Superyachts & The Commodores Cup

Last week the majestic J Class, this week the Commodores Cup and the Superyacht Cup. The "Who's Who" read like a Caribbean Regatta - with weather to match. Some of the worlds most beautiful, Athos, Adela, Drumfire, and some of the fastest Leopard, and Mari Cha III, were racing. Also tucked away was Coral, rescued from the mangroves, and last seen in Antigua.

Under empty blue skies, and pushed along by gentle breezes, the Commodores cup was also under way. Seven teams from Hong Kong, France, Benelux, and the UK were battling it out.

Everyone was here, the great and the good, and several others too, even the Queen made a visit.

I had been drafted in as a Race Officers for the week. Sometime we started the races on the Royal Yacht Squadron Line, others started from a committee boat, and often we were the finish boat. You can always restart a race - but you may only finish it once - we had to get it right.

With the light winds and strong tides, the racing was a tactical affair. We watched, we waited, we fished. Plenty of mackeral, lots of dogfish.... and the sun shone too.

Classic J Class Solent Race

Summer skies, and temperatures in the twenties might have been missing, but the heat was on in the Solent.

Cutting inside the spectator boats whilst trying to gain the advantage, Ranger ran aground in Thorness Bay. Lionheart, led Valsheda, and the brand new Rainbow, round the windward mark. Four kites popped out, and the fleet charged back down the Solent. It was an awesome site. Spectator boats scattered as Lionheart rounded the leeward mark,hardened up, and accelerated; the others close astern.

In a flash it was over. The J's returned to their moorings, and the Solent emptied. We unfurled the headsail, put the kettle on, and enjoyed the sail home.

Last Glimpse of Guernsey and the Channel Islands

It was hard to leave the Channel Islands. Beautiful, rugged, a glimpse of the past. Part of the UK, but not of England.

St Peter Port



Havelet Bay



Sark

The tangle of rocks around the islands of Herm and Jethou need careful navigation; swift tides press the unwary onto their sharp pinnacles. Once clear, the Big Russel channel is quickly crossed, before the rocks lurk menacingly again.

There are no cars on Sark. The island rises vertically from the sea. Small coves, and bays, surrounded by cliffs, give some shelter and anchorage. Access is a steep climb up hundreds of winding steps to the cliff top. Sark's feudal laws still prohibit divorce; and the eldest son inherits all. The roads are empty and un-metaled. You are more likely to meet a waddle of ducks, or a horse-drawn trap, than even a tractor. Houses, are discretely set back, their gardens a delight. Life (appears) easy, slow, and laid back.



Squeezed in between the Isle of Brecqhou and Sark itself is the little cove, Harve Gosselin, with a peaceful mooring just out of reach of the 7knot tide that rips through the tiny gap and it's rocky entrance. It looked idyllic. The view down from the cliff tops was awesome. Waking in the morning to a thick, pea-souper of fog, unable to see any of the cliffs, or the rocks just a few metres away was not pleasant. Thank goodness for a good radar, and electronic charting!

Leaving the islands in the early morning sun we headed NW. The wind picked up through force 3 to force 4, then 5. It was great sailing. Approaching the first of the shipping lanes the fog came back. The radar showed several shipps hidden from our view, and all close. A quick All Ships call on the VHF to share our position, course and speed, saw two ships kindly alter course, and cross our stern.

The fog dissipated. The sun came out, and we romped across the last 30 miles into Salcombe.