It’s hard to find the words to describe the feeling of arriving in Salvador Brazil after almost 22 days at sea, alone on a 21-foot Classe Mini. Just before dawn on October 25th 2009 I became the 8th and youngest American to finish the Mini Transat in its 32-year history! Despite finishing in 21st position I was elated to have overcome some near catastrophes and to have completed this grueling race. I think anyone who has completed a long ocean passage can tell you that arriving in your destination is an extremely satisfying experience. For all of you that know this feeling, or can imagine it, I can tell you that having sailed 4,200 miles across the Atlantic, alone, with little to no contact with the outside world is a truly profound experience. I would never have been able to complete such a challenge without the continued support of my sponsors, my family and my friends and I would like to sincerely thank everyone who has helped over the past two years for making this possible. And special thanks goes to my father, John Rowse, for (among many other things) coming to Madeira with all the necessary supplies to make a reliable repair to my mast after the damage from the first leg, and to generally help prepare the boat for the Atlantic crossing ahead.

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The first leg of the Classe Mini Transat was a windy downwind affair that probably would have seen a new record for the course had the leaders not parked up in an area of high pressure not far from Madeira. My goal for the first leg was to sail conservatively and finish without a large time deficit on the top 10 boats regardless of my actual position, and to above all not break anything in the 30 knots that were forecasted for the third and fourth day of the race. I started out in a good position and was taking things conservatively as planned for the crossing of the Bay of Biscay in what quickly built to a gusty 20 knots of breeze. The night after rounding Cape Finisterre the wind had built to around 30 knots with a steep following sea and the autopilot was struggling to keep control of the boat even without a spinnaker while I attempted to sleep and eat. Just before dark the pilot drove the boat into an accidental gybe at the bottom of a wave just as I was leaping onto deck in an attempt to prevent it. The shock from the gybe was quite sudden and I was pleased to find nothing broken as I got the boat sorted and back on course, now committed to not leave the helm except when absolutely necessary. 

 

A passing fishing boat in the rough conditions near Finisterre…before the wind really built

 

Shortly after this incident I was steering and as I surfed down a large wave the main stalled and then, while filling again with a pop, I ripped more than three feet of luff track off of the mast just where the head of the sail was lying with two reefs tucked in. I immediately entered crisis-management mode and was lucky to be able to get the mainsail down without an issue. I can only imagine that the damage was originally caused by the crash gybe a few moments before but didn’t become apparent until this moment. It being dark now, I had to sail the entire night with only a jib and then climbed the rig in the morning, while it was still blowing 30 knots. Tying myself to the mast to keep from swinging around, I went to work repairing my problem. After about 30 minutes of smearing epoxy around and getting the track back into place I had nothing to do but wait for the glue to dry. This was probably the most difficult part of the race for me as I sat down below poking the left over epoxy every 15 minutes, seeing if it had cured yet. By evening, the wind was laying down and the epoxy was mostly cured so I cautiously hoisted the mainsail and after 24 hours sailing with only a jib I was thankfully off again at full speed. Needless to say this put a serious kink in my plan of sailing a bit conservatively and arriving in Madeira without any major problems.

 

The damaged luff track in the morning just before climbing the rig

 

It’s hard to believe that I have already been here in Madeira for nearly two weeks and the start of the 2^nd leg is only two days away. I have been able to repair my mast and add additional reinforcements to the luff track to ensure that there will not be any problems during the grueling 3,100 mile second leg. The days spent here in Madeira during this stopover have been a wonderful experience with the 83 skippers that finished the first leg all milling around, swapping stories and working away preparing for the true Transatlantic leg that is about to begin. Along with my mast climb in 30 knots and breaking waves there were a number of amazing stories from the first leg. A good friend Craig Horsfield hit a large sea creature at 15 knots while surfing down a wave and ripped his rudder hardware right out of the back of his boat, leaving a gaping hole on one side and forcing him to make an emergency stop in Portugal. Another skipper had issues with his masthead spinnaker halyard that led to him climb to the top of his mast while the boat was broached with his big kite up; his only solution was to cut the kite free. The best story of all though didn’t come out until several days after we arrived when a skipper dived on his boat to find shark bites in his keel.

