A moment to cherish
Taki
HRougemont ow does that song go? 'What a day This has been/What a great mood I'm in/It's almost like being in love — With a smile on my face/For the whole human race ...' Yes, I know I'm banging on, but I still can't get over that epic run starting to the east round the Isle of Wight on Stealth, the fastest monohull on sails, and faster than many stinkpots to boot. Talk about being spoilt.
Along the way, and as far as the eye could see, we beat some of the most powerful and loveliest boats ever built, historic ones like Velsheda, Endeavour, Shamrock, Shenandoah, Mariette, Columbia, Enterprise, Moonbeam, Nefertiti, Drumbeat, 11 Morro, France II and HI, Intrepid, Lionheart, American Eagle, Kookaburra, Australia II and so on. Also modern racing machines like Mari-Cha III, Morning Glory, Nicorette, America III, Skandia Leopard and GBR Challenge. A word about Mari-Cha III. This superfast 145ft ketch was built in New Zealand for American billionaire Bob Miller, father-in-law of Prince Pavlos of Greece. She was designed as a recordbreaker and she did indeed set the transatlantic record in 1998 with Bob on board, making the passage from New York to the Lizard in just under nine days.
When I last saw Bob Miller, a very nice person, friendly and completely unaffected by moolah, it was at Syon House, following the christening of his grandson, Prince Achileas of Greece. 'Let's have a mano-amano,' he told me when I mentioned I would be crewing on the Stealth. I passed his suggestion on to Gianni Agnelli and to his helmsman. Kenny Read, but the latter said it was unfair, the much bigger MariCha III carrying a total of 1,850 square metres of sail. Even so, the final time after rounding the Isle of Wight was: Stealth. 4 hours 48 minutes and 9 seconds; Mari-Cha III 4 hours 57 minutes and 46 seconds.
Third came Morning Glory, followed by Skandia Leopard and so on down the line. Personally, and as I wrote last week, it was a moment that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
No sooner had Kenny Read executed a brilliant start when he did a port tack while the rest of the armada headed right. The Solent's currents are notorious, but the Newport, Rhode Island, native knew something that the rest didn't. In no time we were leading and hurtled on for four hours until the Needles, when we rounded the buoy for the long up-tide spinnaker leg to the finish. That is when the victory became obvious and the marshals' boats surrounded us, keeping a fleet of whistling and cheering boats at bay. As we came close to Cowes we could see the hills covered with humanity, and when the gun went off we heard the cheers. The committee boat came next to us and all sorts of brass buttons tipped their caps. Gianni Agnelli applauded from the Leander, and the crew toasted him for making it possible. It was a moment I shan't soon forget.
That evening, having picked up the cup and having made provisional dates with sweet young things. I felt the Leander moving. (Sir Donald Gosling's megayacht is so quiet one can tell only by watching the shoreline.) Gianni Agnelli had ordered the captain to Brest with all of us on board. He had won the Fastnet, two races preceding the Jubilee one; his Ferraris had come first and second in the Hungarian Grand Prix; and Juventus, his football team, got off to a winning start on the opening day of the Italian championship. It was as good a time as any to head for home, From Brest his plane flew us to La Rochelle, a beautiful city-town and then down to Mandelieu, where his boat was waiting. It was one of the best weeks I've ever had, renewing a very old friendship with a man I've admired and loved for nearly half a century.
And now a word about modern British journalism. Last Monday I read Peter McKay on Sir Donald Gosling, the hack quoting himself that Sir Donald provided an endless flow of saucy jokes as he entertained guests on board the Leander. The trouble is that McKay has as much access to people who were on board as I do to the Taleban leadership. I happened to be there and heard Gosling's brief speech following the RYS commodore Peter Nicholson's, and it was as gracious as they come. The only other hack was Adam Helliker, who had come down by chopper with Sir Donald, and he works for our sister publication, the Sunday Telegraph.
This is a new one on me. McKay invents an item under a pseudonym, then quotes the invention. It's pure envy and lack of access; snide, vulgar, and bad form. But what else should one expect? Personally, I'm off to karate camp and then three 65and-over tennis tournaments, It may sound like an empty life, but there are some of us who love it. McKay should try it, in fact.
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