The trip started in Borkum.  There some minor repairs and preparations were made prior to starting.  Another 45cm was cut off the jib halyard and a new shackle was tied on.  The old end was almost worn through.  This is the third time this has been done since leaving Asköy.  This problem in the masttop will have to be dealt with before any other longer trip is made.  A new line was also put onto the wind vane self steering.  At least the old one lasted about 5 years before it got to this state. 

Frayed control line for wind vane

 We left Borkum against both the tide and a 20 knot wind.  It was rough and even going downriver with the current it was very slow going.  The wind and tide versus the river current kicked up a huge chop,  and it took hours to get clear  of Borkum.  A few miles after turning west, away from the river, the water became much calmer.  Once out on the coast the route went almost due west along the coastline until we could enter the Waddenzee between Terschelling and Vlieland.  Along the coast there was mostly uneventful, upwind sailing in about 20 knots of wind,  though at the end the wind died out.  There were few yachts, but many medium size commercial vessels. 

One dredging vessel cost me a lot of sleep.  He was moving very slowly on a course parallel to mine between the coast and the shipping lanes.  When I first spotted him I was slightly inside, towards the coast, and I was very slowly overtaking.  The result was that we got very close  and stayed that way  for hours until I could finally get past and move farther  out to sea.   Getting sleep is not really possible when so close to both the shore and also another vessel.

Route from Borkum marked in red

 Once in the Waddenzee I found myself going against the tide, but almost completely without wind.  It was slow motoring with an opposing current of up to 3 knots and not  really a fitting way to end the whole story. 

The customs did provide some entertainment.  I have gotten  used to them stopping me, and it had seemed strange that it had not yet happened this year.  It was all the more surprising when a 30-40m long customs vessel cruised past and did not stop.  My flag is like a magnet for such people.  Shortly after 3 customs people showed up in a rubber boat and made the usual request for papers.  The funny part was that I recognized  one of them, and he remembered stopping me  last year. 

Customs

How long until we meet again?

Another curiosity was a megayacht which motored slowly past.  I wonder what this thing has for a draft?  It probably has a lifting keel, but still the Waddenzee cannot be the right sort of place for it.  My guess is that it was coming back from sea trials, and was possibly built in one of the yards on the Ijsselmeer.

Megayacht

 The finest part of this last stage was in the last hour or so.  The sun was going down,  the tide was out, and there were lots of interesting reflections on the sandbanks as well as  the sunset.  There were a few bored seals resting on the sand, also huge numbers of birds.  It was a very peaceful scene.  I needed another camera to  do it justice. 

I tied up just as it was getting really dark.  Since leaving the marina I had sailed about 1700 miles, met a lot of fine people, experienced a great deal,  learned a lot, and have a huge collection of memories which will not go away. 

This was my first short handed race,  though almost certainly not my last.  I approached it with a combination of enthusiasm for the idea and also inner protest at some of the details.  Along the way my views have been  modified a lot, and  I have gained understanding for things which previously bothered me.  The gap between my present sailing standard and what is required to be competitive has become very obvious.  This will be worked on. 

Much of the experience and memories from this trip are not from the race itself, but of preparation, people and the return.  Much of the preparation was one-time only stuff, for which I am glad.  Next time there will not be this much, I hope.  The people  are always part of any new experience, and the return was a memorable experience in itself.

It will not be possible to start another event in the same frame of mind with which this one was started.  Now there is some experience, and future events will be measured on the 1000DH yardstick.  The flood of “firsts” in this event will not likely be  repeated – one can only be a first-timer once.  These “firsts” are a major portion of what has made this event so intense.

Next time I do the 1000DH my approach will be completely different, more of a racing approach.  Much will be done differently and hopefully better.  My viewpoint will likely change as well.  There will still be the places, people, and sights, but  the competitive aspect will be much more in focus. 

Other events will bring a different conditions and challenges, but this one will probably remain the most intense and significant, and the one longest remembered.

