“I shot 630 miles in the Mediterranean at RAN and can’t wait to do it again!”

A beautiful and technical edition of the Ran 630, one of the longest races run in the Mediterranean (the longest for rated boats), goes into the archives in Livorno. After the arrival of the first boat, Matteo Uliassi‘s foiling cat Falcon, the rest of the fleet played for the ranking on handicap time, in the lottery of the Tyrrhenian breezes that complicated the crews’ lives in no small way.

Overall victory in the regatta organized by the YC Livorno went to Francesco Giordano’s X-41 Adrigole II, ahead of Guido Baroni’s Sun Fast 3600 Lunatika, winner of the last two editions and the first boat crewed in doubles; third place went to Damiano Zilio’s X412 Zero in Condotta.

Our contributor Gregorio Ferrari was aboard the X-41 Adrigole II, Circolo Vele Vernazzolesi’s standard-bearer in the offshore races, and gave us a warm account of this adventure, because the Ran 630 is increasingly one of the “must-do” regattas run in the Tyrrhenian Sea.

RAN 630. The onboard story on the X-41 Adrigole II

“The cabin below makes a sounding board when you use the winch.” It is a quiet May dawn between Ponza and Ventotene. I have just finished a four-hour shift, and speaking is Francesco Giordano, owner of the X-41 Adrigole II on which I am doing the RAN 630, the Livorno Naval Academy regatta. I realize that, thanks to the wind between 10 and 14 knots upwind still blowing, I have spent a good part of the night at the mainsail clanking like a freight train with good grace to those who were trying to sleep. From someone who gets the phone comes a “placebo” comfort.

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The position oracle, Yellow Brick, reassures us, “We stretched a little bit on those behind.” This is my second regatta with them, and there is still no extreme confidence. Maybe I went too far, I could have been a little more relaxed, I tell myself inside my head. “But don’t worry, I worry a lot more when it’s quiet!” Francis closes it with the smile of someone who hasn’t slept a wink, but is satisfied with how we are doing. I am relieved. After all, what else could be done? A couple of sail injuries are slowing us down and every tenth of a knot is crucial! One last stroke of the handle to close the mainsail where the leech threads are dancing a bit too much and I dismast to go below deck. We are second in the real, have already left a few hundred miles astern and are aiming for Giannutri, waiting to figure out where to leave it.

We’ve been at sea for four days, the wind is tugging, the bonanzas are always lurking, behind every island as well as in the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and yet I’m having the time of my life. I think, “This is one of the best regattas I’ve ever done.” My thoughts are unrelated to the position we occupy at that moment (which at the end of the game will see us overall winners – by just six minutes – in ORC), but from the feelings I am experiencing both on board and in the places we pass through.

Toward RAN 630

Before embarking on Adrigole II I knew RAN only by name. It’s a bit outside the logic of the more “mainstream” offshore races, partly because this one is long for real. In fact, the longest in the Tyrrhenian Sea. 630 miles with a wonderful route that touches Livorno, Porto Cervo, Capri and then returns again to Livorno. In between, absolute freedom to invent routes and solutions to arrive before everyone else. What kind of regatta is it? If I had to use one word I would say “human.”

A place where expertise and seamanship do not necessarily flow into exaggerated professionalism and where a shipowner with a close-knit crew can take great satisfaction. Not all of them, though. This year’s Line Honours was a bit tricky to earn since, on the dock, among old Figaro and Impala 36s, peeped a yellow spaceship that answers to the name of Falcon. It’s a full foiling DNA F4 catamaran and, if that wasn’t enough, a certain Shannon Falcone (two America’s Cups won and a second place in the Volvo Ocean Race with Puma in 2008-2009) was aboard. The rest of the fleet, in any case, was fierce and competitive, ready to do battle.

