Sailing Stories » Najad 570 Weir Kraken in ARC
This annual transatlantic rally starting each November in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, has now become the most popular way to cross the Atlantic.
The largest trans-ocean sailing event in the world, every year the ARC brings together over 200 yachts from all over the world. The Caribbean destination is Rodney Bay in St.Lucia, one of the most beautiful islands in the Lesser Antilles. The 2700 nautical mile passage on the NE tradewind route takes on average between 14 and 21 days. The 2010 rally started the Sunday 22 November.
Najad 570 Weir Kraken kept a blog during the crossing - and this account gives a real insight about the ARC experience. Narrated by the legendary 'Red Octopus', it's a tale of derring-do, flying fish and a justifiable dislike of Cava.
Disclaimer
Opinions expressed in this blog are purely those of the author, and are not endorsed by Najad in any way. Apart from the thing about Cava. And the stuff about Magnus K.
Weather Routing
20th November 2009
A lot of time and effort has been spent on the weather route planning.
Brainaid Ocean Racing has been helping out with the weather routing using their newly developed software. All information is based on public current weather forecast data. Route shown below is one of the possible routes calculated.
But is it the winning one?
On Site
November 20th 2009
Weir Kraken is now moored up in Las Palmas for preparation and fine tuning.
She arrived last Sunday after a short sail from Lanzarote. The crew got a good opportunity to, in the calm breeze test the new gennaker.
Preparation
November 20th 2009
Final preparation, fine tuning and provisioning is now taking place in Las Palmas.
The crew of 6 people is working hard to get everything sorted before start. Safety inspection has just been passed without any problems.
Weather Forecast / Which Way To Go?
November 23rd 2009
From the 2009/11/21 0600 UTC forecast the southwesterly track looks very promising with very similar paths for the first 4 days.
The point to turn further south into the trade winds is somewhere near 23N 30W. When and how far to head south depends on the pressure in the trade wind zone during the second half of the race, which is very far in the future in terms of weather forecasts. We will probably see a clearer situation when you are near 30W and can make the descision from there. The overall weather looks quite good, with long patches of wind just below or above 20 knots, which promises a quick race. My estimated times on track are between 14 1/2 and 16 1/2 days.
There should be little or no rain during the first week of the race, during the second week there will probably be some more.
So, which route to choose?
The Crew
November 22nd 2009
The crew gathered in the cockpit just before setting of from Las Palmas.
All together six people; two women and four men will enjoy this 14-16 day rally.
The Start
November 22nd 2009
At 1200 UTC did the 200 boat fleet set of for the Caribbean.
It was a incredible scene; absolutely beautiful weather, clear blue sky, a nice temperature and a breeze of 15-18 knots. Weir Kraken started with gennaker and got a good start. Gennaker is now down and they are shooting along in steady 10 knots.
First Mate Red Octopus Reports In.
November 23rd 2009
The sun is high up in the yard, and near someone"s arm, and the canary boat park is busy with the sound of hundreds of pencil-thin bearded gentlemen with flipper-like feet slapping their way about as they make the final preparations to their buoyant caravans.
The atmosphere is feverish, placing the last pint of milk into wholly inadequate cooling facilities "can"t sail the Atlantic without a cuppa", and smearing a bit more engine oil on their faces (it never does to look too well prepared). Suddenly the air is filled with new sounds - engines failing to start, the cracking of sails, the excited cries of of 'little uns' and the splash of tears from loved ones cheeks...
The crew of 'We're Crackers' (by God you should have seen us) now watch as over 200 said caravans stream out of the boat park, and this blogger is encouraged to see that not all is uniform in the yachtie world.
Boats big and small (the former often crewed by porpoisian gentlemen who would struggle to find their fishing tackle) all bedecked in over-sized polos proudly displaying the name of their watery perambulator.
Suddenly you realise that this is an international event, and that depressingly the English no longer rule the waves.
There´s Jeu D´esprit, Thindra, Odin, Lanawaje, Woolloomooloo, Trollwind, Kintukani and Himinglaeva / whatever they are..
Reaching for the Captains list one sees what appears to be the Ladybird book of silly foreign names - see whether you can match the country to the name:
Milan Mandic
Annette Lagerberg
Vladimir Efinster
Wijard van den Boogard
Laurent Chapdelaine
Christian Potholt/Sewing
Antono Razuoli
and my favourite...
