Mr Motivator and the Bucket O’Shame

All started well in Barmouth, lots of free Power Bar goodies, bright sunshine, a nice offshore breeze, fish and chips, Guinness and Stugeron. Uncertain of my sea legs I was well stocked with potions. Doug and Ben introduced me to Autonomy (the boat) and showed me my bed for the week. The boat was bobbing gently and I felt good.

Sea Fever – a constant companion

The Captain

And we’re off, second over the start line; only to find our own personal hole in the wind whilst all around us the other boats were sailing away into the horizon. Eventually we caught the wind and away we went, quite exciting. Crash, bang, everything left lying around in the galley found its way to the floor as we tacked into the wind. I hadn’t realised quite how much the boat would crank over in the wind,  going below decks was out of the question now. I slowly became less chatty and began staring at the horizon lots. Doug had recognized what was going on and tried to distract me by chatting about the mountains we could see, but my nausea was not to be distracted. I was now feeling quite green as the boat cut through the chop at an acute angle. Some say sea sickness is in the head, I found it was all in the yellow bucket.

Doug

I woke up just outside Caernarvon to calm seas and the first leg up Snowdon. Feeling much better, I rammed some Power bar goodies down and got my kit together – ok maybe I won’t have to go home to my mum after all. Caernarvon was quiet at 4am, just a few revellers winding their home , ‘ey 118, 118, want some cider’, mmm no thanks lads. My strategy was to scoff as much food as I could whilst on terra firma, safe in the knowledge that I was crap on boats. Snowdon was beautiful at 0530, sunny with lots of cloud inversion. We passed some teams on the way down one of whom appeared to have been worse affected than me by the choppy seas – at least it wasn’t just me who was a landlubber. I slowed on the final run in on the road to Caernarvon (hadn’t eaten or drank for the past 14 hours) . Mr Motivator (for it is he) tried to assure me that this really was the last hill, only 400 metres to the harbour from this shortcut – we appear to be descending, oh look the road goes up again…

‘You don’t look tired at all Daddy’ said a disappointed voice. Mr Motivator appeared cheered by this, no-one gave a second glance to the bedraggled wretch behind him.

Mr M.

Lunch time, I was famished – hot chicken curry (Aldi tinned special), quick look at clock showed 0830, early lunch then!  Light winds prevailed so I was able to keep the food I ate, Whitehaven next stop.  We manoeuvred smoothly through the ‘Swellies’ in the Menai straights, two boats had run aground and a 3rd crashed into one of the grounded boats! The wind picked up outside the Straights but I’d switched potion and felt fine.

 

I was woken at some ungodly hour and told we’d be docking in an hour so you’d better get some breakfast in you.  On the bikes and smoothly out of Whitehaven, 16 mile ride to Black Sail Youth Hostel then a longish run (4-5 hours) over to Scafell Pike.  Legs were sore from Snowdon but we made good progress.  Mike and Sally were waiting at Wasdale Head with much needed refreshments – I managed to scoff a rice pudding in the style of a hungry 5 year old, much to the amusement of onlookers.

Naomi and family

It was at some point on this leg that Mr Motivator adopted the ‘married couple’ team running non-technique.  Let me explain…. runner1 runs consistently 100m in front of runner2, in the (mistaken) belief that this will ‘help’ runner 2 to go a bit bloody quicker. Runner1 then (eventually) stops and waits for runner2 to catch up whilst issuing stock phrases such as ‘well done’, ‘you’re doing really well’, ‘keep pumping those legs’ before running off into the mist again. Runner1 thinks he is offering support and positive re-enforcement and ‘helping’ with the pace whereas runner2 would like to poke runner1 in the eye with a sharp stick.  In retaliation to such barbaric and inhumane treatment I washed my hair at runner1, several times. Later, not much later, a new motivation technique began to emerge let’s call it the ‘cattle prod’; runner1 ‘shadows’ runner2 and should runner2 slow down, stop breathing frantically, or show any outward sign of not being about to keel over, encouraging phrases are recited; keep going, well done, good boy, biscuit, fetch.

Ben

The cycling back was the best bit….I sat on Crispin’s back wheel polishing my nails whilst he peddled like a demon. Crispin looked a tad breathless when we got back. James said it was the happiest he’d seen me all race!  We got out of the harbour just before the tide turned, feeling smug that the other teams would have to wait at least 3 hours, and then promptly ran aground!

