Day 1: Supermodels, Sail Tests and Absolutely No Faith in the Forecast

Day 1: Supermodels, Sail Tests and Absolutely No Faith in the Forecast

Officially, the madness has started.

Well, nearly.

Boats are arriving, docks are filling up, and anything deemed unnecessary, or likely to slow a boat down on a trip around Sicily, is being taken off and left ashore. Scrutineering is underway, crews are turning up, and the marinas around the Royal Malta Yacht Club are beginning to look the way I think marinas should look: full of sailors with somewhere to go and things to do.

There’s a lovely feeling to this part of the Rolex Middle Sea Race. The start is still a few days away, but you can feel the whole thing gathering pace.

We stopped by to see the Volvo 65s and Black Jack today. Now, a Volvo 65 is hardly a small boat. These things have raced around the planet. And yet Black Jack’s rig towers above them with an almost unnecessary amount of confidence. I’ve seen her before. I know she’s big. Apparently, I still need reminding.

Then there were the supermodels.

I got my first proper look at Django’s Wallyrocket 71 in person, and… am I allowed to swear in this column? Probably best to establish that with the editor before describing her properly.

For now, let’s just say she is outrageously good-looking. The sort of boat that makes you stop halfway down the dock and forget where you were going. I cannot wait to get her through the lens, fully powered up and doing what she was built to do.

Daguet 5 was there too. The Green Lantern. With those lines and that shade of green, I’m fairly convinced you could identify her from the International Space Station.

I thought, after last year, I might have become a little more professional about her. Appreciate the design, take the photograph, move on.

No. Still hopeless.

Then Zephyr 2 quietly came into the harbour and headed towards her berth for the week, completing my little dockside fashion show. Smaller, but very much deserving of the attention. That scow bow is something else. Now I want to see her properly sending it downwind.

Later, I managed to swap looking at boats for actually sailing one.

I joined Vivace, last year’s Arthur Podesta Trophy winner, for a sail test and somehow ended up helming. Spend enough time carrying a camera and people forget you can sail. Occasionally, it’s worth reminding them. And myself, for that matter.

The sky initially looked fairly uninspiring. Then, while I was still helming, it developed into a stunning sunset.

Excellent timing. Give the photographer something beautiful to photograph precisely when he’s supposed to be concentrating on where the boat is going.

There was some multitasking. I don’t remember being particularly good at that, but apparently a nice enough sunset can do wonders for personal development.

Which brings us, inevitably, to the weather.

The main race is still several days away, so trying to draw firm conclusions from that forecast feels fairly pointless. Naturally, I’ve been looking at it anyway.

Something that keeps coming up in conversations around the docks is that this uncertainty is part of what makes the race so interesting. You can compare forecasts, study different models and eventually settle on something resembling a plan. Then the next update arrives and gives you a reason to reconsider your entire afternoon’s work.

And that’s before you’ve left the harbour.

Once you’re out there, another thirty or forty miles can put you in a completely different situation. The local effects of the land can make or break your race, and a promising forecast is only part of the picture.

However good a sailor you are, experience around this particular course is an asset. Knowing how the breeze behaves near the coast, or what to look for through the Strait of Messina, gives you something to work with when the conditions in front of you don’t quite resemble the ones you downloaded.

There’s a lot to be said for having been there before. Ideally while paying attention.

So perhaps calling the forecasts pointless is a little unfair. You do have to start somewhere. I just wouldn’t get too attached.

Wednesday’s Yachting Malta Coastal Race is a little closer, and even its forecast has been changing its mind. It had been looking like a properly windy, fast affair. Now the forecast seems to favour a lively start before the breeze begins losing interest. By the time you read this, it may well have found something else to do.

Naturally, we media people were getting rather excited about the prospect of some action. Breeze, spray, boats loading up: all the things that make you reach for a camera while quietly ignoring the salt water gently shortening its life expectancy.

We’re quite happy to risk our gear if the shots are worth it. Whether this makes us dedicated or simply terrible at financial decisions remains open to discussion.

Tonight was a useful reminder of how little the weather cares about the forecast. What had looked like a fairly moderate, cloudy evening turned into a rain squall with lightning.

So yes, I’ll keep checking. Along with everyone else. Several times a day, probably, in the hope that refreshing it will produce an answer I prefer.

At least my main concern is where to point my camera. Someone else has to work out the quickest way to get their boat around Sicily.

Good luck, navigators. You’re gonna need it for this edition.