ISORA News Items all in date order.
On the 13th November, at the request of the Irish Cruisier Racing Association (ICRA), I presented a paper to their annual conference helf on Carrigaline, Co. Cork. ICRA have been particularly interested in promoting offshore racing in Ireland and I was asked to present my views and ideas on how ISORA has progressed.
The presentation was well received by the conference and there appeared to be a keen interest, not only in the progress of ISORA, but in South Coats Offshore Racing Association (SCORA) and West of Ireland Offshore Racing Association (WIORA).
I attach a pdf version of the powerpoint presentation given at the event.
Peter Ryan
Chairman
Revival of Offshore Racing - Final (pdf 5.3Mb)
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The D2D – Dun Laoghaire to Destruction?
by Simon Byrne
Like all sporting contests, the “before” is sometimes the best part. Nothing has actually happened yet. Nobody has lost so therefore everyone is still a winner, or at least harbors genuine thoughts of winning. Excitement is high. People are giddy with probable unrealistic dreams of how they see their chances of winning panning out. Adrenaline kicks in to add an extra frisson to proceedings. So, it’s all good. The calm before the storm, no doubt.
“Lula Belle’s” WhatsApp crew group is buzzing. Confirmation of who’s aboard. Shore crew divvy ups. Logistics. Weather forecasts and grib files. Catering. Last minute lift out and scrub timings. Paperwork. Ah yes, the paperwork. Big race now the D2D so no messing around. RORC accreditation in the pipeline. Lots of paperwork. Crew members details. Next of kin details (a forewarning of what was to come perhaps?). Medical histories of all crew. Medical histories? Tah Dah! Let the fun and games commence.
He assumes all of the crew get his whacky sense of humour. Or at least he hopes so. Late Tuesday evening he can’t help himself. Skipper asks through WhattsApp for any medical history. He switches onto smart arse autopilot. He unleashes a tome. Taking the Michael but he thinks it’s expected of him. His medical history? Fair enough so. Brace yourself Skipper. Here’s what he penned in reply (and all true):
Medical conditions Skipper? Ok so – in chronological order:
Scarlet Fever in ’78 – fortnight in quarantine in Cherry Orchard Hospital, then bedridden at home for three months – nearly died, just sayin’.
Broken patella ’79.
It’s Mr. Chairman’s birthday. We don’t love him quite enough to procure either a Marilyn lookalike (in your dreams Peter) or a Marilyn soundalike to seduce him with “Happy Birthday Mr. Chairman” in a sexy, husky, sultry voice. Although he probably deserved it – more than Jack Kennedy did anyhow. Or perhaps we did, very late on in the fantastic Poolbeg Yacht & Sailing Club, but if so it was as I was home in my cot, snoring to my hearts content, full of Uncle Arthurs finest.
What we did give him for his birthday though was a kind of BOGOF (buy one get one free) sailing event in that last Saturday saw yet another first for the new look, all singing, all dancing, don’t stop me now ‘cause I’m having such a good time, ISORA season of 2017 – two races incorporated into one. Ye what, Gay? Yep two races in one on a perfect early summer’s day for sailing with an average 15 knots of wind and little or no sea – just what anyone would want on their birthday, no?
So Happy Birthday Mr. Chairman, you don’t look a day over 58!
Cards on the table time - I love Poolbeg Yacht & Sailing Club. Nothing like cutting to the chase and getting it all out, up front, early doors. First time there but wow, great club, great people, great welcome. There are clubs, let’s be honest here, that ISORA rocks up to each season (Pwhelli & Douglas most definitely excluded) and I always feel we're like those relatives coming to town – you know, the one’s that we put up with rather than look forward to their arrival. Yes they're family, yes it's tradition and all that, they visit annually, but really? We're a bit sick of you actually? Anyone? You know I'm right. But certainly not here in Poolbeg.