 

Mini Transat fleet in Madeira

 

Thanks to the help of my father here in Madeira I am entirely prepared several days before the start and have had lots of time to study a rather interesting weather scenario that is presenting itself for our second leg. The second leg of the Mini Transat accounts for roughly 75-percent of the entire race and presents an opportunity for massive gains, or losses, to be made within the rankings. I am determined to climb through the rankings a bit and make a generally better showing than I did in the first leg. From the looks of the current forecast we will unfortunately be sailing upwind for several days before crossing a ridge of high pressure (little to no wind) before finally entering the northeast trades and getting the normal downwind conditions expected on this course. At this point I am chomping at the bit to get going already. This leg is an entirely different sort of race than the first leg as it’s three times as long. Also, I’ll be dealing with a huge range of weather situations. For now, I’m really looking forward to a seriously long leg as I try to make as much time as I possibly can on the boats that are currently in front of me. I find it amazing still how much I learn about myself and offshore racing each time I participate in a long solo offshore race and I’m determined to show all the folks back home what I’m really capable of in the next few weeks as I race to Brazil.

Time seems to pass at a different pace in the final days leading up to the start of such a massive undertaking as the 2009 Mini Transat. Each day has its own checklist that needs to be completed and as each day passes I feel entirely different about how near the start is. Four days seems like forever but for some reason three feels like the start is right around the corner. I think all of us sailing in the Transat withdraw a bit into our own thoughts as we consider what lies before us; likewise, each of us prepares, mentally, for the challenge in his or her own way. After so much time, energy and money spent, we skippers are finally here in the final countdown to the start and must do whatever we can to be ready on start day.

The urgency in everyone’s work is obvious during the final days before the start. All 85 competitors are here in La Rochelle and there is a huge range of jobs going on down on the dock. Some boats are looking perfectly prepared with their skippers hardly to be seen, while others look like a bomb went off belowdeck, leaving solar panels, winches and survival gear strewn about the dock as major projects go barreling ahead. I have finished all of my numerous inspections and checks for the race organizers and am ready to go besides packing my food and my foul-weather gear. I have been deeply engulfed in weather forecasts for the upcoming first leg and have been studying the tropical weather closely to meditate on the overall scenario for the race as much as possible. In some ways, being ready is a bit of a curse since I am finding myself wishing that I just had to rush through my last bits and leave tomorrow. It’s as if being prepared leaves me with a little too much time to contemplate all the things that I just maybe might have missed in the numerous inspections of my boat’s gear. However, if there’s one thing that I have learned about single-handed offshore racing, it’s that being prepared early is never ever a bad thing and 99% of the time I am thoroughly pleased to be done with most of my preparations.

Hard at work on the dock

The race village that is set up here in La Rochelle is quite impressive and I am amazed by the public turnout. Between the skippers, preparateurs, media people and the interested general public (sailing is huge in France, and unlike the U.S. spectators turn out in droves to watch the preparations and to see the fleet off) the docks are usually packed. I am so impressed by the way the race organizers involve the local community in the event in a way that makes for an amazing atmosphere. For example, the last days before the start have drawn a crowd unlike anything I have ever seen at a sailing event. Samantha Davies and Arnaud Boissieres, both skippers in the last Vendée Globe, have been around the docks and helping with boat christenings and presentations; press from a whole range of media outlets are prowling the docks doing interviews, taking photos and shooting video. I have been trying to push by all the hustle and bustle as best I can and carry on with doing the last tiny bits to feel like I am 110% ready for what is looking to be a fast first leg to Madeira. Current routing is showing the potential for the top Prototypes to set a new record time for the first leg of the Transat and for us all to cover the 1100 miles in 6 days or less. My plan is to sail fast but also safe in this leg as we are expecting 40-knot winds for our rounding of Cape Finisterre and after all this leg is not even one quarter of the entire race, so it’s most important to get to Madeira with a boat that’s still in one piece for the race’s true transatlantic leg. Make sure to follow the race tracker at www.Transat650.org and look for an update from Madeira next week.

Arriving in France to begin final preparations for the Mini Transat is a bit less climatic and exciting than it may seem. After four years of owning my Classe Mini with the intention of competing in this race and nearly two years of full-time campaigning to qualify, there is now less than a month until the September 13 start of this 4,200-mile, singlehanded odyssey.

