El Corb in the foreground with Kuyunut behind
‘El Corb’, as friends call the boat, is a lateen rigged rocket. Designed and built for racing in Mallorca in 1954, el Corb is 5 metres long weighs 800kg and flies 27.65 m2. A beautiful, fine-lined boat with a wine glass transom in lieu of the more typical sternpost, el Corb is light and agile for a traditional lateen boat of this size. What is more the boat had just undergone an extensive refit at the hands of Catalan master boat-builder and restorer Quico Despuig. El Corb went to the yard for a simple paint job but once stripped other problems revealed them selves. The boat needed to be re-caulked and the transom was in a sorry state. Owner Joan decided that the work should continue regardless and asked Quico to do whatever was necessary.
For Joan there was never any real choice in the matter, as he says on his blog, ‘I would hate myself if I let a boat like this fall into disrepair.’ The boat was re-caulked and a new transom fitted and finished bright. The work was beautifully executed and well worth it for Juan now has an exemplary craft.
So, when the festival organisers announced that a race would follow the copious breakfast of grilled sardines, pa amb tomaquet and wine I was eager to see what el Corb could do. The boat is fairly tender with its high aspect rig and long keel and we rounded up two more crew before the race. The fleet of lateen rigged craft were moored with an anchor off the stern and a line ashore, they tugged eagerly in the northerly Tramuntana that blew gustily near the beach.
During the distribution of picnics, water and wine, the shrill blast of a whistle called us to our duty and we hastened to the boats for an exciting ‘Le Mans’ style start to the race. This quickly led to carnage as turning boats set massive yards and sails. Joan managed to keep us to windward of the fray and el Corb accelerated off the mark as the mainsail was sheeted home. To leeward the dorna Tamariua emerged from the melee going like a train followed by a pack of others. For the moment the dorna had the heels of us but that was just as well as we weren’t too sure of the course. It later transpired that Suso on the dorna wasn’t too sure of the course either, in fact he wasn’t even sure if we were racing or not. But for all that he was driving his boat hard.
Joan helmed us ably as we wove through the moored craft in Cadaqués bay and it became apparent that the main job of the crew was to trim the boat. El Corb leant to the gusts and we shifted our weight from the centre of the boat to the rail. The boat was fast. If we could keep the hull flat on the water when the gusts came on el Corb flew, eliciting whoops and praise. My job was to adjust the ‘burdes’ (a mainstay that is always set to windward) when we changed tack.
El Corb and Cadaqués
I’m no racer and I don’t consider myself competitive but my blood was up and my face set with granite resolve. Of course we sailed with a huge advantage being the only boat actually designed for regattas but that didn’t seem to lessen the sense of achievement and we rewarded ourselves with a pleasant half hour of back-patting and beer drinking.
The winning crew. Carles, Ben, Joan, Montse.
All photos from el Mar és el Camí.
I’m afraid that the craft that I previously referred to as a ‘polbiero’ is actually a ‘dorna’. I’d had some inkling of this but was finally able to confirm my suspicion when I met a Galician ‘dorna’ owner at the XXIII festival of lateen sail in Cadaqués. (More on this festival in another post.) Suso, author of the blog ‘Lajareu por Barlovento’ , was participating with his dorna, Tamariua, which he kindly let me sail and row.
The Dorna requires a crew of two to tack the dipping lug sail. The helm, having put the tiller over unhooks the sheet, leaves their position and, grasping the clew of the sail, dashes nimbly round the mast. While the crew first lowers the sail a few feet to enable the yard to pass freely round the front of the mast, then raises it again tying off the halyard to windward where it acts as a stay. The helm then re-attaches the sheet with a quick turn round a small belaying pin. It is rather complicated to perform on the confined decks of the dorna but with practice and coordination I imagine it could be quite a graceful step-by-step dance.
My efforts weren’t particularly graceful but I hoped to do better at the oars. The two-piece sweeps are as long as the dorna. Being so large they are also heavy but with so much of the oar inboard of the pins they are balanced. I found it hard to keep they blades out of the water on the recovery but the stroke was powerful and satisfying.