ISORA – bloody hell. One steps off the offshore roundabout for the final couple of races last season due to “personal circumstances” and returns this year to a completely different canvas. What the actual hell is going on? Eleventy billion boats on the start line in Holyhead? A new fancy website? An updated Facebook page that posts nearly daily? The wonderfully erudite scribe that is W.M. Nixon writing a detailed and lengthy ISORA season preview?
Erm, hello, when exactly did we start getting big? Big as in race reports on Yachts & Yachting as well as Afloat. Big as in one of the largest ISORA fleets in years hitting the start line. Big as in three young fillies manning the finish line with proper functioning VHF radios so they actually reply to your announcing your impending arrival and then have the cheek to not only notify you of when you cross the line but also have the temerity to welcome you to Dun Laoghaire? Ah here, stop the world, I want to get off!
ISORA 2016 Race 5 Dun Laoghaire to Douglas, Isle of Man
Epic weekend, truly epic. Thank God it was a Bank Holiday in Ireland as it transpired that we truly needed every one of those three days. Douglas never disappoints, like never. Douglas is always a challenge, never more so than last weekend. Nineteen clearly deluded but likeminded crews motor their yachts out on a balmy Friday evening to the Kish Bank in a glassy Dublin Bay to our first ever silent ISORA race start courtesy of Yellow Brick. The lighthouse keepers on the Kish must have wondered what the bloody hell was going on. So a silent start with no flags, no rib/committee boat and probably no sound signals. Novel approach but, as ever, technology moves ahead, faster than a J109 downwind, so we can actually pull this off. In the giddy spirit of the holiday weekend the first of many notables was witnessed. No sound signals? Eh, not really under the trade descriptions act but we had sound signals of a uniqueness that could only be pulled off in ISORA. The bould Peter Ryan on Sgrech decided to attempt to vocally issue the warnings and starting signals via Channel 37. The only true and genuine sound heard on the eerily still water of the start zone was the guffaws of laughter from the fleet as Chairman Ryan failed miserably in his attempt to vocally imitate a fog horn on each warning signal – hilariously awful on the five minute warning, even worse on the four minute, truly useless on one minute and he sounded like the late, great Benny Hill on the start signal. Back to stage school for you Peter. You should have had Huw Williams on board – bet he would have nailed it.
Five knots of wind at best. A strong spring flood tide carried the fleet north over the line. All fine and dandy but this wispy wind is forecast to die – what’ll happen when this tide turns? And turns, and turns? This is going to be another marathon by the look of it. We fart around all night heading very slowly north (apart from when Garret stalled Lula Belle while the skipper was in his bunk). Not a great career move my friend - naughty step up for’ard for Garret as Liam was not amused. We drift around in circles for thirty minutes before Liam eventually powers her back up. Crawl north(ish) again until dawn,
Holyhead. Strange place? Perhaps. Mention the name Holyhead in Ireland and an older generation of people will think of pre Ryanair days, pre Italia ’90 days, those black and white telly days and the sad, lonely and mostly unwanted trip that many thousands of Irish people took in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s (Jaysus that was a thirty year recession, wasn’t it?) as they endured forced emigration to that most Perfidious Albion. Weird that Holyhead is actually in Wales but for our Irish emigrants it’s dreaded name conjures up deep seated uncomfortable memories of their first port of call, to be followed by a long, usually overnight, train journey down through the spine of England (Chester and Crewe stations ring a bell – Crewe in particular, squaddies anyone?) before finally reaching the streets of London. Not paved with gold as they soon found out. No blacks, no dogs and no Irish. Indeed.
ISORA 2016 Race 1 Dun Laoghaire to Wicklow
“There it is, there it is,
What took us so long to find each other baby,
There it is, there it is,
This time I’m not wrong”
Ah the 1980’s. An horrific period for our economy, for fashion disasters and for the last days of disco. An oft forgotten disco / soul band were the American trio Shalamar, one of who’s hits “There it is” contains the above lyrics that sprung to mind last Saturday as we valiantly, but in vain, searched off Wicklow pier for a non-existent finish mark.
