there’s a magic that stirs when like-minded people come together to embrace a common passion—whatever, wherever and whenever that might be. For the disciples of team racing, the wherever is a small suburb of Liverpool, in northwestern England, specifically the West Kirby Sailing Club. The whenever is that meandering time between the first warning signal and the Sunday-night debrief, with nothing to do but talk, sing, dance and laugh until we cry, before doing it again a bit too early the next day. The whatever, of course, is the Wilson Trophy, justly hailed as “the world’s best team-racing event,” which offers refuge for one long and spectacular weekend where sailing is the most important thing in the world.

In conversing, ­reminiscing, hypothesizing about this sport we love, we fill the space with past, present and future. Sitting at the West Kirby Sailing Club’s windows as the sun sets over the reservoir, dubbed “The Theatre of Dreams,” we can sit next to Colin Merrick, who has been making the pilgrimage to West Kirby since 2003 and who is perhaps the best to ever do it. In the same space, we can turn around to talk shop and compare the different styles of different teams from different countries with the kids who are absolutely dominating the team-racing scene today, the ones who have yet to graduate from their universities.

I’m talking about the likes of brothers Mitchell and Justin Callahan, Lachlain McGranahan, Sara Schumann, Libby Redmond and Marbella Marlo—representing Biscayne Bay YC this particular weekend, but stateside they are known as “Los Huevos.” Together, they are the best team-race squad on the planet today.

I have been at this team-race thing for more than two decades, counting six Wilson Trophy appearances, a dozen Hinman Trophies, countless Team Race Midwinters and everything between. Or at least what I can remember at this point. I have coached 29 ICSA National Championship events and sailed in a few as well. I’m sure most tenured historians of the sport, such as the late Ken Legler, would find the examples I’m searching for, but here on the shores of West Kirby, I have certainly never seen a team like this year’s champion. The Biscayne powerhouse is all that, and then some.

To unspool the significance of this team’s current prowess, the next best living time capsule of past and present team-race lore is Amanda Callahan (not related to Justin and Mitchell)—coach at Roger Williams University and multi Wilson, Hinman and Team Race World Champion, who, long ago, sailed with the team called Silver Panda. The Pandas held a piece of team-racing history as the first/only team to win the “Triple Crown” of team racing: winning the Wilson, the Hinman, and the Worlds in the same calendar year, 2007. Take it away, Madame Callahan.

Team Racing Through and For the Ages

I skipped my college graduation to attend my first ever Wilson Trophy in 2003. When we arrived in West Kirby, an idyllic town on the shore of the River Dee, with its classic English gardens and horrible British food, we were transfixed. It was love at first sight: a man-made marine lake created in 1899 to allow sailing and windsurfing when the river runs completely dry at low tide. It’s the perfect playground for team racing, with flat water and reliable breeze, and a walkway around the perimeter that allows for up-close ­spectating and heckling. Back then, regatta organizers erected grandstands on the promenade, making sailing a real spectator sport. Commentary by Legler and others blared from speakers lining the south end of the lake, enticing any passersby to check out the racing and help make sense of the colored sails ­whipping around. The marine lake is magic. 

At that time, the regatta had been run for more than a half-century, and we had never seen anything like it—an entire fleet of boats used exclusively for the regatta, and there was a dedicated trailer with TVs displaying the upcoming race schedule, the leaderboard, and recent race results. A digital display on the committee boat showed the race number and countdown time into the next start. Umpires wore black-and-white-striped jerseys. All this was very cutting-edge at the time. Fifty years of institutional knowledge in running the event meant that the racecourse length was set with ­scientific precision. We had enough time to sail the course, rotate at the change dock, and arrive at the start line with about four ­minutes until their next start.

And that was just the racing.

The Lore and Allure of West Kirby

The traditional Wilson Trophy dinner on Saturday night was a next-level social event, with guest speakers and wine waves, and people dropping coins in your drink so that you may heroically down your beverage and save the queen from drowning. After the Brits headed home, the American contingent spent Sunday night at the local Ring O’ Bells pub cementing hazy weekend ­memories into Wilson lore. 

The West Kirby Sailing Club has now been hosting the Wilson for more than 75 years. This year, 34 teams arrived from across England, Ireland and the US. These teams span the ages—a few high school teams and a lot of university teams, and then at the other end of the spectrum, there are teams like the West Kirby Hawks, with members who have sailed every Wilson for the past 25 years. You can do the math on that. Sailors love this event so much that they write it into their work contracts; Wilson Trophy weekend off is nonnegotiable. And, by the way, there are plenty of pets named Wilson.

The Silver Pandas can now be easily considered old-school, and while the American teams have won the past five editions of the Wilson Trophy, which speaks to the strength of the state of team racing in the US, it’s Los Huevos who are not just dominating team racing, but redefining greatness as well. The Callahan brothers and their Biscayne Bay posse are not only athletes, but they are also ­inheritors and innovators of a legacy driven by a love of the game.

The Callahan twins have been winning team-racing world championships since 2017—back in their Optimist days. They won the CJ Buckley Team Race, the C420 Team Racing National Championship in back to back years. In 2022, they won the High School Team Racing Championship for the Baker Trophy in their senior year. And at the end of their freshmen year of college, they won the College Sailing Team Racing National Championship. Months later, they won the Hinman and the US Team Racing Nationals—on their first try. In 2024, they repeated as Hinman champions, and in 2025, they reclaimed their ICSA Team Racing title. It should come as no surprise, then, that at their first appearance at the Wilson Trophy—the British Team Racing Nationals—they smashed it.

Where will they go next with their team racing? How will they continue to etch their names in the team-racing history books? Will they try to take down Colin’s six wins at the Hinman? No ­matter what, the enchantment of West Kirby will be calling them back.

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For the first time the Louis Vuitton Cup and Louis Vuitton America’s Cup Match will be sailed in Italy, a country with one of the most colorful and enthusiastic America’s Cup histories.

In 2027, the world will look to Italy and specifically to Naples, the capital of the Campania region in Italy, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the most ancient cities in Europe, as it becomes the Host City for the world’s oldest international sports trophy.

The fight for the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup will take place under the watchful shadow of Mt Vesuvius and just off the waterfront of the vibrant city. With a proud heritage and rich history, Italy and Naples offer the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup an unparalleled experience that one way or another is certain to add to the myth, obsession, rivalry and innovation of the America’s Cup.

Andrea Abodi, Minister for Sport and Youth for Italy has played a key role in the bid process and is delighted for the announcement of the President of the Council of Ministers Giorgia Meloni about Italy as the Host Country for the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup.

