Mudeford Sailing Club

Round The Island Race 2010 – and Pickle, the black lab, came too.  By skipper Mike Goodman.

This was to be our first attempt at this world famous and very popular sailing Race.  Rondo, our faithful family cruiser/racer is an MGC 27 designed by Rob Humphreys and built in 1983 - one of 6 in this year’s race amidst 1750 other yachts of all shapes and sizes. We were a motley crew indeed – only brought together for the first time on the Friday when we sailed up from Christchurch to the Folly Inn, just up the Medina from Cowes. My boat partners are John and Sandy Pressdee, then my son Ben, my daughter Kate and boyfriend Will – all of us withdifferent levels of sailing experience.

Once past the Hurst Narrows and safely in the Solent I decided we had better try a practice with the spinnaker as it looked from the forecast as though it might be a running start on the morrow rather than the more usual beat up to the Needles. Rather surprisingly it flew really well and the crew were filled with enthusiasm as we leapt forward creaming down to Cowes. Pickle, the black lab, was more concerned that supper was running a bit late.

The day of the race dawned with clear skies and a fresh northerly breeze that had a slight chill in it. As we motored down to the start what could be better than a nice cup of hot tea? – no chance! - as we discovered our brand new Gaz cylinder was faulty! – so we were to be condemned to a whole race with only cold water to drink. There was talk of mutiny for a short spell but the threat of keel hauling restored some semblance of order and we carried on out to the start line. Start line?...what start line?...is that it over there ? surely not? Oh, I think it’s over there….. 5 mins to go to our start and it became apparent that the strong tide had carried us well over the line. A quick burst of engine took us the wrong way through the now starting fleet and a 180 degree turn brought us back into contention but certainly at the back of the group. Oh a great Goodman start ….they don’t call me rear commodore for nothing at MSC.

Spinnaker up and all was going pretty well down past Yarmouth and Hurst . The sun was shining and the view both ahead and behind was simply fantastic with hundreds of brightly coloured spinnakers stretching across the horizon. We consoled ourselves that there were worse ways to spend a Saturday even if a coffee break had been cruelly denied us. Pickle, the black lab, was slightly worried that supper may also be cancelled.

Sandy was doing a brilliant impression of a gybe-preventer, standing against the boom on the coach roof when a sudden gust very nearly saw her disappear down the open hatch. Bravely, she denied any real harm done and we then busied ourselves preparing to drop the kite and harden up around the Needles ready for the reach down to St Catherine’s Point. Now we faced a tactical dilemma – do we stay inshore out of the tide but more in the lee of the land or keep out where the wind seemed better but the tide was knocking us backwards by about 2 or 3 knots? We followed the boat in front because they seemed to know what they were doing…and so it was that we elected to go out to sea. By now it was about 10am but, as we had been up at 4am it seemed about time for lunch. What could be better than a nice hot pasty and a cup of soup? …oops did I say hot? No chance. There was a resurgence of talk about mutiny but the threat of the cat’o nine tails soon quelled that nonsense. Pickle, the black lab, thought that the cat had probably got her supper.

At St Catherine’s Light we were about half way round the island but then our course became more northerly as we beat up to Ventnor and then on to Bembridge ledge which was marked by the only buoy of the course. We had all taken it in turns to do different jobs on the boat – Kate and Will were becoming well practiced at tacking with plenty of grinding on the winches - ( that is a proper nautical term, I promise). John and Sandy took their turns on the helm but as the wind was gradually increasing now well past the 20 knot mark on the anemometer there was the inevitable discussion about when should we reef ? - ( you can tell from this that Rondo is a very democratically run racing machine). Only Ben who in a previous life had been a professional boxer was able to fight the considerable weather helm by now….a quick look round at the fleet nearby reassured us that we were not alone in thinking it was wise to reduce our sail area. Pickle, the black lab, had grown tired of being thrown from one side of the saloon to the other every time we tacked and she confided that she had re-eaten her previous 3 suppers.

Past Bembridge now and on to the infamous Ryde sands – a graveyard for the unwary. Rondo now unleashed her secret weapon – her lifting keel – which meant we could keep out of the tide and hug the shore - (that’s the theory) At this point we were still tacking so there was plenty of shouting “Starboard” and “Duck below him” and “Ease, Ease, Ease” (no we were not all on drugs - they are proper nautical terms, I promise). Suddenly we were greeted by several men in a fast orange rib, dressed like lifeboat people who were frantically gesticulating that we should be somewhere else. We followed their advice and sure enough just ahead we spotted two competitors who were well and truly going nowhere. Breathing a sigh of relief we considered that it was probably time for a nice hot toddy. Oops, did I say hot? No chance. Once again talk of mutiny and a change of skipper reared its ugly head but after I established that the penalty for such talk was death by hanging the crew settled back to their jobs. Pickle, the black lab, said her job was to eat supper.

Past Fishbourne and Wooton and the finishing line was at last in sight. Slight complication is that there are actually two finishing lines - (no, don’t be silly, I wouldn’t make that sort of mistake).  We began to discuss who should accept the inevitable trophy on behalf of the team, who should give the press conference and who had the entitlement to the much sought after book and subsequent film rights. We agreed to play it cool with the press and simply sign a few autographs.

Finally we crossed the line at 3.37 pm and congratulated ourselves that despite our lowly position (yes I mean lowly) we had actually had a great experience and done well simply to get round in one piece and still talking to each other! Once back at the Folly we did indeed manage to get a hot drink ashore and yes, Pickle, the black lab, got her supper

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