2. To Cowes
OUR intention was to catch the beginning of the westward-flowing tide at 3:00 P.M. out of Breskens, but we missed 2½ hours of it. With sails set we headed into a pleasant southwest wind. Conditions were the same as the previous Saturday, except for the direction of the tide. It took us about 30 minutes to reach the same location where we had turned back to Flushing after struggling for over 4 hours. I'm not sure I like all that tide. My home waters of Buzzard's Bay have enough tide to make racing interesting and tricky, but not enough to make it downright difficult to go sailing even with a good wind.
Our destination was Cowes, prior to Friday evening's start of the Morgan Cup Race off Portsmouth. With the wind from the southwest, it was going to be a beat for the 200-odd miles, making it a long trip. Adding to the length of the trip was the fact that there were only two of us on board, standing watches of 4 on and 4 off.
Just before sundown that first night out (Tuesday), and just after the tide changed, the wind petered out. The departure of the wind left us a long way from Cowes with an uncertain amount of fuel and a question as to which course to take. We could head for a harbor to refuel, wait for wind again, or power along hoping the wind would come in soon. There wasn't all the time in the world if we were to reach Cowes in time to unload some of our extra gear and stock up for the Morgan Cup Race. We gambled and decided to head for Cowes under power, hoping for wind soon.
The sou'wester returned within a couple of hours, requiring us to beat along the Dutch, Belgian, and French coast all night. We stayed inside the outer shallow sand bars, and early Wednesday morning beat past Dunkirk. With morning the wind increased continually. We rolled one reef in the main, and within the hour rolled in a second. Off Calais we had to decide whether to head on across the Channel for Dover or to put in to Calais. It was impossible to continue on in the lee of the French coast, because the coast takes a sharp curve to the south, leaving us on a lee shore as well as bringing us no closer to Cowes. The radio forecasts were predicting forces 6 to 7 in the Dover area.
We decided to proceed. I don't think there was much question really, but we reviewed the possibilities, as should be done under any circumstances. We were also pretty green-not in the gills, but on how Rabbit would handle in large seas. The stories of seas between Calais and Dover, especially with the tide against the wind (as it was), are something to scare even the calmest of people. But, with Rabbit designed and built to withstand worse than forces 6 to 7 off the Fastnet, and with daylight greatly reducing the danger of crossing the shipping lanes, we set across, exchanging the #2 genoa for the working jib first.
It turned out to be rather a pleasant crossing. Some of the time it was similar to a roller coaster ride-up and down. Some of the ups and downs were quicker and sharper than others, but the boat handled excellently. Thinking back on the crossing we realized to our pleasure that there had been no pounding as the bow fell off particularly sharp seas. This at least didn't tighten our nerves further, which were already wound up in anticipation of the coming campaign of three ocean races, the One Ton Cup (which had been added to our schedule), and Cowes Week.
The crossing may have been rougher than I recall, for I was off watch and slept nearly the whole way across. At least it wasn't rough enough to keep me from sleeping, although I was pretty tired by then. The two-day push to leave the yard, plus 20 hours of bashing to windward through a pitch-black night, 4 on, 4 off, had left neither of us very refreshed. It was a dismal moment each time to hear Dick's "Sandy, it's time." By working fast, and without being thrown across the cabin during an off-beat up or down, I was able to get "dressed" in five minutes, only to face four dull, cold, wet, and tiring hours on the helm.
The routine that developed for eating was somewhat unique, and stories about it seemed to spread quickly once we reached shore. We may have had something hot Tuesday night, or perhaps we even ate ashore early before leaving Breskens. But from then on, until we reached Cowes Thursday evening, the watch (of one person) just relieved would prepare chow: peanut butter and jam sandwiches. There was either strawberry or raspberry jam or orange marmalade. The "choice" depended on whichever jar was grabbed first.
Such a meal was tried once during the North Sea Race and met near-mutiny on the part of the Europeans on board. Mike was finally persuaded to try a peanut butter and jam sandwich; he even finished it, but said he'd never try it again. That was a strong statement for such a large and eager eater. The meal met similar success as the season progressed.
