Saturday
5th
July
On our first day at sea,
we left Camper & Nicholson’s Marina at
Gosport at 1820 hours last night, after a quick
get-away from office and home ties; ducks, garden etc
left in the care of kind friends, Margaret with
Granny at Fareham. It was a lovely sunny evening with
just the right breeze as we motored out of Portsmouth
harbour, an almost perfect start. The wind headed us
a little, so it was a slow passage down the western
Solent. The night was beautiful, however, with a full
moon and the cry of sea birds off the Beaulieu
estuary in our ears. We passed Hurst Castle at 0315
hours and a gentle swell gave the yacht the
beginnings of the motion, which we shall know so well
by the end of this trip. Our departure was made from
the Bridge Buoy, and the log set at zero on a course
of 210 compass. The passage has truly begaun.
Piramela has been sighted astern of us in the
channel, so we are both off together, and have a fair
tide down channel. It has been the easiest start of
all our trips in Portcullis so far. Light winds and a
sunny morning; we ate breakfast of tomato juice,
bacon and eggs and toast. Brian has even managed to
catch three mackerel; the omens are good!
Sunday
6th
July
Breakfast this morning of
thick slices of ham and a boiled egg with toast had
been eaten in the rain. The wind had gone round to
the east and we were running free with the spinnaker
set. The first 100 miles were behind us now, and all
was peace. Yesterday evening we saw Alderney and the
Casquets, and we identified the light from Le Hanois
off Guernsey. We were now on course for Ile Vierge
with another 60 nautical miles to go. There were big
Ships all around; at one time the lights of 16
vessels could be seen ahead of us. It had been a slow
but peaceful trip so far; the sea like a billiard
table according to Brian, but I would liken it to a
small field on a hill farm in Wales, all ups and
down. The sea off Alderney is confused by the strong
tides, even in calm weather. We had not been fishing
again, not wishing to overdo one of the pleasures of
life at sea. Those mackerel were good last night,
boiled in seawater, a true fruit of the sea and a
nice change from being fried. Several yachts passed
us last night; big ones with spinnakers set in a
light breeze, rolling their way down channel. They
must have been racing. Now the wind found us, and it
was our turn. The wind is a strange element; it comes
and goes we know not where or how, never constant for
long, and with it our fortunes. Piramela had vanished
from our world, but was the main topic of
conversation. We still glanced astern, believing
vainly that we were in the lead, but they could have
stolen a march on us, passing unseen in the night.
Monday
7th
July
“What can I
say, but that I am very glad to be alive? In the
bright sun this morning, we are all feeling a little
more cheerful after the stark horror of last night.
Yesterday evening at 1745 hours, we were hit by a
very severe line squall, which tore the mainsail from
clew to tack and left us without this vital sail
about three miles off the rocky coast of France in
the bay between the Ile de Batz light and Ile Vierge
Light”. I wrote this later the
next day. I still remember the elation I felt to be
alive after that night fifty odd years ago.
Brian and Jane were below, when I saw a black cloud
ahead of us. It had been raining all after-noon and
we were running along the coast in poor visibility.
We had closed the land to fix our position, having
worked up our dead reckoning and taken radio bearings
earlier on. In fact, we had sighted land a short time
before. You could smell the countryside on the
offshore breeze that had been blowing gently all
after-noon, and we were able to identify Ile de Batz
lighthouse through the mist. The wind fell very
light, almost died away completely, and became
variable, and I said to the others that I did not
like the look of that dark cloud at all. Brian was
below and had just turned on the radio to listen to
the shipping forecast. I shall always remember
hearing the popular song “Three wheels
on my wagon” sung by Barry McGuire
being played on the radio. I told Brian to come on
deck as quickly as possible to relieve me at the
helm, because I was going to bring in the Genoa and
take some rolls in the main. I just felt that the
cloud held the chance of a squall, and I expected the
wind to blow harder for a while. As I went forward to
take in the sail, very heavy rain began to fall, and
I felt the yacht heel to a strong gust. I leapt to
the mast and released the foresail halyard. By this
time, I realised that this was no ordinary squall.