The enforced rest didn’t do us so much harm after all… sometime later…. we realised that the boats in front were stuck in a windless area, and with much cunning we scooted off up the Sound of Islay in search of a more favourable tide and some wind. What a choice, none of the boats behind us made it through the tidal gate at the end of the Sound of Jura, and only 3 of the boats in front did, result!

Islay

We docked at Corpach for the final leg, Ben Nevis. Three teams in front; 17,19 and 25 minutes ahead, respectively. With trepidation I waited to see which motivational technique I was to be subjected to. Mr Motivator had seemingly used the time on the boat to do some extra motivational reading and had decided that I was to be trusted with setting the pace myself, a risky strategy given what a lazy pie eater I am. I already thought it’d be nice to be the fastest team on the Ben, and given that we’d only been one minute behind the leaders on the Scafell Pike leg it should be doable, it just meant that I wouldn’t have time to wash my hair en route, but I decided it was worth the massive sacrifice. We had a great run up the Ben catching Sea Fever near the Red Burn and emerging from the clag in front of the Aussies. The last couple of miles on the road were vile and with some great encouragement from Crispin I managed to keep going. My final sprint to line caught Crispin unawares and he was, regrettably, unable to maintain pace.

Second across the finish line, a completely unexpected result!

It was a great privilege to take part in the race and many thanks to the team for putting their faith in me. Which judging by the looks going around after the bucket o’shame incident must have been shaken. Many thanks to Damon too, although if he didn’t want to do it he could have just said so instead off hurling himself into a pile of rocks 🙂

Thanks again chaps for a great adventure!

Basking in Brecon

I’d agree with James… it’s taking longer than expected to make up for the lack of sleep. Three days after finishing the race, and now back home in Brecon, I am still swaying slightly. All in all, it is proving essential to avoid strenuous activities like unpacking, stripping wallpaper, or tiling. Instead I’m finding it necessary to move languidly between my bed and the garden for periods of approximately 2.5 hours at a time, absorbing essential vitamins from sunlight and strawberries and beer. I did manage to cut the grass this morning, but that’s not much of a challenge as our garden could fit on James’s yacht.

It has been great to catch up with Naomi and the kids, and to hear how the drama of the race unfolded from their perspective. Seeing me off to the boat, playing on the beach, the convoy leaving the harbour…

Later the concerns when our tracker stopped just short of Bardsey Sound – had we packed it in, were we wrecked on a rock? No messages could get through until about 1am to confirm that we were fine and heading into Carnarfon.

Then seeing us finish the Snowdon shuffle and head off into the Menai Straits…

Watching from the Menai Bridge as we negotiated the Swellies, and seeing Sea Fever run aground just in front of us (rear-left yacht, pointing in wrong direction!), while Moby J expertly lead us through…

Drifting under the Menai Bridge. Had we been boarded by Hari Krishnas? No, these were our “Practical Action” t-shirts.

And later, watching all the drama unfold when we were catching the leaders, ran aground in Whitehaven harbour, caught them again round Jura, etc etc!

Anyway, must go and do some more hard recovering. I might do the Coity race with Naomi tomorrow, if we can find somewhere suitable to chain the kids; I expect with my knackered legs and after so many miles of running slowly with a pack, I’ll not be far ahead of her.

Dozing in Dunstaffenage

Its taking longer to recover from sleep deprivation than I expected – but getting there now.  We left Corpach yesterday just after the last of the boats had arrived

I thought I might post on the final stages of the race from our perspective.

Our runners ran a blistering time in the lakes to let us get into the last lock with 15 mins to spare before the tide dropped too far.  Only one boat was ahead – EADS.  We made it through the lock – charged off out the harbour – and then 30 seconds later – stuck !  We tried reverse, forwards, hanging on boom, kedging off mast halyards – but we were stuck.  So having checked we weren’t going to settle on anything nasty (fortunately it was just soft sand and no swell) we plumbed depths all around us – and we may have been a boats width too far to the right – but the depths were only 10cm different.  Also when we eventually got off we touched twice on the way out in the channel – so I suspect its silting a bit.

Anyway – once the boat had settled – we set about apportioning the blame.  Doug was an easy target as he’d been on the helm – as was I as skipper – everything is always my fault – and in the heat of the moment I hadn’t been giving clear directions.  But there again Ben hadn’t been watching the back bearing on the harbour either had he ?  So it looked like the sailors were well and truly in the frame – but then snippets started to come out from the runners – they had been beaten by EADS by only 1 minute – surely they could have run faster – a bit ?  And then there were all the delays while Stewart washed his hair en route – and Crispin stopped for a chat with his mum!