Don’t get me wrong, there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now even though the old submarine base here in Lorient is a bit desolate this time of year. You see, it’s August in France and the entire country pretty much stops working completely and goes on vacation. Despite working all day, mostly alone, in an abandoned WWII submarine base doing the relatively dirty jobs involved in preparing an offshore racing boat, I will admit that I’m beyond excited and quite honestly just itching to get on with racing across the Atlantic. However, my hatred of wet sanding antifouling paint has become even stronger than ever before (see photo – that’s not a smile on my face). This is just one of the many necessary evils in getting a raceboat into tip-top shape.

I am in fact covered in much more orange stuff than it appears in this photo…did I mention I hate wet sanding?

There’s an unbelievable job list involved with preparing a 21-foot boat for a solo-transatlantic race that is proportionate to preparing a much larger IMOCA Open 60 for the Vendée Globe. There also happens to be an amazing amount of stress involved in the final days leading up to a race where so much hinges upon excellent prep work.

For those young professional sailors, such as myself, trying to make a name with a successful MiniTransat campaign, there are massive financial investments involved and sponsor relationships that also hinge on this one race, and your finishing position in Salvador, Brazil. The constant worry about potential breakages, results, general preparedness and the constantly shrinking and never-sufficient bank-account balance are all the factors adding to this ever-present stress. I think I have been successful in moving most of these stressful thoughts to the back of my mind, without disregarding them, and maintaining focus on preparing myself and my boat to do as best as I possibly can in this grueling and equally thrilling race.

My days are currently compromised of about 10 hours of physically working on my boat, another 5 or so hours of dealing with emails and the logistics side of my campaign, and the remaining is reserved for sleeping, eating, and, if I’m really lucky, a few minutes to sit and read a book. I did, however, get the chance to watch the Banque Populaire 131-foot maxi trimaran come out of the water just after she set a new Transatlantic record of 3 days 15 hours and 25 minutes.

The thing about the submarine base in Lorient is that however bleak it may be, and it can be downright bleak, it is easily the world’s undisputed capital of ocean racing and presents the opportunity to see more amazing offshore raceboats of all types in one place than anywhere else on the planet. It’s a great motivation while wet sanding to see amazing creations like Banque Populaire kicking around to remind you of the future that you are aspiring towards.

This photo does very little to express how truly impressive this 131’ long monster of a boat is.

In the next 3 weeks, before I get locked into La Rochelle harbor for the Transat safety inspections, I must go through every centimeter of my boat with a fine-tooth comb making sure that there are no weak links that could become problematic during the race. I also plan on getting out for some training sails to calibrate my autopilot for the heavy downwind conditions typically encountered in the Transat, as well as judging my energy draw to calculate how much fuel to bring for my generator, which serves as an alternative to my solar panel.

I am not counting on getting much done in the race village during the days leading up to the start as there are typically thousands of visitors on the docks and numerous obligations that I’m sure will eat up the majority of my days. I also want to use what time I do have available in the final days before the start to review weather files and begin developing my tactics for the first leg. I believe that mental preparedness is a huge part of single-handed offshore racing, and for me that means knowing that my boat is physically prepared to race across the Atlantic well in advance of the start so that my mind can be at ease.

The Transat website is up and running now in both French and English and is the best way to follow the race. Although I will warn you that the English side is a bit rough (some of the bits about me have been translated from English to French and then back again to English) there’s a a nice article about me and the other American entrant, Chris Tutmark, right on the front of the English page and loads of good photos of all the skippers and their boats.

I will try to put quick regular updates about my progress in the next few weeks on my own website, www.realitysailing.com, where there are also MiniTransat 2009 T-shirts available with the proceeds going to help my campaign. I also plan on writing another blog update from La Rochelle with the hope of conveying the pre-race energy to all the readers back home. For now I’m back to my never ending job list and yes…even more wet sanding.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been an entire month since I last wrote my last blog update. On the other hand as I sit and collect my thoughts on all the sailing (and travel) I have done in the past month, it’s not at all hard to see why I didn’t have the time to sit down and write. I really just have the tiniest bit of free time even to write this as I’m traveling, yet again, after spending only one night at home in Newport since arriving back in the U.S. from France where I am campaigning my Classe Mini. I’m now off to NYC to prepare a 40-foot trimaran for the Marblehead to Halifax ocean race before delivering the boat up to the start and then racing to Halifax.