This time I carefully set up the wind vane before leaving.  This only takes a few minutes, but it is much easier when the boat is not rocking and there is no requirement to watch where I am going at the same time.  There  are various bits to assemble, and this goes much more quickly in a quiet environment.  There is also less likelihood of cotter pins and other small bits being dropped overboard.   This kind of preparation is important when you are alone.  Other things include having all required charts laid out ready for use, setting up waypoints in the GPS or chart plotter, having rain gear or other clothes ready for use and not stored away somewhere, etc. 

Once again there was sunshine and an easy start.  Bekkjarvik is in a rather sheltered spot between 2 islands, so there is not much wind to start with.  Once around the corner it gradually picked up. 

Once out in the sound there was the other temptation -  to head off further south through the passages between the islands.  There is a place called Skudeneshavn farther down south.  Everyone in Askoy thought it the finest place to stay on the coast.  This was very tempting, but I told myself that I had already lost so much time that I could no longer afford it.  Instead, I followed nearly the same path as the day before through the Selbjörnfjord and out to sea.  Out to open water, then turn left and straight on till morning. 

Retracing the steps of the previous day, events repeated themselves too.  The depth registered between 2 and 3 meters for most of the length of the fjord.  Told myself that this was nonsense, cursed the manufacturer again, and continued.  

Once out on the open ocean the depth showed at 5 meters for hours, though I knew that the real depth was in the hundreds.  There was about 18knots of wind, but the sea state still was more suited to the 28 knots from the day before.  Bumpy.  The wind came directly from the north, which is an awkward angle when the boat is supposed to sail due south.  I ended up making long tacks downwind.

Within a few  hours the wind was dying and Amalthea was moving slowly.  At times it seemed that the greatest movement was the mast rocking side to side in the swell.  Wave action seems to last much longer than wind.  In the distance the shoreline could be seen for most of the day, though I gradually moved farther off.  There were not many ships, though there was one large cruise liner heading south.

The slow speeds soon had me calculating that I could have been in the inside passages, seeing the sights and not even losing time compared to my present pace.  Frustrating.  Passing the area of Skudeneshavn also was  a bit frustrating, because I was nearly becalmed at the time.  However, I was also 30-40 miles offshore, so stopping was out.  Onwards.

Sometime the next day I was becalmed just off the southern Norwegian coast.  After a while there was a weak southerly wind, meaning that there had been a 180° wind change.  6-7 knots was not much, and tacking into it with a big swell was no fun.  Progress was slow.  Adding insult to injury,  a vessel from a small nearby fleet called on the radio, and said that one of the vessels was towing several miles of pipe behind him, and I had to keep clear.  At the time he was moving nearly parallel to me on a similar course and speed, blocking the course south.  It took hours to get past him. 

It was all very frustrating, and there had been almost no progress at all for nearly 12 hours.  At this rate it would take a week or more to get to Holland, and I didn’t have that much time.  I had just started considering the pros and cons of heading back to Mandal or another Norwegian port when there was a wind shift, and I found I could point the boat at Holland. 

Not long after this, in quiet and dry conditions, the computer failed.  No idea why.  Offshore, the charting program is a luxury, but I can do without.   The electronic charts in the computer do not count for legal or insurance purposes. The greater loss was the AIS system, which runs through the computer.  Without the AIS I could not be seen as easily by other  boats, and could not see them.  As required by law and insurance, I have a complete set of paper charts for all areas I sail in on board. This includes most of Norway, the entire English east coast, Holland, the German coast and even Denmark.  Charting would now be done the old fashioned way, with a pencil on paper charts.  

The latest wind shift was to my advantage and held at least 24 hours, during which the boat pointed straight at my intended destination in Holland.  There was a brief visit by dolphins, or perhaps they were grind whales.  There appeared to be two different sizes, smaller greyish ones and a much larger variety with a lot of white on them.  Whatever they were, they were pleasant to watch.  At the time I had the smaller compact camera on deck.  It has a slightly delayed shutter action, with the result that I now have about 10 photos of disturbed water where there had been a dolphin a second or so earlier. 

All was much of a muchness until we were about to cross the shipping lanes, directly north of my proposed entrance to the Dutch Waddenzee between the islands of Vlieland and Terschelling. 

