mid Atlantic and in the Med and knew that she was a very strong boat.

We had followed the BBC weather forecasts and knew that a storm was coming with fronts heading from South of Greenland as well as from Finisterre. This gave us time to prepare for the weather as we rounded the Fastnet Rock while it was still light. Shortly after rounding we started recording gusts up to 60 knots. At a later date I read in a yachting magazine that a larger vessel to leeward in sight, which had not yet gone around ,was reporting 90. One tends to over exaggerate the strength of the wind.

As the wind increased we shortened sail until we had only a storm trysail and number 4 jib up. I was concerned that we were going too fast for the sea condition so had the trysail taken down. Even so, we did not go over the waves but with her narrow slender hull we went underneath. Water came across the deck as high as the winches on the mast. Our cockpit was full of water all the time. Our life raft had floated out from the floor of the cockpit over the top of the life rails.

My major concern was for the crew as I never felt at any time that she would roll over but rather that a crew member would wash off the boat. Consequently there were only three crew on deck. The two active members each had on two safety harnesses. The third crew member, my nephew, was tied on the stern, with a knife if he had to cut himself loose. His duty was to sit on a hatch that had started to come away. This could have been a disaster if it had broken loose as we could have been flooded.

One of my concerns was colliding with smaller yachts that we could not see on account of the lack of visibility. Only once we saw for a few seconds a red light on our beam. Only after finishing, and I think we came 8th on corrected, did we learn the result of the havoc that had taken place.

I would like to make a few comments on the storm. What was unusual was the condition of the sea…very confused, steep-sided, and a very short distance between wave heights. This meant War Baby was coming out of one sea and going almost immediately into another. I have been through four hurricanes and many severe storms at sea, two of which are well documented. One was September Hurricane in Adlard Cole`s book, Heavy Weather Sailing, with my yacht Force Seven. The other is The Queen`s Birthday Storm between New Zealand and Tonga where it blew 80 plus knots for almost two full days. In both cases the sea patterns were quite different. In September Hurricane the seas were at least 60 feet as I was in the Gulf Stream with the wind against the current and in the other there was a much greater distance between the seas.

In conclusion there are several points I would like to make.

1. Every storm is different.
2. Know how to handle your own boat well…advice from others might lead to disaster.
3. Putting on a storm jib and storm trysail alongside a dock is a waste of time. Do it at sea with 50 knots in the pitch black.
4. There is not enough written about saving an overboard crew in rough conditions. Sailing around them is useless, and probably impossible.
5. The power of colliding waves and swells is enormous. This is what I think premeditated the Fastnet disaster and resulted in the confused conditions all yachts encountered. One of the roughest days I had at sea was on the yacht Palawan in a transatlantic race from Bermuda to Europe. Palawan stood on her nose, and then stern, as well as rolling so badly her mast was almost in the water, first on one side and then the other. The boat was completely out of control and the crew really had to hang on. THERE WAS NO WIND just storm waves coming together. Just add wind and you have the Fastnet.

Respectfully submitted,

Warren Brown


Dennis Durgan
*

Jul 13, 2009, 1:02 PM

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Sailing aboard Italian Admirals Cup racing yacht "YENA" owned by Sergio Doni, I will never forget when the wind started to increase and the waves started to build! I made the decision to sail to the SW of Fastnet Rock so that we would be able to have an easier approach when it came time to round the mark which was one of the scariest mark roundings that I have ever done in my life.

The wind was blowing in excess of 60 knots and there was white foam blowing in the air against the loom of the light. The waves were like a big washing machine! Once we got around, and started on our course back home, the wind started to really build and the waves were breaking for what seemed like half way down the face. We were running with a double reefed mainsail and #4 jib as we felt it was better than going with shorter sail as we were able to keep up a little more speed so as to sail up and down the steep waves that were getting blown off by the wind. It was like skiing down a steep slope in that if you don't keep up a little speed, you can't make the turns necessary to survive.

When daylight arrived, the ocean was white with the biggest waves that I have ever seen! We saw several larger yachts under storm jib only or bare poles looking like they were having a tough time steering. We broached a few times with all of us on deck pulling ourselves back aboard with our life harnesses. The breaking waves would sometimes engulf the boat and fill the cockpit with water which really made the boat much heavier and harder to sail. I think having larger cockpit drains and open transoms in today’s boats are a much safer idea!

Regards,

Dennis Durgan


Robert Townsend
*

Jul 14, 2009, 9:40 AM

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Your article on the famous Fastnet race was interesting. It reminded me of a young French Girl I met at the Toronto International Boat Show and invited to speak to THE Shellback Club of Toronto (Shellbacks are old sailors) , Her story puts another light on the Fastnet storm of 1979. I have no idea of what happened to Brigette -maybe one of your readers has more info.

Regards,

Robert B/ Townsend


BRIGETTE AUBRY

In January of 1980 I met, and was fascinated by a young girl from France who had done the Mini Transit in an Edel 20.

BRIGITTE AUBRY was born at Montargis France. She started her sailing career in Britanny as part of a delivery crew. She signed on as Navigator on a 50' sailboat from the Canaries to the island of Martinique. While in the Caribbean she heard of a race called the Mini-Transat, a transatlantic race for singlehanders in boats of less than 22' overall length.

To earn money she worked as crew on a charter boat for 5 months, spending some time in South America, before returning to France, where she spent a further year acquiring, outfitting and preparing an Edell 22' sailboat for the race.

Brigitte turned out to be a very personable, likeable, charming, gracious, capable, competent and most attractive sailor, when I introduced her as a speaker at Toronto’s Shellback Club.

She told about her qualifying sail, which had to be a minimum 500 miles in the entered boat (in this case a 22’ boat) singlehanded. She chose to sail from her home port of St.Malo, France, on the English Channel, to the Fastnet Rock off the coast of Ireland, and return.

From very light winds, the weather turned nasty, becoming what appeared to be a full storm in the vicinity of the Fastnet Rock. After she rounded the famed rock she observed a large racing sailboat apparently in difficulty, and a rescue helicopter taking the crew off the boat. She could not render assistance, so she carried on. Shortly thereafter she observed another rescue helicopter taking men from a life raft. She was to observe still another big sailboat in some difficulty.