“The choice of Italy, and Naples in particular, as venue of the 38th edition of the America’s Cup represents a tremendous opportunity for the entire country to enhance the value of its territory, to boost tourism, and to promote sports,” Abodi says. “Our commitment will be also to promote initiatives, projects and measures for sea education and economy. The awarding of this edition is a great success. A team victory and I thank President Meloni, who from the very beginning recognized the deep meaning of bringing such an important international event to Italy, having a great sport, social, touristic and industrial impact.”

The major investment, organizational capabilities, and fulfilment of all necessary requirements testify to the preparation, expertise, and professionalism of a team that—working in concert with the Government, and led by Sport e Salute as the implementing body—has shown it has everything it takes to meet the expectations of all stakeholders, the rights holder of the competition, Team New Zealand, the winner of the last edition.

“Hosting the 38th America’s Cup in Naples represents an extraordinary international showcase for the beauty and history of our territory,” says Gaetano Manfredi, Mayor of Naples and Government Special Commissioner for Bagnoli. “We have worked diligently on this bid over the recent months in close collaboration with the Government, successfully prevailing over other competing cities. This achievement will generate a substantial economic impact on our territory, as experienced by previous host cities such as Barcelona and Valencia.

“The event is set to be the most significant sporting occasion ever hosted by Naples, transforming the city’s iconic Gulf into a stage for spectacular races among the world’s elite sailing teams. An opportunity to show the world not only the beauty of our landscape, but also the city’s ability to competently address the great challenges of the present. The races will take place in the waters between Castel dell’Ovo and Posillipo, while the team bases will be established in Bagnoli—a strategic area where the Government has decided to invest decisively, with the goal of finally returning it to the city and its citizens.

The complex work of environmental remediation and redevelopment in Bagnoli is already underway and progressing according to plan. The America’s Cup will serve as a powerful accelerator for tourism, the maritime economy, local entrepreneurship, and the development of new skills, providing a tangible preview of what this area can become upon completion of its urban regeneration. I would like to thank the Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, the Minister for Sport and Youth, Andrea Abodi, and all the institutional and technical stakeholders involved for the trust placed in our city. Naples is ready and will continue to demonstrate its ability to deliver concrete results.”

Grant Dalton, CEO of America’s Cup Defender Team New Zealand said, “There is a raw spirit and absolute pride in Italy that seems so appropriate to have the next America’s Cup here. By bringing the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup to this country, it feels like we are bringing it to the people, in our ambition to continually grow the audience of the America’s Cup and sport of sailing.

Italians are the most passionate and engaged America’s Cup audience and obviously it is the home of Luna Rossa who are such an amazing team and strong competitor. So, from the Defender’s position it certainly feels like we are entering the lion’s den competitively, but from an event perspective it feels like the perfect venue to host the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup.”

Naples has played host to America’s Cup action in 2012 & 2013 in the lead up to the 34th America’s Cup, hosting two America’s Cup World Series events which local event officials estimated more than one million people turned up to watch the racing from the Naples waterfront over the week-long event.

The bid for Naples, Italy bought a clear ambition to leverage the America’s Cup as a means to modernize the city’s infrastructure while honoring its history and providing the spectacle of AC75 America’s Cup racing for the people of Italy.

As current holder and Trustee of the America’s Cup, the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron is looking forward to Naples, Italy being a vibrant catalyst for the continued growth of the America’s Cup. “Italy has long been one of Team New Zealand’s fiercest and most passionate rivals in the America’s Cup, and we are thrilled to see Naples, Italy named as the Host Venue for the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup Match,” said Commodore David Blakey of the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron. “Bringing the Cup back to Europe—into the heart of one of the world’s most vibrant sailing communities—not only honurs the rich history of the event but also creates an incredible opportunity to showcase New Zealand sailing and innovation on a global stage.

Naples, Italy promises to be a spectacular setting for the Louis Vuitton 38th America’s Cup, as well as the Youth and Women’s regattas. We are proud to be defending the Cup there in 2027. Our Squadron members had an unforgettable experience travelling to Europe for the latest America’s Cup, and we look forward to delivering even more exclusive experiences and support opportunities in Naples, Italy.”

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Conor Fogerty was feeling it. Aboard the husky, well-prepared Beneteau 44.7 Black Magic, with Fogerty on the wheel, we were closing in on the fifth day of the 700-plus-nautical-mile SSE Renewables Round Ireland Race. Having just passed Thor Rock, we were fast approaching Rathlin Island, the northeast corner of the Emerald Isle’s rugged, wild coastline. The lights of Scotland blinked on the far horizon. The next 24 hours would unfold like a fever dream. But first we had to negotiate dark, craggy Rathlin.

The island marks the crossroads between two converging ocean currents, where the North Atlantic jumps the Irish Sea. It was more than a bit messy. Before the race, I’d heard many a Rathlin horror story; boats had been known to park there, anchor deployed, for double-digit hours if they happened upon it when the tide was foul. Rathlin has converted many race leaders into race losers. It’s not something for which you can plan ahead: You get there when you get there.

Luckily, we nailed it perfectly.

I was grateful that Fogerty was at the helm. Just before the start, I’d been informed that I’d be sharing both watch and driving duties with him, which was daunting. A professional delivery skipper, he had 35 transatlantic voyages to his credit, including a victory in the grueling 2017 edition of the OSTAR singlehanded race aboard his Jeanneau Sunfast 3600, for which he was named Irish Sailor of the Year. For the most part, I’d hoped I’d held my own, but something had also been made ­crystal clear: I’m no Conor Fogerty.

As we passed the blinking ­lighthouse off Rathlin’s headland, the speedo ­registered a modest 4 or 5 knots, but the adjacent GPS numbers told the larger story of the favorable escalator on which we rode: 12.5 knots. At that moment, under Fogerty’s steady hand, Black Magic creamed into a cauldron of swirling current, the intersection of boat meeting sea putting us briefly into submarine mode. A drenching wall of water swept the decks and filled the cockpit. I remember thinking, This is June, and that effing wave is too damn cold.

A few hours later, at dawn, we were once again in open waters. With roughly 75 nautical miles to the finish line off the town of Wicklow, and 35-knot gusts right on the button, the northern shoreline was behind us. It was the home stretch. The good news? We were back in the Irish Sea. The bad news? We were back in the Irish Sea.

My unlikely tale of scoring a ride on Black Magic began almost a year earlier and in an unlikely place—at the annual Fleet 50 J/24 awards ceremony in my hometown of Newport, Rhode Island. Earlier that summer, with the same knuckleheads I’ve raced J/24s with for decades, we snagged for our fifth man a bright, savvy Irish kid named Jack Cummins, who was teaching sailing at the Sail Newport community sailing center for the summer. I mentioned to Cummins that, despite my Irish surname and ancestry, I’d never visited Ireland. If I ever made it, I wondered, might he show me around?