My last month in France involved one thousand miles of sailing, two offshore races, a Fastnet rock rounding in a Force-8 gale and even a trip to Belgium by land to earn some money towing a Mini back to France with my van. Being back in the States is really a great setting to reflect back on the past month as I realize even more how amazing of a trip it has been when I am no longer surrounded by people doing the same thing.

The MAP, 200 miles single-handed, and the Mini Fastnet, 650 miles double-handed, were both fabulous and difficult races, as most all the sailing tends to be in Brittany. The MAP was an excruciatingly long 200-mile race in light air lasting a touch over 50 hours and included many tactical points where local knowledge was a key factor. The Mini Fastnet served up everything from being becalmed for most of a night to an eight-hour period of 35-40 knot wind in the Celtic Sea including our Fastnet rounding at 0200 in zero visibility and driving rain.

My finishes of 23rd out of 74 boats in the MAP and 20th out of 75 boats in the Mini Fastnet may seem to not be the greatest positions but for my old boat I feel they are respectable finishes. Many of the other sailors seem to agree.

The experiences from the racing, as well as the great times spent with the other sailors in the Mini fleet, have been one of a kind and I will always appreciate the time I have been able to spend living out this adventure. I feel like I have been sailing well and keeping pace considering I have one of the oldest boats in the fleet. Most importantly, after all of the modifications and work I have done to my boat, I had no major breakages and am feeling prepared for the Mini Transat, which starts on September 13th.


The massive fleet of Minis assembled in Douarnenez for MAP and Mini Fastnet.

I seem to always be talking about the speed difference between my old boat and the new prototype Minis, so I think it’s only fair that I shed a little light on the advancements in the class since my boat was designed and built in 1997. It is important to understand that the Classe Mini has always been the testing ground for almost all the technology that we see today in the most advanced offshore-racing boats. Canting keels, asymmetrical and jibing daggerboards, kick up rudders, water ballast, and chined hull forms have all been implemented in the Classe Mini well before they made their way into the Open 60s and other larger racing classes like the Volvo Open 70.

My boat is an early example of a full carbon-fiber prototype mini with a fixed keel, 200 liters of water ballast on each side, and a small retractable daggerboard forward. All told, she weighs in around 1,765 pounds.

The newest prototypes have amazingly powerful hull forms, canting keels and water ballast, advanced asymmetric daggerboards, and kick-up rudders. The lightest boats are now rumored at weighing only 1,500 pounds. My boat’s hull form is not very powerful (doesn’t provide much stability) and I struggle greatly in all reaching conditions when the new powerful canting-keel boats are barely heeled over, carrying a cloud of sail and maintaining average speeds in the double digits.

Since I have owned my boat, I have used everything I have learned from working as a yacht designer and from my sailing experience to make my boat as fast and reliable as possible. The largest of the modifications I have made to the boat was designing a new carbon-fiber mast with an entirely different layout than the old aluminum stick and rigged it with PBO standing rigging. This has had a vast impact on the boat’s stability by reducing weight aloft as well as allowing me to carry a larger overlapping headsail, improving the balance of the boat and allowing me carry more sail in heavier wind while still maintaining control.

I have also done loads of smaller modifications over the years I have owned the boat that are too numerous to list here. I have kept my own website, www.realitydailing.com, relatively up to date with some of the more technical aspects of my campaign and if you are interested, I have documented many of these projects.

I will be spending the rest of July working on the logistics side of my campaign from home, and getting in a bit of racing on some boats that help me appreciate ocean racing without quite the level of abuse received when racing my Mini. I arrive back in France the first week of August and will be set to go full speed ahead to finish my preparations for the Mini Transat start on September 13th.


Here is a fine example of two modern prototype minis. The boat on the right sports a canting keel, water ballast,  twin asymmetric daggerboards, kickup rudders and a rotating wing mast that has not just a massive adjustment in rake but also can be canted side to side (this is one of the fastest boats in the fleet).

