A Singlehanded Farallones Story
Thanks to Lia Ditton for sharing Michael Chammout’s account of the Singlehanded Farallones race with us. The following is an edited excerpt from his Facebook page. You can read a full account of the race, which was held on May 19, in the current issue of Latitude.
I found out that I somehow bagged second place in the Singlehanded Farallones Race in the non-spinnaker division! I’ve always had this bug to sail around the Farallon Islands solo, despite having never being out there before. The conditions were fierce, and 38 of the best sailors and ocean racers with their hardy, seasoned craft registered. And there was newbie me with my little, trusty Mulan.
We had 30 knots of wind at the start off GGYC, and somehow I nailed the start and led the fleet out the Golden Gate — not sure which way to go as my plan was to follow everyone! Trusting the advice of Raymond Bonneau of Corinthian YC, I went south, only to look back and see most of the fleet split north past Pt. Bonita. I carried on. Eventually there was only one other boat in sight on my tack, who, after 10 miles, broached frighteningly and turned back. The wind continued to howl at 30-plus knots with huge swells occasionally crashing and drenching over me. It was terrific and terrifying, and Mulan was solid as a rock!
After five hours of this lonely, freezing ordeal — and trusting my iPhone navigation — it was an emotional moment when suddenly, the vague silhouette of the southeast Farallon Island emerged from the fog like a mirage. I was going to make it! Adrenaline surged, and magically, a dozen or so masts and sails emerged, converging from all different directions on the island. I was third around the island as it was gusting to 35. I was jibing on my hands and knees with the huge swells drenching me, my fingernails dug in.
The return was one long reach and, finally, a moment to collect myself, have a quick drink of water and a bite of banana without taking my hand off the helm, as the autopilot couldn’t steer the boat in the huge following sea. Surfing the waves back, slowly recovering from the upwind ordeal and scary island rounding, and seeing so much of the fleet still beating upwind, I became emboldened to shake out the main reef after about 10 miles. This was a mistake. I managed the e-ride downwind on the edge, averaging 9-10 knots and hitting as much as 14 surfing down some of the huger waves. Total focus!
There was another emotional tear when those golden thin vertical lines emerged from the mist. I got into the shipping channel, weaving through several ginormous container ships coming and going, the wind still blowing 25-30. Two whales spouted and surfaced 20 yards from me. I was in it to win it and cracking off for a screaming finish. I got to the South Tower OK, but had to jibe anyway as the wind was ramping up for some odd reason. Oh shit! I got control and lined up for the GGYC finish buoy a mile away, but across the Bay at Crissy Field and to my horror, the winds were becoming 40 knots sustained and I blew up, broaching horribly, multiple times, and almost going on the rocks at St. Francis as I saw faces pinned to the windows watching. After at an eternity, I manage to crawl across the cockpit and blow the vang and get enough control to will the boat across the line in the most ugly fashion. Getting the horn was such a relief. It was 10 hours, 60 nautical miles. Second place and a T-shirt is just fine — I survived!
It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever done in my life.