Arriving back in St.Malo she learned that the boats that she had observed were part of the disastrous Fastnet Race of 1979 which because of the intensity of the storm it encountered, hit the world press,, many magazine articles and a couple of books, and was the subject of a major enquiry.

Brigette told us that while the storm was severe, she did not think that it was as bad as the one she encountered in the Bay of Biscay during the Mini Transat later that year.

In the race, I believe it was a two legged race from Plymouth England to Antigua in the Caribbean, Brigitte was the first woman to finish, 13th overall. Her biggest prize was Jacque, who was also in the race and finished 5th overall. At the time I met her, they planned to marry and then sail from the Caribbean to France by way of Newfoundland. They also planned to double hand around the world.


Philip Garland
*

Jul 14, 2009, 9:47 AM

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In 1989 I was navigating for Great News, a 1985 50’ Farr IOR design competing as the big boat on the US Admiral’s Cup team. The boat was chartered by Randy Short, owned by David Forbes and John Calvert-Jones, and crewed by a mix of Australian and US guys with Tom Blackaller as skipper. We were a little off the pace for the inshore races with several more recent designs being a bit quicker, particularly the new Danish Andelsbanken, skippered by Jens Christiansen.

For the Fastnet race, we had Jim Pugh and Rodney Patterson as team consultants for local conditions. We had done some research of the conditions at Portland Bill for several days leading up to the start…the weather pattern (hot, high pressure, light seabreezes) was pretty consistent and our research showed little wind inshore at night (our spy spent the night at Portland Bill), while offshore in the channel the wind had stayed SW at 8-12 knots throughout the night. With the tide due to turn foul about the time we reached Portland Bill, we made the decision to head offshore rather than beat along the coast.

The next morning at the radio check-in we were off Start Point and the next Admiral’s Cup Big boat was 16 miles astern. Nearly the entire fleet had parked at Portland Bill, unable to get around the headland in the night while we sailed in a light but consistent breeze offshore. Tom did not like offshore races that much but he cackled aloud at our fortune that day. We all took turns driving and enjoying the rest of the race. Andelsbanken apparently were not doing the radio check-ins and did not realize we were ahead until we passed them returning from the rock…we heard later they were a bit surprised.

Anyway, we went on to score a big win, adding to Tom’s long list of sailing achievements. We convinced him to stick around for the prize giving, having won 1st overall in fleet, we collected a lot of silver. It was a great moment, but sadly Tom passed away a few weeks later from a heart attack. I wish it had not been Tom’s last race…it was a great one.

Regards,

Philip Garland



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Simon Skey
*

Jul 14, 2009, 10:08 AM

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So here is my memory of a night to remember.

I was skipper on a 36ft Holman Pye Design “Red Admiral”. It was a relatively new design, and there was some question as to whether we had enough ballast as the boat was unusually tender - especially upwind.

The following is taken verbatim from the log - (not all hours shown):
Monday August 13th
0600 - 4 miles west of The Lizard. Raining. Thick fog. No wind. Very, very wet.
1200 - SW 22 knots, wet and windy.
1500 - SW 32 knots, #3 and 3 slabs (in the main) - Yacht still broaching at times on fine reach.
2100 - S 15 knots, #2 and 2 slabs in main.
2300 - SW 30 knots, #2 down. Storm jib up.
2400 - SSW 35 knots, 3rd slab in main.

Tuesday August 14th
0100 - Wind gusting >50 knots. Main down - storm jib only.
0200 - W 40 to 50 knots. Very rough indeed. Barometer leveling and starting to rise. WRONG. Glass still falling. Lots of water in cabin sole. Cannot get it away.
0400 - W >50 knots.
Log ends.

By 2400 on Monday night/Tuesday morning we were barreling along, heading for the Fastnet on a NW course. As the wind veered to the west we gradually headed northwards till at 0400 on Tuesday morning we were heading almost due north at a location just to the north east of the Labardie bank. As the log indicates we were getting a lot of water down below and were very concerned as to where it was coming from. We checked the hull and all the through hull fittings as best we could and determined that the water seemed to be coming from aft. We later surmised that although the cockpit drains were working fine, they could not handle the large volumes of water coming into the cockpit. Thus the water level in the cockpit was above the lower level of the cockpit lockers and water was leaking through these into the boat. As you can see from the log entry we could not get it away. At this stage I sent a Pan message (I think it may have been a Securite message - I cannot quite remember) to the Overijssel (Sp?) which was the mother ship for the race, saying that we were fine but had water coming on board from where we did not know but we seemed to be keeping it at bay by bailing.

After some deliberation we decided to slow down and see if that reduced the water ingress. It seemed to work and so by 0700 we were under bare poles running NNE streaming warps with plenty of sea-room. So we were pumping like mad till the pump broke and then we were a bucket brigade with buckets being passed up the hatch to the deck crew. Unfortunately just as we were beginning to make headway with the water and thinking that once the wind died a bit we would harden up and head off to the rock, we were hit by an enormous wave and rolled over. Not entirely over, but far enough for the centre cockpit to be submerged and a torrent of sea water to pour down the open hatch. Of course in those days the radio was always at the foot of the companionway by the nav station and so it was deluged and rendered inoperable. Later we tried to dry it out in the oven but to no effect.

At this stage I think we got lucky as there was no second wave and we rolled back up again. As I went up the companionway steps I realized to my horror that my two crew who had been in the cockpit were not there. In fact they were in the process of climbing back up the stern steps saying “no, after you!” It seemed that our tactic of doubling up the safety harnesses had worked. This had the effect of reducing the distance they were thrown and hence the load on the safety harness. Neither they nor anyone else on my crew were injured.

At this stage the boat was in a pretty good shambles. The top of the mast was bent. The warps we had streaming were wrapped around the rudder, and the mess down below was indescribable.

We were knocked down approx 51 15N and 7 45W. Thereafter we ran under bare poles in a NW direction while we sorted out the mess, double-bunked the crew and generally took stock.

The weather improved all day so much so that I was able to take a midmorning, noon and afternoon sun sight and by 1730 had a position about 35 miles to the SSW of Dunmore east. We still had plenty of sea-room up the St George’ Channel and so I wasn’t too worried. However the boat was a terrible mess and I was going to have to explain to the owner how I had ruined his boat. I was not looking forward to that conversation! At this stage we had absolutely no idea of the extent of the storm or the general damage to the fleet. We were an island unto ourselves and were trying to work out what we had done wrong to be in this situation.