The wind was tearing at the sails, and it suddenly
became very urgent to relieve the yacht of her
canvas. I lay across the Genoa on the foredeck and
found that it was difficult to breathe. The wind was
blowing with great force and the sea and sky seemed
to mix. You could not look into it. I knew that I
must hurry to get the main down, and started
unhanking the foresail as I sat on it. The foredeck
was at an extreme angle of heel, and I was frightened
for the first time in my life to be up there on my
own. I felt exposed, and I was dazed by the severity
of the storm that had so suddenly come upon us. I
stuffed the sail down the fore hatch, and at that
moment, the mainsail split with a loud crack right
across close to the boom. I was horrified and
struggled aft. Brian had managed to luff up into the
wind, and with great skill keep the sail filled
without really drawing, but the wind had been too
strong. Afterwards the force of the wind further up
the channel had been reported to be gale force 8 to
extreme gale force 9 locally, and it must have been
blowing something like that. I went forward again and
pulled at the wildly thrashing sail. All I could do
was to pull it down the mast, and with great
determination, Brian lashed the reefing cringle to
the boom, and I was able to roll down as much of the
sail as I could. As we were working with the sail,
the sea was beginning to rise, and after we had
finished, we looked at the compass to decide on a
course to steer. Then Jane, who was also looking at
the compass pointed out that we were being blown on
to a lee shore. The wind had gone right round 180
degrees, and the coast, which we had just identified
and felt quite happy about, had become a menace and
was threatening our vessel. It is a very rocky coast,
this northwest tip of France, and without many good
harbours sheltered from the NW winds. We had to try
to claw ourselves off without delay. As we began to
gather way under the reduced main that cursed sail
split again. Brian went forward and secured it for a
time, but it was no good. In desperation, we started
our engine, and then as darkness fell, we began what
was to be a very worrying night, trying to keep the
yacht pointing sufficiently into the wind to keep her
from being driven ashore. By this time, a huge swell
had built up and the rollers seemed determined to
drive us on to the rocks. The waves came at us in an
endless procession, growing bigger through the night
as the wind continued to blow in excess of force 6.
We could keep the yacht heading about 60 degrees off
the true wind, which was about NNW, and we were
making about NE by compass. We were trapped in the
bay within the line of the two powerful lights from
Ile Vierge and Ile de Batz. Throughout that night, we
battled with the elements to keep our vessel off the
shore. Finally, we hoisted our storm jib, or rather
Brian went forward to do so. Unexpectedly, this
helped the yacht, and with the motor going as well,
we kept her sailing out to sea at the best angle we
could manage. The trouble was that we had so little
sea room. We could not point the yacht close enough
to the wind to round the headland on either tack. A
big sea pooped the yacht several times during the
night and we had to man the pumps. The engine stopped
once and I had to go below to crank the starting
handle. There was no such thing as an electric
starter motor. All three of us kept our feelings to
ourselves, but I think we were all worried, and for a
long time I felt that we were not going to make it. I
remember trying to judge how fast we seemed to be
moving sideways by the speed with which our boat left
the occasional buoy astern. Some time after midnight,
all the streetlights along the shoreline went out,
and I felt very lonely. I just felt very very sorry,
and kept thinking about our daughter Margaret and the
people back home.
Brian never gave in for a moment. He faced the stark
reality of our situation, and did everything he could
to save us, and he encouraged me to do the same. I
came to understand the strength of character behind
the man, who had made so magnificent a passage in
last year’s Solo Single-handed Race across the
Atlantic. He was quite calm and never admitted
defeat, and we were very lucky to have him with us.
Poor Jane did what she could and remained calm below
in what must have been a most terribly worrying time
for her. She made us some soup, which Brian said I
spoilt by adding cold potatoes, but it was better
than nothing. We did win in the end, helped but the
tide under our bow, and by morning we were about
three miles off Ile de Batz Lighthouse again. For a
time, we thought of running for shelter behind Ile de
Batz or in Roscoff Harbour, but the swell was still
very big and we had no large-scale chart of the
channel. Anyway, the harbour dries out and we could
not enter except at high water. By this time our
petrol was running very low.
