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Had to abort trip to Isle of Wight again after smoke coming from engine (loose belt) & water sloshing above floorboards (exhaust box worked loose). Repaired on Wych mooring & o to evening anchorage of Goathorn Point

Sunday 8th August | Start time: 12:25 Boat: [Fireball] Class: IRC 3 Skipper: [Chris Clark aka Captain Ron /Jack] Watch Leader: [Emma Witcher / Sergeant Howler Jones] Crew: [Josh (Hulk), Jess (Squirrel), Johan (Kok), Justin, Damian, Greg (Tiddles)] Weather WSW: <30knts (gusting 35) Slipped the lines in the North Basin, Cowes around 1130, and headed out under motor. Uncomfortable conditions around the mouth of Medina - crowded with preceding classes preparing for their earlier starts. Decision was made to start under storm jib, with 2 reefs (retrospectively a bloody sensible decision). Despite a ROC SNAFU with Channel 28 not transmitting (eventual switch to 73), we passed identity gate with trisail hoisted and all parties on deck in lifejackets and harnesses. Retreated to the calmer waters of the Medina to bide time, and hoist jib and reefed main. Held back from start line to avoid the jostling of others; safety being the primary driver (unusual wisdom for Captain Jack). On the canon, hardened up on the starboard tack for the 'battle of the bridge'. Running with the ebbing tide, we had a lively beat down the solent. Even at this points boats were retiring, and in a couple of cases had been demasted or were taking on water (PAN PAN calls left and right). Black headsail was strapped to the skirt, but was breaking loose - so The Squirrel went for a swim in the bow pool - managing to take most of the solent's wrath as we approached Hurst Castle Point. This held for a while, and then Capt Jack and Squirrel had to return to repeat the exercise. A rather drowned pair returned to the cockpit. Mood was slipping at this point, with Tiddles already brewing a couple of hairballs. Once we hit the 'Bridge' the wind over tide situation made for a rather exciting transit - the collateral damage of which rendered the ship's cat inoperable - and headed below to curl up on the stove and fail to prevent mushroom flavoured hairballs from being produced. Once out of the solent, we made way for the lee of Portland Bill; a vain attempt to minimize the sea state for the boat. But it was unrelenting. Our primary external ballast system (Justin) also experienced operational resilience issues - in fairness the poor bastard had never been in such conditions - and upon realising the entire remainder of his very short life was going to be walls of water - elected for a self-preservational shut down. Proabably wise. Even Damian; a Fastnet veteran and seasoned sailor, commenced a colourshift - couple with the occasional staccato offloading of stomach ballast. After every such maneouvre, a gallant "I am fine. Thank You" reassurance broadcast was heard from him. Despite this, the green tinge had him - and despite gallant refusal to budge from his position on main trimming was sent below. At some point during the Fall of the Three - Johan the indestructible managed to (allegedly) injure his knee. His later miraculous recovery to full fighting assassin fitness remains an eternal mystery. 8 little monkeys sitting in a boat And Skipper said “roll over, roll over” so they all rolled over and one fell down (Greg) 7 little monkeys sitting in a boat And Skipper said “roll over, roll over” So they all rolled over and one fell down (Justin) 6 little monkeys sitting in a boat And Skipper said “roll over, roll over” So they all rolled over and one fell down (Damian) 5 little monkeys sitting in a boat And skipper said: “roll over, roll over” So they all rolled over and Johan hit his leg 4 little monkeys sitting in a boat And skipper said “roll over, roll over” So they all rolled over and josh got wet. 3 little monkeys sitting in a boat And skipper said “I need a nap, I need a nap” So he went down and the Girls ran the boat. Long story short - within 6 hours of the start, we were down to 4. By this stage, some 40 other entrants had withdrawn, the sea state was looking determined to continue and the mood was a tad grim. The insidious seed of doubt started to fester in our minds, and there was a conversation had to assess the teams' resolve. The Ellis Contingent (later certified by all crew members as certifiably insane) protested and with the helping vote of the Insane, we elected to continue on - aim for Weymouth, poke our head around the Bill.... if we can head for Dartmouth (and so on). Conveniently this strategy was not far off from the navigational strategy Skipper had in mind - and we pushed on. By the time we were approach Weymouth, night had fallen and we were down to 4 in the cockpit. Skip was beginning to flag from exhaustion, and the Hulk was slowly succumbing to the wet and cold. The two remaining men went down. Jecca and Emma held the boat on course in violent waters, finding energy from places I don't know existed. Monday 9th August Hulk's bounce. thank god. Apparently when I went down, Skip, Emma and Jess were worried I was borderline hypothermic. Nothing 4 hours of kip can't solve. 