Anyway we eventually got off half an our before the rest of the leading pack came out the lock gates on the rising tide.  These were all faster boats than us – and I was starting to understand how a fox felt as we got chased down on the way to Mull of Galloway.  We rounded this and headed up to Mull of Kintyre in the dark just rounding this on Tues lunchtime before the tide turned against us.  We could see boats stretched out in front up the sound of Jura.  We had Moby J for company (again!) after his little detour to the Isle of Man.

We worked out that we could make the sound of Luing if we averaged 5 knots – which was looking OK – so we settled in for a sail up the Sound of Jura.  Then suddenly we spotted all the boats starting to pile up off N end of Gigha as they lost all wind.  If we joined them we would never make the Sound of Luing.  We looked at options and the Sound of Islay was just opening for us – so after a quick vote we decided to go for it – everything to gain and little to lose (except perhaps a place to Moby J).  We jibed across and watched Moby J do the same – and we imagined the pencil chewing going on – should they follow us ?  In the end Martin said they decided that they had had enough time out on their own in the Isle of Man so decided to stay with the pack (I also suspect they were well and truely sick of the sight of us by this point)

The Sound of Islay route is at least 12 miles longer – and we had no idea what winds we would encounter on the far side.  We shot through the sound and speeds over 10 knots with the kite up managing to stop Doug from detouring via the distilleries.  The sun was just setting and everyone agreed it was the best sail of the trip. 

We shot out the far side and found 15 – 20 knots of wind – so shot up the W side of Jura with the kite up starting to imagine the finish in sight – and then the wind dropped completely and we spent the night unwrapping spinnakers, hoisting jibs, rowing – and generally doing anything we could to try and get the sails to fill in the nasty lollop that we found ourselves in.  We also desperately didn’t want to get sucked back through the gulf of Corryvreckan to rejojn the fleet waiting for the tide at the sound of Luing.

We crept up the W side of the Garvellachs – still not quite sure whether anyone had made it through the sound of Luing – and then we saw them in the early dawn– EADS, Team Whistler and Sea Fever ghosting across the bottom of Kerrara.  It transpired these were the only boats to make it through the Sound of Luing with Team Whistler being the last through with 5 knots of tide against them – getting wind just when they needed it.

It was now clear that we had a real race on between these 4 boats.  We hoped they might not see us at first – but we were flying a large rainbow coloured spinnaker – so not exactly in disguise – and how many cruising boats fly a spinnaker at 4am.  The wind was still frustratingly light for us all and they made the Lynn of Lorn just before us and sailed straight into a dead patch.  Time for more rowing, we were catching Sea Fever with our kite still full just – playing every last wind shift on the water whilst rowing at the same time.  Team Whistler were rowing hard and we weren’t gaining much on them. EADS were a mile or 2 in front.  Stewart knocked up a fantastic cooked breakfast to keep spirits up – while we went through the CD collection to work out the best track to play as we passed the Aussies…

Eventually the wind filled in from behind and all 4 boats were shooting upto Corpach.  EADS still in the lead – but being closed down fast by Sea Fever and Whistler.  Being faster boats every mile we sailed they drew slightly further ahead and we were desperate to keep in touch to give our runners a chance on the Ben.  Our runners were getting more and more nervous as we approached

Eventually we shot into Corpach with about 20 knots behind us (where was that all week?) – we were well by the lee – but didn’t dare waste time jibing – so we just made the mark dropped sails and motored into the jetty dropping our runners off less than 30 mins after EADS.  After a race like this – all 4 lead boats arrived within 30 mins of each other.

It was now all down to Crispin and Stewart – EADS were not catchable baring disaster – as their runners were of a similar speed to ours.  However Sea Fever and Whistler potentially were  – so still all to play for.  So while all our runners were way – we chatted with the other boats (and had a beer or 2) waiting for our runners.  In the end Crispin and Stewart ran a fantastic leg – lifting us into second place just a few minutes ahead of the Aussies.  Sea Fern won the Tillman – so something for all which was nice.

It was a great race with a very exciting finish – the other boats were good company – and Team Whistler are keen to get people over for their Tasmanian equivalent (P.S. Thanks for the shirt guys!)