So the morning found us in a sea, which was going
down and with a fresh breeze still blowing. The sun
was shining and it was good to be alive. However, our
troubles were by no means over. We still had to bring
Portcullis into a safe port. We headed for
Lezardrieux, about 30 miles along the coast back the
way we came, but down wind. We would not be able to
round Ushant now. One whole panel of the sail had
been blown out. I stitched the mainsail all morning,
and fished with a boathook to catch the main halyard,
which had become loose in the night and got wound
round the backstay. When the wind had modified
enough, we set what was left of the mainsail and made
good progress towards port. It was a pleasant sail,
and I must mention the Puffins. These little birds
with their bright beaks are found, usually in pairs,
way out to sea. They fly rather shakily over the
waves on short black wings, spending most of their
time on the water. As the sun was setting, we made
the entrance to the Lezardrieux, and sailed up the
river in darkness, piloting our way using the chart
and feeling our way up the river with the echo
sounder. The land on either side is most attractive,
and I can remember the smell of the pig farms. The
bay is very rocky, but there are light towers marking
the channel up the river, which has the best leading
lights I have seen anywhere. Further up river, the
channel is very narrow and our engine finally packed
up. We found out afterwards that the carburettor was
fill of seawater. We had to tack under sail to a
delightful anchorage off the Ecole Maritime at the
head of the river, and anchored alongside another
dozen other yachts. What a peaceful place it was to
be in at last.
Tuesday
8th
July
We slept until 9 am and
then had a splendid breakfast. After breakfast we
tidied up the yacht, dried our clothes and drained
the petrol in the carburettor. The engine started
again with no trouble. Then in the after-noon, we
went ashore with the damaged mainsail. We fell among
the most friendly people, who took us to a sail maker
in Paimpol, and drove us round the town. Brian
purchased more charts and discussed the passage to
Paimpol. We had a very interesting chat with a kindly
merchant seaman, who drove us there and came aboard.
Several people know of Brian’s Solo Atlantic
crossing, because another competitor in the race
called Andre Foezon comes from Paimpol. We had a
lively discussion with his father, who runs a
barber’s shop. In the evening, we went ashore
again to eat crepes at a funny little restaurant run
by an old peasant woman and a young girl. The crepes
were delicious, cooked to order for us over a
griddle.
Wednesday
9th
July
We have decided to motor
round to Paimpol in order to be near the sail maker.
We have been given some charts and local advice and
motored through the Ferlas channel past beacon towers
with names such as Rompa. It is a very rocky part of
the world, but the French have excelent channel
markers. We altered course into the Lastel channel
after passing Ile Brehat. The sun was shining making
the sea blue with a gentle breeze. Jane cooked an
excelent lunch for us. It was a lovely trip. We
entered the lock at Paimpol about 1500 hours, and
found a clean, attractive town with everything we
needed. The sail was promised for tomorrow
after-noon. I was surprised how much French I
understood when talking to the old sail makers in
their loft up a back street, not far from the
harbour. They had a lot of work. We enjoyed a good
meal of crab and conger eel.
Thursday
10th
July
Our sail was not ready,
so we decided to make the trip to Ile Brehat, the
Isle of the Pirates, by bus and ferry. We had a
lovely day on the island, watching a small yacht,
which had been sunk in the storm, being salvaged.
There was a lot of storm damage on the island with
some big trees blown to bits. It was fascinating
watching divers go down for the yacht. Suddenly it
burst to the surface of the water, raised from the
bottom by big plastic bags filled with gas. Jane and
I had a swim. The water was very cold. When we got
back to Paimpol, we found that the sail was ready,
and the Lock Keeper was willing to open the gates for
us at 0400 hours tomorrow. “Hurray we shall be
able to sail on the
tide.”
Friday
11th
July
We sailed out of Paimpol
Harbour as planned at 0400 hours into a fresh NW wind
and sea fog. I could see Dolphins jumping clean out
of the water ahead of us as we came into the open
sea. We caught some mackerel and settled down to beat
our way back past Ile de Batz. Somehow the thought of
passing the coastline between Ile de Batz and Ile
Vierge again made me feel apprehensive. Here we were
sailing close inshore in poor visibility in the same
spot as on that fated night last Sunday. We were
navigating by pilotage, which means sailing within
sight of navigation marks, and identifying the marks
to fix the vessel’s position by visual
bearings. The trouble was you had to be within yards
of anything to see it at times. There are groups of
islands with reefs, which lie several miles off this
part of the coast. We had to pass two of these
groups, the Plateau des Triagoy and Les Sept Iles, to
seaward to make a passage westward along the coast.
