The wind now began to freshen. We put two rolls in our main but kept our genoa flying. Coronado also reefed at this time. Carmelo was now in the best position, instead of reefing, he was able to free his sheets a little, and head downwind. He slowly drew ahead. The position when we passed the lighthouse was: Esperanza a quarter mile in front of us, with Coronado behind Carmelo but well downwind. The only other boats in sight were Ramon about 250 yards in front of Carmelo and Atlantis on the horizon downwind. (She had broken a stay and was later towed to Morro Jable.) Beyond the lighthouse in the lee of land, the sea was almost flat.
We had barely gone 200 yards when we were nearly knocked down by a howling gust. We wondered what had hit us; Hugh, who was on the tiller, grabbed frantically to release the mainsheet. Fortunately the boats weather helm had forced us up into the wind and spilled most of the gust. Before we could even think of reefing, we were in flat calm again. Two minutes later, another gust struck us, but we had the sheet free and were able to spill the wind. For fifteen minutes we yoyo’d along, one minute doing maximum knots, the next nearly stationary. In one of the flat spells I looked to see what had happened to the others. Coronado was now nearly a mile downwind and becalmed. Esperanza was 300 yards in front, heeling right over, in short seas about 6ft high and desperately trying to reef.
Realizing that we should soon be in this disturbed water, I hastily lowered the genoa and lashed it to the pulpit. Not a moment too soon. Almost immediately we were battering our way along waves which all the time seemed to be getting steeper but not longer. The mountainous coast was barely half a mile to port and with an off shore wind, we should have been in sheltered water. But this wind was funneling down through the many valleys and knocking up short steep seas, on which we literally bounced from crest to crest. When I looked up at the mast, it was whipping like a fly rod. I hastily reefed the main down to the third batten, no easy job, the way we were bouncing about.
In the middle of all this, Ann kept repeating “Isn’t this exciting; I never knew it would be as thrilling as this”. I thought “ Me too, neither”. I relieved Hugh on the tiller. His watch having been nearly up when this had all started and he was beginning to feel the strain. With reduced sail (only a third of our main left flying) the boat handled reasonably comfortably and we had time to look around again. We were amazed to see Esperanza, still only 300 yards ahead, so becalmed, that she had turned and was facing, almost, the way she had come. Ramon was also becalmed, and Coronado, although sailing slowly, was way behind and well downwind of us. As we watched, Ramon and Esperanza, found the wind again, but only a gentle zephyr which barely gave them steerage.
Now it was our turn. We left the area of disturbed water and our impetus carried us 200 yards into what could have been the Sargasso Sea, from its calmness. We sat and watched the other two pull away, making toward shore, where the water appeared more ruffled. This may have been only a mirage though, as they soon became stationary again. Our own sails flapped a little, and we began, again to move slowly.
For half an hour or so, this drifting match continued. First one, then another boat getting a cats paw. The leaders of the fleet, could now be seen, anchored in the distance. Ann was still saying, “Isn’t this exciting, isn’t it jolly”, every so often. The cats paws came from any and every direction. It seemed to us that the course which gave the shortest distance must be the best one, so although advised to go inshore, by a motor fishing boat, which passed us, we kept pointing the boat toward the anchorage. This policy seemed to pay off, as we gradually caught and passed Esperanza. Ramon now had the luck to find a private wind of her own, and slowly pulled away from us all.
As we neared the anchored boats we could see the finishing line well past them denoted by a dinghy and a buoy, both with flags. Within 400yds of the line we could see our opposition, all behind us. The nearest was Carmelo, a quarter of a mile away, then came Coronado, then Mistral and Almerica, who had caught all of us up during our drifting match. At this point our luck finally ran out and we remained as if anchored for the next 20 minutes. First Coronado, then Mistral, closely followed by Esperanza, and finally Almerica, passed us and crossed the line.
As if to spite us, a gentle breeze then came up, and carried us over and down to the other boats. We selected a vacant spot and dropped our hook in about 4 fathoms. By the time we had lowered our sails it was 8 pm and pitch dark. Our log registered 55 miles. The first 45 of these had taken under 8 hours. The last ten, about 4 ½ hours.
Realizing that we should soon be in this disturbed water, I hastily lowered the genoa and lashed it to the pulpit. Not a moment too soon. Almost immediately we were battering our way along waves which all the time seemed to be getting steeper but not longer. The mountainous coast was barely half a mile to port and with an off shore wind, we should have been in sheltered water. But this wind was funneling down through the many valleys and knocking up short steep seas, on which we literally bounced from crest to crest. When I looked up at the mast, it was whipping like a fly rod. I hastily reefed the main down to the third batten, no easy job, the way we were bouncing about.
In the middle of all this, Ann kept repeating “Isn’t this exciting; I never knew it would be as thrilling as this”. I thought “ Me too, neither”. I relieved Hugh on the tiller. His watch having been nearly up when this had all started and he was beginning to feel the strain. With reduced sail (only a third of our main left flying) the boat handled reasonably comfortably and we had time to look around again. We were amazed to see Esperanza, still only 300 yards ahead, so becalmed, that she had turned and was facing, almost, the way she had come. Ramon was also becalmed, and Coronado, although sailing slowly, was way behind and well downwind of us. As we watched, Ramon and Esperanza, found the wind again, but only a gentle zephyr which barely gave them steerage.
Now it was our turn. We left the area of disturbed water and our impetus carried us 200 yards into what could have been the Sargasso Sea, from its calmness. We sat and watched the other two pull away, making toward shore, where the water appeared more ruffled. This may have been only a mirage though, as they soon became stationary again. Our own sails flapped a little, and we began, again to move slowly.
For half an hour or so, this drifting match continued. First one, then another boat getting a cats paw. The leaders of the fleet, could now be seen, anchored in the distance. Ann was still saying, “Isn’t this exciting, isn’t it jolly”, every so often. The cats paws came from any and every direction. It seemed to us that the course which gave the shortest distance must be the best one, so although advised to go inshore, by a motor fishing boat, which passed us, we kept pointing the boat toward the anchorage. This policy seemed to pay off, as we gradually caught and passed Esperanza. Ramon now had the luck to find a private wind of her own, and slowly pulled away from us all.
As we neared the anchored boats we could see the finishing line well past them denoted by a dinghy and a buoy, both with flags. Within 400yds of the line we could see our opposition, all behind us. The nearest was Carmelo, a quarter of a mile away, then came Coronado, then Mistral and Almerica, who had caught all of us up during our drifting match. At this point our luck finally ran out and we remained as if anchored for the next 20 minutes. First Coronado, then Mistral, closely followed by Esperanza, and finally Almerica, passed us and crossed the line.
As if to spite us, a gentle breeze then came up, and carried us over and down to the other boats. We selected a vacant spot and dropped our hook in about 4 fathoms. By the time we had lowered our sails it was 8 pm and pitch dark. Our log registered 55 miles. The first 45 of these had taken under 8 hours. The last ten, about 4 ½ hours.
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