“You should come do the Round Ireland Race,” he replied. “My mom used to be the commodore of the Wicklow Sailing Club that runs the race. I can get you on the boat I’m sailing on.”

The rum was flowing and, I reckoned, likely doing the talking too. All of which led up to this past April, when I received this email from Black Magic’s owner, skipper and navigator, ­seasoned Irish yachtsman Barry O’Donovan: “Jack Cummins has mentioned that you are interested in doing the Round Ireland Race this June. We have a good, energetic crew lined up and would be delighted if you would join us. Let us know your thoughts?”

It was an offer too good to pass up. Now I just had to figure out exactly what the Round Ireland Race was all about.

The first edition was in 1980, with a fleet of 16 boats, and it has run biennially ever since (with the exception of the COVID cancellation in 2020). It generally draws a strong UK entry list, though George David’s Rambler 88 represented the US in 2016 and set a monohull course record of just over two days. These days, it’s sponsored by SSE Renewables, an operator of onshore and offshore wind farms.

Those are the hard numbers, but the heart of the event—and I’d soon learn that, as with everything Irish, soul and spirit are paramount—comes from the funky little grassroots club that runs it. There are far more prestigious yacht clubs in Ireland, such as the Royal Cork, that would love to host the country’s premier offshore race. But it’s the biggest undertaking by far for the unpretentious sailing club and the cool little town of Wicklow (St. Patrick himself is said to have landed on its shores). It seems that practically every member volunteers in some capacity, and once the race is underway, the clubhouse remains open 24/7. No matter when you finish, frothy Guinness awaits.

“Energetic” was an apt description of the Black Magic crew. Ciaran Finnegan was the de facto boat captain, who’d been sailing since he was a wee lad. His right-hand man was his fellow Round Ireland vet, Robert Kerley, who could impressively hand-roll cigarettes in a small gale. Joss Walsh was a 6’4” all-around waterman built like a linebacker (always good to have one of those dudes on hand). My J/24 mate Cummins fit right in with this tight band of Celtic brothers.

On the other hand, O’Donovan, Fogerty and I constituted the geriatric over-60 set. We were accorded respect from the young brothers as the elders we were.

Surfer Peter Connolly and Dominic O’Keefe, who kept everyone well-fed, rounded out the male majority. The lone woman on the team was O’Donovan’s daughter, Labhaoise (pronounced LEE-Shuh), an excellent sailor who also served as the no-nonsense crew chief. I was told at the outset to stay on her good side, and I tried my best.

It was a tight, good-natured and often hilarious bunch; I often felt like I’d been beamed onto the set of an Irish boating sitcom. And, as I was soon to learn, they were some badass sailors too.

The sailing instructions for the 704-nautical-mile contest are deceptively simple: “Leave Ireland and all its islands excluding Rockall to starboard.” The mileage suggests a distance race, but the weird fact of the matter is, you’re never all that far from shore. That’s not the only confounding issue.

At the club before the start, I asked ­three-time race veteran Tim Welden for his take on the racecourse. “In fact,” he said, “it’s 13 different races, from headland to headland. There’s different breeze and currents at each one, and you restart every time. You get a taste of everything, all points of sail. Light winds, heavy weather. Night and day. Dozens of watch changes. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s a pretty race. It’s really hard. Then there’s the elation of finishing. You know you’ve done something.”

A 45-knot gale in the open Atlantic was the miserable lowlight of the 2022 race; Kerley sailed it on Black Magic and recalled it vividly. “It was humbling,” he said, with a faraway gaze. “That’s what offshore sailing does. It humbles you. What you thought you were good at…” His voice trailed away, leaving me with my own humbled thoughts: What the hell had I gotten myself into?

With that, on June 22, we were outbound from Wicklow Harbor. It was a gorgeous day, with bright sunshine and 14 knots of southerly breeze, and the Irish naval patrol ship George Bernard Shaw on station at the starting line. Over half of the 48-boat fleet flew foreign flags, a point of pride to the Irish, who are keen on hosting an international event. Spectators were perched on the rolling, emerald hills above Wicklow, the sort of scenery that inspired Johnny Cash to croon about the “40 Shades of Green.”

I was glad that I took it all in because the world around us would soon close down.

The first 150 miles or so were largely a light-air beat, much of it in heavy mist that made steering a challenge; with zero visibility, the horizon vanished, with no clean demarcation between the sea and the sky.

There’s one word to describe the Irish Sea: ghastly. The edgy seas are short and angry. There’s no carving through it; you just pound into it. 

I had but one bucket-list wish for the entire race: to get a close look at iconic, legendary Fastnet Rock. O’Donovan had whetted my appetite further by saying that the stretch from Fastnet around the coast of Kerry—past Mizen Head; the Bull and Calf Rocks; the Great Skellig Rock, where monks built beehive huts centuries ago; and the Blasket Islands—was his country’s most scenic coastline. Alas, we passed within a mile of Fastnet, socked in by heavy fog (I may as well have stayed in Newport), and never saw a bloody thing, nor any of the other landmarks.

“Just the sound of the sea breaking on them,” O’Donovan said.

“Don’t worry,” Cummins said. “It’s just a rock. The important one to see is back off Wicklow. That’s where we’re going.”

For a while, it seemed as though we’d never get there; soon the breeze disappeared entirely. We watched in dismay as several boats, just a mile or so away, did end runs around us. “We are in the hole from hell,” Fogerty said.

Eventually we escaped into the Atlantic. Historically, this is the juncture where the ocean swells begin to appear, accompanied by a fresh southerly, promoting a spinnaker run northward up the west coast. For a while, we had just that, with 25 knots of favorable breeze as we downshifted kites from the A1 to the A2, and for a spell registered speeds of 10s and 11s. We still couldn’t see a damn thing, steering by ­instruments. But at least we were finally moving.

At long last, sliding past the coast to Galway, the sun made an appearance, and we enjoyed some of the prettiest sailing of the entire trip. Happily, I could now see what we’d been missing. Even at midnight, it never really got dark, with a ­glowing red sky juxtaposed against the green, green coast. Unfortunately, the breeze had swung north, and we were back charging upwind into it. Getting dressed to come on deck was a stumbling dance, and once on the wheel, it was hard to get into a groove.

“It’s like having sex for the first time,” Walsh said, when I asked if he had any steering tips. “You have to feel around in the dark for a bit. But at least now you know why so many Irishmen move to the States.”

And, it occurred to me, why they love golf.

Once along the northern shore, it was one sail change after another, and we got to see the whole inventory: kites, jib, genoa, code zero. Though none of them were up very long. Also, we were lucky; we’d missed a nasty low-pressure system that had formed behind us, a full-fledged gale. Nearly a dozen boats retired, bailing into the many little sheltered harbors dotted along the Atlantic coast. At least Black Magic was still a going concern.