Ok so, straight down to business - the elephant in the room. This is difficult to pen. The recently deceased Paddy Downey, doyen of sports journalism for over forty years with the Irish Times once stated that, in his opinion, journalism is writing the hard stuff that nobody else wants to – all else is just PR. Now while I am not conceited enough to think these blogs are journalism, I am conceited enough to consider them to be not PR though.
Read more: The curious incident of the vanishing finish line (with apologies to Mark Haddon!)
ISORA Race 14 Pwllheli to Dun Laoghaire
“Thank you for the days,
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me.
I'm thinking of the days,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.
Days I'll remember all my life,
Days when you can't see wrong from right.
You took my life,
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me,
But it's all right,
Now I'm not frightened of this world, believe me.”
Ray Davies and the Kinks. A classic. Also covered with aplomb by the late Kirsty Mc Coll. The kids (anyone under 40) will have to Google it. Trust me here kids - great song, great melody, great lyrics about saying farewell to someone you love. It totally sums up the feeling at the conclusion of yet another nail biting, hair raising, tough as bejaysus ISORA season. Thank you for the days indeed.
Last Saturday’s ISORA finale mirrored the corresponding race of the previous season. It was to be season defining, a Championship on the line and there was an awful forecast which actually prevented many of the fleet from participating – same as last year so. You know it’s going to be full on when a number of the fleet take a look at the forecast and, despite being ISORA stalwarts and used to more or less anything the Irish Sea can throw at them, decide it is more prudent to stay at home. A couple of competitors even left Dun Laoghaire for the delivery over to Wales early Friday morning and were met with such poor conditions, on the nose South Easterly big blow with a big sloppy sea to match, that soon after reaching the Kish they called it a day and returned home. To be fair, I don’t really blame them. It was as challenging a delivery as ever experienced and the prospects for Saturday’s race weren’t looking much better. Two big depressions in close proximity forecast to rapidly scuttle across the Irish Sea on Saturday didn’t inspire enthusiasm. Hats off though to those that did make it across and particularly ISORA newcomer David Simpson’s Albireo who endured an epic 18 hour plus delivery to ensure she made the start line and so continued her impressive Silver Fleet challenge in her maiden season. Hardcore, men - respect.
With four local Pwllheli boats amongst the uncharacteristically tiny fleet of nine who would start the next morning, with Albireo still the wrong side of Bardsey and with the Skerries Mafia on Mojito leading the charge as they bigged it up down the town (not great preparation for an important ISORA lads – no doubt both the hangover and the challenging race conditions will “ground” you tomorrow!) it was a lonely and somewhat subdued small gathering in Hafan Pwllheli SC on the Friday evening. No matter – the select few in attendance were witness to the one of the most embarrassing, most cringe worthy and most mortifying situations any young lad could ever find himself in.
What goes on tour, yada yada, means the intricate details must remain untold but here is a good cleanish and heavily edited summary. An ISORA young virgin (and one hopes for his continued safety that is the case in the true meaning of the word!) was quietly sipping his pint minding his own business amongst the intimate gathering when an oldie ISORA veteran who quite bizarrely was actually crewing the same boat as the kid and had been biding his time for the most opportune moment to go in for the kill, right out of left field challenged the young buck on his recent female conquests - as one does with the young lads. The oldie, getting nothing but mumbles from the kid in reply, then proceeded to announce that rumour had it that said young ISORA virgins most recent female conquest was, unfortunately for him, said stalwarts daughter and said stalwart loved his daughter dearly, she was the apple of her Daddy’s eye and Daddy was mightily pissed off. Whoa - shot’s fired!