We are slightly amazed – and very pleased with our result.  A couple of good choices at key points, fast runners and a big does of luck helped us pull it off.  All in all a very good team effort.  It would have been nice to beat Geoff and his EADS team – but it wasn’t quite to be – maybe next time ….

Doug has subsequently worked out that our grounding in Whitehaven gave us half an hours head start – without which we would  never have beaten the Aussies – so feel free to send the pictures !

Many Thanks to the organisers too for all their hard work – it is much appreciated even if we were too sleep deprived to convey it fully !

The story thereafter

My last notes were written on Tuesday morning, when we were inching along in about 8th place, thinking the rest of the race would be more of the same, and trying to finish in the top 10. The wind picked up a little to keep us moving, old friend Moby J came up behind us, and the ghostly Paps of Jura came into view (James studiously ignored them!). Stewart and I had some decent rest in the benign conditions.

We’d been having a few conversations about what if anything we could do to make an impact on the race, given that the other leading boats were clearly faster than us in the light conditions; something audacious was required. Then we noticed through binoculars that the water a couple of miles ahead was glassy smooth around the boats ahead of us (EADS, Whistler, GFT Adventure, Sea Fever, Torbellino, etc), and a fleeting glimpse of the tracking web site (over occasional shaky phone reception) confirmed they were doing around 1.5 knots to our 4. We could sail up behind them into the doldrums and await a change, but we this almost certainly meant we would miss the tidal gate in the Sound of Luing at around 3am, at which time the fierce current would turn meaning we would have no choice but to sit it out for another 6 hours at anchor. Or, we could turn across to the Sound of Islay, knowing we could get through, but not knowing what we would find on the west side of Jura. This route is rarely used in the 3PYR, as it adds distance and boats do not get the same north-flowing tidal surge. We had a few minutes to make a decision, as we were almost beyond the point of no return… but actually it was a no brainer, and we were all elated and fizzing as we jibed* to the West. We could almost see the eyebrows go up on Moby J, 100 metres behind us, and a couple of minutes later they tacked** as well only to change their minds a few seconds later.

* or possibly tacked.

** or possibly jibed.

A few minutes earlier, two of the sailors had been about to go down for some kip, as they were absolutely knackered and it didn’t look like much would happen that evening; but now, everyone was on a high – we were taking a big risk, with potentially high rewards, and it was all hands on deck. IF the others all failed to get through the 3am tidal gate at Luing, and IF we managed to make progress on the West side of Jura, we could leapfrog into a significant lead. No sailor went to bed that night!

After a few worrying minutes where we had to row into the mouth of the Sound of Islay, suddenly we were picked up by the tidal flow, and we were doing 11 knots through the narrow channel past the Caol Ila distillery, and the other one that I won’t even attempt to spell.

Supporters watching the trackers were excited too; Damon texted “I like your style! Hope the brave move works”, and then “Jesus you’re flying!”; sailing pals called James in their enthusiasm; and my little bro Nick texted… “is there a good pub on Jura the others don’t know about?”.

As we emerged around the West coast of Jura, decent winds and tidal current kept us shifting along, and Ben showed off his control of the spinnaker.

Stewart and I realised the Ben Nevis run was now likely to become critical in deciding any close finish, so went below to rest. No chance… as ever I couldn’t sleep a wink with the wind picking up and the boat playing its crazy music. I could tell we were going fast though, even broaching a couple of times (someone called “George” was apparently to blame) and my mind was racing with excitement.

But at about 3am everything went quiet, and I popped up top to row as we sloshed around the Garvellachs, James worrying that we might actually get sucked into the Sound of Luing in the wrong direction. An hour or so later we were on our way again, but we also found out that three boats had managed to make it through – EADS, Whistler, and Sea Fever – and were now an hour or so ahead of us. All the others were stuck. The final race was on.

By about 9am I was rowing again with James, but in high spirits as we were closing fast on the leaders who had even less wind. As we pulled up alongside Sea Fever we had “Another one bites the dust” blasting out on the stereo, and a couple of porpoises came to play. We found out much later that the Sea Fever crew were thoroughly depressed at this stage – they thought we were competing for the Tilman trophy, and that they were now losing the crown. We were able to correct this later when we caught up with them on the Ben, which cheered them up comprehensively.