Then, fortuitously, we slashed past Rathlin Island, and the end was nigh. Which is when O’Donovan had one final, sobering announcement. Another potent low had cropped up, packing a punch. Dead ahead. In the Irish Sea.

With Rathlin astern, Cummins had an observation: “Chutes and ladders, that’s what this race is about.” Indeed, we’d been shot with ­dispatch into the Irish Sea. One more day to go. It turned into a long one.

We were hard on a building southwest breeze, which would fill all day long. It occurred to me that we were five days into it and had enjoyed downwind sailing for perhaps 10 hours. On a day like this, there’s but one word to describe the Irish Sea: ghastly. The edgy seas are short and angry. There’s no carving through it; you just pound into it. Especially as the breeze mounts into the 20s and 30s. The first reef went in. Then the second. The bright spot was that we were on a ­starboard-tack fetch to the finish.

Of course, there was one more bit of drama. Black Magic was apparently as tired as we were. The mainsail battens started to pop, the leech line gave up the ghost, and it felt as if the whole sail might fail. Which is when the A-team—Finnegan, Fogerty, Kerley and Walsh, which could be the name of an Irish law firm—went into action, cracking off and basically nursing the whole shooting match onward. Later, O’Donovan would say: “We had a following tide for most of it, which could have carried us past Wicklow if we’d lost the main. It was the best crew work I have experienced in my long time at sea.”

I spent the last few hours on the rail ­alongside Cummins, who offered a geography lesson as we slipped down the coast: Howth, Dublin Bay. Finally, up ahead: Wicklow. Then, just before midnight, after 5 days, 10 hours and change, the finish line. Our results were middling: fifth in IRC Two, 21st overall. No matter—I remember what I’d been told I’d feel: elation. It was true. It all felt like victory to me. 

Four boats had finished within the hour, and the Wicklow clubhouse was rocking. The first Guinness was heaven. Next came a piping-hot full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans, black pudding, thick toast and delicious Irish ­butter. Easily one of my top all-time repasts.

There was just one final mission: Before the race, the Cummins family had basically adopted me, and with its conclusion, Jack’s parents granted my wish to take a quick road trip back down along the southern coast, to see from land where we’d passed by sea. We paid a quick stop in Kinsale, a sister city to Newport, and scarfed down fish and chips at the Fifth Ward Bar, so named for an iconic local neighborhood. It felt like closing a circle.

But the best part was driving up to the proud Kinsale Heads outside the city. Just a few days before, I’d been at the wheel on one of the sunniest days of the race as we engaged in an inshore tacking duel with Nieulargo, a Grand Soleil 40. From high above, I replayed every tack, every cross of one of the most memorable sailing days of my life. With that, my Round Ireland Race ­adventure was officially in the books. What more can I say? It was all grand craic.

The post The Craic of the Round Ireland Race appeared first on Sailing World.

Niklas Zennström’s new jet-black carbon-fiber race boat is likened to Darth Vader’s mask. Thanks to its color and angular looks, “Batboat” is another of the many compliments the craft has earned while turning heads in the waters off England’s south coast this summer. Indeed, Rán VII, the latest grand-prix machine for the Swedish technology giant, is showered with accolades; even Zennström praises his own craft effusively. “Honestly,” he says, “this is the most fun boat I have raced. Downwind I think it’s possibly faster than a TP52 or Maxi72. It just lights up.”

He’s right, and while Rán VII‘s results stand as proof of its quickness, anyone who’s chased it around a racecourse will wholeheartedly agree, you’d be hard-pressed to find a faster 40-footer today.

Grand-prix inshore yacht racing on the Solent, England’s sailing epicenter, is experiencing a renaissance that started with the advent of Fast40+ class racing, which initially provided an outlet for 40-footers retired from the Audi MedCup. The class has since spawned its own purpose-built breed, of which only two yacht designers are currently engaged — Jason Ker and Shaun Carkeek, both of whom have numerous Fast40s in their portfolios. Ker was responsible for Sir Keith Mills’ 2017 Fast40+ championship winner Invictus. Carkeek, the more prolific designer from South Africa, drafted Peter Morton’s previous two Girls on Films — the benchmark designs of 2016 and 2017. Rán has dominated the 2018 season, as has Carkeek, whose boats held the top four positions.

Five years ago, Zennström had Maxi72 and TP52 programs with personnel numbers approaching the scale of an America’s Cup campaign. He has since scaled back and dispensed with both, allowing him to focus strictly on the Fast40+. The shift is primarily due to time and convenience for Zennström, who is based in London, where he runs international technology investment firm Atomico.

“What really appealed to me with the Fast40+ circuit was sailing locally in the Solent, which is a fantastic sailing venue and next to where I live in Hamble,” he says. “Not having people fly around is better for the environment.”

Zennström also prefers that the Fast40+ is an owner-driver class, with pro sailors limited to five. Having sailed for years in the TP52 fleet, where the average crew is age 40 or older, Zennström also recognizes the difficulty for young sailors in gaining grand-prix experience. Consequently, five younger sailors make up half of Rán’s 11-man crew, alongside old hands Tim Powell, Steve Hayles and Adrian Stead.

While many of the other owners and teams in the Fast40+ circuit have graduated up to the class from less than grand-prix ­backgrounds, Zennström is one of the few to have graduated downward. While previous Fast40s were built to a cost, relative to a TP52, for example, Rán is a significant step forward in its development. It’s certainly the most advanced Fast40+ built to date, but Carkeek maintains there’s plenty more potential to explore. “There are things we could’ve done to make it more expensive,” he says, “but Niklas didn’t just throw unlimited budget at it.”

With Carkeek, the team keyed into the considerable ­development work, design and affirmation loops done over previous iterations of his 40s, dating back to the HPR40 Spookie for American Steve Benjamin, and before that to the GP42s he designed alongside Marcelino Botin. To build a quick Fast40+, the primary challenge is similar to a TP52: reducing and lowering weight in the boat while maximizing its righting moment. The rules and resulting solutions differ greatly between the two classes, however. The TP52 is a highly defined box rule, whereas the Fast40+ is an open box, relying heavily on IRC. Take weight, for example: The TP52 rule specifies a minimum limit (plus vertical center of gravity limitations on the mast, etc.), whereas the Fast40+ has no defined minimum. Instead, Fast40s must have an IRC displacement-to-length ratio of less than 110 (less than 90 for new boats) and an IRC TCC of 1.21 to 1.27. The TP52 rule includes a maximum bulb weight, whereas designers have found IRC’s sweet spot for Fast40+ bulbs at around 2,000 kilograms. Where there is much greater ­variation among Fast40s is in fin weight and vertical center of gravity.

