An ordeal of endurance and resilience

The J/40 Artemisia completed the 2024 Newport Bermuda Race, but Ed Mayo tells the story of how the 2024 Bermuda Short-Handed Return Race did not go as planned:

On a serene afternoon, the race commenced from St. George’s with 25 boats, including our own vessel, Artemisia. My co-skipper Kyle Wishart and I set sail at 2:00 pm, eager but unaware of the harrowing 636 nm journey toward the finish in Newport, RI.

The weather forecast hinted at a low-pressure system descending from Maine, but seemed to pose no immediate threat as we started. The initial leg of our voyage was almost idyllic, with the spinnaker up and the autopilot maintaining a 90-degree apparent wind setting, allowing us to cruise effortlessly.

However, as night fell, the winds began to shift, nudging us eastward. We swapped the spinnaker for the #1 Genoa, still relishing the camaraderie on board, but day two brought an ominous change.

We hoisted the #3 jib and adjusted our course to a 35-degree apparent wind angle. We were now 80 miles east of the rhumb line, and the weather grew increasingly threatening. Lightning crackled to the west, heralding our entry into the treacherous Gulf Stream.

The further north we sailed, the more violent the conditions became. The autopilot’s apparent wind angle ceased to function, forcing us to steer manually. We already had a reef in the main sail and decided to add a second as the wind velocity climbed into the low 30s, relentlessly pushing us backward. For six hours our VMG hovered around -1.6 on either tack. When our anemometer failed, the sustained winds were well over 40 knots.

For 12 agonizing hours, we battled through a hellish maelstrom; the boat tossed mercilessly by towering waves. Exhausted and drenched, we made the painful decision to retire from the race. We started the engine, aiming for Newport, but after a just 10 minutes, it sputtered and died. The chaotic sea state had introduced air pockets into the fuel line, necessitating an emergency bleed in the stifling, diesel-soaked cabin.

Day three brought a semblance of relief. The storm began to abate, allowing us to catch brief moments of rest. As conditions improved, we unfurled the jib, giving the beleaguered engine a reprieve and achieving a thrilling 15 knots under #3 jib alone. A few hours later, we raised the main and resumed our northward journey.

By day four, we were within sight of Newport, only to face the final hurdle—a veritable minefield of offshore wind turbines. Navigating through this obstacle course was a nerve-wracking ordeal, but as the sun set on July 4th, we finally cruised into Newport, battered but triumphant.

Double-handing Artemisia offshore proved to be an ordeal of endurance and resilience. It was a stark reminder that such voyages demand not only the right team and conditions but also an unwavering spirit to face the unpredictable and often unforgiving forces of nature.