“Reality” in the dry storage yard at AOS in the Sub Base in Lorient

I’m finally starting to settle in here in Lorient, France after my journey from the U.S. and a long week of work in the boatyard, preparing my Classe Mini to be launched. I transport my boat with the mast on deck, the keel and rudders removed, and all other extraneous equipment stowed below. This is a great technique to prevent damage during the boat’s travels but it means there is a ton of work to be done on this end before I can actually go sailing. I also took advantage of having my keel off and hung it from a hydraulic hoist in the shop at AOS, the facility in Lorient where I am based, to fair it and to apply several coats of the class-required fluorescent orange antifouling. We are required to paint our keel and rudders fluorescent orange in the Classe Mini so that the boats can be easily spotted by aircraft, should we happen to capsize and invert while at sea. While I have complied, this is something I try not to think about much!

My week of boatyard work was pleasantly interrupted by the arrival of 60 Classe Minis finishing the 2nd leg of the Mini Pavois here in Lorient after having sailed from Gijon, Spain. The non-French skippers tend to gravitate towards each other and I went out to lunch with a bunch of friends from last season and some of the new skippers this year. Our group consisted of sailors from England, the United States, the Netherlands, South Africa, New Zealand, Italy and Spain, all brought together in this little corner of Brittany to go race 21-foot sailboats across the ocean, singlehanded. There was an age range of probably 25 years and a mix of both male and female sailors all with different stories. This is a perfect example of the diversity so prevalent in the Mini Fleet and one of the things that makes it such an amazing and interesting community to be a part of.

“Reality” in the slings ready to put the keel in, launch and step the rig.
   
I launched my boat on Monday of last week and had a bit of work to do before actually being able to sail. I have a new autopilot computer that needed to be calibrated as well as a rebuilt autopilot drive that wasn’t yet installed. Regardless of all the loose ends that needed to be wrapped up before the boat was race-ready, all of my French friends were heavily encouraging me to participate in an event being held over the weekend, called the Chrono 6.50.

The Chrono 6.50 consists of time trials where a start/finish line is set up just outside the harbor and over the course of three days you must sail the 15-mile course around Ile de Groix four times. The interesting part is that you can start whenever you want after 0800, as long as you finish before 2000, 1400 on Sunday, and sail either direction around the island; the boat with the best time wins. I figured that for the 50-euro entry fee with two nights of dinner it was worth it just to get out and tune the boat up with some other boats around. The Chrono is typically just local sailors. That being said, Lorient is the training base for most of the top Mini sailors, so past winners include many winners of the Mini Transat. I actually turned out to not just be the only American but the only non-French competitor and I think almost all the French sailors lived in Lorient.

I got out on the water a little late on Friday after being at the boat at 0730, still putting things together and finishing all my entry paperwork, I so ended up with a pretty crap time for my first lap. But I got acquainted with the course, the up to 4 knots of current, and made sure that everything on the boat was working properly. I was disappointed with my Friday time and was determined to get an early start on Saturday, complete two laps and try and keep pace with the far newer French boats. I crossed the line for my first lap at 8:30 in the morning and completed the lap in 3hrs 33min, which was about 20 minutes off of the best time in the fleet and the boat felt great so, although exhausted after pumping a ton (literally) of water ballast, I was ready to go again. The afternoon lap was in lighter air, which my boat is relatively quick in, and I was getting to know the current across the course a bit better and ended up with the 5th best time in the fleet for the afternoon lap. Sunday ended up being a wash with absolutely no wind and most of the fleet getting towed in after drifting around for a few hours in the current after crossing the start line.

I’m stoked about feeling like I can still keep up with the newer boats, although in some conditions they are definitely faster. I now have a list of things to tweak to help my speed on some of the points of sail where I felt weak. The event was a blast over all with big French-style parties every evening with the board members and secretaries of Classe Mini serving rum drinks and red wine and everyone really having a great time.

Getting towed in on Sunday, the docks are just past the old U-Boat pens on the right.

I’m getting the boat prepared now for my first real race, the Trophee MAP, which starts on the 4th of June in Douarnenez. This is a 200-mile singlehanded race that weaves through the rocks and islands of the northern Brittany coast before ending up back in Douarnenez. The security checks start on Saturday the 30th and are a pretty intensive process, so I have lots of work to do getting everything organized and gathering some supplies for my med kit to make the check go smoothly. I will also have to look for a good weather window for the 100-mile delivery up to Douarnenez from Lorient, which will need to be timed with the passage through the Raz de Sein, one of the gnarliest current rips I’ve ever been through in my life.