At about 18:30 we spotted the Dunmore East lifeboat crashing through the waves towards us. We all immediately burst into tears!! I guess we had not realized quite how stressful the previous 24 hours had been. We accepted the tow into Dunmore East where we arrived in the wee hours of the morning. We were met by the most hospitable and friendly people ever and were promptly taken up to the local pub where we were treated with amazing hospitality. By about 7 or 8 am I realized I had to phone the owner and explain what had happened.

Of course we had no idea of the severity of the overall situation. We had not had a radio and thought that our situation was probably caused by our own inadequacies rather than anything else. I mean you don’t do a Fastnet unless you are prepared for the roughest of conditions. I grew up on the Solent and for years, as a boy, I would see yachts limping down the Solent after a Fastnet storm. So I knew that Fastnet and Storm were synonymous. We only started to get an idea of the overall situation while we were in Dunmore East

So the owner was having his breakfast in London and reading with horror the story of the race and tucked away in a corner of the press was a note that our yacht had reported taking on water at 0400 and not being heard from since was believed to have sunk!!! He was fielding phone calls from anxious friends and relatives of the crew and generally speaking having a horrible time. Then my call came in……..it was quite the most amazing phone call I have ever made - him thinking we were gone and me apologizing for the state of his boat! You can imagine.

To sum up, my main memory of the race was the incredible crew I had, who never complained and worked like madmen to keep us going and alive. I was, and still am, immensely proud of their efforts. The other memory is of the noise. Somehow the noise of the howling and shrieking wind to me is way more frightening than the crashing and bashing of the waves and the yacht. It made even simple communications incredibly difficult.

To this day I am not sure of the mistakes I made. I did not consider the design of the cockpit lockers hazardous and had sailed on this boat for about 3 months before the race - cruising round Portugal and Ireland. I am pretty sure that is where the water was coming from and presume that we got rolled over because we were lower in the water than we should have been. I think we made a mistake with the warps. Maybe they were not long enough or big enough, but the fact that they wrapped around the rudder after the knock down was quite debilitating.

So today I still have a copy of the chart we used and the log - and marvel at how we survived. I have still to finish a Fastnet and maybe one day the opportunity will arise. Who knows?

Thanks for the opportunity to write this out.

Best wishes to all in the race this year

Simon Skey




James Mattingly
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Jul 14, 2009, 12:20 PM

Post #12 of 26 (15018 views)
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Sailing the 61-foot Tenacious (a 1971 S&S design), we rounded the ROCK at approximately 18:00, hard on the wind with the #3 jib and double reef in the mainsail. Overpowered, we quickly changed down to a new special #4 and a third reef. Cold, wet, exhausted, and hungry coming off watch 20:00, our cook Jane Potts treated us to a delicious standing rib roast with all the trimmings. I don't know how she did it. The "finger food" certainly gave the deserving crew the needed warmth and energy.

Reporting at the nav station for the grave yard watch midnight to 04:00 -- I'll never forget Ted Turner's briefing and PEP talk -- "Mattingly, it's HELL out there. These are some of the worst conditions we'll ever experience. Rally your guys & be EXTRA careful. It's so bad twenty people are going to die out there tonight" (it turned out to be fifteen in the race & five coastal).

I couldn't believe he said that!! Oh well, that's Ted. My sympathy and prayers to those who weren’t so fortunate and a great tribute to our nineteen crew members for pulling through with a victory.

Smooth Sailing,

Jim Mattingly





Duby Joslin
*

Jul 15, 2009, 11:03 AM

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I remember sitting on the rail of Tenacious that night with the wind howling and the seas building. As we had rounded the Light earlier in the evening, one of our biggest obstacles became avoiding the smaller boats that were still beating out to the Light.

The boats bobbed wildly up and down in the large seas, and it seems that a green starboard running light would suddenly turn to a red port running light. As a boat would got closer and closer, the guys on the rail with me would try and yell to our helmsman, Jim Mattingly, telling him which way to steer to avoid smashing into one of the approaching yachts. Much to my amazement, we did not collide with anyone that night, though I was certain we would.

As the sun broke the next morning what we saw were these unbelievably tall waves which would swallow up Tenacious in their troughs. It was still blowing at least 55 knots and the top of the waves were completely blown off into a cloud of flying spray. Then you would get out of synch with the waves and run down the back of one and into the front of another one. With green water breaking over the deck, everyone held on to the boat and their tether for dear life and would come up looking right and left to make sure that none of our fellow shipmates had been lost overboard.

I had just started a new job back in the States before leaving for the Fastnet Race. Communications were very poor and it took 2-3 days before my new employer found out for sure that I was still alive.

Regards,

Royal "Duby" Joslin


Chip Barber
*

Jul 16, 2009, 9:50 AM

Post #14 of 26 (14769 views)
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I was navigator in the Naval Academy’s 56 foot S&S sloop ALLIANCE (ex-CHARISMA) in the 1979 Fastnet Race. As a Lieutenant Commander, teaching celestial navigation during the school year, I had been assigned to coach the midshipman crew for the summer.

We had just won that year’s transatlantic race to Cork, so the crew was trained and tested. This turned out to be to our advantage. My most vivid memory is of lashing myself to the mast at night trying to obtain a position fix using a B&G RDF (with headset). The only lines of position available were two distant RDF stations and a CONSOLAN station (I think in Normandy). Trying to count the dots and dashes, and remember them, while falling sideways off of forty foot seas didn’t provide me with my most accurate fixes!

After being shown one fix on the chart, the skipper (Ned Shuman) asked how confident I was in it. I responded that it was good to “plus or minus ten miles”. Ned then asked how far Fastnet Rock was from Mizen Head. My reply, “four and a half miles” wasn’t what he wanted to hear!

Monitoring the radios that night as we slowly made our way toward the Rock was truly frightening. It became obvious that people were dying and that there was nothing we could do to assist. I still think about them. ALLIANCE finished and won the Inter-Regimental trophy that year.

Three years ago I wrote an article about my Fastnet experience for Virginia Sportsman magazine. Please see http://virginiasportsman.com/html/june_july_06.html and click on “Fastnet Force Ten Race” on the magazine cover.


