Text from Frank Winklmeier
"Don't forget the hot water bottle and the tablets," says my wife compassionately and puts an emergency pack for back and neck pain in my already overstuffed sailing bag. She knows what a man my age needs when he wants to embark on a big adventure. In this case, the 200 Myls Solo. This lasts around three and a half days and is associated with little sleep, cool and, in the past, sometimes wet autumn weather and lots of unpleasant crosswinds.
At least I'm not alone. Almost a hundred other sailors have entered this year's infamous single-handed regatta in the Netherlands. Among them are two good sailing friends of mine: Enrico is taking part with his Dehler 35 SV "Abraxas", Johannes with his Dehler 33 CR "Himmelblau". I myself will be sailing on our "Sevelina", a First 35.
More about single-handed sailing:
We set off on Wednesday. The day before, the Bataviahaven in Lelystad is filled with yachts of very different types, sizes and ages. From the aged Bavaria with equipment carrier to the sleek J-99, there is a cross-section of yacht building from the past decades to the present day.
The 200 Myls Solo is hardly comparable with conventional regattas. It has its own rules. Up to 140 single-handed skippers are allowed to take part. They must take three breaks of seven hours each during the race, one of which must be spent at anchor. The rest periods are for safety reasons. However, they are also used tactically, for example in the event of an unfavourable wind direction, calm or tide. Lock periods and the passage of the North Zeekanaal between Amsterdam and IJmuiden are also considered rest periods. Precise planning before the start is therefore necessary.
Another special feature: at the beginning, participants have to choose one of five different predetermined routes that they want to sail. The courses cover the IJsselmeer and Markermeer, and two also include sections on the North Sea and the Waddenzee. Certain equipment is also mandatory, including a lifejacket, signal rockets, a second bollard and a tricolour lantern. These are the facts. In line with the predicted main wind direction of east to north-east, almost all skippers opt for course five: twice around the IJsselmeer with a start and finish phase in the Markermeer.
After all, you should stay active
Why do I keep doing this to myself? At 64, I dread the exertions of a solo or two-handed regatta every time. But we boomers are supposed to stay active, move around, keep our muscles fit and train our sense of balance - at least that's what my orthopaedist says. So what could be better than clearing out the boat with lots of like-minded people and joining a fleet of almost 90 yachts leaving Bataviahaven one day in September at seven o'clock in the morning! So I put aside my worries about slipping off the 3.50 metre high edge, losing my balance below deck or thundering into an unlit buoy at night, and cast off.
Joy quickly sets in. The conditions are perfect. Under full sail, I follow the two friends in 15 to 20 knots of wind. There's no need to hurry before the start. The tracker, which all participants receive from the organiser, only logs in when they pass the starting buoy. So there is no jostling for ideal starting positions, instead the field spreads out quickly.
The short, steep waves in these shallow water bathtubs, which the Markermeer and IJsselmeer are, demand full concentration when steering. My "Sevelina" gets going well, travelling at between seven and ten knots. After all, navigation is not difficult: just follow the pack. However, the exact time has to be noted at every marker buoy. Enrico mumbles it into his mobile phone. I write it down on a pad on which the buoys, distances and subsequent courses are noted.
Double round on the IJsselmeer
After a tactically clever upwind course, which earns me a few places in the leading group, I head across to the western shore of the Markermeer and to the last buoy just before the lock in the more northerly IJsselmeer. The Krabbersgat lock is crammed full of boats with Unaone flags flying at the sterns. Everyone helps everyone else. The strong crosswind drives my "Sevelina" towards a yacht on the opposite side before I can steam into the stern line at full throttle at the last moment. None other than the well-known Dutch boat designer Dick Koopmans himself grins as he fixes my bow line before sauntering back to his self-built "Jager". Dick is an institution at almost all solo and double-handed regattas in the Netherlands. Often enough I have only seen his stern.
The lock gates open and the caravan moves towards the first buoy for the double round on the IJsselmeer. I steer a wide arc, prepare the main and genoa so that I don't have to trim later when the tracker logs in automatically. The constant 15 to 20 knots from the east allow me to sail upwind without a cross towards Urk. I have dispensed with the reef, bend the backstay to the maximum and try to ignore the tense neck.
Enrico is sailing a few hundred metres behind me. His inland rig is giving him a hard time - he keeps shooting into the wind. Friendships are not very important in regattas - I grin inwardly and am happy to know that he is at a distance.
Running splendidly
Urk, this strangely sleepy former island with seemingly more churches than inhabitants, appears ahead. After passing buoy UK10, a short downwind course follows, which finally brings calm to the ship. Time for a sandwich and a sip of the light blue sports tincture. I don't take a tablet for the pain that has now reached my lower back. After all, I am a boomer!
The course to the Ketel Bridge southeast of Urk turns into the first cross. A battery of wind turbines on the right, a busy fairway with barges on the left. I decide in favour of the side with the wind turbines and take a few metres off Enrico - he has chosen the other side. It's going splendidly!
