44
‘the boat flew, sea cascaded
over us and all hands seemed
ready to shout for joy’
close up, all 141ft of her. The perfect gaff-rigged working
schooner, tops’ls up, the mighty rig lifting her long, raking
bow overhang clear of the sea almost to her foremast step
with white water cascading from her scuppers. On its own,
it was a sight worth the air fare.
As for us, all was not lost, because once around the
outside mark the next leg was the broad reach I had longed
for over the last 40 years. Ti picked up her elegant heels
and positively dashed downwind. The long, sharp clipper
bow turned the seas away from the deck as easily as it
carved through them, she stood up like a church steeple
and felt weightless as she spread her wings. We made too
many mistakes to be placed, but by the time we came back
to Falmouth Harbour we’d had a trip to remember.
My next race was aboard the Carriacou sloop Genesis
and this started with high drama. I have developed a
relationship with these craft through the medium of the
film Vanishing Sail made by Alexis Andrews, owner of
Genesis. Helping to promote this movie in the UK has
made me feel like a very small part of the team and sailing
on the boat was billed to be another dream come true.
These craft are vernacular in the extreme. Built without
plans, many to the designs of master builder Alwyn Enoe of
Windward, Carriacou, they are rigged with a ‘catch-as-catch-
can’ philosophy. The day before the racing began,
Sweetheart had broken her tiller and then her spare. That
night, her owner had the good luck to be present at a motor
accident in which there were no casualties. Fortuitously, the
cars had smashed into an aluminium fence and reduced it
to a pile of tubing. One piece of this was duly salvaged and
fashioned into a perfect tiller by bashing the end that
passes into the rudder head flat with a large hammer.
Meanwhile, Free had been dismasted on her way to
Antigua but had sorted out a replacement spar overnight
in time to enter race number 1. As it happened, Genesis
also had her problems and had suffered a sprung gaff,
rendering the mainsail unusable. Nothing daunted, Alexis
and his crew acquired the mortal remains of Free’s mast
and scarfed it into what was left of their gaff to make a new
one, also in time for the first start.
It was only during the third race that Alexis noted the
weather helm angle had become extreme and that the
tiller felt decidedly spongy. They hauled her out at
Sammy’s yard down the road, to discover that teredo
worm had got into the rudder stock and eaten it out.
When I arrived on the dock at 0900, knowing nothing
of this, I was directed to Sammy’s where I discovered all
hands, male and female, local and incomers, applying
finishing touches to a brand new rudder which they’d
built overnight. Nobody had managed much sleep,
although John Smith’s brother, mastermind of the gaff
repair, claimed to have managed a couple of hours in a
half-inflated Avon. I hadn’t seen John Smith since Nevis in
1985 and I’d never met his brother, but the connection was
made and that’s sailing, isn’t it?
When the rudder was offered up, with half an hour
before our start, it was too tight in the trunking, so out it
came, hefted by five willing young shoulders. Alexis
produced a hatchet and skimmed it down to try again. At
the third attempt, it fitted, the bottom bearing popped in
and the lower clamps were bolted up.
In went the boat, the main filled with clean, sweet wind,
the rudder was declared better than ever and we made the
line only half an hour late. Genesis took almost 30 minutes
out of her nearest rival before the finish.
At sea, as in the boatyard, this was a crew that operated like
a well-oiled machine. Sitting the boat up and getting soaked
for my pains was a privilege. Bob, an Antiguan, called the
shots on trim from forward and tamed the lash-up spinnaker
pole along with his American lady shipmate. Perched on the
taffrail back aft, Sharn the fisherman, dreadlocks streaming
in the wind and laughing all over his face, handled the
mainsheet with power and accuracy. My oppo, Matt, a soldier
turned seaman who had sailed across with his wife in their
own boat, provided strength and reliability on the runners,
while Sarah trimmed the big jib like the total professional
she is on her day job. The boat flew, solid ocean cascaded
over us all, Alexis sat cool and detached at the reborn tiller
and all hands seemed ready to shout for joy to have been
born for this day. Sailing at its simplest and best.
If you find yourself within a thousand miles of Antigua
at the right time next year, ease your sheets and get on
down. I promise the Mount Gay won’t run out, the fun
won’t stop and it may take a week to recover, but the
Classics is unique and is absolutely not to be missed.ANTIGUA CLASSICS
Te re do wo rm
saw to it that
Carriacou sloop
Genesis needed a
new rudder; one
was duly created
overnight...... and Genesis
made it to the
start line for the
following day