5am I was back up. We were now off Torqay, hugging the lee. While taking us away from the rhumb line, this navigational stroke of genius by the Skip enabled a badly needed restorative sleep for the ailing crew. Much of the day was just 'bashing away' - It was back to the 4 of us, with Peg Leg Johan occasionally popping up his head for 'fresh air', and returning to the pit. Further discussions were had. Damian had not eaten at all - Tiddles was within a handgrab of the bucket, and Justin was in a state of metamorphosis beneath the pile of jackets he was sleeping (saloon hatch leaked - badly). An agreement was met that if we did not have a material improvement in the downed crew, we would find port. Tuesday 10th August By early evening the cat was back - and even Justin was bravely on the mend. Damian was still deep sixed in his bunk. But things were looking better. By a stroke of a miracle - as the day came to a close - the wind settled, the sea state smoothed and we found ourselves in calmer waters. So calm in fact that by the time of the graveyard watch - we were windless, drifting off lands end. That night was one of the most beautiful nights I have ever spent on a boat. Skip, myself, Greg and Justin were up on deck - allowing the Heroic Women to get some deeply needed rest. The wind had gone - the inky black sea was a mirror. With no moon to illluminate us there was a blanket of dark that wrapped itself around the boat. From nowhere we saw streaks of white in the water - twisting, turning and streaming under the boat. Dolphins frolicked in the water around us in the stillness with their path illuminated by phosphorescence. For what felt like ever, these beautiful creatures accompanied us; buoying our spirits and galvanising our resolve. Almost as if sensing we were ready to plough on, they were gone. Leaving us washed clean of the previous day's memories. Only then (well after a game of A-Z name the band game - which I SUCK at) did we drop to 0.0Knts SOG, and with some 'avant garde' techniques to prop sails out, allocate weight correctly did we catch a sniff of the wind - and 'just like that' we were back under way. Tuesday 10th August With daylight bringing the previous fantasy night to a close, the wind filled in and we beat against tide south to clear the Lands End TSS. A handful of boats had taken the northerly passage, but most followed the same route. It wasnt until we cleared the SW corner of the TSS and nosed up to the Scillies that we enjoyed better wind. So good in fact that - much to Jess' delight - we unfurled Fireball's secret weapon; the Code Zero. After a hearty lunch (I think even Tiddles ate) we got back into the grove; steeling ourselves for the Celtic sea crossing. By this stage we were still operating on a 'able and fit' watch rota basis. With those tired rolling down for a couple of hours, and then back up. I was up with Jess and Skipper for the 2200-0200 watch. The SW conditions made for a lively crossing; with much surfing and gusts which game from nowhere; throwing us around. It was challenging helming - and have to say that without the two of them, we would never have got through. At one point - in the middle of the bloody Celtic - we found ourselves so close to Oromocto that we could see their cabin lights. In the rolling surf, the gusting helm, we must have crossed their stern by less than 100ft. Bloody good think Sergeant Jones wasn't up for that. Wednesday 11th August As dawn broke, so did the weather. Back up on watch now (0600), Jess was helming through a band of 'dramatic' rain. The moment we broke through, there was one of the most dramatic wind shifts we have ever experienced - and instant change of 60degrees; not progressively - but instantly. With this shift, our perfect heading to the NE corner of the Fastnet TSS was buggered. Forced North, we saw a wind hole to the West and realised that we had to get as far West as quickly as possible. We got lucky. With a handful of beats inshore we skirted the nortern side of the TSS. I was below pulling together a cooked breakfast - All crew were now more or less revived; and the insertion of warming sustenance while the conditions were good was most welcome (so welcome in fact that i had to go without - but with good reason - Damian who had not eaten in 3 days devoured Eggs Ala Hulk). That was tantrum #1 that day. Fatigue is a funny thing. We rounded the rock at 12:30 - 72 hours and 5 minutes after we started. The sun was shining, the photo boat actually took our photo, we had a beer each, and the journey ahead seemed downhill. So bravado were we that we unleashed the kite. On a heading of 122 to the NE corner of the Scillies' Western TSS. A gust got away from the helm; I was on sheet and as we went for a broach - I eased - only to get a rolling hitch on the damned winch. Leeping like a Gazelle, I managed to unhook the hitch only to loose control of the sheet. Skip and threw ourselves at the sheet and eventually got it back. Rope burns hurt. Determining that the asymmetric was probably a better sail (especially if going through the night), we stowed the kite - hoisted the asym. This led to what can be best described as a clusterfuck. All exhausted, post-euphoria of the rock, and a bit frayed at the edges: The kite guys, and not sheets were on the sail, the sheets we on the winches ready, not the guys. More rope burn. Tantrum #2 ensued. All I can say is that words were said that were not meant, feelings hurt, and a cathartic eruption was had. The emotional squall was over as