After reaching Cowes, we thought the menu amusing ourselves, and told prospective crew members about it to indicate our intention of racing to win. We weren't looking for just another pair of hands coming along for the ride.
Actually, peanut butter is one of the most nutritious foods known today. Dick's conclusion was that most of the time spent in preparing and eating food is wasted as far as winning the race is concerned. Energy is wasted preparing major meals and cleaning up afterward, and having a full, satisfied stomach is a great way to relax-just the opposite from what is wanted when racing. Dick is quick to point out that one maintains the competitive initiative best when well-nourished and well-rested. Rabbit, as well as his recent boats, has followed these theories.
By evening the wind had dropped to nothing, and we decided to gamble some more fuel away. Our landfall was 5 miles to the west of Dover. It wasn't worth the lost time to turn back to refuel there, so we crossed our fingers and powered on. Between 4:00 P.M. and 8:00 P.M. I was on watch. A southerly came up strong enough for us to make ground against the tide. Then it swung into the southeast and east, steadily increasing in velocity all the time. With the full main and #2 genoa up, Rabbit began to reel off the miles along the coast. The wind didn't stop in the east, but continued into the northeast. Then it began to rain. I cannot really call it just rain; the drops were the size of large marbles. As they were being driven by 20 knots of wind, they were impossible to face. Luckily we were going with the wind. Even with the hatch cover pulled closed, Dick had to remain in the middle of the cabin to keep from getting soaked.
What a ride! Oh to have the spinnaker up, for Rabbit really loved this. Maybe we would get a good tough run back from Fastnet Rock.
I must have been relieved again and gone to sleep, for the next thing I recall is that we were once again hard on the wind, which was now out of the northwest at about 25 knots. It was pitch black out, and the light on Beachy Head was off the starboard bow. I'm not sure I really woke up for an hour after changing watch. Beachy Head Light had gotten brighter, quite close abeam. I did wake up when a fishing trawler, well lit up, passed between us and the light with no concern at all. I couldn't believe it. I'd been subconsciously listening for breakers on the rocks beneath the light. I had even considered tacking offshore for a while, but knew we wanted to get into the bay and out of as much foul tide as possible, so I had been hanging on. After being fully awakened by the trawler, I investigated what was ahead of us. I had finally considered us past Beachy Head Light and was looking for my next point of interest. There were two sets of lights well ahead, just under the genoa, indicating two towns. I recalled seeing on the chart one town which had a small harbor and another which didn't. I settled back down to sailing, expecting to see them emerge behind the genoa shortly.
The wind was still blowing and we were hard on the wind, moving through the water very well. But we just couldn't get past that light on Beachy Head. Suddenly one of those towns came steaming past on the way out to the fishing grounds. The other remained where it had previously been.
I must have begun to mutter, for Dick appeared in the companionway and asked "How's it going?" I hope I answered him civilly, but I wasn't feeling that way-Beachy Head Light was still abeam. He acknowledged that the tide flowed pretty strongly around this headland and that it was at its maximum against us. For some reason he decided to turn the radio on. After about two minutes of rock-and-roll one of the songs was interrupted by the disc jockey with "We interrupt this program to bring you a weather bulletin." For the area we were in, the forecast was for westerly winds at force 8 (gale) and force 9 (strong gale) for the remainder of the night. Following that news the rock-and-roll continued, but on Rabbit we turned it off.
I'm not sure how much sleep Dick got when off watch. He was in his bunk with eyes closed, but I don't think he was asleep much of the time. The wheels wouldn't stop turning to allow him the rest he needed. I know I was tired, even though I got 3½ hours sleep out of every 8. My temper was deteriorating with Beachy Head Light glued to our starboard beam. By now I'd changed the name of this prominent light to Bitchy Head; I was not in a good mood.
When Dick suggested that we might ride things out in New Haven (the town with a harbor I had seen ahead-it was still there, the bearing...