Harvey Death
Back to the action..
Capt Lywood whispers a few choice commands and - smooth as rubble - we stow everything, don the flattering red polos, drink lots of champagne, light up and glide effortlessly out of the harbour (note nautical term), clutching the starting instructions.
Five minutes to go we are bearing down on the gap between the Committee Boat and the yellow buoy, but wait, is the committee boat the large naval vessel over there, or the large fire fighting vessel showing its wares over there, or the smaller beflagged motor boat populated by people with Tourettes? And that buoy, it looks orange, not yellow. Oh God, if we get it wrong we will be docked ten billion Pugwash Points which will roger our chances.
What to do, what do do - of course! Hang back and follow everyone else..
We are though - with 2700 nautical miles to go - steering south by south west, the opposite direction to Harvey Death.
Morning Arcivisitists!
November 24th 2009
News from the Weir Kraken´s crew.
Time for introductions...
First there´s Captain Rupert Lywood - Huzzah!
Too many arms for Nelson comparisons, not sufficiently fat to be lucky Jack Aubrey and not quite rakish enough to be Hornblower. Instead he has his own gentle style, giving calm instructions and delegating masterfully, especially to Second Lieutenant AutoHelm.
Next is Commander Magnus “permastubble” Kullberg.
Underneath a charming exterior there lurks a beer-swilling (remember Annette from blog 1) Viking marauder with a dogged determination to get things done - his way.
He is also plumber, sparky, engineer and mountaineer (cos we isn´t going up the mast). The Stubble works for Najad, (pronounced Nai Yoord) and we are sailing on a Najad 570. Silly really because the yacht is 57 foot long, not 570 (unfortunately). Delusions of grandeur.
Ship surgeon and physician Andy (Cutter) Llewelyn has already proved to be invaluable with his measured approach to strains and sprains.
His bedroom manner and kind eyes (or vice versa) do much to alleviate symptoms. But a penchant for sharp knives betray an amputational bent.
Mrs Elizabeth (I´m Starving) Lywood is the Captain´s Best Mate.
Shift her nicotine patch off her bum and onto her eye and even the Somalis would give us a wide berth.
She is joined in the galley by Mrs Julia (Grog) Royds.
Disappointingly the valet washing services have not been brought on stream yet, and the hors dóevres are not up to scratch. Possibly due to an early and committed adoption of 19th century Naval drinking habits (8 pints of grog a day and a pint of port to finish) have affected her priorities.
She can´t wait to engage the enemy though. Oh dear!
Last there is Second Rating Jumbo (Red Octopus) Royds.
He is blogging, and helping the gallery slave with her rations. In addition there are 36 bottles of Rioja and 50 cigars to deal with. As for progress, following the exhilarating start, most boats went for the target destination, but we, on the advice of Brain Aid, our super complex route planning software, went towards Africa and then after a while turned rightish to South America.
Brain Aid is German software written and managed by Eddie, who must have had a interesting day when he made this software. Well maggots to that - soon we will look at the map...
As I sign off we are flying across the swelly waves with the gennaker up and the main filled with determination.
It´s also 75 degrees, sunny and lovely...a foggy day in London town?
Red Octopus Hits The Shower, Block And Line Hit The Doctor.
November 26th 2009
23.40.26 N 23.54.98 W.
Five hundred and eighty miles.
Just had a shower! Feel like a new man, which is quite something for a red cephalopod. And bacon and egg for breakfast. What joys!
Of course one has to sit down in the shower, bringing up visions of life as a nonagerian in a nursing home, which is a bit depressing - it will be bed baths next.
Octopus and Grog had the midnight watch last night, midnight to 4am, which is tough. Had to be on the alert cos Kraken was goose winging it - main to port and genoa to starboard and there was a 25 knot off the right shoulder.
The previous watch had been caught out by a sudden wind shift and the boom crashed across, snapping the preventer and alerting us to the risks of pushing on at night. It was a repeat of an earlier event when we almost lost the doctor! Another six inches of travel and the boom would have put him in Davey's locker. Happily he only got hit by the block and the line, which made him most poorly, splitting headache et al - but Cutter is now fully on the mend.