Absolute silence ensued. The chattering barmaids froze mid pint pulling. The ISORA Chairman’s mouth fell open so far it landed in his lap with an audible thud. Another observer actually spewed/coughed his pint across the table. Still no sound, not a word, while all eyes turned on the young buck. He turned fifty shades of puce as he squirmed in his chair trying desperately to come up with an exit strategy. His mouth rapidly opened and closed continuously but no sound emitted. Old stalwart gave young buck the thousand yard stare as he glared at him over the top of his spectacles without uttering a word. The tension was intense – nobody knew what to do or say. It was priceless, like that scene out of Martin Scorsese’s classic gangster movie “Goodfella’s” where Tommy De Vito has Henry Hill by the short and curlies over dinner in The Bamboo Lounge – “funny how?”. Trust me, this scene was anything but funny – it was classic - you had to be there.
Long story short? Surprisingly the kid lived. And the old veteran slinked off into the wild, unforgiving Welsh night, mumbling bitterly to himself, wondering where it all went wrong, when exactly he stopped having control over the intricate sub plots of his once controlled life……
And so back to the sailing. Consider this. La Giro d’Italia, Le Tour de France, La Vuelta de Espana. Hardcore Grand Tour cycling. A team sport in the truest meaning of the word. Perhaps twenty teams participating. Ten members on a team all working for the team leader. Each Grand Tour lasts three weeks with up to 18 daily stages. To win a stage of any Grand Tour is immense – career defining – a serious notch on your sporting CV. To win the tour itself, on general classification, is enough to retire on. It happens to so few. Indeed only a tiny number of teams participating in a Grand Tour harbor genuine ambition of realistically winning the whole thing. To most the thought of winning a daily stage is enough to encourage participation and perseverance. So most on the team know they have little or no chance of personal glory but sacrifice their own ambition and leave everything they have out on the grueling daily courses in the hope of placing their team leader on the podium after three savage weeks, or perhaps being fortunate enough to sneak a daily stage win. Long distance, energy sapping, debilitatingly sadistic, pure team sport. The analogy? Offshore racing anyone? ISORA?
A fourteen race series. A core of about twenty regular starters. Average crew per boat of eight. All crew working for the team, to ensure team victory. Yet only the Skipper (team leader) and the boat (team sponsor) gain the kudos and get venerated in dispatches. Anyone ever hear of the winning trimmer, the winning tactician or navigator on an ISORA Wolf’s Head Champion? No, and yet those anonymous crew members expect nothing less, seek no publicity or adulation but give all they have in a team effort to get the team on the podium. The bowman on Liam Shanhan’s Ruth, the nav guy on Stephen Tudor’s Sgrech, the grinders on Matt Davis’ Raging Bull? Nope - no public glory. But no less effort, no less commitment nor dedication to bringing the boat home, the team home. The Skipper knows he can’t do it without the crew – that’s enough for them. A team is only as strong as it’s weakest member - ergo the lowly grinder, the trimmer, the bowman are each as important to success as the much lauded winning Skipper. Enough already.
We have a stunning day on the water. A great race, albeit only nine of us. A beat to the Tudwals. Another to Bardsey. Spectacular overfalls in loads of wind. We all make it through the gate before the tide turns. A fetch across the Irish Sea. Reef in, reef out – ad nauseam. Champagne sailing conditions - as if the weather Gods know it’s the last of the season. Jackknife storms home for line honours. Conor Fogerty sails a blinder on Bam to pip the three J109’s. Poor Mojito, after a truly epic offshore season, discovers the little known Leac Buidhe rock in Dalkey sound and suffers both keel and rudder damage as well as some injured crew members. Beware the Skerries Mafia Peter & Vicky – they seem to attract the underwater stuff! Yahtzee, despite slamming to a halt off Greystones when finding a wind hole (story of our season) does enough to fend off the rapidly approaching Albireo and wins Class 2 and Silver Fleet on the day– ye Gods! Not enough to fend them off in the series though so our congratulations to Albireo on a great first season offshore by winning both Class 2 and Silver Fleet. Oh and it only transpires that Yahtzee won the Royal Alfred Sliver Fleet too despite my previous rant on being beaten by one measly second in the Greystones race. Go figure. Tuxedo time Skipper.