The wind shifted again, to directly out of the south.  Of course, my proposed course was directly south.  Wind strength gradually increased to the low 30s, and the sea state got very rough.  My tacking angle got wider and wider, and I was not making progress any  longer.  In addition to all this I was just slightly north of the shipping lanes, which is not a good place to be tacking about in very poor visibility.  I reefed twice, then took down the mainsail entirely.  Even the jib became too much.  In the midst of all this the mounting for the wind generator broke.  One of the side struts broke, and then the sudden pressure snapped the base.  It hung partially over the side.  Recovering it was very difficult.  The heavy generator hung over the side at the end of the long pole, still held by one side strut and the electrical cable.  It was crashing about in the waves, and very close to the GPS antenna.  After a struggle I cut the electrical cable, the final strutt broke, and it went overboard.  In an ideal world it could have been saved, but there was also the boat to think about and the GPS antenna to be protected.  Now that the computer was down this GPS was a requirement.

I could not get over the shipping lanes further south, so the question was what to do?  If this was all to blow over in a few hours then waiting about was the obvious option.  If it was to last for days then going somewhere else entirely was the thing to do.  I had not heard a weather report for days. 

Several calls to the Netherlands Coast Guard did not receive an answer, I was probably out of range.  Finally I made a general call to “any vessel who can hear this”.  The first to answer was someone who replied in a rather bored voice that he thought the wind would subside to 20-25 the next day.  Minutes later a very American voice called and said he was from the tugboat Highland Vision.  He had heard the conversation and confirmed that the wind should decrease somewhat the next day.  He then asked what I intended to do.  “Wait it out” I said.  He then offered to phone anyone I mentioned and tell them that I would be late, but was safe.  Very kind of him.  I mentioned that he might tell the Dutch coast guard that I was drifting near the sea lanes, but he didn’t seem to like this as much.

For this trip no one had been given my contact list.  There had been such a list for the race itself, but the holder was now on vacation and I knew that he was not available.  There was also the issue if such calls would cause more concern than no information at all.  Most people who knew about the trip had not been given a firm time for return anyway.  At the time I completely forgot to have the Highland Vision inform my employers.

I waited out the night with all sails down.  Much to my surprise, the wind vane kept the bow more or less into the wind, and the boat rode out the waves remarkably calmly.  Every now and then there was a huge crash as another wave hit from  an awkward angle, but in all everything was very calm.  It was obvious that the boat itself was not in trouble, the issue was being run over.  When this all started the boat was on the edge of the shipping lanes, it was getting dark, and there were lots of other vessels about.  Without the AIS I was not particularly visible, and visibility was poor.  I could only hope that my radar reflector was good and that the ships actually remained in the shipping lanes.  I was gradually drifting away from them, to the north.  Turned on all sorts of unnecessary lights and went to sleep.  It was the longest sleep of the trip.

The next morning the wind had indeed eased off to the 20s, but the direction remained the same, directly from the south.   Off again.  Later in the afternoon the wind increased again,  with the same result as the previous day.  This time I altered course and had a relatively easy journey to the island of Borkum.  I tied up around midnight, and the boat is still there.

The intention was to keep to the north side of the fjord until well beyond the entrance, because there were rocks on the southern side.  They were deep enough so that I should not be able to hit them, but there would be breaking water over them and generally they were good things to avoid. 

Selbjörnsfjord - with aproximate route marked

 After a while, still in the fjord, I noticed that the water seemed to be getting a lot shallower, quickly.  How so, it should be very deep here?  Only minutes before the depth was too much for my depth sounder, and it had merely displayed the word “deep”.  Now it was less than 50 meters and rapidly getting shallower.  I was a mile or so offshore, the sea was not behaving like it was shallow, no special breaking waves or disturbances.  Onwards.  At 15 meters I was getting nervous, and shortly after at 10 meters much more so.  In Holland 10 meters is deep, in Norway it may mean hitting something at any second. 

In a state of alarm I tacked when it hit 5 meters, and tacked several times again in the next few minutes when the depth got to less than  3.  If I had hit a rock at 7+ knots in this sea it would have destroyed the boat more or less instantly. 