Liz, aka Starving, poured a kettle of hot water on her foot, ruining the frozen chips which had to be used as a cold compress. At least it opened up some space in the freezer for some cold beers. Not much sign of sea life - the odd flying fish, but the porpoises have left us - on the first night you could lie on the bow and almost touch them as they played with the yacht.
And despite the odd hint of whale song whilst ensconced in the forward (well below the waterline) cabin, there's been no "thar she blows" from the crew. Why did I bother with the hassle of getting a harpoon through Gatwick...?
It looks like I may have to apologise to Eddi and Brain Aid - we appear to be in a weather sweet spot. Champagne time to celebrate the first 500 miles - only 2300 to go..
Morning Landlubbers!
November 26th 2009
22*50.15 N 26*40.95 W
Another day - another blue sky (with the odd nimbus humulis and a hint of strato cirrus....), an endless ocean, the whistling of the wind through the sails and rigging - oh the joy of the open sea.
But it’s not all joy. Our perfect isolation has been fractured by the sight of a sail on the horizon (ahead of us), which has exhumed competitive thoughts.
There’s a little red glint in the eyes of the testosterone-fuelled crew members, being Fat*, Stubble, Cutter and Red O, as all our thoughts turn to overhauling them and showing our appreciation of their seamanship.
Curiously they won’t answer their radio which has got me in a Dead Calm mind set. Is Billy Zane in their yacht? Has he gone mad and killed the crew and is he on the way to do us in? But wait - maybe one of us will be the Sam Neill character who struggles valiantly against the crazed but bald Hollywood idol, gets knocked out, falls in the drink, swims around for a couple of days at eight knots and then springs back on board like an Atlantean and shoots Billy through the head with a Verey pistol (got that through Gatwick too).
Hmmmm.....must stop drinking the sea water.
Sadly, ever since we saw them and got aspirational, we have gone slower. Why forever so? Cos Stubble and Cutter can’t stop playing with their rigging! Winches go night and day and if they had their way we would change sails on the hour, every hour. Nobody listens to the Second mate and the Galley slave.
Last night we had our first card game.. It has a rather crude name that should not pollute this blog, but I can give you a clue by saying it is named after a hole in your posterior through which ahh-ahh passes. If one loses the game one is referred to an ******** until the next game. I will only hint at who lost. We are approaching the point where we will have only 2000 miles to go. Grog has been directed to procure the champagne and put it in the freezer, but horror of horrors, it’s not shampoo but Cava! I will have to open it very carefully ~ my old man told me that it burns the skin terribly.
RO
PS. * First mate refers to our Captain as “Fat”. Which is puzzling, cos he’s not - at all - and eats less than Calista Flockhart. PPS. CITA Stop Press!!!!...another ship spotted, behind. We are being caught in a pincer movement....maybe Billy’s twin is on board. At least we have lots of Cava.
The Day of Flying Fish
November 27th 2009
21*44.14 N 30*09.18 W
A day of flying fish and horological contemplation. A flyer met its aerial end last night against the drum tight sails of Weir Kraken, flapping its last on the freshly scrubbed decks. If it had been a Bat Flying fish its dopplar would have saved it - this idiotic comment betrays the fact that we are having problems with our radar (not bad ones Cordelia), but then again, if you are going to fly around at night, you had better be a bat.
Having dissected it to check that it was not a tracking device sent by one of our peskie competitors we gave it a suitable send off - pan-fried in butter and onion. It is the only evidence to date that there are fish in the Atlantic, but I won’t dwell on that depressing subject. Instead, please read "The End of the Line" by Charles Clover if you are concerned about the destruction that commercial fishing is wrecking our Oceans, and the stupid inability of the EU especially to control a wantonly wicked harvest.
Having read it you will no longer be fooled by the term "line caught Tuna" and you may not gobble up so much monkfish.
The crew is in the throws of a horological discussion, having passed a second time line.The captain prefers that we do not alter our time pieces away from GMT, whereas this writer would prefer to react to time zones.
The present MO is wreaking havoc on the watch rota.The rota, by the way, runs from 8pm to 8am, with three four hour watches. The middle one, our dog watch, is the least favoured but now that Stubble and Red O have found the secret Rum stash it may become more bearable.
