Difficult first week

From the Vendee Globe Conrad Humphreys recounts his spinnaker trawling antics

Today is day 7 and began with some mysterious visits in the early hours from some small fishing boats. I had noticed them lurking around on the radar for a couple of hours before three boats headed towards me. Knowing that there has been some incidences of piracy in these areas, I decided to head offshore a little. One of the boats came alongside just a few metres from Hellomoto and shone its torch at my mainsail. After a couple of minutes, their curiosity waned and much to my relief they headed back to join there friends.

This week has not been an easy one to settle into a good rhythm. The blistering pace set at the start has only been slowed by the unusual lack of south Atlantic trades. After an incredible start witnessed by hundreds of thousands lined along the Vendee shoreline, the fleet started to stretch out towards Cape Finisterre. Off the Cape, there was a lot of storm debris in the water and we collided with three pieces of wood at high speed, one of which hit the starboard rudder with a lot of force. A quick check has shown some damage to the blade but nothing serious.

As we headed south towards Maderia, the fleet split left to right was over 100 miles. Looking ahead past the Canaries, the low pressure to the south was preventing the trade winds from forming and looked to me like the fleet was heading towards a park up. Being the most easterly of the fleet, I opted to head through the Canaries to pick up the breeze that was shown consistently off the African coastline. Having always tried to avoid sailing through these islands, (notorious wind holes in behind the islands) I aimed for the gap between Fuertoventura and Gran Canaria. My ETA was midnight! - not great as I knew there would be some tricky manouvring to be done, notwithstanding the conditions I was to be greated with.

I changed from the big Hellomoto spinnaker to the Code 5 with the wind gusting to 25 knots and 30 miles to the corner of Fuerto. I was stuggling to sail deep enough to clear the shallows off the western corner and a large container ship was forcing me high of course as I tried to cross its bows.

Things were starting to look a little dodgy as I crossed the 10m contour line and was sailing dead downwind in a very nasty breaking and confused sea state. I cleared the lighthouse by what apperared to be metres and got set up for a gybe back to the west once clear of the wind hole behind Gran Canaria.

The wind dramatically strengthened once clear of the gap and Hellomoto took off at 20 knots surfing down breakers that must have been 10-15 feet high. Anywhere else and I would have been in my element, but having had less than 30 mins sleep in the previous 24 hours and hallucinations about Richard Simmonds from APP contantly talking to me about camera angles (I must have been tired!) I was pretty edgy as the speedo read 26 knots with the African coastline rush up towards me only 40 miles away.

Gybing these boats in big breeze is not easy. The mainsail on Hellomoto is 200sqm and during a gybe if not controlled can crash across the boat with the potential to break all six of the carbon fibre reinforced battens. I only carry enough spare batterns for two complete changes. I opted to reef the mainsail and furl the code 5, not easy in 35 knots of wind.

The manouvere went well and I had a good course running parallel to the coastline. I had a quick 40 winklets and as day break arrived I set about re-hoisting the big Hellomoto spinnaker. During the fresh running conditions through the night ahead of the Canaries, I had not noticed that the spinnaker sheets had been chafing against the mast capshrouds above the leather protection. To my horror the shroud which holds the mast up looked badly chafed and I needed to climb out onto the deck spreaders to check it wasn't as serious as I thought. I also needed to come up with a plan for how to prevent this from happening in the future. Getting out onto the deck spreader took three attempts as each time I didn't have the strength to be able to hold on one handed whilst the other hand secured me there. My third attempt, I decided to shimmy up the spreader after securing a line outboard. The chafe was serious but only through the outer plastic, luckily no damage to the fibres that would have surely lead to my retiring from the race. I wrapped the shrouds with sticky Kevlar, took a couple of pictures for Joff and slid back down the spreader. It was now 0830 and I was feeling tired and very hungry.


Photo: Conrad Humphreys

Hindsight is obviously a great thing, and having got through a pretty stressful night without any serious mishap and making good progress in the fresh winds found on the African coastline, I don't know why I didn't call it a day and grab some much needed sleep and re-fuel. No...with a 150 mile deficit to make up on the leaders, I decided to return to re-hoisting the spinnaker saying to myself another 30 minutes effort would give a greater reward.

Sometimes, you need to listen to your body. With a tired head and energy levels excessivly low, the 30 minute sail change turned into five hours of hell due to me leaving one jammer on the mast un-cleated. I called Mary [Ambler] just before 9am to cancel any morning media commitments - I said I would phone her straight back with a great story about my high speed adventure through the Canaries. Little did we both know that morning something was to unfurl that would lead to me ringing her back completely gutted, totally exhausted and perhaps a level of depression I have not experienced for a number of years.

At 0900, I bore the boat away, and began hoisting the 350m2 Hellomoto spinnaker to the top of the 90ft tall mast. The sail is in a sock which prevents it from opening until you are ready. Standing on the foredeck holding a thin line that controls the power to this monster sail, with the boat already sailing at 15knots under the mainsail alone you feel completely charged. This morning my tired mind missed some of the vital warning signs. As I started to pull on the sock, I had missed that the jammer holding the spinnaker halyard was not shut. As the sail violently filled, the halyard slipped off the winch and the sail fluttered gracefully into the water. I dived for the autopilot and dumped the mainsheet to slow the boat and stop run running over the sail now fanned out in front of the boat. I quickly gathered some sail ties and began hauling the sail back on board.

No problems, I had been quick enough and although wet, the sail was at least still in one piece and back onboard. I stuffed the sail down the forehatch and grabbed the other spinnaker - the new one, only just delivered from North Sails. Without stopping to even consider a a quick breather, I re-hoisted the second spinnaker and got ready to un-sock it, checking this time that the jammer was closed!

I opted to put the boat on a lower course so that the mainsail blankets the spinnaker as you un-sock it. The sailed open and as I ran back to the helm, it billowed out in front of the forestay. I was too slow to head up on course and could only watch as the sail started winding itself around the forestay like a wineglass. I altered course to try and clear it, but my manouvering only made the situation worse. The spinnaker was wrapped around the forestay and a new plan was needed. I was too tired to think and couldn't face another climb up the mast to clear it, so I dropped the halyard and desperately hoped the sail would untangle itself from the rigging on its own. This proved partially correct, and as the sail fell into the water, I focused on clearing the wraps around the forestay. The head of the sail filled with water and started dragging like a giant sea anchor before ripping in half. The sail was being destroyed and I could only grab a knife and begin hacking it away from the rigging. Normally this would have been enough - a bad day some might say, but as the sail sunk below the boat it wrapped itself around the keel.

For three hours I tryed to manouvere the boat backwards, forwards, sideways which everways trying to clear the sail from the keel. I don't think I've ever felt quite so alone. I dropped the mainsail, and started considering how and when I might be able to go over the side with a knife to clear it. The wind was due to drop later that evening. I sat motionless in the cockpit floor, sweat pouring from my body racking my tired mind for a solution. I rehoisted the mainsail, and began again circling trying to unwind the sail. Then without warning, the boat suddenly became free. The sail had given up its grip and decided to sink below the waves. We were free. I pointed Hellomoto back on course and slumped on the cockpit floor too exhausted and emotional to think or care about what sail to put up next.

Read more about Conrad Humphreys - click here