Middle Sea Race, “the most exhilarating sailing experience of my life”

After the almost antithetical accounts we received in the editorial office of this edition of the Rolex Middle Sea Race, characterized first by becalmed and then by the fury of the wind (HERE the account of Paolo Codeluppi, embarked on the Grand Soleil 37 Sagola Biotrading, and HERE Pierpaolo Ballerini’s “challenging” one, fourth overall on the 33 Azuree), we publish the fine account of Sandro Alberti, who took part in the Mediterranean classic aboard Franco Niggeler’s 42-foot proto Kuka Light (by the way, look at HERE what a superboat that is!). Read his excited account, which ends with a…betrayal with only a few miles to go. (Photo by Kurt Arrigo / Rolex)

“I want to recount my 2014 Middle Sea Race in order to answer in advance all the questions I will be asked in the coming days, by the friends who were following me from home and who, given the weather conditions, were concerned and pleasantly peppered me with messages and calls. But above all I want to do it for myself, so that I may, tomorrow, reread these lines and relive, at least in part, those emotions that now lead me to the computer keyboard in an arduous attempt to convey to you, too, friends, what I have been fortunate enough to experience.

KUKA LIGHT, WHAT AN HONOR
I don’t want to start from too far away, but I must obligatorily go back to my friend Max’s call confirming my presence aboard the Kuka Light, a visionary 42-foot design, conceived as a small VOR70, built without any design constraints, with the sole purpose of sailing as fast as possible. I love these kinds of boats and the owners who have the courage to make them, which is why I had asked Max to plead my case and get me this boarding. For many days before leaving for Malta, I imagined what it might be like to glide at insane speeds with this little monster, and dreamed of epic engagements with larger, more emblazoned boats. But, to my utter despair, the weather forecast left no escape; becalmed, becalmed, and more becalmed.

LIKE A FERRARI BUT WITHOUT GASOLINE
The routing on Monday the 13th gave us almost 6 days to cover the 608-mile route, an agony. Totally useless to download weather updates one after the other, the wind will come when the race is over, the slower boats will enjoy it; “we are in the wrong week” is the bitter comment I make to the great Franco (the owner), who is also eager to try his hand at far different conditions. Work on the boat continues frantically, everything is carefully seen and reviewed, everything is tested in the days set aside for sea outings, but morale, at least mine, is low; the wind will not come and I am reminded of other very slow editions, with grueling bonfires and hellish heats. No, not with this boat; it’s like having the Ferrari and being out of gas.

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A LOW PROFILE START
But here’s the surprise, a disturbance is on its way for Wednesday, 20-25 knots from the WNW which we are supposed to take after the Egadi Islands, according to the routing; perfect, at least the second half of the regatta will be fun, let’s just hope the others don’t take too much advantage in the bonanzas. With renewed enthusiasm on everyone’s part, we set off for the regatta. The first few miles to Cape Passero are exhilarating; with just 10-12 knots of westerly wind Kuka Light travels at very high averages and we are in the very first positions of the fleet. But as the evening comes, the wind drops and becomes extremely variable, the fleet splits, and we make some poor choices that relegate us to a back seat to the 50-foot fleet we were using as a reference. By dawn, the wind is almost nil, and for hours we trudge along in the midst of race-cruising hulls that, frankly, I thought I would never see again after the first few hours of continuous gliding at maxi-yacht speed.

THE REMOVAL.
The ascent to the Strait of Messina is slow but gives us the opportunity to make an outstanding comeback over the head of the fleet, and we pass the strait with a nice SW wind and current in our favor. The approach to Stromboli is much faster than the forecast let on, but once we reach the volcano, nothingness. The only consolation was the natural spectacle of the particularly consistent lava flow, which descended from the crater almost to the sea; all that remained was to enjoy the spectacle for a few minutes. I download more weather updates confirming the arrival of a disturbance from the W from Tuesday evening, and very strong winds as early as the early hours of Wednesday; I am beginning to get impatient, not least because, in the night between Monday and Tuesday, we juggle the bonanzas and reach the head of the fleet (excluding Esimit, Ran and Shockwave who were obviously having a race within a race). It’s my dream come true, we’re close to the moment I’ve been waiting for so long, bearing gaits and tense wind to ride in good company.

READY TO DANCE, GUYS!
We pass Favignana at 9 p.m. with about 10 knots of increasing W wind and I go below for my rest shift. I know it may be the last few hours of decent sleep until arrival, so I waste no time and lie down in my bunk dressed. After an hour or so of deep sleep, I am awakened by the shuddering of the boat, which, I perceive from the sound of water on the hull and the splashing of water in my face past the closed drum, is engaged in a rodeo with the waves. “Here,” I guess, “it will already be 20-25 knots; a little ahead of the forecast, the better it will be.”

