Tim Kent talks about the challenges of his Around Alone race.
September 30–October 2, 2002
We are flying. I am about 60 miles from Land's End in England. The finish line for this leg of the race is another 150 miles away. At this time yesterday, there were 430 miles to go—a nice 280-mile day. Times like these are great speed rides: The sails are full, spray is flying, with the boat often going more than 24 mph and rarely below 14 mph. But I could sure use the sail that's broken!
It is WET down below. The leaks are beyond annoying—the boat is awash in waves all of the time, and water is raining through the windows into the cabin. Everything is soaked. The laptop died completely yesterday after taking two big drops of nice, salty water directly on the keyboard. A quick shot of electronic cleaner revived it, but the keyboard took another shot of water as I was opening the laptop. My quick fix didn't do the job this time. Repairing the leaks is a big priority when I get to port in Torbay, England!
Meanwhile, the autopilot also tried a new variation on its games last night, October 1. (The autopilot is a gadget that helps steer the boat when I'm not behind the wheel.) The device would simply turn on and off by itself. We would be humming along without a care in the world then suddenly, no autopilot. That meant no one was steering. I would scramble from down below, up into the cold, dark, rainy, windy, wave-tossed cockpit. I would try to gain control of the sails and grab the hand controller for the autopilot all at the same time.
I am now about 50 miles in front of Bayer Ascensia and 50 miles behind Spirit of Canada. It is clear that Spirit of Canada is going to wrap up a well-deserved second place for the first leg, behind Tommy Hilfiger Freedom America. As for Bayer Ascencia and my boat, well, there is still the English Channel to deal with.
September 30, 2002
To all my friends at Scholastic—Hello from the Atlantic Ocean!
Everest Horizontal and I are now about 1,200 miles into our race
across the Atlantic from New York City to Torbay, England—the
first leg of the Around Alone race. It's a beautiful, sunny day
in the North Atlantic, and I am sailing along easily, trying to
get the most out of my boat and get to the end of this leg as soon
as possible.
When I think of sailing on the ocean, I first think of history.
Not the dusty, dry history of dates and places, but the real,
vibrant history of people and events. Take this race, for example.
Around Alone is now 20 years old. It is run every four years,
just like the Olympic Games. Also just like the Olympic Games,
it has its stars as well as people who are less well known. I
met some of the people who have made history in this race. They
are Kojiro Shiraishi, who has competed in three races, and J.P.
Moligne, the man who won my class in the last race four years
ago.
J.P. signed my boat, wishing me speed and good luck—in French,
his native language. There are only 13 boats in this race, but
they come from all over the world. Along with the three entries
from the United States, there are two from Canada, as well as
entries from England, Australia, Bermuda, Italy, Japan, Switzerland,
France, and Belgium.
September 24–27
A few days ago there was no wind where I was. I lost almost 100 miles to Bayer Ascensia, one of my competitors. But on September 25, the winds picked up, pushing into the sails. After that, I was living life on the tilt. I was pounding along at 12 to 14 mph, with the boat getting soaked on every third wave. When that happens, it's very loud, jerky, and wet.
I was sailing to get to a huge stationary high-pressure system up ahead, which is an area of better weather. Sailing to the north of it was out of the question. The winds around it were rotating counterclockwise, which would mean the wind on the northern side would be dead on the nose of the boat. Most of the other boats were taking this course, and they would face head winds of 30 to 35 mph. This boat stops in its tracks in conditions like those, so south I went.
I reached the high just after dark one night. I was actually just a tiny bit further east than Bayer Ascensia and another boat, Spirit of Canada, but much further south. Over the last couple of days I've chipped about 50 miles off of their lead on me. I'm playing a serious game of catch-up against two fast boats, so I'm going against steep odds. But the game is a lot more fun than it appeared to be a few days ago.
Reaching the high-pressure system began a round-robin, sail-changing exhibition. Wind got light and stayed that way, so I expanded the sail to catch it. Then, the wind got even lighter, so I increased the sail again. Wind direction kept changing, so I was constantly making adjustments to the sails and the ballast—that's the weight underneath the boat that gives it stability in the winds. All of this played out over several hours at the expense of sleep and the beef stroganoff dinner that I had planned, so I'm pretty bushed. Sure wish this beast had a coffee grinder!
September 18–22
England is roughly 1,900 miles away. It can't come too soon, as the boat and
I have been quarreling. Two sails are damaged, and the autopilot has been
acting up—that's the device that automatically steers the boat when I'm not
behind the wheel.
The competing boats are spread out across the Atlantic Ocean. I'm hand-steering a
lot, except when it's raining, which it has been quite a bit. I am not
sleeping the way I'd like when the wind is heavy.
This is when the autopilot likes to play games. It took me a day to get it
working at an acceptable level. But that took my eye off the tactical
ball, and I found that the fleet had gone much farther north in search of
favorable wind. This is an approach that I should have taken as well. So I
have had to angle the boat 45 degrees to the north. This has been costly
from a racing point of view, but necessary. There is ample time to make up
distance before reaching England.
The sails have been a problem too. One day, the boat's main sail tore. It
was not from heavy air, but old age. This one is two years old. I spent a
couple of hours on deck sewing patches onto the sail. When I hoisted the
sail again, the patches seemed comically small after I had spent so much time
on them.
The most-costly day was Saturday, September 21. I turned on the
autopilot in order to grab some breakfast below. I was not down there for long when the boat began to lose control, jerking violently into the wind.
I jumped back to the helm, shut off the autopilot, and tried to wrestle the
boat back down when one of the sails exploded. That means it tore up so
badly that it's gone. The rest of the trip to England will have to take place
without it.
Tim Kent talks about the beginning of the race on September 15.
Historic Sails
From the Norsemen and Christopher Columbus, the Europeans who
first came to North America all came by sailboat. Many of our
ancestors arrived here on creaky, leaky, hand-built wooden sailboats.
Our country grew and prospered because of the men and women who
come here with the wind in their sails.
In those days, sailing was a far different way to travel than
it is now. Captains had no satellites to guide them. They found
their way by observing the sun, the moon, and the stars. There
was no refrigeration. People ate food that most of us would refuse
to eat today.
For centuries, if people wanted to travel, they traveled on the
best highway around—the water.
Now, most sailboats are used for fun—from little dinghies
like my daughters' sailboats to day-sailing boats, to cruise ships,
to racing boats like
Everest Horizontal. The first solo sailboat
race was won by Robin Knox-Johnson, who later was knighted in
his native England for his feats. Sir Robin is the chairman of
this race, and is a very experienced sailor.
This race will end sometime next April. I hope that you will
experience a little history along with me as I compete in the
Around Alone race.
Next: the care and feeding of the solo racer. What do you eat
out there?
—
Tim Kent
Conitnue on to
October's Journals