Best regards,

Chip Barber


David Redfern
*

Jul 19, 2009, 10:19 AM

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Toby West was Cox of the Falmouth lifeboat and a great chgaracter. Sadly Toby died about four years ago in his eighties. His pride was a Falmouth oyster boat called Victory, over a 100 years old. Every Sunday morning Toby held court in his hacienda on Falmouth waterfront with a few cronies to drink rum. moonshine kept in coconut shells, and we sang songs, told jokes and stories.

He told me that at the time of the Fastnet, he was out with the crew on a training run, totally unprepared for the marathon to follow. There was no food on board and when rescuing one of the boats he demanded a ransom of food and drink before beginning the rescue. "All they had was a bottle of gin and a fruit cake. I hate gin, was hoping for brandy or rum, and I don't like cake. But that's all we had to keep us going."

I think John Rousmaniere remembers Toby well and mentions him in his book. Toby was also on a tug in WWII which went to the rescue of a cargo ship off the Scottish Isles. The ship was aground, and when he went up the gangplank to board the ship he was turned away by an officer with a gun. "Get off until we've lightened the ship". They were removing the cargo to the caves on shore. This boat became the centrepiece of a story by Compton Mackenzie and the cargo they were taking off was whisky. The subsequent film of the event was called Whisky Galore!

David





JRousmaniere
**

Jul 20, 2009, 7:28 AM

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Thanks for that warm memory, David. Courage was by no means limited to the sailors. Thirteen RNLI lifeboats went out into the storm, served nearly 170 hours, and towed or escorted 18 yachts with more than 100 men and women back to haven.

Toby West was one of the two RNLI coxes I visited for long and (despite the subject matter) entertaining talks. The other was the equally colorful and remarkable Matt Lethbridge, out at St. Mary's, Isles of Scilly.

John Rousmaniere


Antony Payne
*

Jul 20, 2009, 8:38 AM

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My father Basil Payne at the age of 13 was a crew member on his uncle's Tally Ho when she won the 1927 Fasnet Race. Only 2 yachts completed due to storms.






The Publisher
*****


Jul 21, 2009, 12:02 PM

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“The best source of stories from the ’79 Fastnet Race is obviously England,” writes Roger Vaughan, who sailed the ’79 race on board the maxi, Kialoa. He was writing a profile of owner Jim Kilroy at the time. It turned into a book: Fastnet, One Man’s Voyage. Recently, Vaughan was in England working on a biography of Oyster Marine founder Richard Matthews, who has done 24 Fastnet Races, including 1979.

“Because England is a small country,” Vaughan says, “the racing fraternity is an extended family. Most competitive sailors in the UK had a mate, or at least the mate of a friend, who was injured, traumatized, or lost during that violent night.”

In the course of his research, Vaughan spoke with Peter Clements, former Commodore of West Mersea Yacht Club, who has raced five yachts named Carronade over the past 35 years. He raced his Gary Mull three-quarter-tonner in the ’79 Fastnet.

Carronade suffered a bad broach during Cowes Week that had put a dent in the mast above a sleeved section down low (Vaughan writes). So when the storm hit, Clements called a crew meeting. With 100 miles to go (upwind) to the Rock, they decided to retire. Running before the wind with storm jib only, runners and hydraulic backstay on, the mast opened up. Clements radioed Land’s End every hour, urging them to start looking for them if they failed to report in.

Carronade made it to Plymouth. Clements rang up his wife, who burst into tears at the sound of his voice. She told him their next door neighbor had already been reported lost at sea.

As a member of the RORC committee, Clements helped man the phones. On the second day, he recognized the late Peter Blake coming up the stairs to the RORC office. Blake was skipper of Condor of Bermuda, the Bowman 80 by Ron Holland, that had taken line honors that year. He had a girl with him. “Blake asked about a boat named Camargue,” Clements says. “The girl’s brother was a crewman. I knew he had been reported dead. I must have looked horrified because without a word, Blake quickly turned the girl around and marched her down the stairs.

“Twenty years later I saw Blake, who was now famous, at a gathering. I went up to him and asked if he remembered that awful moment in the RORC office. He said he certainly did. I asked him whatever became of the girl. He said, ‘She’s my wife.’ ”





fred Baggerman
*

Jul 21, 2009, 2:53 PM

Post #19 of 26 (14526 views)
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I was a crew member on "Acadia", sailing for the Argentinean Admirals Cup team. On board was a team of sailors that included Dutch, American, Argentine, Australian and English nationals such as Burt Keenan, the owner, German Frers, the designer, Neill Harvey and a host of others.

As we were crossing the Irish Sea, we got word of the weather forecast and the expected force ten wind speeds. It was decided that the news would not be share with the rest of the crew so as to not alarm some of the less experienced people on board.

While approaching the Rock, the wind had gradually strengthened to the point where it became obvious that we would have to reef to beat around the Fastnet Rock. We did not have reefing lines rigged. So it was decided to get close, drop the main in the shadow of the mark, rig the lines and continue with the appropriate sail plan. This was still some time away so we enjoyed the now sometimes hairy ride.

I remember we took the chute down and closed reached in. Just as it became time to get all hands on deck for the rounding, I was awakened by the loudest bang I have ever heard on a boat. The boat layed over to the point were the chart table top opened up, water was coming in like a fire hose and it was panic. Burt thought we had been hit by a freighter, that is hoe loud the crash was.

Jack, whose last name I can not remember and had been asleep on the leeward side of the boat had a bowl of spaghetti sauce dumped on him This made for quite a scene as it looked liked he had gotten hurt very badly. In the end we got a good laugh out of that part.

As I got dressed to go up on deck, I was struggling to get into my foul weather pants. Another bang and the next thing I knew my legs were above me an I slid right into them.

We finally got all set and rounded the Rock. Very scary as in the dark on moment you would see a light 30 feet below and the next it would be 30 feet above you. Tough to set a course with out converging with the incoming boats. Lookouts were incredibly important.

After an hour we got knock down again . This was the third and also the last time. Geman Frers was steering the boat. We yelled for him to hang on, which he did very well. Harvey had already broken two spokes in the wheel in the first knock down and the thing was already bend out of shape.
German disappeared under a mountain of water and when he came back up he looked like he had seen a ghost. I asked if he wanted relief to which he answered affirmative. I took over and drove the boat for the next hour and half or so.