Selbjörnsfjord - rocks circled in red, near the southern shore

This had to be a navigation problem.  The charting program showed depths of 100+ meters here, but perhaps this was a scaling issue again and I was a lot farther south than I thought?  Finally I sailed back into the fjord, until it was apparent that I was nowhere near a shallow area and there was something wrong with the depth measurement. 

With this in mind, headed back out again, this time keeping quite close to the deeper, north shore.  The same thing happened.  It is not a good feeling. 

In the middle of all this the pin which connects the electronic autopilot drive arm to the tiller broke.  No problem, there are about 5 spares.  However, I had forgotten to rig up the wind vane before I left.  Normally either wind vane or the autopilot takes over steering while repairs of any kind are being made.  Without the wind vane the boat could not be held on course while I put in a new pin.  In the midst of all this the depth showed 2 meters.  Frustrated and uncertain, I headed back to Bekkjarvik to sort things out. 

The last few miles into the harbour was just the stuff of dreams and advertising.  Sheltered flat water, warm sunshine, 20 knots of wind, and a scenic area.  Amalthea sailed beautifully, cutting cleanly and quickly  through the water.  Effortless power.

Once back, it soon became apparent that I had not been in the shallow area, the water had been between 100 and 200 meters deep.  Something was wrong with the depth instrument.  However, the compensation was spending another relaxing evening in Bekkjarvik with new-found friends.

to be continued……

The general recommendation and also intention had been to go to Haugesund, but I never got there.  Instead, I motored through the passages, admired the sights, got rained upon, and finally ended up in a small place called Bekkjarvik.  It had been recommended by Thorwald from Askoy.

Bekkjarvik on the island of Selbjörn

 The passages are a treat, if the weather is nice.  Lots of colour, greens, and blues and rock.  Some  of the houses which are scattered along the route are well worth looking at, decorative and adornments to the landscape.  Of course, there is also the opposite sort. 

In the rain and  when it is cloudy the whole area takes on a grey colour, and one gets an idea of what it must be like in winter.  Grey and cold and wet.  The strong colours on many traditional houses are probably meant to offset this.

There were not many vessels about, but they varied from traditional boats to modern catamaran ferries to the  navy to huge offshore fishing vessels.  Relatively few pleasure craft. 

fishing vessel

 The fishing vessels fell into two catagories:  small and private, or huge and intended for offshore.  The big ones were really ships, and there were lots of them.

encountered en route

 When a medium sized naval vessel motored on past me, then stopped and lowered a boat, I though that my first inspection of the trip was about to happen.  So far I had made it all the way north without getting stopped, but it wasn’t likely to last.  In Holland I get inspected all the time.  In this case they had probably noticed my flag, jumped to all sorts of unpleasant and wrong conclusions, and were coming to check.  Much to my surprise, they ignored me and seemed to be busy with some sort of survey work.

Stopping for an inspection?

 Many of these minor islands are connected with large and modern bridges as well as ferries.  The size and expense of these things says something about the country, because the bridges are only serving quite small communities.

just before Bekkjarvik

There were a few seals about, but no sign of the huge herd (pod?) of grind whales which the Pendragon crew had seen a few days earlier.

The approach to Haugesund, which was supposed  to be the goal for the day, is guarded by a rocky area known as Sletta.  It is infamous for rough water in certain conditions.  A few years back a catamaran ferry hit a rock here in rough weather, and sank with much loss of life.  I wasn’t so sure I wanted to try this in the dark (or was feeling lazy), so the temptation to stop in Bekkjarvik was quite strong.

Bekkjarvik is an ex-fishing port.  Recently there has been a lot of renovation, with more projected.  The harbour itself is tiny, there might be space for 30 visiting boats.  Nice rockwork, some statues, and attractive buildings about.  The harbour building complex is a combination of museum, shops, library, coffee shop and fashion stuff.  Generally a pleasant atmosphere.  Small enough so that if you meet several other crews then you have met a significant proportion of all those there.  The walkways and promenades around the harbour had a number of barbeques, and the crews were using them.  The main building complex was full of photos of the old fishing days, and also models of vessels from the past 200 years. 

Barrel making machine

 One of the back rooms had an exihibition of  barrel making tools.  This was probably a big business locally years ago.