With Rán, the team carved weight everywhere it could. Compared to its predecessor, Girls on Film, Rán is substantially wider on deck and slightly beamier at the waterline, yet is 162 kilograms lighter. The objective, says Carkeek, was to enable planing downwind in lower windspeeds, when they can be several knots faster than boats still in ­displacement mode. Overall weight is far from the whole story, however. Rán carries a substantially heavier fin, as well as 108 kilograms of internal ballast to comply with the Fast40+ rule. It is the first Fast40+ to have a solid milled steel foil rather than a typical steel strut with fairings, yet the boat still conforms to the IRC rating band and displacement-to-length ratio like other top Fast40s.

Several features have contributed to its light displacement. Most apparent is the giant chamfer around its foredeck. This isn’t a new concept, but a step forward from Girls on Film, one that offers several benefits. “Global stiffness, reduced windage and panel area, less volume, weight saving in the boat, less pitching, etc.,” says Carkeek. The chamfer is not carried to the transom because maximum beam at deck level aft helps optimize hiking crew weight.

A Fast40’s crew-weight limit of 950 kilograms on a boat displacing around 4 tons is a significantly higher proportion than that of a TP52 (1,130 kilograms on 6,975 kilograms displacement). Powell, Rán’s long-serving project manager and mainsheet trimmer, says the Fast40s are akin to dinghies. “The more active the crew is, the more you get out of the boat,” he says. “Every time someone moves across the boat you feel it.”

The most significant areas of Rán’s weight savings come from its structural optimization and build materials. It’s the first boat launched from Jason Carrington’s new Lawrie Smith-backed company Carrington Yachts (formerly Green Marine) outside Southampton. Despite Carrington’s excellent new facility, female tooling was made by the experts at Persico in Italy, out of milled carbon fiber. Carkeek says working with such a top-level builder benefited the engineering and design. “Usually you have to add margins in your weight estimate,” he says. “With Jason it was zero.”

Fast40+ rules attempt to limit cost by prohibiting honeycomb core on new builds. The rule doesn’t limit high-tech fibers, however, so Rán’s construction uses prepreg unidirectional intermediate-modulus carbon to optimize the structure over varying thicknesses and densities of Core-Cell foam. Due to its foredeck shape, the hull was built in two halves, joined down the middle seam. The use of intermediate-modulus carbon allowed them to reduce the number of interior frames required. Compared to Girls on Film, Rán has less transverse structure and more longitudinal.

Another groundbreaking step is the boat’s electric propulsion. Currently being developed as a Zennström-Carkeek joint venture called EEL Propulsion, the aim is for these units to be standard fit on inshore race boats. Rán’s system comprises a tiny brushless 8.5 kW motor the size of a grapefruit, powering a compact saildrive built in carbon fiber and 3D-printed titanium. Two 150 kW lithium-ion batteries power the motor, each weighing 60 kilograms. While it experienced teething problems in its first season, the system is specified to drive Rán at up to 7 knots for six hours in certain conditions.

The engine prompted an amendment to the Fast40+ rule, which now includes a minimum engine and saildrive weight of 153 ­kilograms (including batteries in Rán’s case) and a minimum speed under power. In addition to its environmental credentials, the electric system offers extra benefits, such as battery positioning to optimize trim and allowing other systems to be run beneath the battery bank.

The boat’s shallow cockpit and low freeboard ensure Rán is unquestionably an inshore boat. “It feels very much like you are sitting on the boat, rather than in it,” says Powell. “In light air, you need to stay low to reduce aero drag.” One surprise, however, is the crew positioning. A helmsman usually sits aft of the mainsheet with the pedestal(s) forward near the trimmers. Rán’s configuration is reversed: The mainsheet trimmer sits farthest forward, with the helmsman behind him (necessitated by the rudder being so far forward) and the rest of the crew aft.

“I’ve had to buy a decent dry top because I am now the farthest forward,” Powell quips. This setup, along with a low-profile tiller that sweeps the cockpit sole, allows the crew to scamper across rapidly during maneuvers. In practice, they typically cross-sheet to keep the headsail trimmer to weather, a task made easier with the crew located aft. Otherwise, much of Rán’s configuration trickled down from the TP52s, including below-deck jib cars and furler for the spinnaker staysail. The Southern Spars rig has halyard locks, EC6 lateral standing rigging and a Carbo-Link forestay. It’s fitted with deflectors cranked up by a Cariboni hydraulic rotary pump, which is driven by the single Harken pedestal. Additional hydraulics adjust forestay and mast butt, but cannot be used during racing.

The boat is configured for spinnaker string drops, enabling the kite to be sucked through the foredeck hatch in the blink of an eye. The drop line does a lap of the interior before terminating on a take-up drum below, mounted on the port side. Having experience of this across their Maxi72s and TP52s, the Rán shore team, led by boat captain Jan Klingmüller, developed its own systems for this and the automatic below-deck reels used to stow spinnaker sheet tails.

Rán’s launch coincided with Harken’s latest carbon-fiber 600.3 winches, which offer a larger-diameter drum and higher line speed. These are used everywhere on the boat, except the forward trimming winches. Access to the interior, where there is barely sitting headroom, is via a hatch in the cockpit sole to port of the pit. The foredeck hatch is larger, with a pneumatic seal to prevent water ingress.

For sails, the team worked with North Sails designer Mickey Ickert. The racing inventory includes a single mainsail, two or three of their four jibs and three of their four kites, and code zero (for the coastal races), plus spinnaker and genoa staysails. The code zero and genoa staysail use Doyle’s cableless technology. Load cells are located throughout the boat (forestay, mast butt, deflectors, etc.) to help them reach their performance numbers quickly and repeatedly. This is accomplished by having a structurally stiff boat, says Carkeek. “If you tack and can reach full headstay tension quickly,” he says, “it means you get to target speed quicker.”

On the racecourse, Rán VII set the new benchmark out the gate. With an exceptional boat, a helmsman and owner who at one point was sailing as much per year as most professionals, and its world-class crew, the team won the first four events of the 2018 Fast40+ season. Although its price tag is confidential, it seems Rán VII might be the first 1 million euro Fast40+.

The rule has been left open, presumably to allow a boat such as Rán to raise the bar, and while history has demonstrated that boats making significant forward progress can kill classes overnight, Rán’s principals are intent on preventing history repeating itself. To this extent, Zennström has made Rán’s molds available to anyone who wants to use them. Imitation, it is said, is the best form of flattery.

