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!