As always, it was a shame leaving this newfound place without having the time to really explore.  In addition to this there were new friends from other boats with whom I would have like to spend more time.

Evening in Bekkjarvik

Summer evening in Bekkjarvik

Tomorrow evening the story will be resumed.  In the meantime, it  shall be said that the North Sea was crossed again, this time solo.  Most of the trip was slow and difficult, there was a fair amount of breakage, and near the end I considered setting off a distress signal.  Fortunately that didn’t happen, because it would have had to be recalled.  Amalthea and I arrived on our own in Borkum, without outside assistance.

Yesterday, with the help of several club members, the mast was removed from the boat and the top inspected.  The broken halyard problem did not have an obvious solution.  There were no extra long screws inserted into the masttop, no foreign objects, and nothing was obviously out of place.  However, the sheave which the halyard runs on had rough and sharp edges.  In the absence of something more spectacular, these edges will have to take the blame.  Not really the convincing reason I had hoped for, but something must have caused the problem.  The result was that I spent 1 to 2 hours, often in steady rain, sanding down the edges with very fine sandpaper.  1200 grit is not really ideal for this, but was what I had on board.  It is best used for polishing stainless surfaces, not for smoothing out rough edges. Later someone came along and offered some 600 grit.  At least the edges are now a lot better and even look shiny.  I just love doing this in the rain.  Every now and then I would take a break and stand under shelter until the rain eased off somewhat.

After dealing with the sheave, the next step was to replace the running lights.  These had fallen from the mounting at the masttop in the last heavy weather, and had been hanging from the electrical cable.  The mounting is held by 3 screws to the mast, and these had simply pulled out.  I replaced them, and added 2 more.  The wind that evening must have exerted a lot of pressure.

In various pauses during the day people asked what my plans were, and on hearing them there was a flood of recommendations for stops on the way.  No one agrees.  Eggersund, which is strongly recommended in the Norwegian Cruising Guide, is clearly out of favor with this group.  So is Tananger, a favorite of 2 other friends.  I had been considering both.  There followed a long discussion, and I ended up with enough recommendations to last a whole season. 

Setting up the rig again got drownded in the rain, and finally it got postponed until this morning.  Instead, I listened to the rain on the cabintop all night and only got up when it stopped raining.

Today the rig was set up again, with a lot of help from club members.  Norwegians seem to like much greater rig tension than the Dutch.  Certainly it has never been this tight before, and people here discuss getting it much more so. 

The next step was to fix the broken AIS antenna, which seems to have worked.  After that I may have even gotten the autopilot compass working.  That will be apparent tomorrow.

By the time all this work was done it was too late to leave, so I can enjoy the evening here.

The plan for tomorrow is to motor through the inside passages to Haugesund, about 70 miles from here.  The passages should be scenic.  The Pendragon crew, who were just leaving as I arrived, said that they had seen about a herd of about 200 small whales in one of the fjords.  That would be a real bonus.

There is no intention to post anything new for a couple of days. 

On Friday evening I will be flying to Norway, and on Saturday will see what can be done about the masttop.  Following that there will be a delivery to Holland, conditions permitting.  Hopefully there will be an opportunity for a stop or two on the way down the Norwegian coast.  The charts and the Norwegian Cruising Guide suggest that this is the ideal place to cruise a boat, at least in good weather.  It will be a shame  to have to pass by most of it.

This will be my first non-boat related weekend in months.  It feels decadent.  Sleeping late, having the choice of what to do with the day – it is a good feeling. 

The types of emails have changed.  Pre-race, there was a huge correspondence with suppliers of technical gear and about organizational matters, such as the rating.  Now the questions come from others about how it all was and what happened.  The bills keep on arriving.  I’m hoping that this will end soon. 

The sorting out afterwards involves, among other things, recovering my boat from Norway, and then getting my car back from Holland.  There will be a series of emails to various suppliers about gear problems, or how to set up equipment differently.  The charting program, for instance, automatically drops off AIS targets it deems non-threatening after a certain period of time.  If these targets are other boats in the race, then I would like to know where they are for as long as possible.  There may be a function to do this somewhere in the software. 