BUCKETS OF WATER IN THE FACE
I look at the iPhone on my wrist acting as an instrument repeater and find that we’re doing 15 knots across with……. 15 knots of wind. other bucket in the face, moment of reflection, I hear an exchange of impressions between the shift in the cockpit and those below deck, with the former urging us to put on the watertight oilskin and hook up the lifeline before going out to the cockpit; “it’s very wet out here,” I hear from Diogo. I dress well, but with the traditional oilskin, my watertight lies in the bag at the far bow and, honestly, I have no desire to go get it, given how the boat moves. I step out into the cockpit and am greeted by a torrent of water, we are off to a good start; I struggle to settle in, it is pitch black, there is no moon, ahead of us a few crowning lights from the big guys ahead of us mark the way. I take the helm, that’s what I’ve always wanted to do since I was called, I don’t hesitate, I start pushing, the boat responds great. We pass several adversaries, the wind increases, as does the sea until it becomes hellish at Pantelleria, where 30-knot gusts push us into 22-knot glides that end up inexorably inside the wave ahead, with an avalanche of water crashing onto the deck and onto us. My eyes are on fire, the sea gives us no respite, it keeps getting worse, and Kuka Light, in its mad rush over and under the sea, grinds its opponents mercilessly.

VIDEO – FROM ABOARD KUKA LIGHT

SOME RESPITE
After two and a half hours it finally rests, we manage to make the shift change, and I go to rest, at least I try. I’m completely wet but I don’t take off my clothes, I go to the bunk with my life jacket still on, just in case I have to go out suddenly. The next two shifts are calmer, the wind has dropped and rarely exceeds 22 knots, plus it has rotated to the right and the new course is a stern. We gybe to round Lampedusa, lie…we tack off the bow, why risk it, but even this maneuver will not prove to be so easy. The passage to Lampedusa marks a moment of respite with the elements; the wave subsides until it disappears, dawn replaces darkness, we are all in the cockpit stretching and providing for physiological needs, but ahead we already know what lies ahead; more than 90 miles to go with 35 knots of wind and 5-6 meter waves.

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HOW HARD THE ADVENTURE IS
We round the island and I take the helm again; I am tired and my eyes are still burning so despite the low light I wear sunglasses to protect myself from splashing water. To see the waves I sit in first position, behind me, Goofy and Franco. “Here it goes again,” I think, but after a few miles the power of the sea surprises me, the breaking waves crashing down on me crushing me against my mates; I can’t see, I’m breathing hard, a more violent blow to my ribs makes me fear the worst, another wave rips my goggles, the next one shoves up my nose. “Goofy I can’t see the instruments, how much wind is there” – silence. Kuka Light is a beast, nothing like a normal boat, it expresses monstrous power, it doesn’t bend to gusts and if it can’t ride a wave, well, it goes under it; it’s everything I could imagine but much, much more brutal.

BUT WHAT IS IT, THE VOLVO OCEAN RACE?
I feel catapulted inside those Volvo Ocean Race videos that I used to comment with friends from the comfort of the bar, saying “all the way around, no, but I would gladly do a leg.” Like hell, it takes quite a different physique. After two hours and ten minutes I surrender the helm to Diogo and go below deck. I can’t keep my eyes open so much is the burning, I look at the course, still 48 miles means I have done about 42; do the math yourself. I throw myself into the bunk, I know I won’t sleep but the lying position allows me to release tension in my neck, back and leg muscles. I continue to track from the iPhone, -30 to the channel between Comino and Malta, -20, -10, -5, as the miles drop fast, I hear excited voices in the cockpit and decide to get out. We were joined by the VOR70 Monster Project, which in the last 240 miles nibbled away at us just one hour and thirty minutes. We glide side by side for about ten minutes, much to the delight of the photographers in the helicopter who take several laps around us and several shots. It is the apotheosis, it is the dream come true, no, it is the reality that surpasses the imagination. The VOR boys, to a glide of ours respond with all arms raised, we are half their size and we hold our own against them fighting hard for seventh overall in real.

BETRAYED BY THE KEEL IN THE WINDY SEA OF MALTA
STOCK!!!!!!! The boat heaves violently and lies on its side, surprised looks, “the keel, the keel.” oh yeah, the canting keel, Kuka Light’s turbo, didn’t make it to the end of the race and betrayed us with 10 miles to go. Something at the piston connection failed. My account of the regatta ends here, I don’t want to get into the intricate debate of ifs and buts, the dream was shattered after 598 miles of which 240 miles were beyond my admittedly vivid imagination. The first comment left by message to those who asked me about it was “the most exhilarating sailing experience of my life.” Thank you Franco, Diogo, Max, Topo, Goofy, Paul, but especially thank you, Kuka Light.”

Sandro Alberti