For the solo sailor the dorna would be a challenge. Not only due to the difficulty of single-handedly tacking and gybing but also because the crossed oar rowing, while fine for fishing, does not really make suitable auxiliary power. I think it would be difficult to row this boat alone for hours at a stretch maintaining a 3-knot average speed. However, when rowed by two people, as it more commonly was, the boat moves along easily and briskly. Stroke oar sits in the on the stern thwart and bow oar on the central one. Due to the length of the oars the starboard rower sits on the port side of the boat and vice versa.
As before I was struck by the contrasts of this boat. The rustic simplicity of the build and rig compared with the complexity of the hull form. The area of Galicia in northwest Spain has Celtic roots and the dorna hull form derived, according to Suso, from Viking craft. The dorna proved to be a big head-turner on the Catalan coast upstaging many of the smaller lateen rigged craft.
Back in May I saw a stumpy wing mast among the typical aluminium forest of spars. It belonged to a small catamaran with folding wings. One glance was enough to see that it was a serious sea-going boat. The man on board looked like he’d been at sea for some time so I invited him home for dinner.
Christian Auge has been sailing since he was twenty-two. Searching for his first sailing boat he drove across Asia and then flew to the Marquesas where he fell in with the unlikely crew of a pilot, a call girl and a guru aboard their trimaran. When relations among the trio broke up they gave Christian the boat. He sailed 400 nm to the Tuamoas where he worked trading between the islands. He met Bernard Moitessier and became friends, giving Bernard his first taste of multihull sailing. Of Moitessier Christian told me that you couldn’t hope for a better crew, that, for all his experience, he would never presume to interfere with how you sailed your boat, he was always open, humble and willing.
Christian worked his way around the world on boats and began his own career designing and building with the Mike Birch team in New Bedford for the 1976 OSTAR. In 40 years on the sea he has sailed some 250,000 miles and is now designing a 28-foot proa with a rotating rig in which he hopes to take part in the next Jester Challenge.
Deciding that he was spending too much time in front of the computer he prepared an early summer cruise on the ply and epoxy catamaran Mare C. A friend had designed and built the boat for speed but Christian cut two metres off the mast to achieve a more cruiser friendly sail area. He set off in the 5.5 metre catamaran with 11square metres of mainsail and six of jib. The whacking great mast added another 2.5 square metres and gave the boat a cruising speed of up to 15 knots. He sailed from Sète in France and planned to continue non-stop down the Mediterranean to Algiers. However, he met calms and contrary head winds. Having no auxiliary power he could do nothing but wait for the weather to become more favourable. He stopped at Ibiza and then, with insufficient time to make the African continent, decided to head back to France.
On the way back the weather again failed him and after four days at sea with only two hours sleep and with his knee playing up he decided to stop at Torredembarra to find some medication.
I was amazed by Christian’s ability at 62 to endure the discomforts of long hours on a small boat. He had no mattress or boat tent and generally just slept on the deck in his wet weather gear. He lived on a Spartan diet of dried fruit and nuts, tinned sardines and roll ups.
We looked over Onawind Blue together, it was interesting to compare the two boats, OB and Mare C were completely different concepts, however OB was about to embark on a similar cruise. Conceivably Mare C could have made the 140 mile passage from Ibiza in 14 to 15 hours at an average of 10 knots. OB could have done the same in 48 hours at her stately average of 3 knots. In the event, however, OB also took four days from Ibiza to Torredembarra including a rest day.
Christian liked OB and was impressed by the build quality (though of course I distracted him when his eyes wandered to the dodgy bits) and reckoned that she would be perfect for such a cruise. This thumbs up from an experienced sailor boosted my confidence enormously —I’d been having grave doubts. Meeting Christian was a turning point. He made it sound as if anyone could sail offshore in a small engineless boat incurring less risk that they would by driving up the motorway. The OB cruise was on again.
