STORMY MAIDEN

Michael Green

At 0730 on Saturday 23 October a photocopier salesman, a fax salesman, two dairy farmers, a quantity surveyor, two aspiring boatbuilders, an ex infantry officer and the skipper's two daughters assembled at the Ketch Rigger in Hamble Point Marina for a slap-up breakfast before sailing Maiden Great Britain down to Las Palmas prior to her trip across the Atlantic.

Accompanying us at the table were Maiden's new owner Jonathan Chandler, a Shropshire dairy farmer, and Jane Godwin, wife of John, our skipper. Neither could make the trip, but they were seeing us off with a solid breakfast.

Maiden had been bought by Jonathan in the spring and had spent most of the summer on charter to the British Offshore Sailing School (BOSS). She was acquired with the sole intention of being enjoyed by Jonathan, John and their friends. To this end it was planned that she should be sailed across the Atlantic, spend the winter in the Caribbean and, after Antigua Week, be sailed back to the North Wales coast from which she would be raced. We were about to embark on the first leg of this trip.

Apart from the installation of a 'fridge/freezer, microwave, lining on the deckhead and an autohelm (called Tracy, no less!) she was kept as she had been left at the end of the Whitbread race. She was thus pretty spartan, and on arrival we were each allocated a pipe-cot berth and an 18" by 36" locker for our belongings. The Whitbread mystique was very much still there.

John Godwin (JG) had assembled his ten crew from various sources. There were his two daughters, four yachtsmen he had met on a BOSS course on Maiden plus two other friends, while I had met him on the pontoon whilst visiting a client at Hamble Point. Apart from a weekend jolly to Poole and back around the island, and another weekend watching the start of last year's Whitbread, we had not sailed together at all. But here we were on a racing machine with sheets and halyards running everywhere -- the mere thought was awe inspiring, especially with the infamous Bay of Biscay in front of us.

There was a great mood of nervous excitement as we slipped moorings after breakfast and headed off down the Solent. The weatherfax had reported very favourable news -- a stationary high over the UK. We were therefore keen to pass Ushant as soon as possible and use the northerlies to race down past Biscay, which was most likely to be the wet and windy part.

Having set the main and No 1, Tracy was switched on and JG gave us our passage brief. He placed great emphasis on safety, and that we were sailing a very fast boat, but the passage was to be enjoyed and to that extent Maiden was to be undersailed -- we were not racing. At the end the Mount Gay rum bottle came out and the first of what became known as MGMs (Mount Gay moments) was had -- this time to Neptune, but thereafter to every latitude crossing.

The Channel was crossed very quickly with 10 knots regularly on the clock, and having negotiated our way past a number of French trawlers who seemed intent on ramming us (I later discovered that they may have been looking for a drugs pickup), we gybed round for what turned out to be a sleigh ride across the Bay of Biscay.

By this stage the crew had settled in with each other and the watch routines -- three watches of three with the skipper floating. Every third day each watch had to cook and clean, which worked extremely well. Nicknames began to be acquired, such as the Rock Star (who was intent on braking all speed records), Peter Pan (me, as I had a new set of thermals which I had been asked to test), The Colonel (no prizes for guessing what his background was), The Viking (after his Scandinavian looks), The Foot (one crew member had a serious foot problem) and the inevitable `Skip'.

The passage to Ushant and down Biscay to Finisterre was exciting to say the least. For two days we had 30-40 knots of wind from the north-east -- two reefs in the main and the No 3 jib -- and were regularly clocking 12 or 13 knots on the log. The thyroids were working overtime, especially in the case of the Rock Star who managed to top the log with 15.75 knots. Maiden was ploughing through the waves and loving every minute of it, and for someone (ie. me) who was used to cruising, it was spectacular. Full moons abounded and at night the phosphorescence glittered, especially when accompanied by schools of dolphins who, suddenly feeling they had reasonable competition, raced us through the waves. It was like sailing a 17 tonne windsurfer, and when the adrenalin was pumping particularly fast, innocent shouts of the Southern Ocean were heard.

Over those two days we crossed Biscay. Our first noon to noon run was 242 miles and the next 256, which left us well off the Portuguese coast. Time to relax as the dawn was joined with wonderful whiffs of the pine maquis forests of Portugal. It began to get warmer and the skipper showed me the Atlantic Routeing Chart and said "Mike, we're over the worst. Look at this rosette -- million to one chance of winds from the south". Just as he said that the weatherfax chattered into action and out came the latest weather map for the west and mid Atlantic. "Look at that, Mike" says the skipper. "Yes" says I. "It's perfect" says the skip. "Yes, but what's this in the bottom left-hand corner of the print-out?" There it was, a very small low pressure which was slow-moving and over successive hours began to deepen. At this time we were dawdling about 250 miles due south-west of Cape St Vincent in sunny flat calm. A rumour went round the ship that southerlies were due and that the worst was not necessarily over.

That evening my watch took over at 1800 and with clear skies I had the most wonderful sail. The wind was from the south and over the course of the evening it and the seas began to build. It was a pleasure to be at the helm on this starlit night. We were relieved at midnight and went below for what we hoped would be a good night's sleep.

At 0400 there was a cry of `All hands on deck'. All down below promptly put their oilies on, and by the motion felt the seas had obviously got significantly bigger -- gusting 40 knots. John had decided to take in a third reef and replace the No 3 with the storm jib. Due to the enormous weight of the sails this required all of us on deck.

I positioned myself on the mainsheet and traveller whilst the others went about in pitch darkness to perform the tasks they had been set, getting drenched by breaking waves and the inevitable quantities of spray. John, who was on the helm, suddenly said, "Mike, I've only got 7 knots on the wind repeater -- I'm losing power -- go and switch over the batteries". This I duly did (Maiden has five banks) and whilst I was down below there was the most colossal crash. I was certain we had gybed, and rushed up to find that I was right. There followed the most almightily but relieved silence across the boat as everybody was accounted for and the rig checked.

We had gone through the eye of the storm. The batteries had not run out -- the wind had actually dropped to that level in the ferocious seas and John, thinking the power was gone, helmed on the Windex. He went through a 180wind shift and consequently the gybe.

The main was dropped and furled on the boom and then the storm jib set, after which we began to appreciate how lucky we had been, not only with the crew but the rig as well. How the mast had stayed up amazed us all -- Neptune had honoured our toast! A large MGM was had.

After what became known as the `horror show' we spent several days in a very big storm, sailing on the storm jib and bearing away when the wind topped 35 knots, as it frequently did, not only from the wind but from the depression as well. A rapport with the met office at Bracknell was generated and it soon became clear that we were acting as their floating met station -- the ferocity of the storm had taken them by surprise.

Down below Maiden began to get very damp, and the forepeak (the sail locker) resembled a Chinese laundry as with the generator positioned up there it became the warmest place on board. Sleep was impossible and everybody began to get very tired, but at no time was there a loss of patience or humour thanks to the good management of the skipper.

On the third morning the storm began to abate and we headed for Madeira, which on arrival we found to have gone through its own hell. Six people had died in mud slides in Funchal itself and there was no water at all to be had in the city. Having had a wonderful and welcome lunch ashore, telephoned home, and dried out a few clothes, we set off for Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, where we moored up two days later after a very warm, gentle and comfortable sail.

Since none of us had lived or sailed together before, let alone on such a machine as Maiden, the camaraderie and sense of humour were great throughout. Once secured in Las Palmas we all toasted our boat, Maiden GB, together with `skip' John Godwin, who together had looked after us so well, with the inevitable -- a long MGM!