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Georgetown Offshore Sailing

__A recent press release from the EDHEC Sailing Cup organizers announces the participation of Georgetown University at the April event:

**“****The opportunity [to compete in France] has generated a tremendous amount of buzz,” says coach Mike Callahan, Georgetown University Sailing. **After an impressive season this past fall, Georgetown University is the second U.S. team to commit to the EDHEC Sailing Cup 2014. By virtue of winning the Intercollegiate Offshore Regatta this past October, the Hoyas were awarded the Jack Hoffman Trophy and given participation at no cost to the 46th EDHEC Sailing Cup, April 25-May 3, 2014 in Les Sables D’Olonne, France. Since the regatta happens right before exams, their participation had been up in the air until December. However, coach Michael Callahan finally decided to send a team: “Georgetown is very excited to be able to participate in the EDHEC Sailing Cup. It’s the first time that our team has traveled internationally and the opportunity has generated a tremendous amount of buzz.”

Among the Hoyas sailing will be Sam Oldroyd, Ron Thompson, Tuckerman Jones, John Labossiere and Andrew Mason. They have decided to compete in the One-Design J/80 class __against 30 other boats.

Click here to read about Tufts’ participation in the event.

For more information on this unique student-run regatta, check out the event website.

__

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EDHEC Sailing Cup Tufts

The Tufts University Jumbos are officially the first U.S. team signed up for the EDHEC Sailing Cup, an annual intercollegiate regatta in its 46th year that draws upwards of 1500 sailors from 20 countries.

In a January 5 press release from EDHEC Sailing Cup organizers, Tufts coach Ken Legler said, “There are not many keelboat regattas, and I have the feeling that once we go, we are going to be addicted to this event […] I have the feeling that the only reason why we don’t know how fun it is is because we haven’t been yet.”

Tufts plans to send 15 of their 16 seniors on the team. They’ll compete in the largest one-design class on Grand Surprise against 50 other boats in the Vendee Globe’s harbor: Les Sables d’Olonne, from April 25 to May 3.

The team includes: Victor Ansart, Maggie Bacon, Cameron Barclift, Paula Grasberger, Will Haeger, Elizabeth Keys, Solomon Krevans, Kathleen Kwasniak, David Liebenberg, Sara Makaretz, Tori Porter, Julie Pringle, Charlie Proctor, Willem Sandberg and Eliza White.

Will Haeger is the brother of Annie Haeger, US Sailing Team Sperry Top-Sider 470 skipper, who recently showed her support for the event by becoming its patron, alongside Anna Tunnicliffe. “I appreciate the competitive nature of the event, especially the team spirit sailing big boat requires. Compared to my own sailing in a two-person 470, the team work and chemistry is amplified by the shear number of crew,” says Annie Haeger in the press release.

For more information on this unique student-run regatta, check out the event website.

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MOD70

The race organizers’ plan to attract much-need publicity could have worked. Even the most diehard and cynical New Yorkers would have trouble ignoring a fleet of 70-foot multihulls sailing into the New York harbor. But the likelihood of making their vision a reality diminished when the MOD70 organizers announced a few days ago that the May 2014 starting date for the MOD70 Krys Ocean Race transat from Brest, France, was postponed until 2016.

Citing a bad economy and difficulties in just getting enough of the boats in the MOD70 fleet to participate, the organizers said they had no other choice but to postpone the start. The New York-to-Brest Krys Ocean Race in 2012 was successful, but the money and interest level for the second transat was not there, they said.

For many, the bad news was the death knell for the MOD70 after the multihull circuit was unable to secure a title sponsor for 2013. Those with an even more pessimistic view said the MOD70 was never promising from the beginning. Safety concerns, how the design was not well geared for shorthanded sailing, and a lack of an international non-French continent are among the common criticisms.

Photo: Bruce Gain
Michel Desjoyeaux sailed in the New York to Brest Krys Ocean Race in 2012 on Foncia, but has been unable to get a MOD70 sponsor since.

The inherent safety risks of the MOD70 have also become more than apparent. Earlier this year, Virbac Paprec, skippered by Jean-Pierre Dick and Roland Jourdain, crashed near the start of the Jacques-Vabre transat in October, and Spindrift, piloted by Yann Guichard during the Route des Princes earlier this year, crashed spectacularly, resulting in injury of a crew member from each team. For a multihull class created as an alternative to the now defunct and theoretically more dangerous ORMA60, the publicity was not good.

The videos of the Virbac Paprec and Spindrift crashes attracted a lot of attention, but not the kind of publicity the organizers wanted.

Earlier this year, efforts to make the circuit more international seem to have paid off when Orion Racing, with Cam Lewis as the skipper, became the first U.S. team to enter the circuit earlier this year. However, Lewis has already left the team and Orion Racing has yet to enter a major European race with its MOD70.

The state of the MOD70 can best be characterized by Virbac Paprec‘s position after the crash. After some major media outlets in France claimed that Virbac Paprec was for sale in the aftermath of the crash, Laurent Simon, who serves as spokesman for the team, denied that the boat was leaving the circuit. However, Simon said the team was getting “impatient.”

“If the MOD70 organizers do not propose a legitimate plan by February, then we will have to explore other options,” he said, during a phone call interview. “We have an agreement with sponsors to respect.”

As it stands now, **the ****Krys**** ****Ocean**** ****Race**** scheduled for 2016 will not be a MOD70-only race as originally planned. Instead, it will be open to different multihull classes as well, alternating with the Route du Rhum every four years. **The MOD70 fleet now includes Virbac Paprec, Gitana, Oman, Spindrift, and Orion. Whether they make it to the Krys Ocean Race in 2016 remains to be seen.

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Benoit Marie

Just finishing the Mini Transat is a major feat for any sailor who dares brave the hell and fury the Atlantic Ocean can unleash on such a small boat. At the very least, surviving the trek invariably means getting beaten and tossed around for weeks on a 6.50-meter boat that merits its “Mini” name. The singular focus of just making it to the tropical waters of Guadeloupe by way of the Atlantic after leaving gray and cold Brittany, France, behind was certainly amateur sailor Benoit Marie’s goal. But as a surprise to himself, as well as those who follow the race, he arrived to port first, ahead of some of the world’s best Mini sailors.

Marie certainly paid his dues along the way. He was knocked unconscious when he fell in the cockpit, alone in the middle of the Atlantic. His boat broached several times. Like the rest of the fleet during the first leg between France and Spain, he had to steer his boat in 40-knot winds and 12-foot waves.

So how did this relatively inexperienced sailor accomplish what he did? It was a question of sailing fast yet safe, Marie says.

**

****Bruce Gain: It seemed that the trek was pleasant after leaving Sada?**

Benoit Marie: We had the wind blowing behind the whole way. We had very strong winds at the beginning, lighter winds in the middle, and then we got more of the strong winds again. Having the wind behind us like that was something I never would have thought would have been possible.