The wind continued to head us, and it was slow
progress. After identifying the lighthouse on the
Plateau des Triagoy, we kept a careful check on our
dead reckoning, and rounded Ile de Batz without
seeing the Lighthouse later that night. The
visibility was very poor and I am glad we were not in
the shipping lanes. You could hear the ships blowing
their foghorns further out to sea in the channel. All
the books say that navigation through the Le Four
Channel should not be attempted in poor visibility.
We had to put into L’Abervac’h.
Saturday
12th
July
We were not meant to
round Ushant this holiday. I was wrong about the
omens at the start. The visibility remained very poor
as we approached Ile Vierge. Brian was concerned that
we should be carried past this point by the tide and
miss the entrance to L’Abervac’h, which
lies three nautical miles SW of the lighthouse. The
granite Light Tower on Ile Vierge is 232 feet high,
the tallest tower in Europe, but we did not see it as
we sailed past that night. As dawn broke, we began
our approach. By keeping a careful check on the dead
reckoning of our course, we estimated our position at
about 8 nautical miles off Ile Vierge. We now headed
due south for the coast to try to identify some mark
and pick up the Lighthouse. It was a tense situation
as we closed the rocky coast in thick fog. Visibility
was less than 2 miles at times. Would our DR prove to
be right? Brian and I had been up all night and we
were both feeling tired. As the coast got nearer, we
came across little flags marking lobster pots, and
then saw several small fishing boats. Another yacht
sailed with us for a time, obviously doing the same
thing. Time dragged on; by 0730 hours we had expected
to see something. We were not disappointed. Ahead of
us, out of the fog, we caught brief glimpses of
islands and rocks. We luffed up and looked again;
they had disappeared. We could not positively
identify anything, so we sailed closer. We sailed
closer and closer to the coast in very calm
conditions, and at last we picked up a Whistle Buoy
marking the channel. We were right where we thought
we should be. It was a very satisfying discovery. We
ate a large breakfast and felt much better. Then
began the approach past Ile Vierge. I remember Brian
telling me that all would be revealed in good time.
We plotted a course from buoy to buoy and sailed
along it until we saw rocks again, and then more
rocks, but we could not make out the huge Lighthouse,
try as we might. The fog got thicker and thicker. The
soundings here are very deep, up to 30 fathoms to
within yards of the rocks. Suddenly the fog signal in
the lighthouse started. The tide had carried us past
it, but we were still quite close. We went about, and
by studying the chart, we managed to approach the
island on a safe bearing until we were within half a
cable off the rocks. We could clearly hear the
foghorn booming out one blast every minute, but we
still could not see the tallest lighthouse in Europe.
That cursed fog, suddenly we realised that we were
looking at the base of the building. That was enough
for us, we charted our course for the channel into
L’Abervac’h. Just then another yacht
motored out, and seeing the other vessel encouraged
us to motor on. The conditions were very calm. Little
fishing boats kept appearing from among the rocks.
Brian identified a beacon and then a set of leading
marks. We had found the entrance to the very narrow
channel. There were lots of little sailing dinghies
with children in bright life jackets sailing near the
shore. We proudly made our way to the anchorage with
the French colours flying from our starboard
crosstree and the red ensign flying at our stern.
Several other yachts were moored stern on to the
pontoons. Brian managed to pick up a buoy very
nicely, and we secured Portcullis between two other
yachts. What a wonderful feeling of peace and
contentment there is in making harbour after a
difficult passage. We drank beer and discussed the
approach to Roscoff with a French yachtsman. After
eating a big lunch, we all had a well-earned sleep.
Later in the evening, we went ashore and enjoyed a
really super meal in the local restaurant,
Langoustine, fried sole, devilled chicken, some
wonderful cheese and strawberries followed by coffee
made in individual silver filter pots over each cup.
It was the first time I had tasted coffee filtered
like that, what perfection!
Sunday
13th
July
We woke to find our world
enveloped in thick fog again. Damp, penetrating gloom
had covered everything inside and out with moisture,
and what was worse, the poor visibility would make
navigation along this rocky coastline very difficult.
We had intended to sail to Roscoff. We did set off in
the company of two other French yachts, but decided
to turn back. What was the point in putting to sea
again under such difficult conditions? We explored
further up the river, and discovered a delightful
tidal estuary, wooded on either bank with small
fisherman’s’ cottages along the shore.
The sun shone unexpectedly and transformed our world.