My views are probably different to those of some of the other competitors, because I am new to the business of short-handed ocean racing.  The race itself is only part of the whole experience.  Others may be purely focussed on why they didn’t win, or tactical mistakes and successes here and there.  For me, the places visited, the people met, knowledge gained, and sailing experience are all just as important.

The race and the preparations were very intense experiences.  In the preparation phase, it was frustrating, exhausting, time consuming, and expensive.   I often secretly wished that I had an excuse to drop out, just to release the pressure.  Many of my other interests and projects were neglected for months.  The event itself was intense much of the time.  There were very good times, and one unpleasant event.  None of this will be forgotten soon.

The unpleasant event came near the end of leg 1 when my co-skipper said that she wanted to withdraw, she did not want to complete the event with me.  It was a complete surprise, though I was aware that she was unhappy about my preparations, particularly those relating to weather, routing, etc.  It was particularly painful because she is not just some chance acquaintance, but a valued friend and someone I greatly respect.  It is very disappointing that all my work and good intentions should end in this manner, and that my actions and “sailing style” should be given as the reason.  I do not agree at all with her reasoning or decision, but once she had acted she was consistant and did not change course.  It must also be said that it was well done, there were no shouting matches on the docks or blackening of names.  It took a certain amount of courage on her part to carry through with this, when backing down would have been so easy.  She wanted to complete the event too.

We both lost through this event.  I lost the co-skipper I wanted to have on board, and she lost the participation in legs 2 & 3.  There are strong feelings still present on both sides, perhaps they can be summed up with mutual disappointment.   She feels misunderstood, and so do I.

There is a long list of positive factors. 

For me, entering this kind of event was a step upwards.  I had no doubts about finishing the course, but doing it as a race was another matter.  My racing experience is close to nil, and as events showed, my racing ability isn’t much better.  This might have been an opportunity for the organizers or other competitors to protest or discriminate, but there was none of that.  The result is a resolution to come back to another event and complete again, this time in a more competitive manner.

In my mind, the Norwegian west coast is one of the most attractive cruising grounds in Europe.  I have long wanted to go there, and this was an excellent excuse.  Though I only got to see the passages near Bergen, they lived up to the advance billing.  My chief regret about this visit is that there was not more time.

Lerwick is simply exotic.  Such a different place.  Wet, cold, bleak, strange.  It has a beauty different to the standard kind we normally think of.  Here again, the main regret is not having more time to go exploring.

The other participants were very supportive, including after the first leg event.  In the Askoy marina I was quietly approached by a number of people, including some who I had not previously spoken to, and asked what I was going to do now.   Their message was always the same:  get over it.  They encouraged me to continue. 

The trip was plagued with halyard problems.  Three broke, and at the end of the final leg another was worn almost through.  The chafing is taking place just inside the mast at the top, about 30-40cm from the shackle.  This will have to be looked at carefully before the boat is moved much further.  A secondary effect of this is that I was shown – by Frank from Denebola – how to replace missing halyards.  The process is simple enough, but I had never seen it done before.  This small bit of instruction is a further gain from the event, and another example of generosity by other competitors.  In Lerwick I discovered that the single most useful tool for getting the line back into the mast is a piece of bent coathanger wire, which I just happened to have on board. 

Sailing the second and third legs solo turned out to be almost a gain.  At the start of leg 2 recent events were more on my mind than the race, but I enjoyed the trip.  It was not particularly quick, even by my standards, but it gave that little bit of extra confidence, another 200 miles of solo sailing for my resume. 

Leg 3 started off very well, and the first half day or so was the sort of sailing one dreams of.  The end of the trip was a completely different matter, and it brought, for the only time in the race, the potential for a serious conflict over a specific incident with anyone else who might have been on board.

