Josh Ellis

A Shakedown Voyage That Shook Back Race: RORC Cervantes Trophy Cup Vessel: Fireball – Beneteau First 40.7 Class: IRC3 Skipper: Chris Clark Crew: Josh Ellis, Nigel, Jemma, Mark, Rob Track: Cowes Squadron Line (start) → No Man’s Fort (STB) → Nab Tower (PT) → Owers (STB) → Mehville (PT) → LHA Buoy (STB) → LH4 (STB) → LH8 (STB) → LH10 (STB) → LH14 (STB) → LH16/SRH Tower (finish) Result: N/A (Retired) ⸻ PERSONAL LOG – Seadate 20250503.10:10 Well, that was intense. 5 kites a-hoisting, 4 crew a-retching, 3 engine fails, 2 broached sails, and a rudder in free-spin. The forecast promised a serene summer’s cruise, ideal for combining yesterday’s training with today’s race as a proper shakedown. It was our first time sailing together as a crew, so the real mission was to find our rhythm and figure each other out under pressure. We had a slow start — only black sails up, while most had kites flying. The wind died completely right after the start cannon. We slipped straight to the back. After a mild expletive storm from the bow and a second attempt, the Code 0 unfurled gloriously. Genoa down, skipper on the helm — that’s when the magic started. Between Cowes and Nab Tower, the fleet wallowed in dead calm. With our “weaponry” deployed, we steadily gained ground, overtaking yard by yard, boat by boat. By the time we approached Nab, we were in the top third of the fleet — ahead of higher-rated boats. It was a beautiful thing. But then came the tack. Needing to round Nab to port, we stowed the kite and tacked across oncoming traffic — only to get pinned back into the fleet. The hard-won advantage began to slip. After rounding Nab, the wind came from the completely wrong direction — totally inconsistent with forecasted data. The kite went up and down more times than a w****’s drawers. Another wind hole at Owers, more kite gymnastics, and we were finally headed toward Mehville around 6 p.m. Then began the real drama: a chronic bout of squeaky-arsitis. ⸻ Sequence of Madness: 1. The kite was hoisted — once, successfully. 2. Bolognese cooking commenced with high morale. Even a blink could distract at this point. 3. While boiling pasta around 1930, and strapped into the galley, broach #1 hit. Skipper and deck crew recovered us. I narrowly avoided second-degree nipple burns from boiling water. Mildly singed. Close call. 4. Dinner was served (surprisingly well received). The wind picked up again. 5. Then — broach #2. I don’t even remember the transition. Looked forward: the kite was wrapped once around the forestay. Fuck. 6. Standard recovery: hoist the Genoa to depower the kite, then lower the kite. But — you must prepare the halyard on the correct side of the spinnaker pole when hoisting the kite. 7. It wasn’t. And the pole was 8 feet above deck, under tension. 8. Don’t try this at home: I climbed onto the pulpit to rethread the Genoa halyard. Yes, untethered. Yes, it was stupid. But necessary. 9. On descent, a drop in wind let the pole fall — directly on my head. No time for sympathy. 10. Then the starboard guy snapped, taking the Barber hauler with it. Fuckity fuck. 11. Plan B: brute-force kite retrieval in 14–17 knots. Genoa stowed. 12. Enter Hulk (me), Nigel, Rob, and Mark. Yank, pin, pile on, stow. Respect to each: • Nigel: veteran Fireballer, legally banned from leaving the cockpit. • Rob: seasoned sailor, slightly oxidized. • Mark: casual sailor. Rose to the occasion like a pro. The kite has seven ropes; the mainsail has three more. Without the calm coordination of Jemma — filtering conflicting instructions from bow and helm — it wouldn’t have worked. 13. Five minutes of careful tidying and checks. 14. Genoa up. Back in the race. ⸻ Night Watch – Around Midnight Skipper took first rest. Nigel, Rob, and I came on deck. We faced rolling surf on the port stern quarter and a NE wind gusting 20–22 knots. Second reef in. We adjusted and found a rhythm. Then — bam. The wheel spun like a roulette — total loss of steering. Skipper was hauled from his bunk. The recovery was slow and brutal: 1. Miscommunication led to a Genoa sheet being fully released — posing a risk of prop wrap. 2. Engine not started because of prop risk. 3. Hulk + two pulled the Genoa down under pressure. Tied it to the boom. Add warp. 4. Along with Nigel, we moved to the mainsail. I fumbled with my tether, slipped inexorably toward the gunwale — caught myself. Idiot. Stern conversations in the mirror have been had. 5. Slowly wrestled the main down. Tied it to the boom. 6. In the cockpit: no link between wheel and rudder quadrant. Emergency tiller installed. Picture a clown on a tiny circus bike. 7. Engine started. 40 nm to Le Havre, 90 to Cowes. We chose Le Havre. Safety first. Autohelm was suggested, but rejected initially. 8. Set a 135° magnetic heading. Rough night ahead. Time: ~0230. ⸻ A Brief Pause… and Then: 1. Engine failed. Wouldn’t restart. 2. VHF was broken (Jemma got headbutted by a homocidal mic unit during earlier chaos). 8-pin connector bent. Buggered. No engine, no rudder link, no comms, 40 nm from safety, in moderate seas. We were calm — out of immediate danger, but a little perplexed as to what do next. Then: Autohelm was tried. It worked. Miraculous. Skipper even used the word “legend” to describe the idea. That’s historic. Skipper went forward to raise the Genoa — untethered. Jemma saw a wall of water block her view of him entirely. He surfaced moments later, reassuring the crew with a quick shout. Close one. Soon after: steering back, power back, comms back (via careful pin-straightening and reconnection). The Genoa went up without issue. Autohelm behaved. We limped to Le Havre. ⸻ Conclusion: We survived one of the weirdest sailing days of my life. We all lived happily ever after. [Personal Log – All facts and observations are the opinion of the author and may not be considered irrefutable truth.]