Unknown to the public, however, Robin had actually flown back to England last Monday, just as I had, and had been in hiding while he cranked out the last pages of the book about his latest adventure. It's scheduled to be published as soon as possible to take advantage of the extensive media attention his exploits have received in all of Great Britain.
Two of our shore team and two other professional sailors had taken his boat from Spain to The Needles, arriving two days early to be safe. There they spend 48 hours killing time out on the water to await the Robin's scheduled arrival from the shore by small boat on Saturday morning.
Image and timing, it is clear, is everything...at least from the viewpoint of Robin's growing lists of sponsors.
Though we had intended to anchor near The Needles, severe wind and weather that night forced us to dock in Cowes and leave the dock at 4:00 a.m. to be at The Needles by dawn. Just as Robin's boat came into view on the horizon, Robin himself sped by us in his RIB and joined up with his boat.
Once he had climbed aboard and we all had formed up, a media helicopter that had been waiting for this moment flew over us, around us, by us, and even between us to capture enough footage to record the moment. Robin had dropped his headsails and reduced his mainsail to the fourth reef (the one Kiwi Dave and I had worked so hard to design, create, and finish in Fremantle, Australia last December). With a minimal crew on all of the 68's, we could not hope to safely operate all our sails in such close quarters with Robin so we relied on our engines to keep up, something we could barely do at full power.An hour into our escort duty, two military transports joined us on each of our flanks, carrying dignitaries and VIPs in their windowed cabins while we sailors waived back amidst the wind and ocean's spray.
Closer to Cowes, once our formation included the other 68's, the media helicopter reappeared and made more passes over, around, and between us. As we passed the Royal Yacht Squadron in Cowes
(home of the elite of the elite yacht clubs), their cannons fired out a 21-gun salute to Robin, an honorary member since his first historic circumnavigation in 1969.After passing Cowes, we headed into Porstmouth, the main city across a small inlet from our true home of Gosport. There we moved in a massive formation of Robin's boat and eight 68's (the remaining two were away on other publicity events in London and elsewhere). At the port, the 68 I rode on was the first to make a momentary docking, allowing me and fellow Saga Insurance team member Charlotte Rigg to disembark before it pulled off again to make room for the other 68's. I was in place, then, to catch Robin's lines as he moved onto the dock. It was a small honor but it mattered to me. It felt like a kind of closure. As we secured the lines, Robin stood at the edge of his boat amidst fanfare, music, and just about everything else but fireworks.
An emcee jumped onboard and handed Robin a microphone to broadcast his first words. As his theme song has been Queen's, "Don't Stop Me Now," the first order of business was for Queen's drummer Roger Taylor to accept the first sip from a bottle of Old Pultney Scotch Whiskey, Robin's latest sponsor. After a few more such actions and other public interviews, photo ops, and sponsors touting Robin's glory, the dock full of people holding VIP passes moved to a private reception...the last public event of this grand adventure.
This, then, was quite the media-oriented event. Perhaps one half of Clipper Ventures 20 or so employees had labored weeks to plan, coordinate, and execute this morning to present the most inspiring arrival possible. I noted that, whenever the helicopter was overhead, the crew of four that had sailed the boat from Spain to here had to dive down below decks so that Robin appeared alone at the helm. Again, image is everything.
How did I save the day (sort of)? I had the right knot in the right place at the right time.
I think that an enviable familiarity of knots is part of all boy's goals of knowledge to attain. We dream of impressing people and doing amazing things with obscure skills and talents:
"Golly, Timmy! NancySue's car has gone off the side of the cliff and she's hanging on for dear life by a branch! What shall we do!??"
Taking a deep breath, with his hand on his chin, Timmy ponders out loud, "Well, I just happen to have 60 meters of 11mm kernmantel line in my backpack and I could fashion a harness out of a bowline on a bight and use a munter hitch to rappel down. Then I could use a fisherman's bend to make a loop out of these two short lengths of 9mm line I just happen to have here and turn them into a prussik loops to fabricate a Texas-sytle ascender to come back up with NancySue's weak, helpless, and grateful body in my arms, breathing hot breaths into my ear as she gasps for air, lookin' sexy as hell as her hair falls back over my arms and shoulder..."