I can tell it’s not one of the usual long ones by the atmosphere at the Livorno Yacht Club on the dock. No over-the-top streamers, no glitz. At the dinner, in the venue atop the Medici pier, it feels like a reunion of sorts. Owner Francesco Giordano and the hard core crew of Adrigole II on which I am embarked is in its third participation in three years. Changing this year is the boat. From a charming Baltic 43, Adrigole, to a decidedly high performance X-41, Adrigole II. It is Francis himself who confirms to me that very few people make it and then do not return. I honestly, I’m a little skeptical. It’ s the longest regatta I’ve ever done, it’s expected to be rampant becalmed, and dangling for a week in the middle of the sea makes me a little uneasy. Let’s hope for the best.

The departure

At the start on April 27 are many level-headed sailors, first and foremost the crew of Lunatika, Guido Baroni and Alessandro Miglietti, veterans of offshore sailing who, with their Sun Fast 3600, have won in IRC and ORC the last two editions. There is Frenchman Michel Cohen, fresh winner of Rome for One, who has decided to bring his experience as a solo navigator to the RAN on his Figaro 2. There is the all-female crew of Audace, as well as the aforementioned Falcon. At the start there is a channel of wind kissing the line. We are well aware that this will be the last somewhat “crisper” air we will face for quite some time. Having turned the disengagement mark, along the Etruscan Coast, the wind drops rapidly. We try to keep a little higher, taking advantage tooth and nail of every gust of air, armed with J1s and windseekers.

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The beauty of this regatta is its tension, a virtually constant succession of choices. Apart from the buoys, there are no obligatory passages. Our first buoy, in fact, is Porto Cervo and we can get there as we wish. The weather models suggest staying close to Corsica to take advantage, the next morning, of the Venturi effect on the Mouths of Bonifacio and to have clean air among the vast patches of becalming. At Montecristo, apart from the two-hulled missile, the hitherto compact leading group is divided between those who have blind faith in a central position and those who think that salvation lies below Corsica.

We stay in the middle because our spinnaker allows us to go down well and the pressure has increased a bit. With us are Tintorel, Michel Cohen’s Figaro, and Pagasus, Francesco Conforto’s Class 950, with whom we spend the night a few miles away. As soon as the sun rises, the light brings us considerable help. In the glow of dawn we see sharply an area of pressure closer to us that allows us to approach Corsica at a very good speed. Our greeting to the sun is a beat down that separates us from the rest of the fleet. This is the moment when we take the lead (among the monohulls) that we will not leave again until the finish. As we round Porto Cervo we take a peek at the weather updates.

Everything as planned. Between us and Capri is an expanse of water where becalmedness reigns supreme. Here, too, we stay high, trying to walk as much as possible relative to our opponents, to put more water between us and them. It is a gamble because the wind may get to them first.

The second night, meanwhile, is so breathtakingly beautiful. An incredible starry sky as only the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea can show. If only there was also wind it would be a dream! Patience. We make 0 knots of speed, a few decimals of SOG and there are zero knots. The current causes us to do a few somersaults of direction, at one point I think even of the reverse, as the puffs come a bit drunk in the stern, across and over the nose. Again, like a trusted guide, the windseeker takes care of getting us off the hook. As I stand at the helm I squint between the instruments and the water, and I cannot tell you the relief felt after reaching a SOG knot going incontrovertibly ahead!

At the turn change we leave our companions a boat launched with the asymmetric spinnaker, destination Capri. As you may have noticed, sail changes are very frequent and essential. During the day the wind rises to 15 knots. It is time to get down as much as possible, and the X-41 Adrigole II proves to be a fun boat in all gaits. The entire crew enjoys the speed by putting their heads and hearts into running the boat. As soon as there is a field we see that we are always ahead, but the opponents have not let up an inch. Michel Cohen, in particular, alone is proving to be a tough nut to crack.

It was known, of course, but seeing a loner a few miles away as the eight of us start to get a little tired makes quite an impression. In the evening we get the asymmetrical and our Vittorio, a big guy who enjoys pumping up the spinnaker with no one to trim as he drifts. He doesn’t seem to care much that it’s 16 knots and that the boat is on slack with a load that just hearing about it makes me get lactic acid. After all, one of his arms is equivalent to half a crew added together. Just as well, since we have to go down hard on every wave. Pushing like madmen we end up in Ischia’s cone of shadow, which, fortunately, involves the others. The next morning, at dawn, we finally reach Capri. It is the penultimate time we hoist a spinnaker.