quickly as it started - and no enduring hard feelings were felt. In fact, if anything it brought everyone together to look after one another - and the boat as a whole. Onwards to the Scillies. I was sent below to sleep (probably a good think - had been up 18 hours) Thursday 12th August I awoke a few miles off our NE Scilly TSS waypoint (Johan had gallantly (if not slightly forcefully:) suggested he take a watch for me. As if triggered by my guilt of oversleeping - the wind preceded to die. On the upside; we passed through a pod of Dolphins breakfasting - dozens of them. It was beautiful. As we cleared the TSS, we made a tactical error and went further inshore - only to find a wind hole waiting for us. Managing to escape that (just), Greg took the helm as we made a straight shot for Bishops Rock - we roared past at 11 knts close hauled. It was exhilarating. We turned our bow East for the 'final run'. The wind was due West; which made for a kite run for a full 180nm to Cherbourg. Allowing ourselves to relish in the luck for 10 seconds, Fate then intervened. The low voltage alarm went off. Easy - engine on, charge batteries and carry on. Knock. Knock. Knock. Fuck. Engine off. inspection of all moving fixable parts revealed no improvement. So status: Westerly 20knts wind, 180nm + change to the line, no battery = no navigational instruments, no AIS. One shipping lane to cross. "We are on a mission from God. There are 180nm miles to Cherbourg, we have a full tank of gas (unusable), plenty of cigarettes, it will soon be dark." So - with the light fading, Jess, Skip, Justin and I took the first watch. Using nothing but the compass (lit by a headlamp), the stars and the occasional check of a phone's Navionics - we proceeded 'avec grande vitesse' down the English Channel. It was beautiful. Every star in the sky was out. The kite was well set, and the following gentle roll of the ocean surfed us gentle along. We saw no less than 40 shooting stars on that watch. Absolutely beautiful. As we rolled off watch there was less than 40nm to the TSS. The end was blissfully tangible. Friday 13th August I woke in the growing light - with the TSS less than a few miles off our bow; and less than 80nm to the line. Spirits across the crew were high - we had all but made it! Our navigational strategy was to take the south channel between Alderney and the TSS, rather than the longer northern passage around. Difficult to say in retrospect if it was the right choice, but we enjoyed a wicked tidal stream against us until around 9-10 am, and then the tide turn and swept us on to the finish. Jess was given the honour of helming us across the line - and as she helmed with an intensity that few can understand, everyone one else busied themselves with important things like - ensuring the champagne was buried in the bottom of the fridge to get it as cold as possible, ensuring we all had glasses for the finish line, digging out the driest team shirts we could find. In order to fulfil a tradition of blaring the song "Fireball" as dancing on deck - Skipper hotwired the Engine battery to the domestic, fired up the systems and made sure we were ready. As we rounded the final headland and could make a straight run for the line, the kite came in and blacks were up. It was then that Jess and Emma noticed a pink kite skirting the shoreline. I am sure that the laws of physics would have succumbed to the determination of Jess if her helming prowess faltered. Fortunately for Einstein, in a spectacular photo finish across the line - with half the crew twerking to the appropriate moment of song, we forced our line competitor to dip - and we squeaked across the line less than 3 feet ahead of our newly found nemesis. Needless to say the look of derision on their faces was impressive. We had done it. A motley crew, with a maverick skipper, a legend of a boat. Legend has it that after this race, Fireball retired to quieter waters. Epilogue: The log written above is predominantly from the memory and perspective of just myself - and doesn't include all the bits I missed, and is prone to a little poetic license. Please forgive any inaccuracies for those who know. One of my favourite quotes from the entire race was courtesy of Johan (I am sure, in character, it was purloined from elsewhere): "You do not sack the Fastnet, the Fastnet sacks you". I think it is fair to say, we were weighed, we were measured - and we were not found wanting. Only just. The Skipper - in his rousing rallying email before departure - always maintains that the Fastnet is a personal voyage of discovery. Truer words have not been spoken. The trust that is built during a race like this cannot be unmade. The conditions for the 2021 Fastnet made it a 'survivors race' more than anything else. It was an honour and a pleasure to sail alongside all those on the good ship Fireball. Because it is my log - I can and will add a further comment. This race, and the time I have had to spend in the UK because of COVID has been a silver-lined cloud. I have had the chance to rediscover my sister Jess. In 20 years we have not had such an opportunity, and much has changed in our lives. Situation and experience may weather a person - but they can't touch what is already forged as an unbreakable bond. If asked what was the best thing about the Fastnet - my answer is this:"I got my sister back".