During this time the rest of my watch team members ended up going down below one after the other, until only Jack and I were on deck. He was laying in the cockpit, sicker than a dog. After banging on deck and screaming and hollering for a while, I finally got relieved.

All through the night and early morning the wind started to diminish and we gradually increased our sail area. As we were approaching the Scilly's we ended up with the .5 ounce chute, just ghosting along.

After we finished and turned into Plymouth, we did not see to many masts in port and we had big smiles on our faces thinking we had weathered the storm rather well. At that time we were unaware of the tragedy that had taken place out at sea. We knew we had seen bad weather, but not to the extent two cause all the carnage.It was not until I talked to my very close friend Susan McIntyre that she informed of what had happened. We were dumbfounded.

I will never forget that race. I have seen my share of bad weather, but never seas that big coming from all directions at once. It thought me that as long as you can work as a team and approach challenges that way, you can overcome everything. I wish I could be there to do it again. Lets never forget

In Reply To





Robert Williams
*

Jul 23, 2009, 7:03 AM

Post #20 of 26 (13341 views)
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From Bob Williams – Owner/skipper of 45’ Curran sloop ‘Parmelia’ participant in the 1979 Fastnet Race:

‘Parmelia’ participated in the 1979 Parmelia Race - Plymouth to Fremantle with a crew of six Western Australian sailors. Given that we were in the south of England preparing for the race to Australia at the time of the 1979 Fastnet Race we entered ‘Parmelia’ for the ‘once in a lifetime’ experience. It certainly turned out that way.

We raced in Class 1 with 56 other starters and finished in 35th position some 25 hours after the first boats in our Class finished. We were laden down with supplies for our trip to Australia and sailed well off course and were becalmed soon after rounding the rock so we experienced the greatest extremes during the 112 hours we took to complete the event. We experienced being completely submerged by a dumping wave during a sail change at the height of the storm, the wind howling in the rigging, impossible to look forward due to spray like bullets, and all around the sea a blanket of white. We were as scared as hell but came out of it unscathed and much the better for the experience.

The whole event is indelibly printed in our minds. Bob Williams, Director Ocean Events Pty Ltd. Other crew members : Roger Smith, Tony Stanton, Neil Batt, Les Nathan, Ray Gisby. In memory of the souls who lost their lives that tragic night.


Eric Robbins
*

Jul 23, 2009, 7:20 AM

Post #21 of 26 (13334 views)
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Your series on this epic race would not be complete without the stories of the J-30s, "Juggernaut" who competed in the race, and another who was completing a delivery to England SINGLEHANDED, with the dodger up, in the worst of the storm. Although written a long time ago, the article by Bob Johnstone is a worthwhile addition.

Here is the link, on the J-30 website: Fastnet Storm

Eric Robbins


Steve Ashley
*

Jul 23, 2009, 7:39 AM

Post #22 of 26 (13328 views)
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I was an 18 year old Sailmaker at North Sails and was one of 7 crew on the OOD 34 “Allemanda II” since her launch about 3 months prior to the Fastnet. On the morning of the storm if memory serves me correctly we were nearly becalmed off Lands end. The wind slowly increased during the day as we headed out across the Irish sea and by late evening we were reaching fairly comfortably with full main and #3 in about 30 knots.

Almost exactly at midnight the wind suddenly increased to 60 knots and we lay on our side with sails flogging. I remember trying to help my crewmate on the tiller (name I’ve since forgotten) to try to get the boat to bear away and run off but to no avail. I then opened the hatch and called to the others, who were about to come on watch, to help get the sails down but at that moment the rig collapsed overboard.

We spent the next 45 minutes cutting free the rig. None of the rigging appeared to have broken as we had to cut everything. The only explanation we have is that possibly, with the violent shaking from the flogging sails, the backstay ram had released its pressure and had caused the mast to invert and collapse.

Once the rig was cut away we put the liferaft in the cockpit, started the engine and motored in the direction of Cork. I then went off watch and slept for just over an hour on the starboard saloon berth before waking up suddenly standing on the deckhead. I don’t think we had been rolled 360 but 180 and come up the same way. I scrambled up into the cockpit to find 2 of the crew trailing astern by their harness tethers. I helped pull them back aboard then we turned our attention to another crew who was screaming in pain as when the boat had righted his harness had pinned him with the small of his back over a primary winch. I think we cut his tether to get him off. Next I headed up to the bow with another chap to try to recover the liferaft, which before the roll over had only been secured to the boat by its inflation tether and was now streaming off the bow upside down and acting as a sea anchor. I seem to remember it taking 15 to 30 minutes to get it alongside and right it. We then found that the top ring was deflated. We lashed the raft alongside but sometime before dawn it broke free.

We had no engine or power now and just lashed the tiller and retired below, leaving the boat to lay a hull on port tack. The washboards had been washed away so we broke up the engine box to close off the companion way. The stove, previously on the port side, had flown off its gimbals and smashed open the window above the Nav table on the starboard side grazing one of the crews’ temple enroute. This turned out to be a good thing as there was a considerable amount of water in the boat and neither the bilge pump nor the toilet pump was operable but with a saucepan we were able to slowly bail the boat out through the window.

We were finally able to catch our breath and decided that it be prudent to put on lifejackets. Everyone did except for the youngest crewmember, being me, as we seemed to be one short. The older chaps didn’t think that right so one of them gave me theirs. The motion of the boat with no rig and increasingly violent waves slamming into us was horrendous and all but one of us were seasick. We were all soaked through and very cold as we did our best to rest up whilst awaiting daylight to better assess our situation. At this stage none of us were overly concerned for our safety. However with the light of day our concerns grew.

With daylight we were able to peer out of the windows to windward and see the 10 to 12m near vertical grey mountains rear themselves before us. It seemed impossible that we could ride over them but the boat just tipped on its side and up we’d go. We found a battery powered portable radio and tuned it to the BBC news, and it was only then that we began to realise that we may be in more strife than previously thought. The reports of boats sinking and crew drownings were most sobering. We glimpsed the Dutch destroyer (forget name) that was mentioned on the news as being in the area but even if we were able to call her on the VHF we still had no thoughts of needing to be rescued. Our hull was still sound and we’d found a packet of biscuits to nibble on.