Italy upwind

Having turned the buoy at Capri-I will not dwell on how striking this scenery is, especially in the early morning-we put our noses back to Ischia. It is upwind and will be so almost to the finish. This gait does not frighten us; we are equipped. Or at least, we would be. At the height of Ischia, as we tighten to pass the island and think about the next moves the boat loses a knot and a suspicious noise creeps into our ears.

“Mau, what’s going on?” someone asks. Mauro is the commander of Adrigole II and had previously been commander of Adrigole, the Baltic. On his usually enthusiastic and beaming face are two barred blue eyes and a half-open mouth. The J1 has broken out. Not exactly good news given the forecast. Like going to a Formula 1 grand prix in the UK in the fall and finding the rain tire trains all flat. Meanwhile, up goes the J2, promoted in the field to “light.”

“Anna, do one of your miracles”- Francis says to our bowwoman who, I learn, has a special talent for solving desperate situations on sails. I am a defeatist, with a jib in that condition nothing can be done about it. Mauro is of the same opinion. But it doesn’t hurt to try. What do we have at our disposal? A roll of grey-tape. Even more desperate undertaking. Meanwhile, we have arrived at the fateful night from which I began this story.

After J1, J2 also decides to burst. We didn’t do that many regattas with Adrigole II, but those two jibs rather worn out by the previous owner, weren’t ready for all that excitement. The possible forms suddenly became two: below 6 knots, windseeker. Above 10 knots, J3. Between 8 and 10 knots, the predominant wind expected jib trolley, inhauler and fancy.

The next afternoon there is Giannutri on the horizon and the wind is always that. “Up J1,” says Francis. The “tapullo” is done, but Mauro would like to save it to cross the Piombino channel the next day. No dice. Patched up as best he can, J1’s last run brings us close of Orbetello. Then, exhausted, it explodes again and for good. This sacrifice gets us to the windiest passage, with 18-knot gusts upwind where the J3 can say something more. At the helm Nicoletta in a competitive trance shoots an entire turn at the helm without letting up a degree. We leave Giglio to the left and Giannutri to the right, dodging bon bons and wind shifts, and head for “Elba.” The forecast is, this time, tragic. A gymkhana of breezes could take us out of the archipelago, via Piombino, or leave us dangling in the becalmed until the south wind arrives resulting in the fleet’s “remuntada” on us.

On the razor’s edge between the airs with the J3 greased up like a good fork after the Christmas holidays, aided by a fair bit of luck, we leave Elba happy and content. And naive. The real trap is after Piombino where the air drops totally from any direction. Fatigue begins to set in and the situation is desperate. While others make five or more knots driven by the south wind that arrived, we are mired in cosmic nothingness. A gust of wind blows us upwind wide for an hour or so, then everything dies again. No comfort is needed from Giacomo, who, to the sailing component, has been adding wine and food advice throughout the race on each of the coasts we have reached. We gather downwind, pull the stern out of the water, and let the windseeker and the apparent gallop us along at 1.5 knots. All around is silent.

It is only in the evening that the pressure returns, in the stern, which makes us do the last few miles with a sail we had almost forgotten about: the low wind symmetrical. All finished? Nope. The last five hundred meters are becalmed again, but we’re used to that by now. We sway a little, but the boat is moving. What pushed it I think was our desire to get there more than the wind. Crossing the finish line is an immense relief, we all feel that we have had a good race, no matter what the standings will say. Most of all I feel happy, even if a little weirded out by Filippo, our wild card. “Don’t get used to it,” Mauro tells him, “it’s not always like this.” For him it was the first regatta of his life. Not a bad start.

I look at all the crew, how they smile, and I realize what Francis had told me before we left, “Those who made it, do everything to come back.” I agree with him, I also want to be at the start of the next RAN 630.

Gregorio Ferrari