How much of the time did you keep your spinnaker up?

My big spinnaker was up most of the time during the second part of the race. I also sailed “butterfly” at an angle to the wind of 150 to 180 degrees. Sure, I did a few forced jibes, which was pretty crazy. I woke up a few times with the mast on the wrong side of the boat.

You were not among the favorites to finish first. What perceived weaknesses did you overcome to sail to Guadeloupe first?

My boat’s Proto design really likes to sail downwind. I knew it was a fast boat. I was very motivated before and during the race. It was full steam ahead all of the way.

When I got to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, I wrote down in my journal that I no longer had an [inferiority] complex about anything and that there was no reason why I couldn’t win this race.

Consider Bertrand Delesne, who was probably the most skilled and experienced sailor in the Mini fleet and others who have a really high level of skill and sailing experience. Comparatively, I only have a year and a half of Mini Class sailing experience. I could have easily had an inferiority complex of being the rookie. But I eventually learned that I could sail as well as anybody in the fleet.

You spoke of some dark and lonely nights during the race. What were some of the most challenging moments you had to face?

It was when I fell on the boat about five days before I got to Guadeloupe and lost consciousness. I didn’t know if I had been knocked out for a few seconds or a few hours. I just woke up and found myself laying just a few inches from the water while the boat kept sailing 13 to 15 knots. I woke up and said to myself, “Just what in the [expletive] are you doing here?” I began to wonder if I had a something wrong physically that caused me to blackout like that and began to question my physical capacity to finish the race. It took maybe a day before I felt okay again and got my confidence back.

Just yesterday I was knocked down one way and then in another. The spinnaker was in the water. The whole thing was a big mess. At one point, I thought I would lose the mast. That was a little scary.

_

Jacques Vapillon/Mini Transat 2013_

What were some of the worst sea conditions you experienced?

I was in 40 knots of wind when approaching Spain [during the first leg] and 33 knots of wind for an extended period. At one point, I reached 19.5 knots while sailing butterfly. The sea-state was definitely huge and confused with waves over 12 feet. Definitely scary.

So at what point did you realize that you had a shot a winning the race?

The whole time I sailed as fast as I could, but I also sailed safe. After a few days, it was a bit hard knowing that I couldn’t sail as a fast as I could, but then, by VHF, I learned that I was ahead of the fleet in the top three. I then knew I was doing well and told myself that I needed to keep sailing that way. When I was in the middle of the Atlantic, I learned that I was second and then first a few days later. I then told myself that there was no reason why I could not win this race. I knew that I just had to keep sailing as I had been doing since the beginning.

So what are your plans now?

It’s too early too say. The fact that my boat just has my name on the side means that I need a sponsor. I hope winning this race will help.

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Macif

Michel Desjoyeaux and Francois Gabart were enjoying a comfortable lead in the Transat Jacques Vabre, after their relatively easy and smooth passage across the Atlantic from Le Havre, France. Desjoyeaux was down below getting some much-needed rest while Gabart busied himself on the deck as the IMOCA Class Macif sailed along in a breeze of 15 to 20 knots. They had less than 2,000 miles to go before the finish at Itajai, Brazil, and were virtually assured of what would have been their first victory as a duo.

Then, for reasons that still remain unexplained pending structural tests, the mast suddenly snapped about 30 feet up above the deck. It crashed down on the aft side of Macif, the boat Gabart had successfully singlehandedly piloted not less than a year ago to win the Vendée Globe.

Fortunately, Desjoyeaux and Gabart were uninjured, but the sting of defeat because of a breakage was particularly painful to the pair, who also dismasted when they took part in the Barcelona World Race in 2011. Then, Desjoyeaux expressed disappointment over dismasting for the first time during an offshore race on Foncia, a boat in which he had invested much time and effort to prepare for the race. Now, almost two years later, dismasting a second time was especially ironic considering the two sailors have amassed three Vendée Globe victories between them on IMOCA Class boats.

“The situation is painful and sad, but these types of breakages show how basic structural mechanics are a big part of racing,” says Gabart, who is often able to break down much of long distance offshore sailing in a way engineers tend to do.

Desjoyeaux and Gabart’s heartbreaking end to their race could have been one of many dismastings or other such incidents in the fleet—but it was not. On the day of the scheduled start, the fleet was set to head straight into 60 knot winds and cresting waves of 20 feet or more in the Bay of Biscay. A large percentage of the 44 boats taking part would have invariably abandoned the race. But as it turned out, the race organizers decided to postpone the start by four days.

SNCF-Geodis on an Atlantic that was not always calm, despite the absence of major depressions during the race.

Without major depressions to take into account, more than 90 percent of the entire fleet followed the same course, which only varied by 100 to 150 miles from one another past the Azores Islands. The number of tacks and jibes were few, with little variations in the weather patterns to worry about along the way. Except for Macif‘s dismasting and a few other more minor incidents, the transat was largely predictable and uneventful.

However, Manfred Rampsacher, the race director, said postponing the race was absolutely necessary. Allowing the fleet to head into likely disaster for many of the boats was not even under discussion.

“If they had left on the scheduled date, it would have been a survival course and not a race,” Rampsacher says. “A large number of the fleet would not have even left the port.”

Only six boats out of the fleet abandoned the race. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/DPPI

But regardless of Rampsacher’s decision to postpone the start, the professional world-class sailors in the circuit would have still probably prevailed. PRB, skippered by Vincent Riou and Jean Le Cam, finished first in the IMOCA Class after completing the 5,450-mile** **course in 17 days. Like Desjoyeaux and Gabart, they were among the favorites to win the race, regardless of sea and wind conditions. Sebastien Josse and Charles Caudrelie on Edmond de Rothschild, one of the two MOD70 boats, predictably finished first in the fleet in 11 days, taking advantage of the fast speed the 70-foot monster-size multihull design offers. Sebastien Rogues and Fabien Delahaye on GDF Suez, and Erwan Le Roux and Yann Elies on FenetreA Cardinal won the Class40 and Multi 50 categories, respectively.

Desjoyeaux and Gabart, of course, would have been more than comfortable with the prospect of taking Macif through raging seas and 60-plus knot winds in the Bay of Biscay. But now that the race is over, the thought of a mast breakage in such conditions is not something either of them, or any sailor for that matter, would probably like to dwell on.

Already, Gabart is thinking ahead and planning on taking part in next year’s Route du Rhum transat. “Macif is a fantastic boat and remains one of the leading builds in the IMOCA Class,” Gabart says. “I am totally confident in it and am preparing to add a new mast in time for the next Route du Rhum.”