Back to the horology - Fat’s answer to the problem is to dispense with numerals for hours, replacing them with names, just like Chinese years. So we could have the hangover hour at 8am GMT, ablution hour at 7am and hair of the dog hour a 9am, etc etc. Personally I think that this idea is not his best, but he has promised to write a short but persuasive paper on it and maybe he too should stay off the sea water.
Sailing is measured with a gentle swell, and the wind is coming from the north east at around 20 knots. The code Zero is up rather than the genniker which is proving entertaining at times, but it has increased our speed to a steady 9 to 10 knots. We are lying fifth in our group of twenty, so top quartile Bridget!!
And the fourth placed yacht is but 14 miles ahead.
Spume Ho!
RO
Sunday
November 29, 2009
20*49.60 N 36*16.24 W
It being Sunday the men have dug out our newly-curled and powdered best wigs, and have washed, shaved (apart from Stubble and RedO), plaited our tie-mates' pigtails and have brought the yacht to an exemplary state of cleanliness if wooden and brilliance if metal. How fine we will look at confession time.
I feel the parable of the feeding of the five thousand tugging at my side: our bread has gone mouldy and we ate the prawns in trepidation last night. The fish fingers have defrosted and refrosted several times and will now resemble a large piece of spent chewing gum, as well as presenting a health hazard. At least we have salami, olives and pringles.
Unfortunately Fat does not eat the former two, having expressed an opinion that thay are suitable only for Greeks, and pringles do not qualify as food. We are also out of fresh milk, but replenishment of that will require a miracle of old testament proportions now that Ernie has gone.
Offspring! Whom of you will take up the challenge and beat your parents' trans atlantic time?
You are hereby nick-named and shamed;
Her Ladyship
Moneypenny
Jessy Bear
Giddy
Playboy
Cheryb
Art the Fart
Chas Chuckle
Doodi
Longbook
Pig
Semlon
Missimoo
Tristalini.
Stubble would like to design a boat to accomodate you all, and yes, yes, it will have a large fridge. Grog has volunteered to act as cook and valet and we miss you all dreadfully and have spent nearly the whole trip discussing Christmas presents.
Fans of Fobidden Planet will be heartened to hear that the Krell have installed their infernal machines on Weir Kraken. Fat and Starving claim to have seen bats last night whizzing round the main. They must have been monsters from the id, cos even the blind and bird brained dont go on two thousand mile round trips for bilge bugs.Talking of bugs, one of the reasons for the growing provisions crisis is due to none of the tins having labels - these were studiously removed for fear of cockaroach contamination. Unfortunately, the Captain's caligraphy is notorious, so add a slippery curved surface and you get heiroglyphics that would confound King Tut.
Last night Weir Kraken hit 14.7 knots - record for us and very exciting too. We could smell the fear eminating from the boat ahead. The Code Zero sail worked wonders, but we were only a whisker away from breaking our halyard so we have confined our speed sails to quarters and are taking it a bit easier, so you guys ahead can ease up too.
The Cava is in the freezer (one cannot drink it too cold) in readiness for the imminent attainment of the 1500 miles to go mark.
RO
PS. SISTA
It Had To Happen
November 30, 2009
19*23.57 N 39*18.14 W
It had to happen. Our first major breakage. The beloved Code Zero (CZ) is damaged, but possibly not irreparably, the prognosis is 50/50.
We want to operate today but will need calm and time, neither of which we have. Currently we are rattling along at 9 knots with 20 knots of wind behind us. The heading is 260* which will take us right into St Lucia’s in-betweens, 1250 miles away.
Questions are being asked about the design of the CZ. We have, in the mould of our great and illustrious prime minister, discounted any possibility that our own actions were to blame - this problem was created by events outside our control of which we had no cognisance, fundamental flaws embedded long ago by dastardly designers and unscrupulous financiers, who conspired to undermine the very fabric....of our sail.
And for the record the CZ is a b****r to handle.
Whales!
We had our first visitation yesterday. They were coy, flirting with the Najad (maybe they had read about Ahab) and there were quite a few, all around 5m long. Who can tell me what type they probably are? With the sizeable swell, very clear blue water, strong midday sun and polarised lenses one could, on a couple of occasions, see a whole whale suspended, Hirst like, in the very top of the swell....how memorable was that....please come back whally!!