Stewart and I were now getting properly nervous – we knew we’d be landing at Corpach quite a way behind these three boats, and would have to try to catch them on the Ben Bevis run. Meanwhile this was the leg we had not recce’d at all, and I’d never even been up the Ben. We knew we’d matched EADS on the Scafell run, and could be faster then the Whistler and Sea Fever runners if all went well, so it was all to play for.

In fact we set off on the run 19 minutes behind Sea Fever, about 25 behind Whistler, and 32 behind EADS. We knew we couldn’t catch EADS unless they had some sort of disaster, so we just focussed on pacing ourselves for a good time, and finding the route without mistakes. We caught sight of Sea Fever before the Red Burn, and overhauled them on the steep stuff above it. They were hugely relieved we were not contesting the Tilman Trophy (where the yacht has to put at least 4 of its crew over a mountain run), so we were able to congratulate them on their win, while they wished us luck catching the others.

The upper half of the Ben was in thick cloud, so we didn’t know where EADS or Whistler’s runners were at this stage; runners can either stick to the main zigzag path, which is easier going, or take the direct path that is much looser and steeper but saves distance and is quicker overall if executed effectively. At around 1000m the inevitable happened… Martin Beale and Martin Indge of EADS emerged above us coming down the direct route, and since we still had over 300 metres to climb we knew we’d never catch them. They had not seen Whistler’s runners, which suggested they were keeping to the zigzags (good news).

The summit was eerie – very low visibility, snow patches, teetering cairns looming in the clag, and then two runners heading towards us… “are you Whistler?” I asked… a long pause… “I guess so” came the Aussie lilt. By the time we turned at the top we knew we were 5 minute behind them. Would they take the shorter line?

Normally a descent like this requires complete removal of the brain, and Stewart and I are both quite good at the suicidal plunge down loose steep rubbish. But we didn’t want to make any stupid mistakes that could jeopardize the entire result, so we tried to  keep it sensible and descend fast but safely. It worked – at around 700 metres we suddenly emerged from the cloud and Stewart shouted that they were right there… I didn’t spot them so assumed they were right on our tail, and immediately forgot about the caution tactic and plunged down towards the Red Burn at near terminal velocity. When I could turn to look for a millisecond, there were no Aussies in sight, and Stewart was about 100 metres behind – deep breaths, calm down!

Then it started pissing down, and the man-made boulder path became instantly treacherous. This was a shame, as it meant we could not really slaughter the next three miles back to the road, but at least we were now fairly certain that Whistler were not about to pull a stunning comeback. I’m sure Stewart won’t mind me saying he found the road section quite nasty, but we kept up a good pace, and I tried to make him as angry as I could with little nuggets of coaching wisdom! At last the finish was in sight, we shook hands, and Stewart promptly out-sprinted me to the line, to the merriment and applause of a small crowd. He says he didn’t mean to, he just didn’t realise how crap I was at sprinting. We finished the run in 3:09, probably the fastest time on the Ben (subject to confirmation).

The crew were downing Stellas as we staggered around and lay on the wet grass; we had second place,  and we all had a fantastic time. And we were all very very tired!

The story so far

N.B written on Tuesday…

We are rolling around in a very light breeze, inching towards the Mull of Kintyre, with no other yachts in sight. We may be in about 5th place but we’ve not checked the tracking web site for a while, and our tracker is on the blink anyway, only sending our position occasionally.  The calm conditions mean a) I can write this, and b) Stewart is feeling fine, with not a bucket in sight. Here’s Stewart and Ben yesterday evening after the wind had dropped.

Back to Saturday… the jostling for the start was quite tense, though apparently quite relaxed and polite compared to an out-and-out sailing race, wheeling around checking watches and trying to hit the start line as the horn sounded (too soon means 1 hour penalty).

We got a flyer, crossing the start line in about 2nd place, and feeling the elation of the race being under way at last. Great to be flying along with the really fast boats.

And then we flew straight into a hole in the wind, that seemed to be about the size and shape of Autonomy… boats ahead and to the left of us were heeled over doing 6 knots, we were standing still feeling despondent for 20 minutes. Damon texted and asked if we had remembered to lift the anchor.

But soon we found wind again, and began a really lumpy ride out to Bardsey Sound, very rapidly establishing that Stewart had left his sea legs at home. I saw the sailors exchanging some “here we go again” looks, remembering the Scottish Islands Peaks Race 2008… But once he’d made friends with the “bucket of shame”, Stewart kept it together and worked out how to cope – in bed. I felt really bad as well, and almost chucked a few times.