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Mini Transat 2013

The insanity was over, at least for now. After beating up and over huge seas in 40 knots of wind on a 6.50-meter Mini Class before a cresting wave knocked down his boat, everything was relatively calm now at the port of Sada, Spain. Sails stored, weather-tracking software checked, toothbrush packed along with just enough provisions needed to survive, he had a few hours to think about the 3,700-mile trek he was about to make across the Atlantic to Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe.

The man is Raphael Marchant (26). He is one of 84 sailors who signed up to attempt to cross the Atlantic to Guadeloupe in the Mini Transat. Marchant, like the other sailors in the fleet, was diverted to the port in Sada last week when the race was yet again interrupted due to bad weather.

Photo: Bruce Gain
Raphael Marchant said the thrill of sailing alone was one of the reasons he decided to start the Mini Transat campaign. He also said the nights on the water alone can be very dark.

The Controversy

The first time the race was postponed was when the start at Douarnenez, France, was delayed by over two weeks in October. The decision likely prevented a large percentage of the boats from dismasting or worse early on in the race if they had sailed directly into the 50-knot winds blowing nearby–yet many criticized the organizers’ choice. Despite the almost inevitable carnage that would have ensued, there were those who said the race should have begun anyway, since at least some of the boats could have made it through the storm front without dismasting or suffering other major damage.

In the case of Marchant, he was prepared to go the day the start was postponed but knew the odds of what would have happened if the race had gone ahead as planned. “Just being able to stay in the race would have been like winning the lottery, since most of the boats would have been wiped out,” Marchant said. “But I was ready.”

Indeed, the Mini Transat has always been a controversial race because of how dangerous it is perceived to be. To begin with, just the prospect of sailing such a small and light boat, weighing less than 2,000 lbs., alone across the Atlantic with a VHF radio to call for help is a daunting prospect. The organizers do what they can, but the list of incidents that have happened during the past three decades is long, especially before GPS and improvements in weather tracking became available.

On the day before the official start in France, the trepidation could be felt on the dock where Marchant was surrounded by friends and family, including his godfather. The general mood of the crowd was festive yet sober, despite the champagne that flowed profusely during the baptism ceremony for Marchant’s boat.

Marchant’s father was far from thrilled with his son’s project in the beginning, but he helped him as much as he could when he realized that Marchant was set on making the trans-Atlantic trek. As a parent, his son’s adventure will understandably weigh on him until he is safely onshore in Guadeloupe.

Threads of Reason

Still, the sailors and their reasons for doing a transat alone on a tent-sized craft usually seem at least reasonable when you ask them about it directly. A common explanation for taking part in the Mini Transat is how relatively accessible it is compared to other well-known offshore races. For example, it is possible to sail competitively on a one-design Mini on a budget of 60,000 euros all-included, compared to paying several hundred thousand euros to sail competitively in the Route du Rhum or several million euros to have a shot at being a contender in the fabled Vendée Globe.

The Mini Transit is also seen as a rite of passage. Some of the world’s most famous sailors have taken part when first trying to make their mark, including Michel Desjoyeaux and Ellen MacArthur. The competitors are generally more inexperienced compared to those who take part in the larger and much more expensive offshore solo transats such as the Route du Rhum and the Vendée Globe.

But there is always the inherent risk of this race to consider. Even without taking into account the long casualty list of Mini Transats during years past, this year’s race has so far been eventful. More than 12 of the boats have dropped out so far and the race is not even one third of the way over. American Jeffrey MacFarlane, for example, was on one of more than a few boats that dismasted between France and Spain. Already, earlier this year before the race, MacFarlane had to be airlifted off the coast of Spain when he crashed his boat and broke several muscles in his hand.

Those who have abandoned the race certainly did not do so for lack of extreme resiliency, mental toughness, or courage. One such sailor is Australian Katrina Ham (26), who decided to embark on the Mini Transat adventure only a very short while ago. She came to France not much longer than a year before without knowing how to speak French, but somehow secured enough sponsorship money and help to come up with a 50,000 euro budget to take part. While preparing for the race, Ham was knocked overboard in the English Channel at one point and managed to pull herself back onboard.

Disaster struck again hit a few days ago when a cresting wave knocked Ham overboard while she was not wearing her harness near Ribadeo, Spain. She had radioed in to report a problem with her boat’s gooseneck and was waiting for a tow to enter the port when the wave slammed her boat. After a rescue boat retrieved her from the water, Ham was transported to a local hospital where she was treated for hyperthermia. Ham will not make it to Guadeloupe during this race since she was forced to abandon the course, but given her resilience and determination, she will almost certainly be back.

Closer to the start, Arthur Leopold-Léger (28) went overboard as well near Douarnenez. As he was tossed and pulled along in the waves by his harness, he struggled to slow the boat down by putting it into the wind with a remote control device that guided the automatic pilot. He also struggled getting back on board and the boat eventually dismasted before he was rescued by a French coast guard boat that was escorting the fleet.

At end of the first night after leaving Sada, Ian Lipinski’s boat was knocked over, mast pointing vertically into the drink as the cockpit filled up with water. The boat was held upside down with just a 20-inch airspace in total darkness before it finally righted about an hour later. With the helms destroyed and electric power, Lipinski (age 32) fired an emergency flair and made mayday calls on his battery-powered VHF until help arrived. But even when a cargo ship en route to Tunisia came to rescue him, Lipinski barely made it up the ship’s rescue ladder as the large waves crashed him and his boat against the hull.

Photo: Jaques Vapillon/Sea & Co
Ian Lipinski had a 20-inch air space when his boat was knocked down and filled with water.

The list of incidents this year goes on.

Marchant, on the other hand, was a lot luckier when a breaking wave slammed his boat near the port of Sada. “If the wave had been bigger, I would have been swept to the beach and the Mini Transat would have been over for me just like that,’ Marchant said.

The Race Is On–Again

After being criticized for erring on the prudent side by interrupting the race and diverting the fleet to Spain, the organizers decided to remove the planned stopover in the Canary Islands. That way, the entire fleet began to head on a non-stop direct course across the Atlantic to Guadeloupe when the race resumed Wednesday.

Marchant previously sent a message to friends and family when he was between France and Spain, describing how dark it gets in the middle of the night alone on his boat and how he was badly shaken when the wave crashed into his boat hear Sada. Now, he and the rest of the sailors are truly alone, after heading out in the dark and very November Atlantic a few days ago. They hope to catch the tail winds and currents past the Azores that should take them to the sun and palm trees in Guadeloupe in a few weeks.

The controversy over the decisions the race organizers made recently, or most other earthly happenings, for that matter, no longer hold as much weight for those alone on their boats. At some point, you only have yourself to rely on and other things to think about when help can be hundreds of miles of way. Maybe that is what the Mini Transat and sailing offshore alone is really about.

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