Boys think that way (men, too). Boys always want to be prepared to save lives, especially the life of the woman of their dreams (even if we don't know who she is yet). Knowing obscure knots really plays into that well.
In sailing, I've encountered eight knots that encompass all I think I'll ever need to know. The primary one is the bowline. I'd thought I'd learned it well enough but early on in my initial training with Clipper Ventures, too often I fumbled with it when speed was useful, if not necessary. Sometimes speed is even critical.
Since those alarming episodes, over and over again I've practiced my bowline and several other fundamental knots I think I'll need during my voyage. Now I'm confident that I could tie a bowline behind my back while hanging upside down in the dark with water being poured into my nose. Someday I may have to do just that to save NancySue, and perhaps even BillyBob. Maybe the life I save might be only my own.
In all my extra curricular study of knots, I've paused to consider the possibilities of a bowline on a bight: a bowline tied on a length of line folded back onto itself. Such a knot will result in three loops. Normally this is intended to be used to support a long object in three places, such as an unconscious person. It occurred to me, however, that if the loops are oriented in the manner of the second photo, this could also be used as a emergency climbing harness. The loop formed by the end of the bight could be adjusted to a waist circumference and the other two loops lengthened to be leg loops. Sitting into such a collection of lines would place one's center of gravity below the point of suspension-a vital necessity for stability.
I've practiced fashioning one out of a length of line I have at home and saw no reason why it wouldn't work. I've never actually tried it, however.
About thirty minutes before we met up with Robin off The Needles in the Solent, a cable-tie snapped that was holding two flags of Robin's race's main sponsor suspended together above our deck. One flag dropped to the deck, the other flailed downwind on a length of halyard (lines used to hoist sails) from the top of our mast. Nothing was endangered but, considering the hugely visible media event we were about to take part of, it was an embarrassingly unsightly indication of a lack of seamanship: mine. I was the one who had been given the task of hoisting the flags and had thought the cable-tie I'd used to link the two flags would be sufficient for that load.
There was one extra problem. Boats always carry something called a bosun's chair, a harness that enables someone to be hoisted up the mast on a halyard when something (such as this occasion) requires human attention at the top. Our first mate, however, had loaned our bosun's chair to another boat the previous day and had forgotten to retrieve it.
As the first mate and skipper discussed options, I moved to the mast and fashioned my bowline-on-a-bight instant ready-made climbing harness.
"This will work," I said, turning to face the first mate and skipper, then I confessed to my error which had caused the situation. "Since it's my problem, I'll go up in this."
Both the skipper and first mate looked at my idea with obvious skepticism, first because they'd never seen such a thing before and, secondly, because it looked like it would be painfully uncomfortable. The skipper came up with the idea of hoisting me on helicopter lifting strop, the kind that loops under someone's arms to a single point in front of their face.
I didn't feel secure with that, as all I needed to do was raise my arms directly over my head to completely slip out. As we had no sail hoisted but were only motoring along, the boat was rocking heavily left and right in the waves caused by that morning's considerable wind. If I lost control and was swung violently into the mast, I was afraid I'd loose focus long enough or worse, loose consciousness and allow my arms to come over my head.
I countered with an alternative plan. I'd wear my devised harness and be hoisted on the line I'd created it out of while the helicopter strop would be attached to a second line and I'd wear it as a back up. The skipper agreed. While Robin's boat and our imminent media rendezvous approached, two teams gathered around each of these two halyards and their corresponding winches to hoist me up.
Before being lifted off the deck, I unclipped one end of the safety strap on my PFD that I'd normally use to secure myself to the boat in heavy weather. I looped it around the other lines rising the length of the 80 ft. mast and reclipped it to my PFD. This would keep me from swinging wildly away from the mast if I lost control but still I had to cling to the mast using both my legs and my arms for the full ascent and descent while the pitching of the boat tried to throw me left then right then left again.
This morning the insides of my thighs ache like I'd been riding horses all day yesterday.
I've climbed a mast in port (photo above) but I've never done it at sea. Unfortunately I was unable to enjoy the view. I was just too busy clinging to the mast as it repeatedly tried to throw me off. The top was reached, I grabbed the errant halyard and flag, clipped it to myself, then motioned to be lowered. Moments later we linked up with Robin and, not long after that, the helicopter began filming.
Lessons learned
It's always nice to save the day now and then, even if it is only in one's own mind.