By Lunchtime there were signs of the wind easing and the sun was starting to show itself. We saw a dismasted French half tonner drift past not far away. Around 1pm the wind was down to 30 to 40 knots and the sun was out more so we decided to post a person in the cockpit to keep watch. By about 3pm the wind had dropped a little further and we all came on deck and started rigging up the spinnaker pole and storm jib to get us home. We were just about to hoist sail when a Two Tonner motored up to us but before we had a chance to talk to them a Sea King chopper approached and a crewman was lowered down into our cockpit. He immediately grabbed the closest person to him which happened to be our Owner/ Skipper Michael Campbell. I remember Michael yelling above the roar of the rotors “I’ll just go and check on the weather”. He didn’t come back down with the crewman who came down alone and snatched another one of us off. After this they must have thought we’d grasped what their plan was and just lowered the sling for us to put on ourselves.

Abandoning ship had never entered our minds. We were quite confident we’d get ourselves home somehow but now it seemed we had no choice. I learnt an important lesson when it came to my turn in that big choppers produce big amounts of static electricity and one should allow the cable to earth itself before grabbing the sling. We flew a short distance and collected the crew of the French ½ tonner we’d seen earlier then off to the South Coast of England to HMS Cauldrose (I think the base was called). We were very well looked after there for the night and had been told that the Navy had been instructed to uplift anyone they found on disabled boats before nightfall due to possibly more bad weather developing.

We bought a newspaper at the train station the next morning and read that all the crew of Allemanda II had been lost in the storm.

Michael chartered a plane and flew out to find his yacht. I’m not sure that he spotted it but two days later a Dutch Coaster towed her in. To avoid damaging the yacht two of her crew had swum the tow rope over to her and remained on board tidying the mess up during the tow. Michael had her repaired and then donated her to the RORC sail training program having decided that his first taste of yacht racing that year had been thoroughly quenched.


Steve Ashley
The Rigging Shop and Sailbrokers
PO Box 34465, Birkenhead 0746
North Shore City, New Zealand
Tel/Fax: 09 4196 519 Cell: 0274 777969
Personal and Professional Marine and
Architectural Rigging Services
Brokerage for Second-hand Yacht Sails
View our full inventory online: www.sailbrokers.co.nz



Keith Lorence
*

Jul 23, 2009, 8:00 AM

Post #23 of 26 (13314 views)
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I was sitting calmly in my Seattle office when my brother Ed Lorence called me for a phone number of a friend to be a trimmer at Cowes week. I responded, “What am I, chipped fish?” Next day I was on an airplane to England to sail on La Pantera for the Hong Kong AC team. La Pantera was, (and still is) the prototype for the Serendipity 43.

Cowes week was a windy affair with many Sharon Green photos showing bare bottoms. We started the Fastnet under fair skies headed for the west.

One of the first points that remain in my mind was when anchored under The Bill Of Portland to escape the strong flood. We anchored near a 50 footer, and every twenty minutes or so, Ed would say to them, “That's another 5 minutes you owe us." Time on time.

After Land's End, we were off watch ripping downwind in what sounded like 25 knots when Ed asks all of us off watchers to go all the way aft behind the rudder post, and would we bring all of the sails with us. We all yanked the sails aft and sat in the back of the bus until reality hit. As watch captain, I asked all of the guys to get their gear on and go up on deck, and be prepared for the worst. Five of us huddled around the rudder post, grunting into wool and foul weather gear. Loads of fun.

Then we made it to deck and were appalled at the maelstrom around us. Boats flat in the water flogging spinnakers. Our watch took up residence hiked over the transom while Benny (Ben Mitchell) fought to keep the boat going straight. The pit person was instructed to flake the spin halyard on the floor and be ready for Ben’s call to blow it, and to keep his foot out of the loops. Seemed like lying the boat down was not a good option.

Sure enough, the inevitable came, and we had to blow it and go to the jib top. That lasted two hours while the wind rose to 40 or so. We then went to the #3 and a reef in the main. Several hours later, we came back on watch and I called for the #4 and a second reef. Ed looked out the hatch and said "Why not the storm jib?” It was really getting windy by then, 45 or more. Chris, the navigator gave us a course to Fastnet, but Benny and I agreed to up it 15 degrees to compensate for leeway and surface drift. Seemed to be the right thing, as we came right in on Fastnet rock.

After the rock we went down below for a wet rest, and came back up 3 hours later. It was really blowing, almost as much as the Indian Ocean. I called for the main down and storm jib only. Shit it was rough, waves up to the upper spreaders. We sailed for 3 hours before the other watch came up and asked why we had taken the main down. We told them it was pretty darn windy - give it 30 minutes and we would come up and help if they wanted to put it back up. Slept - for what it was - and came back up 3 hours later to find the main still down. I asked my brother why they didn’t put it back up. Scared was the answer.

We had the AM watch when it was time to report in, but the RC said to keep off the air as they were in full rescue mode. This was our first inclination that there was a full rescue operation in place. We had a brief breakfast of whatever, and sailed on. Benny and I were driving in 60 knots of wind with storm jib only and all else secured. I recall a wave that we (Benny and I) decided to take off on. It was a hellish ride, but being surfers, we got it right, and had one hell of a ride. Only problem was that the rudder shaft torqued about 7 degrees. It remains this way to this day.

Later, we put up our smallest spinnaker, after all it was down to 18 knots. We looked at each other and said go big or go home. The storm was over and we sailed safely into Plymouth.

Upon arrival at our B&B, the mistress asked which one is Keith Lorence? Then the phone rang and it was a Seattle newspaper. Apparently I was reported missing at sea in the worst storm ever. I stated that reports of my loss at sea were greatly over stated. Fun to get interviewed by the Seattle papers!!

Regards,

Keith Lorence





Don Tracey
*

Jul 27, 2009, 12:55 PM

Post #24 of 26 (13003 views)
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During the '79 Fastnet, the mini-maxi 75ft "Mistress Quickly"[ex-"Ballyhoo"] designed by Ben Lexen [Bob Miller], with skipper Pete "Crash" Mccarthy went around Fastnet Rock, just after midnight.

We were fortunate to have a very experienced crew and drivers onboard and when the storm hit, they steered in turns for 15-20 minutes periods, due to the extreme wind, sea, and driven spray conditions.

The boat at the time was broad reaching, under a double reefed main and #4 jib, with winds in the 35 knot range with much heavier gusts, with the spreader lights on to help any boats coming to the Rock to see us better.