The weather got quite extreme just off the Norwegian coast.  Winds were strong, it was pouring rain, and visibility was very poor.  Occasionally the coast could be seen, sometimes visibility was only 50 meters or so.  The thunder and lightning added to the sense of pressure.  For the only time in the race, I was unsure exactly where I was and distrusted what I was seeing on the chart plotter.  I hesitated, unsure what to do.  I tacked back and forth, including twice to avoid Pendragon, which always seemed to be too close for comfort.  The options were to obey the directions on the chart plotter and go straight in, or to wait out the bad weather, or even to run before the wind up to the northern entrance, nearly 50 miles off.   After a while it became clear that although the weather was rough, the boat was dealing with it and was still under control.  This meant that option 3, the northern entrance, was out.  In a brief lull in the wind I switched to a different jib halyard and got the chart plotter sorted out.  With the certainty of which direction  to go, heading straight in was the obvious choice.

In such situations the skipper is not supposed to hesitate.  It is bad for moral.  Not many crew like to see an uncertain skipper in difficult conditions.  He should announce his decision firmly, then carry it out.  Another person might have blindly trusted the chart plotter directions, and demanded an immediate entry to the channel.  This seems rash to me, because the consequences of a mistake could be huge.  The hesitation might have brought a less-experienced crew close to panic.  My own inclination is usually to wait in uncertain conditions until the situation is clear.  Even afterwards, I still think that waiting was the right thing to do.  However, if someone else had been there a strong exchange of views might have taken place.  A dispute, even a mutiny.  How would I have reacted to a demand to follow the chart plotter instructions immediately?  This boils down to how much respect one has for the views and opinions of others, and how much you trust their judgement over your own.  When a mistake might kill you both, how democratic are you willing to be?  Another person would have made the navigation and boat handling aspect much simpler, but it was easier to be alone in this situation.

The explanation for the chart plotter problem was in the scaling.  I had a window open showing the course and distance to the waypoint in the entrance channel.  This displayed correctly, as it later turned out.  There was also a line on the chart itself from the previous waypoint to the one I wanted to reach.  The problem was that this line was shown moving over a series of rocks off the coast and ending up inland.  It was not correctly positioned on the chart. When the scaling was changed everything looked right.  A check on where I was by the conventional fashion – latitude and longitude from my other GPS – showed that it was now displayed correctly.  There will be a discussion with the manufacturer about this.

An offer of race coaching was made late in the race, for some unspecified time in the future.  This is dependent on schedules, but if at all possible I will take up the offer.  It could hugely accelerate the learning process.  Another very generous gesture.

Overall, the event was a huge learning experience, and I have very glad that I took part.  The race brought more sailing experience in 2 1/2 weeks than several seasons of routine cruising around Holland.  There are a bunch of new ideas about managing and setting up the boat, and these will be tried out as soon as possible.  Visiting Bergen and Lerwick were extra bonuses.  The next race, whatever/whenever that might be, will be approached in a different manner, and viewed through different eyes.  Next time there will be a determined attempt to be more competitive.  Just taking part won’t be enough, and the reporting will reflect this different approach. 

The race concept – Scheveningen-Bergen-Lerwick-Bergen – was very promising right from the start, and I thought that it was the most interesting event in the North Sea even before I had met with anyone involved.  Now that I have seen the event, I still think so.  The fine execution of the event as well as the people involved just made it better.

The question has been asked, what sort of race would I like to see in the future?  This one, again.  Again means 2013.  In the meantime,  perhaps a shorter race,  which I understand is being planned by this group anyway.  Holland to somewhere and back,  for instance.  Holland to southern Norway and back?  That would be good.  I would like to have a stopover somewhere interesting.  It is also good for those of us who must settle vacation schedules early if it can all be done in one week, meaning that only 5 working days must be taken off.  Something to dream of and plan for.

Right from the start Pendragon has been an exception in the race. If these were cars, then there would be all-out racers (Vandal, Denebola, Hotsocks), sports cars (Promineo),  very high end family cars (Rafiki), me, and Pendragon.  Pendragon simply looked  much different, an older style from  a different era.   In addition  to this, Georges and Jan could not boast of Fastnet races, OSTAR experience, RBI, etc. 

Georges and Jan did a huge amount of preparation and gamely completed, in the knowledge that they had no chance against Hotsocks or the others.  Instead of the others, they were to compete with me, the only other boat with a similar rating and experience level.  They were in it for the experience and the fun, as I was.