In sailing, I've encountered eight knots that encompass all I think I'll ever need to know. The primary one is the bowline. I'd thought I'd learned it well enough but early on in my initial training with Clipper Ventures, too often I fumbled with it when speed was useful, if not necessary. Sometimes speed is even critical.Since those alarming episodes, over and over again I've practiced my bowline and several other fundamental knots I think I'll need during my voyage. Now I'm confident that I could tie a bowline behind my back while hanging upside down in the dark with water being poured into my nose. Someday I may have to do just that to save NancySue, and perhaps even BillyBob. Maybe the life I save might be only my own.
In all my extra curricular study of knots, I've paused to consider the possibilities of a bowline on a bight: a bowline tied on a length of line folded back onto itself. Such a knot will result in three loops. Normally this is intended to be used to support a long object in three places, such as an unconscious person. It occurred to me, however, that if the loops are oriented in the manner of the second photo, this could also be used as a emergency climbing harness. The loop formed by the end of the bight could be adjusted to a waist circumference and the other two loops lengthened to be leg loops. Sitting into such a collection of lines would place one's center of gravity below the point of suspension-a vital necessity for stability.I've practiced fashioning one out of a length of line I have at home and saw no reason why it wouldn't work. I've never actually tried it, however.
About thirty minutes before we met up with Robin off The Needles in the Solent, a cable-tie snapped that was holding two flags of Robin's race's main sponsor suspended together above our deck. One flag dropped to the deck, the other flailed downwind on a length of halyard (lines used to hoist sails) from the top of our mast. Nothing was endangered but, considering the hugely visible media event we were about to take part of, it was an embarrassingly unsightly indication of a lack of seamanship: mine. I was the one who had been given the task of hoisting the flags and had thought the cable-tie I'd used to link the two flags would be sufficient for that load.
There was one extra problem. Boats always carry something called a bosun's chair, a harness that enables someone to be hoisted up the mast on a halyard when something (such as this occasion) requires human attention at the top. Our first mate, however, had loaned our bosun's chair to another boat the previous day and had forgotten to retrieve it.
As the first mate and skipper discussed options, I moved to the mast and fashioned my bowline-on-a-bight instant ready-made climbing harness.
"This will work," I said, turning to face the first mate and skipper, then I confessed to my error which had caused the situation. "Since it's my problem, I'll go up in this."
Both the skipper and first mate looked at my idea with obvious skepticism, first because they'd never seen such a thing before and, secondly, because it looked like it would be painfully uncomfortable. The skipper came up with the idea of hoisting me on helicopter lifting strop, the kind that loops under someone's arms to a single point in front of their face.
I didn't feel secure with that, as all I needed to do was raise my arms directly over my head to completely slip out. As we had no sail hoisted but were only motoring along, the boat was rocking heavily left and right in the waves caused by that morning's considerable wind. If I lost control and was swung violently into the mast, I was afraid I'd loose focus long enough or worse, loose consciousness and allow my arms to come over my head.
I countered with an alternative plan. I'd wear my devised harness and be hoisted on the line I'd created it out of while the helicopter strop would be attached to a second line and I'd wear it as a back up. The skipper agreed. While Robin's boat and our imminent media rendezvous approached, two teams gathered around each of these two halyards and their corresponding winches to hoist me up.
Before being lifted off the deck, I unclipped one end of the safety strap on my PFD that I'd normally use to secure myself to the boat in heavy weather. I looped it around the other lines rising the length of the 80 ft. mast and reclipped it to my PFD. This would keep me from swinging wildly away from the mast if I lost control but still I had to cling to the mast using both my legs and my arms for the full ascent and descent while the pitching of the boat tried to throw me left then right then left again.
This morning the insides of my thighs ache like I'd been riding horses all day yesterday.
I've climbed a mast in port (photo above) but I've never done it at sea. Unfortunately I was unable to enjoy the view. I was just too busy clinging to the mast as it repeatedly tried to throw me off. The top was reached, I grabbed the errant halyard and flag, clipped it to myself, then motioned to be lowered. Moments later we linked up with Robin and, not long after that, the helicopter began filming.
Lessons learned
- cable ties aren't that strong
- my emergency climbing-harness-out-of nothing-but-line works
It's always nice to save the day now and then, even if it is only in one's own mind.
