This is getting exciting. Renauld Stitelmann, aboard Capucinette is closing in on the finish line in Antigua looking for a win in the Globe 580 Transat. Right now he has just 9 miles to go with a decent breeze up the chuff, or for those not familiar with nautical parlance, he has wind from behind. No not that kind of wind. In other words he has a clear runway and will soon see that sweet little island of Antigua rise up out of the ocean ahead. It’s a magical time for him and for the rest of the fleet, but as any sailor knows, you are not home and dry until you are home and dry, so keep a good lookout my friend. We want you tied up safely in English Harbor, a stones throw away from an icy cold glass of Antiguan rum punch.
I wrote about the magic of a landfall from a yacht and of course I can wax a little poetic sometimes (I can’t help myself – I am always in a great mood). Anyway I digress. I wrote that at sea you can smell frangipani and exhaust fumes blow by on the breeze as you get closer. I hope that conjures up the right kind of mood. But sometimes it’s not all sweet smelling flowers.
There was this one time…
Okay I have made many landfalls and they start to blend together. A few I remember but one I remember distinctly. I was racing from Chicago to Mackinac Island, a beautiful tranquil spot in the northern part of Lake Michigan. Mackinac Island has remained pristine because they don’t allow any motorised vehicles on the island. Just horse drawn carriages delivering groceries to the stores, that kind of stuff. If you order an Uber, you get a horse. I bet you never thought that you would read that in black and white.
It was my first time doing the race and as we got closer to the finish we were in thick fog. The navigator was dripping sweat in his charts; not from the heat. it was a difficult approach. He kept telling us that we were almost there but we couldn’t see a bloody thing; just dense, damp fog. Any then, without warning, I knew that we were close. The smell of land drifted by. No it did not smell of frangipani and exhaust fumes. There was a strong smell of – well you guessed it – horse shit.
Funny though. I stayed on the island for a few days and had a ride back home with a certain Mr. Terry Kohler. For many of us when we hit the head, the name on the bowl is Kohler. Yup there is millions to be made in toilets (and other fittings and things). Mr. Kohler had a Lear Jet. I took a horse drawn buggy to the tiny air strip and it pulled up alongside this bright silver jet. In seconds I went from the gentle trot of a horse on cobblestones, to the G-force-breaking thrust of a Lear Jet taking off. In an instant from one world to the next.
With the fleet almost home and dry I think we can safely say that the ALMA Globe 580 boats are seaworthy little buggers. And fast too. Yes, landfalls are all about adventure and I wish each and every one of the sailors racing in the Globe 580 Transat a safe landfall and an adventure of their own in the heart of the Caribbean.