After the dismasting, they recovered the broken mast and parts, tied them to the boat, and continued.  Recovering the broken bits must have been strenuous, and also had a certain degree of danger to it.  The mast is heavy and  the deck of their boat is not the easiest platform to work from.  This was a huge effort and deserves credit.  It was certainly a very disheartening time.  Most others would have taken the easy route and cut the mast away and let it sink. 

This was not a good introduction to a short-handed racing career, however, back in Bergen both were in good spirits, considering the circumstances.  Now they will deal with the aftermath, a ruined post race cruise, insurance matters, repairs, and a new mast.

This spirit of doing their best under the circumstances, of trying hard when not competitive, not complaining, of not surrendering to adversity – this all deserves  commendation.

Hopefully this experience will not deter them from persevering, and competing in the future.  I hope to meet them again.

Organizers will put their stamp on any event.  This can range from the degree of formality involved to obvious commercial interests being exercised.  In this case, my impression was that the organizers are enthusiasts and like to deal with other enthusiasts.  Creating even more would suit them fine. 

This led them to accepting less experienced competitors like me.  It would have been quite easy to exclude me with more stringent qualification rules, but they didn’t try.  Instead, they put up with lots of inexperienced questions and complaints in the months prior to the start, and remained patient and helpfull.  In the long term this will get them more competitors, because people like me feel welcome and are encouraged to come back.  In the short term this means a lot  more work for them.   

Organizing any event involves a lot of work that competitors  never see.  There are negociations with clubs and marinas in Norway, Holland  and the Shetlands, various government authorities, the rescue services for all countries along the route, their insurance company, prospective sponsors, and suppliers.  Their budget could easily get out of control, the entrance  fees do not even come close to covering expenses.  They must put up with the frustration of their carefully laid plans going wrong through others, such as when the trackers were not delivered on time.   The late delivery of the new trackers in Norway resulted in a postponement of the start,  and that in turn resulted in informing the navy, which was contributing a large ship, that the navy would have to wait.  The navy might not have liked this.  It is all very time consuming and at times frustrating.  At the same time the organizers have their own lives to live and careers to pursue.  It must often seem simpler to quit and let  someone else try. 

I saw no evidence of commercial interests being pursued.  No one was aggressively promoting their own business.  Quite the contrary:  Dick never mentioned his work and  I don’t even know what Huib does. 

What I did notice was good humour and a willingness to help.  Advice was freely dispensed, but not forcefully.  Assistance in many things was there for the asking.  For ocean racing beginners like me this was a huge assistance.  The general atmosphere was open and friendly, and informal.  There was also common sense on display.  A rigid enforcement of some  of the ISAF rules would probably have knocked nearly all of us out of the race, or at least caused considerable additional expense.  The requirement for a florescent coloured grab bag with the boat name written in big letters on the side, for instance. 

There was also no obvious favoritism to be seen.  In some other sports the organizers will do almost anything to keep a star competitor happy, but are hardly willing to speak to the also-rans.  In this event the star competitors were organized and knew what they were doing.  The less experienced (like me) needed and received more assistance. 

Behind the race committee (the organizers) there is a host of others who do a lot of hard work, and are not even necessarily recognized by those taking part.  There  were 2 very friendly safety inspectors in Scheveningen, there were a bunch of people who camped out on a small island off the Norwegian  coast to track the finishers, people who manned telephones, distributed the late trackers in the rain, etc.  Thorvald in Norway was very friendly and helpful.  Unfortunately I don’t know the names of all these people and am not even sure that  I met them all, but I appreciate their work anyway. 

Much to my amazement, immediately post-race there was a discussion about the Pendragon dismasting and what the organizers could do to help.  This is really taking care of the competitors.  In many other sports or events the Pendragon crew would have been left to solve their own problems.  On the the last day, 5 or 6 hours before the prize giving ceremony, Huib started to discuss helping me take my mast out of the boat and checking the problems at the mast top.  He meant starting immediately.  He didn’t  have the time, and it was raining outside as well, but he was thinking about it.  Very very generous. 

I wish to express my heartfelt thanks to all involved, and especially the race committee.

Dick Koopmans

Huib Swets