And so it is – the family Shanahan’s Ruth is ISORA champion for the second year running after last Saturdays big Kahuna. A race that to be fair kind of summed up the 2015 season. With only a couple of exceptions it will go down as the season of the big blows. Full on, hard as hard can be, 30 knot winds the norm as the fleet battled up, down, over and back across the Irish Sea in a most inhospitable excuse for an Irish summer. Delighted for Liam and his family. He has a vibe going on that boat that most of us must envy. A gentleman too who exudes humility. There’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance – it’s called humility. Confidence smiles – arrogance smirks. No smirking with the Shanahan clan. So good luck to them as they are crowned ISORA Champions for the second year running. Nice guys don’t always finish second.
Go Offshore – Real Boats Race Offshore!
Fogra – I’m hearing of five new competitors joining the ISORA family next season. A J109 from the RIYC, Grant & Aubrey have bought a Sigma 400, Kuba (rumour has it) is also buying a J109 and Greystones SC expect to have two new additions to the fleet too. Great news.
Fogra Eile – Some have questioned the veracity of some of the tales in this blog over the season. I was trained on the premise of “never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” Just saying.
ISORA Race 12 Dun Laoghaire to Greystones
“If you build it, he will come.” Field of Dreams is a 1980’s classic movie based on building a Baseball diamond in a field in Iowa, the back arse end of nowhere. So the guy built it and the other guy did come. Whilst Greystones in beautiful Wicklow, the garden of Ireland, is not quite the middle of nowhere, the new harbour and marina is proof of that famous quote – build it and THEY will come. And they certainly did. Up to 140 boats between ISORA and Regatta entries over the weekend, 500 sailors, loads of wind and no wind, good food, buckets of drink, many parties on boats that Saturday night, all the stops pulled out by both Greystones Sailing Club and it’s volunteer members as well as Greystones Harbour “Deep Water” Marina all led to the third annual “Taste of Greystones Regatta” establishing itself as the third largest gathering of sailors in Ireland. The goodwill evident amongst all competitors as well as the genuinely warm hospitable welcome provided by this small but homely club makes it a wonderful late season addition to the Irish sailing calendar, as well as a novel new port for the also revived and growing ISORA fleet. With the momentum it is gaining along with the much improved facilities which will be available with the completion of an impressive brand spanking new clubhouse for next seasons edition, this event is only going to get bigger and better. And do you know what? Good for them. They deserve it.
On a little side note, in conjunction with Peter Ryan, I had made contact with Greystones SC where my kids have all done their 3 week ISA training courses over the years with a view to attempting to place one club youth member on each competing ISORA boat to try and introduce the next generation of ISORA sailors whilst also adding a bit of local interest. In fairness to Gerry Cannon and Daragh Cafferky in Greystones SC they gave it their best shot at trying to set it up but ultimately it did not happen (this time) as the club was literally all hands on deck in terms of members volunteering to run the bar, OOD’s, rescue boats, food etc.. No matter, it was a good idea which may come to fruition in future years but what did come out of our discussions is the probability of two Greystones keelboats competing in ISORA next season – great news in terms of us trying to grow our fleet and spread our wings to more clubs.
With only two races left in the ISORA calendar, Saturdays 35 mile race to Greystones via North Burford, Wicklow Outfall and Moulditch was more a warmer upper for the seasons grand finale, championship deciding, Pwlhelli to Dun Laoghaire race in a fortnights time. It also served as the final of 4 races in the Royal Alfred Coastal Series, a series run in conjunction with and within the ISORA series. With 20 starters under light airs and a forecast of steady 15 knot South Westerlies for most of the day, we on Yahtzee were focusing very much on our battle with Windshift for the Royal Alfred Silver Fleet title. We were standing 3 points ahead of Winshift so it appeared all we had to do was finish ahead of them today and victory would be ours. No problem to us. Let’s race:
Having rounded Burford towards the rear of the fleet, we actually gain quite an advantage. The leaders who have headed inshore suddenly appear to “stand up” and stop and those just ahead of us and more east have sailed into a big hole and also stopped dead. Excellent. Spotting both of these we manage to steer a course straight between their tracks and whilst we don’t get close to catching the big boys up front we do make up a number of places and maintain our momentum until the wind increases as forecast and the whole fleet get going again. Dark clouds indicate big squalls which see the wind increase under some of these squalls up to 35 knots – interesting when you are on a near dead run from Wicklow up to Moulditch. No forestay wraps or blow outs today for us though. Fully crewed and in control we are flying along at a steady 10 knots until the squalls pass and the wind starts to ease right back for the last short spinnaker reach into the finish off Greystones.