Great sailing pulled us back through the fleet, and we reached Bardsey in perhaps 10th place.

Sometime in the night, we started getting messages from support crew Mike and Sally and others wondering if we were wrecked and clinging to a rock… our tracker had stuck, and it was only hours later we managed to get messages back to them that actually we were coming in to Carnarfon nicely.

We had no delays crossing the Carnarfon Bar, and so Stewart and I jumped off for our first run at 03:50 on Sunday – a lovely time for a run, especially a 24 mile one up Snowdon. The first challenge was finding our way through the lanes of Carnarfon, and negotiating safe passage with the pissed up locals who had fun chasing us and offering us White Lightning etc etc. On the 8 mile road out to the Ranger path we quickly overhauled Krishna’s runners (Israeli) who were perhaps used to running in the Negev, because they were wearing several layers head to toe, and running very slowly. Madam Wen’s runners (“Marvin” and Tobi Staines) were just behind us until we started the climb, when they dropped back fast. Were we over-stretching ourselves…? We felt good so just got on with it.

After grabbing food and bottles from Mike and Sally we hit the hill, climbing into cloud, until we detected that there was sunshine above. The summit stretch was stunning, with views of clouds and crags all around.

The summit was reached in about 2 hours 20. We were told we were now 9th, and the only team to run the summit stretch!

  I immediately turned my ankle while faffing with the camera, and Stewart hurtled off into the distance. Luckily I found my ankle again quickly, and caught up about half way down, passing two other teams (Sea Fever? and Moby J, whose runners looked absolutely shot).

The road back was a struggle, and my un-recce’d “shortcut” in Carnarfon turned out to have a 40 degree hill, but we made it to the boat, where Naomi and kids were watching. The kids seemed visibly dismayed – “Daddy you hardly look tired at all”! I was hiding it well.

Must just get some food – feeling a bit faint…

Mmm much better; rice pudding and a tin of fruit. Anyway, after Carnarfon comes the Menai Straits and the infamous Swellies. Light wind eased us to the first bridge where the fun starts, with Moby J and Sea Fever for company.

Then as we picked our line through the right-hand span, we saw that White Cloud was lying on her side on rocks just beyond the bridge. That was her race over.

Then a few minutes later, Sea Fever also grounded gently, showing us where not to go; she got off at the next tide and is now ahead of us again. A very nervy couple of hours saw us out into open sea past Puffin Island.

The sail to Whitehaven was much smoother, to Stewart’s relief, and we got some rest in preparation for the big Scafell Pike leg.

At Whitehaven harbour, we caught the leaders waiting to get into the harbour through the sea lock – a bit of lucky timing in our favour. They let EADS Innovation Works in first because she was the shallowest, giving us a 20 minute wait or so. Then we went into the lock with Kishinoor, Moby J and Torbellino.

 

Mike and Sally had our bikes at the kit check, and we set off a few minutes behind the Moby J runners, at 04:15, to cycle the 16 miles to Gillerthwaite YHA in Ennerdale. The pressure was on – the sailors had worked out that we needed to be back before about 11:45 to get out of the sea lock before low tide, giving us 7.5 hours to complete the leg. From past results I knew most teams take well over 8 hours, and although I knew Stewart and I were capable of the required time, I was not confident we could achieve it now. I took it gently on the bike, though Stewart had to try a bit harder as he was on a mountain bike frame wile I was on a roady. We eased off stiff legs, and arrived just behind the Moby J pair. After the 5 minute time-out, where Stewart made comprehensive use of the facilities, we started the run to Black Sail pass. After a quick chat, we left the Moby J’s behind and got into a great rhythm. Mike and Sally were at Wasdale Head as planned, with pots of custard and fruit – much appreciated. We knew EADS were 30 mins ahead at the start, so it was nice to hear the gap had not increased.

The Scafell climb is a real slog, made harder by literally hundreds of Three Peaks walkers coming down the same path.

We gained the summit in 1:10 from Wasdale, which was inside my targets, but the crux of this leg would be whether we could keep speed climbing back over Black Sail pass.

We flew down nicely, passing lots of following teams – oddly none of them had seen the leaders EADS’s Martin Beale and Indge – they must have taken a different descent route away from the main path, because Mike and Sally confirmed they returned 30 mins ahead still.

We slogged back over Black Sail and down the long forest track to the YHA, conquered the brutal hills out of Ennerdale on the bikes, and then started really motoring on the cycle track.

