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.

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.

A storming leg in the Lakes

Crispin and Stewart had an absolute stormer in the Lakes, finishing the most gruelling of the land stages in 7:10, in second place and only a minute behind the crack team from EADS Innovation Works. Their time for Leg 2, from which includes the sail to Whitehaven and the cycle / run up Scafell Pike and back was the quickest in the entire field, by a minute according to the results sheet, but by 11 minutes according to my calculations. Timing is everything on this leg, and the top teams can just manage to squeeze in and out of Whitehaven on the same tide. The Dockers managed this, but their whoops of joy were very quickly cut short when they ran aground on a sandbank and had to wait a few hours, with the boat lying on its side according to Crispin’s text message, until the next tide lifted them clear. They still left in second place.
As I write on Tuesday night, they’ve dropped a few places, but are pretty close to a group of six fighting for second place in the Sound of Jura, with EADS still a little way out in front.
Crispin sounded on a real high after leaving Whitehaven, and while I suspect the gap between the crew and the lead boats may be too much to close, the runners have a real chance of doing something very impressive in the Kings of the Bens competition. Keep you eye on the boats’ trackers here and on the results at here.

One run down, and sitting in 5th

The team have no internet access at the moment. A lumpy sail through the night brought the boat into the Menai Straits in about 10th place. Their tracker had packed up a few hours into the race, leading this worried follower to think they’d run aground or been forced to land for repairs. A steady run on the Snowdon leg , starting around 03:30 gained them a few places. The 8 miles on the road on the way back to the boat was a bit of an ordeal, as expected, and once back onboard they dawdled through the Straits on frustratingly calm water, emerging eventually in around 6th place. As I write, they’ve enjoyed a curry for breakfast, a large fry-up for 2nd breakfast and are now, hopefully, sleeping. The runners, that is. I presume someone is awake and piloting the boat!
A couple of craft ran aground infront of them in the Manai Straits, significantly the early leaders White Cloud, so congrats are in order for the successful navigation of a tricky stretch of water. Well done also to Stewart for a decent run in Wales after a bit of a battle with seasickness.
Their tracker seems to be playing up again, and hasn’t reported since 14:15, compared with 16:30 updates from the surrounding boats, so they may well be a couple of hours further on than I think…

Barmouth webcam

James says Autonomy is somewhere in the middle picture on these webcam images from Barmouth. I’m not convinced – maybe she’s drifted away?

http://barmouthwebcam.co.uk/page3.html