Much is often made of the phrase “local knowledge” but I may have finally added some value to our team as others all around us search in vain for the finish line. Confidently, or smartarsedly, as a Greystones resident (just the 18 years so still a blow in!) I had studied assiduously the Google Maps image of the finish line on the SI’s the previous night. So as others head for ghost marks off the south beach and non-existent finish lines, we make up more ground by taking a more northerly course to the real line just off the cove. The trouble though is twofold. Firstly the wind is dying at an alarming rate and secondly Windshift, who was behind us all race, is now gaining an advantage as a lighter boat and storming up on our transom (bloody hell, where did they come from) as we dutifully sit down in the water and grind to a halt with barely 10 metres to the line. Oh sweet Jesus, can you believe this? With an ebb tide offering us no help all we can do is watch and pray in vain that the puff they have will either be shared with us or die out before they pass us. Eh, no. They proceed to ghost past us while we have no steerage to even be able to luff them up. They cross the line, about 40 seconds we reckon, ahead of us. Heartbreak yet again for Yahtzee although they do give us a miniscule amount of time on handicap so all may not be lost.
But oh wait for it – it gets better. We are all enjoying the café mocha vodka Valium lattes in the clubhouse afterwards but sweating like sinners in a confessional when a search on the website announces the results to us. Consider this – we have won nothing this season, not even an argument. Shag all. So this Royal Alfred Silver Fleet title is us drinking in the last chance saloon for 2015. We scroll down through the results. 12th on the water is good and respectable. Beaten on corrected time by Albireo and Polished Manx is as expected as they both have a much better rating. Where is Windshift? Oh Jesus wept – are you kidding me here? After six and a half hours on the water, 23,497 seconds to be exact, we choke on our drinks. You know where this is going folks don’t you? Yep the bould Windshift, ghosting past us as we are parked short of the line, finishes on corrected time one second, ONE BLOODY SECOND, ahead of us and wrenches the Royal Alfred Silver Fleet title from our grasp. Are you kidding me? One is not amused. In fact one is right royally pissed off to be honest. The analysis starts. Do you have any idea how many instances of where you lose ONE SECOND over six and a half hours arise? Christ by the time we finish the post mortem, with all the time we reckon we could have picked up, we probably would have beaten Lee Overlay Partners for line honours!
For recovery I head to Mrs. Robinsons on Church Road and only after a couple of their locally famous Mojitos is all right with the world again. I can now appreciate that we have had yet another fantastic ISORA race and begin thinking of Pwlheli. That’s the thing with ISORA. It’s a drug. It’s like heroin – once you start you just can’t stop. Roll on two weeks time.
Go Offshore - Real Boats Race Offshore!
Fogra – on Saturday we missed our friends who had recently finished the Fastnet and upheld the fantastic tradition of ISORA boats representing all that is good in our family. Well done Mojito, Wakey Wakey, Desert Star and Polished Manx. Notable mention to Peter & Vicky on Mojito who finished 16th overall and 11th in class. Also the new and very under reported crew on ISORA newcomers Wakey Wakey who on their maiden Fastnet finished 71st on the water. Respect lads. Oh and by the way, Shane Fenn on Wakey Wakey uploads to You Tube videos of most of their ISORA exploits this season – check them out. I don’t know any of this crew from Adam but I’ll tell you what – these lads appear to be nutters and are having all the craic!
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