Sixty odd singlehanded boats, eager to begin the race and show off in the first outing of the season, creates an interesting scene at the start line. I was touched right on the line by a boat taking liberty with the rules but we crossed the line together on the gun right by the committee boat.

Having not raced in a fleet for a while I found it hard to find clear air and found that I lost a lot of places due to other boats sitting on me to windward. After our promenade leg I had clear air and focussed on boat speed and managed to pass a few boats. I then took a better angle around the islands east of Belle Ille managed to overtake 20 + boats to round the first major course mark as the 16th series boat.* It pays to be a local!

Then the fact that I had overworked myself before the start became clear as my energy levels crashed and I slept for a couple of hours, in the requisite 10 minute chunks while we sailed down the coast of Belle Ille. Unfortunately I missed the fact that I should have put up my gennaker instead of reaching with my jib and lost a lot of places. Sadly the words of an old coach ran in my ears: “prior preparation prevents poor performance.”

As the sun rose I put up the big spinnaker and went to work to get my places back as we sailed down from Ile d’ Yeux to the southern turning buoy off Les Sables. Running downwind is my strongest point of sail and by working hard on my trimming I passed a lot of boats and by the buoy the fleet had compressed and I had moved up to become the 13th series boat.

The return leg up to Ile de Groix was were the pain set in, as I made the mistake of heading back up along the coast looking to play the local effects of the breeze but got stomped on by a couple of big clouds. I watched the boats that had chosen the western, offshore route, sail away from me. I also had a disagreement with one of my freeze dried meals and was rendered useless as I threw up multiple times.

In my diminished state I wanted to make things easy on myself with the navigation, seek better wind and prepare for the incoming front so I too went offshore, tacking back just south of Belle Ille before again heading offshore to lay the north end of Ille de Groix. It was here that things became further complicated as it became apparent that I hadn’t brought enough fuel when the lights winked out on my fuel cell. By being ill I had relied on the pilot more than planned and now I was forced to hand steer for the rest of the race.

The wind had been rising ever since the the turning buoy and 5 miles from passing Groix on an easy reach with one reef and a reefed jib all hell broke loose. The typical wind shift that accompanies frontal systems arrived, along with 35-40 knots on the nose. With the shift I was now upwind with a building cross sea, and despite further reefs in the main and twisting off the jib I was knocked flat by the evil combination of a breaking wave and a 48 kt gust.

Last year on my catamaran this would have been game over. On the mini, however, dealing with being knocked flat is merely a matter of  flicking an arm over the life lines so as not to be ejected from the windward side, easing the sheets and rethinking the sail plan. As luck would have it I was over canvassed when the gusts came through only to look silly with my storm sails up slatting listlessly after the front passed.

Having sailed without sleep, having not been able to hold down food, and having been smacked by a substantial frontal system, I was completely exhausted. Shaking out the reefs in the main felt like an epic effort and when I was finally sailing down the inside of Groix I ducked inside to refuel on freeze dried chocolate mousse. Freeze dried food cops a lot of flack from sailors who have to eat it constantly but occasionally companies come up with gems like chocolate mousse or apricot compote that can lift the spirits and change the course of the race.

Suitably refreshed I hoisted my spinnaker and surfed past the remainder of Groix to find that I had a competitor, who also hoisted his spinnaker when he saw me barreling through. Thus began a battle to the finish where we cut in close to passing islands, peeled from big to small spinnakers when the conditions changed and pushed hard until we both wiped out multiple times.

My unknown competitor and I swapped the lead when we each had spinnaker issues and when night descended we lost sight of each other final miles. I was a little further offshore and fixed his position by looking for where his sails blotted out the lights on the shore. In the middle of a gybe I let go of my port spinnaker sheet and was unable to retrieve it due to a serious tangle so I was forced to run by the lee to lay the finish line. Unbeknownst to me, the other boat had broken its vang so we both limped to finish line, each expecting the other to have run away with the race.

And so it was that I surfed across the line doing 15kts with 22kts of wind with my big spinnaker poled out to the side to run deep, one hand high above my head with a strobe light so the committee boat could see me coming. Turns out I beat the other boat by 55 seconds and that it was my friend and English competitor Keith Willis.

In summary, my first mini race gave me a good taste for the class but I wasn’t able to wring the boat out and sail as hard as I would have wanted due to my diminished state and the stress of measuring in the boat and passing all the security checks for the first time. Running my campaign on the cheap meant that I took up generous offers of help from other competitors for transport and accommodation but that left me spread thin and disorganised.

Look for me to hit the coming races harder, now that I have the reigns in my hands.

* As a reminder, the fleet is split between carbon, swing keel, water ballasted protos and series boats like mine that are a little heavier due to their fixed keels and standard fiber glass construction.