After the windward mark, the gennaker remains in the bag. The wind is favourable for a relaxed, short room sheet course until we head for Stavoren. The three of us agree via WhatsApp to call at the Buiten Marina for the night. Shortly after dark, I log off at the VF-B buoy for the first mandatory break, switch on my red "brothel lighting" below deck and the LED spotlights on the spreaders to hoist the sails. Enrico follows me closely. The half-wind course has given his over-rigged Dehler propulsion and cancelled out my lead. I decide to serve him a warm beer in the evening in return.
Summary of chilli con carne
Shortly before the harbour entrance - lit up like a village fair - I touch down gently in the muddy shallows. My old hearing had simply ignored Enrico's calls and the vibrating of my mobile phone. I already know why I normally avoid driving at night. Fortunately, a quick push backwards is all it takes and we head back towards the marina.
At 10 pm, Johannes arrives at our jetty with his "Himmelblau". Together, we tuck into a very lumpy chilli con carne from the tin, and a non-alcoholic beer helps us wash it down. We talk shop, look at the photos I took during the day and decide on a strategy for the next day. Then it's off to bed.
Day 2 brings challenging wind conditions
Start the next day in the late morning. The wind is already blowing at 17 knots. I have already tied in a second reef in the harbour. The cross is going well and I'm leading our pack of three. The following rough courses to Enkhuizen give my "Sevelina" a whopping eleven knots at the top and me a pulse of around 120, all in bright sunshine and a cool, strong north-easterly. The efforts of yesterday fade away.
However, my good mood diminishes as we head for Urk again. Before that, a short cross to the approach buoy for the unpopular course. A "Pan-Pan-Pan!" suddenly booms from the outside loudspeaker: the mast has broken right under my nose. A rescue plane is quickly on the scene and a lifeboat follows. I have to deviate from my planned course to keep clear of the incident. Enrico gives me the long nose at the buoy. I silently wish his "Abraxas" an even longer mast with even more sail area for the horror course to Urk that lies ahead.
The wind picks up to over 30 knots. The IJsselmeer wave pukes out over my bow and keeps the teak moulding on the coaming wet. "Sevelina" keeps getting bogged down. A defection on the winch costs more valuable minutes. Some of my mates sail back to Enkhuizen - perhaps the better decision? When the cramp is over and Urk is reached, Enrico and I decide to leave the course and head for Lelystad for the second break. We postpone what will probably be another brutal cross towards the Ketel Bridge until the gentle morning.
The "Himmelblau" arrives in the harbour shortly after us. Johannes' narrow Dehler 33 is a sailing marvel and leaves us hardly any room for calculated time in the live ranking.
Final spurt has everything ready
The Flevo Marina serves as a comfortable resting place for the final spurt. That's also what this regatta is all about: sitting together in the evening with fellow competitors and friends, chatting and catching your breath, taking the knife out of your teeth for a moment and recharging your batteries.
The third day turns into a disaster for me. First, a freighter at the Ketel Bridge gets in my way and my lead dwindles. Later, a big, old flat-bottomed boat just before Hindeloopen costs me valuable seconds. The decision to stick to code zero on the subsequent downwind courses and promptly run into a doldrums off Den Oever adds over an hour to my time account. I even had to drop anchor for 30 minutes to avoid drifting off.
A roll of clouds finally pushes me towards Enkhuizen, but another calm wind gives me an endlessly slow last cross - while my friends are already crumpling the first beer cans in the third break in the Enkhuizen Compagniehaven.
Nervous night drive
Shortly after midnight, I am faced with a decision: do I squeeze into the narrow forebay to anchor between nagging owners and stressed regatta sailors, or do I use the eight knots of wind to continue towards the east coast of the Markermeer? Despite my night terrors, I decide in favour of the second option and, after a long downwind course, I reach the centre of the Markermeer at a crawl.
At two o'clock, my wife suddenly calls me. The brightly lit display dazzles me. "There's a little rain front coming, it'll give you the turbo boost for the last few metres!" I give her a virtual push. A little push more and I reach the penultimate buoy before Almere faster than expected. Shortly after three o'clock, I heave the anchor and lead line out of the box and fall asleep.
An impatient look at the clock in the morning: when will the seven hours finally be up? The wind has picked up a bit, Enrico is already rushing towards the finish. When I finally log in again, I have Johannes right behind me. What a last race! The wind is getting weaker and weaker. My Code Zero shows its strengths for the first time. Johannes tries desperately to keep up with his spinnaker. No chance. Despite all the rigours of the regatta, I feel sorry for him: he had sailed a great race up to that point and more than deserved to win ahead of "Abraxas" and "Sevelina". But my killer instinct makes all fatherly feelings quickly evaporate. I tug at the sheet.
I glide sportily to the finish. The result: two and a half kilos less on my ribs, 15 litres more water in the bilge, two baseball caps overboard, but all but one of the painkillers still in the box. Oh yes, and 65th place overall, far behind the "Abraxas" (53rd place) and the "Himmelblau" (55th place).
Challenging days lie behind us. On the last cruise to Urk, I swore I would never take part again. Passé - when is the registration deadline for the next 200 Myls Solo?