I was one of the watch captains, and took the wheel about 0100, soon after there was this very large roar of a breaking wave, which laid the boat nearly flat, and at that time I saw on the B&G that we were doing 15 knots sideways, with surf in the mainsail, lit by the spreader lights.

When the boat staggered back, the three on-deck watch, from the center cockpit, were at the ends of their harnesses at the lee rail, both the dodgers were gone, and then we discovered both liferafts from the foredeck, had also been washed overboard .

We continued on until daylight, and saw the spinnakers of two maxis ahead, at that time we hoisted the 3 oz "bulletproof" kite, still with two reefs in the main. The true wind was still in the 40-45 knot range, and the boat was surfing at over 20 knots, which was considered fast for those days.

We carried this rig all the way to Plymouth, finishing fourth over the line. The total damage was limited to, a 2 foot tear in the luff of the #4 jib, 2 missing liferafts and dodgers, and a lot of bruised, wet, and hungry guys.

It was reported the top winds were in excess of 60 knots and the maximum wave height was 15-18 metres. There is a lot to be said for a well found yacht with an experienced crew.


Best Regards,
Don Tracey
Don Tracey


Blue Robinson
*

Aug 4, 2009, 1:12 PM

Post #25 of 26 (11937 views)
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Re: [The Publisher] 1979 Fastnet Race - 30th Anniversary [In reply to] Log-In to Post/Reply

In August 1979 I was the sixteen year old nipper onboard a 35 foot yacht with four other crew, cruising the southern Irish coast and waiting to see the 303 yachts in the race fleet round the Fastnet. We had become supporters of the Irish team - we knew they were doing well and thought they might clinch it. The week before we had visited Ron Holland and I had read with wide eyes the Yeats poem - The Song of the Wandering Aengus, on a heavy wooden plaque outside his office door:

I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands,
And walk among the dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

On the morning of August 13th we sailed around the rock with newspapers for the lighthouse crew. The sea was smooth, but an oily swell surging onto its base prevented us from delivering the daily's in our inflatable.

During that afternoon the breeze increased, but not by much. We pulled into an anchorage on the tiny island of Cape Clear, four miles from the Fastnet rock - unaware of the hurricane that was sweeping towards us across the Atlantic. That night the wind and swell increased, lifting the surge in the harbour to about seven feet. In between listening to snatches of the horrendous news unfolding on the VHF, we were bursting fenders and snapping mooring lines as thick as a wrist.

After midnight, a big ketch prepared to head out to see if it could assist. I knew the crew and attempted to join them - but the the skipper put his hand on my shoulder and wisely stopped me, happier to head out with people he knew. I watched the masts tilt back as it rose up the mountainous seas just outside the breakwater. They returned an hour later, battered, exhausted and unable to find any of the fleet.

At dawn I climbed to the top of the island, struggling to make any headway in the gale. Lifting my head over a ridge the wind that hit me was immense, blasting my eyes with a force I didn't encounter again until punching past Cape Horn twenty years later.


The entire seascape was white and to me surprisingly flat. For the first time I knew I had witnessed a force of such absolute and raw power, it overwhelmed and terrified me. I ran back down the heath, stunned at the conditions and astonished that any of the fleet had survived.

Even though I was just an observer - secure in Cape Clear, the horror of listening to the tragedy around us that night remained raw and fresh in my mind. I remember leaning on a balcony at a party on a warm August night in the early 80's, realizing what day it was and weeping uncontrolably.

We cut short the cruise and in a sombre mood headed back to our home port of Jersey. Near the Labadie bank - halfway between Ireland and England, we were hit by by a gale which busted our steering gear. An RAF Nimrod found us, a cargo ship came to get us and a Sea King hovered overhead as we transfered over in the Zodiac. Knowing some of the Fastnet crews has been sucked into the propellers as they were being rescued by ships, I was on my knees trying to steady the dinghy and calm the other crew. I clearly recall staring into the lean faces of the ships crew on deck one moment, then, as the swell rolled the ship away, looking up at the hull and enormous propeller churning high above us, thrashing the water as it kept the ship on station. Above the turning propeller and the high-octane flutter of the Sea King, I remember the calm voice of the Nimrod pilot on our hand-held VHF signing off, heading for another job. I hoped I wasn't about to sign off...

I walked down to a footpath around a calm Sydney harbour last night, and thought about that time thirty years ago. The memory of looking up at that great thrashing propeller still makes my bowels shrivel - but we survived, thanks to a tall sinewy stoker who, waiting for the roll of the ship and watching us rise the sixty or so feet towards him, plucked us one at a time out of the Zodiac, grabbing me last - and with his hand clenching my at the throat, suspended me in the air with his outstretched arm as the dinghy dropped away from me.

Blue Robinson. Sydney.


Philip Crebbin
*

Aug 6, 2009, 12:50 PM

Post #26 of 26 (11730 views)
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Re: [The Publisher] 1979 Fastnet Race - 30th Anniversary [In reply to] Log-In to Post/Reply

I was sailing on Eclipse in the '79 Fastnet, in the British Admirals Cup team. She was a Peterson 39 built by Jeremy Rogers' yard, Contessa Yachts - the smallest size in the Admirals Cup rating band. Jeremy was skippering the boat and we shared the primary helming duties. Also on board were Bill Green, then Jeremy's right-hand man at Contessa Yachts, Jeremy's brother Jonathan Rogers, Peter Bruce as navigator, David Alan-Williams, Jonathan Bradbeer and Iain MacDonald-Smith, then head of North Sails UK. I think I am right in remembering that Bill Tripp was also with us - he worked for Doug Peterson then. I think we had a crew of 9 or 10 in total.

Eclipse was barely finished before the English selection trials, very hard fought in those days with 20+ boats, and we also had a fairly experimental Stearn 3 spreader masthead rig, made from the Stearn 3/4 ton section (designed for approx. 33 footers - basically two sections below the one that was "right" for the boat) with an extra extrusion on the back, slotted into the luff groove of the main section (I worked for Tim Stearn in the UK then, together with John Green, and so I was responsible for tuning the rig and keeping it in the boat!!). Jeremy and Bill were always up for trying new developments and in the previous Admirals Cup in 1977 we had the very first 3 spreader rig on Moonshine, but not quite as extreme as the Eclipse rig!