We ate lunch at anchor in the quietest spot. We
returned to the pontoons in the evening, and went to
the excelent restaurant again. We had Fruit de Mer,
and Jane was allowed to eat the largest langoustine.
The oysters were still alive and actually moved when
you squeezed lemon juice over them. So inspite of the
poor weather all was not lost.
Monday
14th
July
We left L’Abervac’h after breakfast a
little sadly, slipping down the river past a
beautiful three-masted schooner, which had come in
during the night. Once outside the rocky entrance, we
made our departure from Ile Vierge Lighthouse and
sailed along the coast in bright sunshine and a
strengthening wind. During the after-noon, the wind
blew quite hard as a strong sea breeze developed, and
it was a wild sail against wind and tide. We passed a
beautiful yacht named Equinox, which was rather a
grand sight. Later, we came under the lee of Ile de
Batz and sailed into Roscoff that evening. It had
been a long day. We tied up against the town quay.
The rise and fall of the tide here is about 16 feet
and I had to find a ladder for Jane to get ashore
from the boat. The town is very old, and the houses
have very small doorways and all the windows are
shuttered at night. There was a fair in progress on
the waterfront, and we enjoyed a ride in the
dodgem-cars. I remember that the magnificent Belfry
Tower was floodlit.
Tuesday
15th
July
We decided to sail to the
next port of Perros-Guirec. This was one of the
easiest and pleasant day passages we had had so far.
Brian had planned the whole holiday on the lines of
short day passages between ports, working the tides,
which are very strong in these parts. We had a light
breeze from forward of the beam, but a calm sea, and
for a time we raced a French yacht, which came close
alongside us. We beat the other vessel sailing to
windward, I am glad to say. The coast of Ile de Batz
is very beautiful, and I only wish the visibility had
been better. July is the worst month for fog
according to the Pilot. What an oracle the Admiralty
Pilot is. The town of Perros-Guirec was similar to
Roscoff, but much smaller. It lies in a sheltered
bay, which dries out at low tide, and has a stone
quay much used by local fishermen and small boats. We
had an exciting time drying out alongside the quay
with a very strong ebb tide flowing. A good meal was
had ashore with a rather jolly company of young
people of both sexes, who were cruising in a small
yacht. They came from the Sailing School at Ile de
Glenanse.
Wednesday
16th
July
At 0700 hours we departed
from the quay and anchored off the harbour to await
the fair tide. It was very pleasant lying at anchor,
eating breakfast and cleaning the deck of grit, which
had showered down on us from the quay. Gradually, the
fog lifted and with it our spirits. At 1400 hours, we
broke out the anchor, and with a following wind at
last, we set course past the Ile Tome for Treguier.
It was a distance of 25 nautical miles, and an easy
sail with just enough visibility to make pilotage
easy. We had the pleasant prospect of exploring
another strange river with landmarks and buoys to
identify. Provided you do your homework well,
everything falls into place. We entered the river
passing the La Corne beacon at 1630 hours. The banks
were wooded in the upper reaches of the river with
little farms and small fishing settlements. Fishing
was still very important to the local people in those
days. We even saw working boats under sail and a
horse pulling a plough. Treguier is the centre of
Breton culture and had most attractive narrow streets
of stone house and a Cathedral. It reminded me of
Ludlow. We had an excelent meal in the Café de
Centre. The anchorage off the town quay was a good
one. Altogether, Treguier would be a good place to
return to. So to bed for what might be our last
undisturbed 8 hours of sleep. We had to head back for
Portsmouth tomorrow.
Thursday
17th
July
We left the mouth of the
Treguier River at 0930 hours, and with a wind on the
beam of about force 3, we made a fast passage up
channel towards the Channel Islands. The sun was
shining brightly and visibility was excelent. We
could see Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney and Sark ahead
of us. We decided to anchor for the night in La Greve
de la Ville off the southern point of the island of
Sark, instead of going into St Peter Port, because of
the calm weather conditions. Brian said that you did
not often get the chance of using this rather exposed
anchorage. It was a lovely spot with steep grassy
cliffs sheer down to the sea. There was a small
landing place at the foot of the cliffs with steps
leading to a well-kept path up the cliff. Jane and I
went ashore in the evening and climbed up to the top.