Sleep patterns get hard hit on long ocean passages - the watch system demands that you catch what you can, when you can. The forward cabin does look appealing but in fact it’s a veritable cacophony of rushing and burbling water, roaring and thumping its way along the hull, and then, adding insult to injury, you get the one of the watch crews stomping about the deck, dropping large bits of metal and fiddling with the preventor. In my Victorian dreamscape I was visited by an engineer who recommended I deal with the sound insulation issue with plaster and lath. Bury that! I said, polystyrene will do - to which he had no answer. Yes please Najad.
Last night the crew discussed whom we were missing the most, apart from loved ones, family, dogs, tortoises, insects etc. And the answers? Fat and Grog missed their hot baths (separately), Stubble misses his online sailing game (saddo), Cutter misses his daily glass of Dom Perignon (he is a GP after all), Starving misses her choc ices and RO misses his shaver (cos the beard itches) and green things, especially the 1st to the 19th....
Sail ho!
RO
Sails
December 02, 2009
17*39.21 N 42*59.03 W
Word has reached my blistered and barnacled ears that some of you infernal landlubbers are confused about sails and their terminology.
So, breaking away from political thought and hunt the last biscuit, I'll give you a quickie guide to sails.
Starting with Code Zero, or Code 0, this is attached to the front pointy end of the yacht and is large, triangular shaped and lightweight. It is designed to be used in light airs, especially for upwind tacks (we have not been using ours for this). It also furls and unfurls upon itself. We keep the Code 0 in the sail locker and only bring it out when we are feeling masochistic.
My Swedish friend (no, not that one) Stubble tells me that the Code 0 was devised by the Americas Cup boys. Please email me on N570.012@gmail.com if I am wrong. Next door to the Code 0 sits the Genoa, named after the town in Italy, which is like the Code 0 but smaller n heavier, thus stronger and more reliable.
Our genoa has a very reliable furling mechanism and it is easy to get it up, being operated by a button, illuminated at night...no pill required... Back towards the middle of the yacht and you find the mast (we are a sloop), upon which hangs the Main. Surely no need for more info here. Back to the front, we have been using a genikker, also known as a cruisng shoot or an asymetrical spinakker. The genikker hangs from the top of the mast, supported by a lanyard and is normally attached on the side to a whisker pole - a carbon prong sticking 15 feet out, itself supported from the mast. The problem with Genikkers and spinakers is that they are unstable and flap around more than Frank Spencer.
1066 miles to go and all that...only five fantastic days' sailing to go - realistically it will take another six, but we did sail 211 miles yesterday. Other important matters: our beer consumption is not excessive so we should not run out. We all wet our beds last night, we left the windows open and it rained, and then blew up.
We also set a new top speed of 15.7 knots. And Fat did an Olga Korbett impression in bed last night...I prefered Nadia Commanechi....what that girl could do on a beam.... Finally, the Royal Flying Fish Force have heard about what we did to their scout and lauched a sortie against us. Two came to sticky ends on the side of the yacht, but the third did get through and hit Cutter on the shoulder and me on arm. I may have to wear goggles whilst on watch... Got to go...there's a sail quite nearby and they may have some gin.
RO
Losing Track of Time
December 03, 2009
16*33.72 N 46*18.50 W
We have lost track of time. The first discussion this morning was "what day is it". Fat and Cutter answered with authority, "it’s Tuesday" and stuck to their guns in the face of incredulity from others, so Tuesday it was. But it is Wednesday. Out here there is no daily bombardment of what day or time it is: no newspapers, no up-beat radio, no Monday night film night, no Casualty (thank heavens)....not even X factor.
The days and nights blur into each other, and it’s made more confusing because we have a full moon. With a clear unpolluted sky the night light is bright but colourless and today the sun will rise as the moon sets - no wonder we don’t know what day it is.
The morning shower is something to look forward to - the nights are warm and sticky and the salt permeates the pores. One can either shower in the plastic fantastic cubicle, or you can climb down onto the back of the boat, strap yourself in and use the rear hose to freshen up, whilst dangling your legs into the Atlantic Ocean rushing beneath you. It is, however, a bit un-nerving, putting your pins in the water - God knows how many unblinking eyes are staring up greedily at your juicy human sticks.