Each year, dealing with the intense current and tough navigation here, I gain a new respect for the top French sailors. It is typical for them to train during the winter months, sometimes even overnights despite the freezing cold, and they never seem to hesitate to get out for a bit of practice regardless of the conditions. The local sailing community among is tightly knit and the sharing of information coupled with the training is really why they dominate in the Classe Mini fleet and beyond. I feel like I have made a respectable showing as a foreigner with one of the oldest boats in the fleet over the course of last season and the beginning of this one, and I definitely feel accepted and respected by the French sailors…even if there is still a bit of a language barrier. There will be trackers on board the boats for the MAP so you can follow the race from home by clicking here.

On the quay in Southampton ready to hit the road for the Portsmouth ferry terminal.

It feels fabulous, despite the exhaustion, to be heading back to Brittany for another season of Mini racing. I’m writing from on board the Brittany Ferry Bretagne heading south across the English Channel bound for St. Malo, France after two days of traveling from Newport, RI by plane, train, car and now boat. My fine yacht, USA176 Reality, and trusty Peugeot Boxer van are safely stowed on the car deck, and it’s a welcome relief to just have a moment to sit and collect my thoughts.

I am nearing the end of my three-day journey to get to Lorient, France with my Mini and I’m getting myself geared up for the months of challenges that lie ahead before the start of the Mini Transat on September 13th. Moving myself, my boat, and enough kit to spend two months abroad racing offshore is a logistical nightmare and would not have been possible without the help and support from family and friends both back home and here in Europe, and of course the assistance provided by my title sponsor, Sevenstar Yacht Transport.


Loaded on one of the monstrous car decks on the “Bretagne”.

I can’t even begin to describe how excited I am to get back to Brittany and start racing my Mini again. Mentally I’m in a much clearer state heading into this season than last, which is mostly attributed to the preparedness of the boat, as well as my ability to better handle the insane amount of logistics involved. Last season I was heading for Lorient one week before the start of the first race on my calendar (which I didn’t make), while still awaiting the arrival of my new sails and all new stanchions, bow pulpit, and pushpits to meet the current Mini Class rules. This season I have done a winter refit on the boat, incorporating everything I learned last year, and then spent a month sailing in harsh early spring conditions in Newport, RI, shaking out as many kinks as possible. Most importantly of all, after last season, I have completed all the qualification requirements for the Mini Transat and because of this I can focus entirely on racing instead of constantly being concerned about just completing each course to get the necessary miles. I have found that being mentally prepared is a gigantic part of racing offshore singlehanded, and I have never felt as ready as I do right now.

The Classe Mini racing scene in Brittany is unlike anything I have ever encountered in the sailing community in the States, and to me it is absolutely amazing. Small races see fleets of fifty boats and the large ones are capped at 100 boats and often have a long waiting list. Not only is it the sheer size of the fleets but the amazing mix of people from all over the world, although the vast majority (and coincidentally the top sailors) are French. Most of the sailors are using every resource at their disposal to keep their boats up to date, and often this means sacrificing personal “comforts”. Everyone is more than willing to not just help the sailor next to them but also to share ideas so that we can all improve. That being said…after the start the gloves come off and I have never encountered racing so intense and close as within the French Classe Mini fleet. During last year’s 600 mile “Mini Fastnet” I was always in sight of other boats and the top 5 boats finished within minutes of each other and were still swapping positions during the last two miles, after three days of racing.  


The 76-boat fleet before the start of the ”Trophee MAP” last season. There should be 23 more boats this year.

Besides the Classe Mini fleet, Brittany is also home to almost all the French Open 60s, offshore maxi trimarans, Class 40s, Figaros and most other classes of racing sailboats you can think of. A good number of these campaigns are based within the confines of a dilapidated, German-built WWII submarine base in Lorient, which is where I was based last season, and where I’m heading as I write this. The technical development and training that takes place in this environment surpasses anything happening anywhere else in the world sailing-wise, and is clearly evident in the absolute dominance of the sport by French sailors. Being one of the only Americans to be racing Minis here in France is a truly amazing experience and I count myself as lucky to have the opportunity to be here. Between now and the start of the Mini Transat in September I hope to shed some light upon what makes the culture of sailing in this part of the world so unique, and also to share an adventure that I hope you find as exciting and interesting as I do.