I led on the faster bike, Stewart draughting on my back wheel. After 40 minutes of this, and negotiating the twists and turns back into Whitehaven, I was genuinely as knackered as I’ve ever been, and just fell onto the boat after giving my Mum a very sweaty hug. We were back in time, at 11:30, after completing the leg in 7 hours 15 or so.

Our jubilation was short-lived… just outside the sea lock we ran aground somehow, and frantic bouncing on the boom, thrashing the engine, pulling with the anchor winch, etc wouldn’t shift us an inch. As the tide departed, the sailors hung their heads in shame…

… until they realised they could blame us – if we had run a bit faster the water wouldn’t have been so shallow!

Anyway, when the tide lifted us off we were still in 2nd, though we now had a chasing fleet of faster boats who overhauled us in the light evening winds. We are now lying 7th.

We’ve just checked the race web site, which has us in the lead after Whitehaven somehow, showing that we were 2nd on the Scafell Pike leg, only 1 minute behind the EADS pair in 7:10. Very chuffed, and if Stewart hadn’t needed to wash his hair four times in streams we might have nicked it!

Looking forward to the Ben.

A brief analysis

The results sheets for the race tell an intriguing story. The team finished 25 minutes behind the winners, which over the course of almost 100 hours of sailing, running and cycling must count as almost a photo-finish. Even closer, however, was the aggregate sailing time, in which they trailed by just one minute – despite getting stranded on a sandbank for some hours when leaving Whitehaven, while the lead boat scurried away into the distance. As it happened, these hours of nail-gnashing weren’t much of a handicap. The leaders failed to press any advantage, presumably due to unfavourable winds and tides. The boat won two of the three legs, with just the first leg in which they finished 7th letting them down a little.
The plaudits for a superb effort can be shared, as they should be, by both sailors and runners. Without James’ inspired gamble to jink through the Sound of Islay, the runners wouldn’t have been within striking distance of the medals when they reached Fortwilliam, and without a monumental effort from the land-lubbers on the final leg, fourth place would never have been converted into second.
I enjoyed following the race enormously, via the trackers and occasional bleary text messages from Crispin. The guilt I felt at letting the team down when I broke my ribs a few weeks ago has been assuaged, and in retrospect it may have been a blessing in disguise, as I doubt I could have matched the performances Stewart churned out, only a week after the extremely gruelling Lowe Alpine Mountain Marathon. Thanks again to him for stepping in at short notice to neutralise my bombshell.
I’m very much looking forward to a full account of the race from them wot were actually in it!
Damon

Stop press… The team finishes 2nd overall

A superb 2nd spot, with the runners passing two teams on the final run up and down Ben Nevis. Details to follow from Crispin in a month or two, when he can sit upright again!
Huge congratulations to all.

A canny gamble

The crew’s gamble in heading up the Sound of Islay paid off. The tracker went offline again just before midnight, but at breakfast time this morning it came back on, showing that The Dockers had pulled into 4th place, and was making ground steadily on the two boats in front. The race leader seems to have an unassailable lead, but we might well be in for a podium finish. Row, ya buggers, row!
A lot will depend on how Crispin and Stewart perform on the final run up and down Ben Nevis. Not often that these races come down to the wire, so very nice that the runners get to shine (or not!!)

Flying up the Sound of Islay…

The boat seems to have found some sort of tidal charge, or possibly just a kindly wind up the Sound of Islay and has fair romped the last few miles. To my untutored eye they seem to have made significant ground on the leading boats slogging up the Sound of Jura. Keep watching the nail-biter here. Remember, if they get to Corpach around the same time as the other boats, they have a very good chance of overall victory. Crispin and Stewart had a blinder in the Lakes, after a steady effort in Wales. This may have blown their legs to pieces, but the psychological effect of their win on Leg 2 on them will be wonderful, and assuming their competitors know the split times, they’ll be looking with worried respect at this team of impressive first-timers.

Daring make or break manoeuvre

Just noticed from the live tracking that our lads have decided to take a dash round to the west of Jura through the Sound of Islay, presumably in the hope of finding favourable winds, and possibly to avoid the infamous Corryvreckan Whirlpool at the north end of Jura. All the teams in front have chosen the more popular route up the Sound of Jura. This may be a make-or-break move by the Dockers, who looked unlikely to catch the boats in front. A bold and brave decision. Stand by your beds…!