Eclipse also had a carbon rudder, which was just coming in then. In fact one or two top Admirals Cup boats failed to finish that Fastnet in the conditions because of carbon rudder failure, including Golden Apple on the Irish team (a Holland 43 footer with Harold Cudmore and Rodney Pattison in the crew). Eclipse's rudder was made in-house at Contessa by Ian King and fortunately proved to be stronger than the others.

There were of course many things that stand out in my memory about that race. Probably the most prominent, as described by Denis Durgan, was the view of the Fastnet Rock and the lighthouse with its ghostly loom in such huge seas that were crashing into the rock, creating spume higher than the lighthouse, and then the act of having to tack round it. We went round at about 02.30 and in the middle of the night it was a truly awesome sight. We had no idea how hard it was really blowing as we had already lost our masthead wind instruments.

Before the rock I had been off-watch and was managing to get some sleep down below even in the rough conditions. I then got pretty scared when I woke up to continual shouts that sounded quite fraught, including "Find the flares" and “Get more lifejackets” - even in heavy conditions at night it was not automatic for everybody on deck to wear lifejackets and harnesses in those days - that became a requirement as a result of this race. With the boat leaping about and often at extreme angles, I was wedged up underneath the deck in an upper pipecot pulled as high as it would go (with the underneath of the deck being quite rough and unfinished and my nose up against it). So there was no immediate chance of "escaping" if there was a dire emergency. It was very claustrophobic.

Not surprisingly I began to feel a little seasick for the first time ever while I was down below, but once I was up on deck and got adjusted to the conditions sitting on the rail, I started to feel better, even if still a bit nervous as well as being rather excited of course. I guess I was helped by being still one of the less experienced members of the crew as far as offshore racing was concerned, being in my third season and now doing only my second Fastnet, and I was happy in having a generally more experienced team to look up to.

We had already started picking up on the radio that several boats had got into real trouble, including later hearing that the 44ft Morning Cloud in the British team, with former Prime Minister Edward Heath on board, had been rolled badly. I think before we got round the Rock we had started to hear about lives possibly being lost from smaller boats further back in the fleet, on the now infamous Labadie Bank halfway across the Irish Sea. So inevitably, at our closest point to the Irish shore, there was serious discussion on Eclipse as to whether we should continue or take the safer option and pull into Ireland, just as we knew some others were doing. I was certainly reluctant to stop racing, especially when we were representing Britain in the Admirals Cup, but I did not really enter into the discussion as I deferred to the greater experience of the others. I was pleased when it was decided that we would continue and see how we got on after rounding the Rock.

When we rounded we had the No. 4 jib on and 3 reefs in the mainsail. When going downwind with huge breaking seas and with the wind still increasing – in fact a distinctly stronger line came through at around 0330 to 0400 - we gradually reduced sail further, ending up with only the storm jib up. This was safer for the relatively small boat, but still enabled us to keep speed on and steer away from the worst of the huge breaking waves. While I was steering I had a man behind me looking aft, assessing the next approaching waves. If he could see a breaking top or one forming that would likely hit us, he would give me as much advance warning as possible so that I could steer the boat away from the breaking crest, which often spanned quite a large distance. We thought it likely that if one of the bad breaking crests caught us we might well be rolled 360o. We were still surfing down the waves at 10kts+, but were going at a controllable speed.

We all thought this was by far the safest thing to be doing, regardless of any consideration of the actual race, and far less likely to cause a major disaster than if we tried to stop racing and see out the storm in any other way. We later found out that several of the seriously damaged or sunk boats were trying to lie hove-to, which was a problem in such large breaking seas for quite small boats under 40ft. The waves were so bad because the wind had shifted quite markedly when the storm really hit and the “new" waves were then at an angle to the "old” waves and created mountainous breaking tops. This was then worse on the Labadie Bank, where the shallower water increased the size of the waves and their tendency to break.

Some time after daylight arrived the wind slowly started to ease down, but any forecast we managed to pick up still predicted really bad conditions for the foreseeable future. So we were very circumspect about putting up more sail in case it was only a temporary slight lull. Of course we later found out that the continual predictions of terrible conditions, carrying on long after the worst had gone through, was a reaction by the forecasters who had not predicted the serious intensity of the storm accurately enough. Defending themselves afterwards by saying they had predicted gale force conditions was completely unacceptable. Racing offshore in the UK, you regularly handle gale force conditions and you do not stop a race or pull out from one because of that. Storm Force 10 and more is totally different, especially for such a large fleet with many smaller boats and many not very experienced people (not that experience counted as much as one might expect as the conditions were new to everybody!).

A little later, and after much discussion about putting more sail up, we caught up a larger 44ft Admirals Cup boat that was still running under bare poles. They were not too impressed about being overtaken by a 39ft competitor and so put a genoa up, a No. 4 I think. They then started to gain on us again and so inevitably we put our No.4 on as well. By the time we had both finished increasing sail in our “private” race, we were roaring along with full mainsails and No. 2s up, as the conditions were now quite a lot more favourable. The sea was still very bad, and of course so were the weather forecasts, and so we each held back from putting up a spinnaker! But this little battle really got us back into the full racing spirit.

By the time we went round Bishop Rock off the Scilly Isles, the wind had eased right down, making the bad sea really terrible to deal with. But round the corner the sea flattened out very quickly and we spent the rest of the race reaching with spinnaker to Plymouth. Later we were very pleased to find out that we had corrected out as 2nd overall in the whole race, behind Ted Turner’s Tenacious, and 1st in the Admirals Cup part of the fleet. This confirmed our position as top individual AC boat in the whole event.

It was interesting that Tenacious beat us on corrected time by about 2 ½ hours. We quickly remembered that in the early part of the race the wind was so light that we had got held up at the Portland Bill tidal “gate” for more than 3 hours, while all the larger boats had escaped this, but that is just the normal type of analysis one tries to make in a handicap race with greatly differing boat sizes!

Of far more importance was the tragic aspect of the race and what continued after we had finished in learning about lives lost and boats abandoned and sunk. We considered ourselves very fortunate to have got through without any major problems. It was certainly something that is impossible ever to forget and I am still very thankful that we made it through OK. In particular I am thankful for having been in the race with such a good team, with more experience than I had at the time, and in such a good, well constructed boat!

- Philip Crebbin


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