The cliff was covered with wild flowers, honeysuckle
and sea pinks, and the sound of gulls crying in the
evening sunlight made it all magical. A small herd of
goats looked down on us. There were horses in most of
the small fields on the island. At the top of the
cliff, a rough track lead to houses. It was strange
to meet people, who spoke English again. We had to
hurry back before it got dark, so we could not
explore much of the island.
Friday
18th
July
I did not sleep well last
night. The sound of the surf breaking on the rocks
grew louder in the night as the tide dropped and the
swell kept making the yacht snub her anchor cable.
But it was a beautiful anchorage to wake up in. The
sun shone making even the rocks look attractive.
Brian went ashore to take some photographs. We
finally sailed at 0730 hours. The wind was still very
light and we could not make the course; progress was
extremely slow, and we just missed the last of the
flood tide through the Alderney Race. That meant we
were swept back by a 9-knot stream for 6 hours. It
was impossible to make any ground against such a
tide; luckily the weather was calm. We kept on taking
bearings of the Lighthouse on Cape de la Hague. The
poor engine rebelled and suddenly threw black oil
over the galley, which took some clearing up. It was
stinking hot too. All part of the game was all Brian
would say. Finally, the tide turned and we rounded
the headland and were able to made course for
Cherbourg. The wind was still heading us and it took
a long time to reach port that night. The only
compensation was the magnificent sunset. We even saw
the ‘Green Flash’ as the sun dipped over
the horizon. We just made it to the Café de Paris by
motoring into harbour and securing bow on to the
pontoon. We were given a wonderful welcome in the
café and served the famous fish soup followed by
lobster salad. So to bed in a familiar place, the
last port on this cruise.
Saturday
19th
July
Jane and I went shopping
in the Fish Market after breakfast. We bought fresh
fish and peaches for the last leg of the voyage. Jane
cooked an excelent lunch once back aboard. One rather
amusing incident occurred when we got back to the
yacht, a cat suddenly appeared mewing for a piece of
our fish. Brian told us a story about a cat called
Rudder, which he had met in the Azores. It jumped
ship there, but later rejoined his master in
Portugal. The cat had come across from the Azores on
another vessel, and was very pleased to see his
master again. Cats are interesting animals. We were
very careful to make sure that this cat was put back
ashore in Cherbourg, and the extra-ordinary thing
was, that when we finally got back to Portsmouth, the
Customs Officer came aboard and asked us to declare
if we had any animals with us.
We set off from Cherbourg after lunch, feeling rather
sleepy after the wine, and very sorry to leave. Our
holiday was nearly over. However, the sun was shining
and with a following breeze, the omens looked good
for this final leg of the passage across the channel.
Once out of the outer harbour, I streamed the log
once more and set the spinnaker. The sea miles rolled
away as we set the course for Portsmouth.
That night we had one of the worst experiences of
sailing in fog that I can remember. A pea souper
enveloped our yacht just as darkness fell and we
reached the main southbound shipping lane. You could
hear the throb of their engines and smell them, but
you could not make out where the huge ships
travelling at over 20 knots would cross our bows.
Jane was on watch and had the frightening experience
of suddenly seeing the cabin lights of a ship pass
yards ahead of us. To make matters worse, our log was
under reading by about 15 miles and we nearly hit the
Isle of Wight! Sandown looked like the lights of a
ship. We finally entered the familiar waters of the
Solent as dawn was breaking after a fast crossing. We
anchored in Osborne Bay to enjoy a leisurely
breakfast, before finally returning to our homeport.
We motored through the narrows into Portsmouth
Harbour at 1410 hours and cleared customs. We finally
tied Portcullis up in her berth at the Camper &
Nicholson’s Marina in Gosport. The cruise was
over.
This was to be last cruise Jane and I made in
Portcullis. I left Westminster Bank in 1970 and moved
to Scotland to become a Land Agent. The previous
year, I had taken Portcullis down to Plymouth with
Jane and our daughter Margaret. We sailed down to
Plymouth to help Brian Cooke prepare his yacht
“Opus” for the 1968 Observer
Single-handed Transatlantic Yacht Race. He came in
3rd on handicap with an
elapsed time of 34 days. Opus was a conventional
sloop rigged monohull with L.O.A. of 32 feet. The
winning yacht that year was “Sir Thomas
Lipton” with L.O.A. of 56 feet. In his book
“Atlantic Venture”, John Groser described
Brian Cooke’s achievement as one of the most
impressive performances of the race. We were very
privileged to sail with him.