A few days later the wind came fair and he set off to sail non-stop to France. I watched him through binos from the beach. Mare C was doing about six knots on a light southerly, Christian was leaning on a wing rolling a cigarette. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get going.
Don’t try this at home folks. Unless you’re extremely well prepared. I believe I was and the project has had a happy outcome.
Just briefly, as I still don’t have an internet connection at home. Having arrived at Ibiza and made a new rudder I had a lovely cruise to Formentera, an idyllic island surrounded by impossibly turquoise waters. I returned to Ibiza to make some final preparations for my departure then, on Friday 26th sailed for the north of the island.
At 0400 on the morning of the 27th I set sail for the Columbrete Islands 65 miles northwest. This was a long, long open sea passage and I rowed about half the distance. I saw only one other ship on this passage and tried to contact it via the VHF but received no reply. I did, however, see plenty of dolphins.
The Columbretes are very small and it was with some relief that I finally saw them appear at sunset. I was still 15 miles off, which, with a failing breeze, put the islands about 6 hours away. The islands form a natural park and no anchoring is allowed, however several buoys have been set down in the natural harbour. I contacted the island’s park authorities by radio and was told that there were no buoys available. I could, however tie up to another boat. OB is too small to raft against a large boat and rowing round the anchorage it looked like there was no suitable boat to tie on to. Eventually I rafted up against someone’s dinghy after 22 hours on the water.
The next day demanded rest. I visited the island, snorkled and slept under an awning I’d rigged using the mizzen sail. In the evening the park guards kindly used their satellite phone to contact my family and let them know that I was planning on leaving at 0400 for the Spanish mainland.
I sailed north for the River Ebro Delta but with the dawn the wind failed. This was a difficult day, I rowed and rowed. At times I stopped to swim and, as I was swimming, I towed the boat behind me. Anything to gain a few metres. That day I covering 45 miles in 17 hours pulling the boat onto a beach on the south side of the Delta for the night.
The next morning I again set off at 0400 with no wind. But found that I hadn’t fully recovered from the day before. It wasn’t so much my arms and back that caused discomfort but the rubbing and chafing of salty clothing on skin. My bum was raw. After 6 hours and 12 miles I stopped on the tip off the Delta to eat and rest. There was no wind and to attempt the 23 mile passage across to Cap Salou without wind would have been foolhardy given that rowing had become so uncomfortable. After an hour’s sleep in the shade of the mainsail the wind began to fill in from the southeast. I set sail and crossed the Gulf of Sant Jordi. The wind came foul 5 miles from the cape and I had gruelling row up to Cala Cranc, (where I stayed 2 years ago) but suspecting it to be unsuitable with a southerly swell rowed on round the cape to anchor off the tourist hell of La Pineda, just beside the entrance to Tarragona harbour.
I left the next morning at the favoured hour of 0400 and rowed the 15 miles home. I seemed to find new strength and as long as I didn’t stop I could deal with my painful butt. I arrived home in time for a late breakfast though the only thing I could consider drinking was cold beer.
Open sea voyaging in a small boat is a very serious business. I have watched the tricky Mediterranean weather for years now and wouldn’t have wanted to make this trip at other time of year. The beginning of June may be unsettled but the solstice usually brings prevailing southerlies. I had more calms than I could have wished for but I also had plenty of fine following breezes that kept our overall average speed for the 280nm trip above 3 knots. I was physically well prepared and psychologically committed to make the trip a success.
I wouldn’t recommend this sort of trip for everyone and won’t say that at times I wasn’t extremely frightened (particularly when I was on land thinking of the journey ahead) but personally I found being in a small boat 30 miles from land with 1cm of plywood separating me from depths of 1300 metres fulfilling. The experience of spending hour after hour in absolute solitude at the centre of a blue disc under a pure blue dome is one that I will cherish.
I have material to make a short film of the journey, which will hopefully be on youtube by the beginning of August. And next week I’ll post some photos here.
El Corb in the foreground with Kuyunut behind
El Corb and Cadaqués
The winning crew. Carles, Ben, Joan, Montse.
All photos from el Mar és el Camí.
