Andy Rice: Slowly does it on the Solent obstacle course

Could there be anything better than racing at the 200th edition of Cowes Week? Especially with the drought-inducing weather that the UK has been basking under lately. For years I’ve been resisting the invite of my old friend, Andy Oddie, to go XOD [X One Design] racing with him, but finally I capitulated.

Travelling that slowly in an ancient wooden keelboat is not the place I naturally gravitate towards, but Oddie is an old mate. And with young and keen Sam (only Sam, because he has an unpronounceable French surname) pulling ropes at the front, off we set towards the Squadron start line.

With the strong current pushing us toward the start line at a phenomenal rate, we absolutely told ourselves that we must not be over early. Having, with great confidence, called Oddie across the start line of the SB20 World Championship some 10 years earlier, I decided to mostly keep schtumm.

I wasn’t going to incriminate myself on this occasion, although I might have said at some point – as I saw other XODs surrounding us near the busy area at the Outer Distance Mark – that we were “well covered”. If we can’t see the Squadron, they can’t see us, is the old logic that I was applying to the situation. In any case, there were loads of boats further forward than us.

We got into the weeds of the Solent race course, lots of obstacles and curveballs along the way. Plenty of opportunity to climb up a few ladders or slip down some snakes. We found pretty much all the snakes, very few ladders. I’m not sure where we were in the fleet of 60 XODs, but it was easier to count towards the back than towards the front. “Look, there’s Nigel Buckley [former 470 World Champion] just ahead of us,” said Oddie. “And we might be able to get across Stuart Childerley [double Olympian and race officer extraordinaire] on the next shift.” In other words, there’s no disgrace in finding yourself back in the 30s or even lower. For all the fact that the XOD is not the most exhilarating of steeds, the sheer quality of the sailors and the tightness of the racing more than makes up for the snail pace around the Solent.

Two and a half hours later, when we crossed the finish line, we discovered that we had been OCS disqualified. Yes, we had been over the start line early. Like a bad penny, whenever I’m on board the boat, we’re over early. It’s a reputation I’ll never shake off. 

The next day we were determined not to be over early and, with the current against us this time, it would take a much bigger effort to earn the OCS. Today was all going to be about tide-dodging, short-tacking up the shore and then making that crucial decision as to when to break out towards the first turning mark. Tack too late and you’ve given away crucial time and distance to those who judged it better. But tack too soon and you might never get around the mark at all. We thought we’d got it right but no, we were a little too optimistic and had to tack three times more to get around the mark without being swooshed on to it by the fast-running adverse current. This was the biggest snake/ladder of the day, one which would determine more or less where you would finish up the day.

We found ourselves chasing down David ‘Sid’ Howlett, a former Finn Olympian in his own right, but better known as the guru who coached the likes of Iain Percy and Sir Ben Ainslie to their Finn gold medals. Sid got away from us on the approach towards Calshot on the mainland shore, not far from where the F50 paddock had been operating a week earlier for the Portsmouth SailGP event. 

More short tacking up the shore to get out of the worst of that horrible tide. Oddie had already told the story of how his dad, David, had run aground on this very same bank in the very same boat – Magic Dragon (built 1948) – some 40 or so years earlier. On that occasion his stand-in crew for the day, a teenaged Ben Ainslie, had had to jump out to push Magic Dragon off the shingle before clambering back in again.

With that little piece of history in mind, Oddie, Sam and I gave a little cheer to ourselves when the keel touched bottom as we leaned the boat to leeward for fear of doing a full run-aground. We’d had our little Ben Ainslie moment, but without having to get our feet wet.

And the result across the finish line was a bit better too. Well, a lot better, because we weren’t OCS, and had enjoyed a good battle with some Solent legends.

That was my fleeting taste of the 200th edition of Cowes Week. Just 48 hours of hard sailing and hard drinking. How these hardy perennials come back year after year and manage to sustain a whole week of such rigours, I really don’t know. But for me, it was a great reminder of why Britain produces such high quality sailors in such number. The Solent is the ultimate obstacle course, massively frustrating one moment, but enormously rewarding the next.