It is distressingly deep too, here on the edge of the Cap Verde Abyssal Plain.The shallow bits are 4000 metres down. A square metre of sea surface has 4000 cubic metres of water underneath it, or for us Brits, the equivalent of seven million pints of beer, which would constitute a very heavy night out, even for Millwall supporters. We are now hoping to place our wobbly pins upon St Lucia’s soil some time on Monday - weather and God willing.
The Code 0 is mended and back up:- our speed is brisk and, currently, the majority of the oppo lie in our wake.
Got to go - we are having Starvings’ foot chips – let’s hope that they don’t taste of cheese.
RO
The Sea Is Never The Same - Always The Same
December 04, 2009
15*12.81 N 51*11.70 W
We have arrived, not in Saint Lucia, but in the Caribbean - the winds are light, the sky is blue and it’s stinky hot.
Too hot for Red Octopodes anyway. There are a few more birds about too, of a type unrecognisable in the Solent: where is the ornithologist when one needs one?
Eleven days, six people, two heads, 100 sq ft living room, sleep deprivation, hot nights (a/c pump has failed), copious beer – it’s recipe for a mutiny or, if not that, a big general hissy fit. Disappointingly for blog readers I can report that all is harmony and light here in Weir Kraken. The catalyst for this extraordinary situation is Stubble, our Scandihooli Man Friday, whose favourite expression is "perfect, 100% perfect". And perfect comes out as "purrrrrrrrfect".
Even when presented with RedO’s galley slop, Stubble wolfs it down and smiles a contented gourmet smile. He is ably assisted by Cutter, whose stream of anecdotes flow continuously, entertaining us royally. Incredulity only breaks out once in a while. Captain Fat is calm and measured, he has yet to take off his heavy denims, or his thick rugby shirt, thus leading by example when the crew complain of the heat and humidity.
Starving and Grog keep us well fed and watered and better beered. Even when the deck crew cock-up and the Code 0 twists and tears with an obvious felon to blame, the team’s response is "bad luck, let’s do it again". Really, it makes you sick. If there is a bit of frustration, it can only be found on the a*******s card table, where SISTA...... Bert Andersson wins a case of beer and a T shirt for his info on the sails: "the Code 0 was used for the first time by Paul Cayard in the Whitbread Round the World Race 97/98 as a "secret weapon".
Moreover, the Genoa, originally called Genoa jib, was used for the first time in 1927 by a Swede -Sven Salén in the Genoa bay on his 6-meter yacht".
Water water everywhere
And all the boards did shrink
Water water everywhere
Nor any drop* to drink
ttfn
RedO
(a red cephalopod mollusc with eight sucker-bearing arms, a soft sac-like body, strong beak-like jaws and no internal shell.....too true)
* no gin or vodka either.
200 Miles To Go
December 06, 2009
This is the last water based blog, I hope. 200 miles to go to the finish line and it is looking good for a respectable finish, hopefully 4th in class and 29th out of 225 overall.
Not that we have been racing of course....encouragingly we may have triumphed over our vodka swilling friends in Frezy Grant and it will be nip n tuck with Satori, a much bigger and supposedly faster yacht....ha ha ha! The rum is finished, as is the tonic, and the beer level is precarious.
Male people are getting very worried.
But morale remains high, despite the tiredness which has crept up behind and is now standing right in front of us. Days are used to recover from the nights, and what nights they have been! There is nothing that prepares you for a mid-Ocean night sky, so clear and bright (but star gazing with binos is hamperred by a 45 degree roll). Of late we have had the sunset, followed by an ink-black night sky where the stars burn like LEDs and are so numerous that it is difficult to pick out even the basic constellations. Then cometh the moon, from the east, like a new sunrise, throwing eerie light across the waves, jealously clearing the sky of the lesser stars.
Back on board, the card games have continued amongst the card numerate four, and have widened in scope, such that we have a new a*******e, a cheat and an old maid. We even had music in the cockpit last night, Carole King and then, inevitably, the Dark Side of the Moon.
The hotel is booked in Saint Lucia for Monday and Tuesday night and all are looking forward to a quiet, roll-free night in a cool and dry room. Last night on the boat was as hot as ever. Talk has not turned to considering a repeat, but it is only a matter of time.
This is Red Octopus, 44-38-40, ship's mate, survivor of the cruising class A ship Weir Kraken signing off...(pause). Come on cat*
RO
