Texas City Dike Yacht Club

The temperature drops 20 degrees in 2 seconds as a freezing blast descends from the monster storm cloud stalking us for the past 1/2 hour. 'Take down' I yell, but Jim is already on the tramp, dumping the halyard and monkeying the kite back into the bag. Before it's in, freezing rain pelts us and I scan the water for clues where the hammer blow will come from. Without warning, an invisible hand slamms the boat on it's side and she immediately begins to turtle. We splutter up to the surface and claw back on the lower hull. I hang in towards the mast, trying to get the righting line over the upper hull which was well past vertical. A few desperate throws later the line finally clears the upper hull and we hang back for all we were worth until the mast slowly comes back to the surface.

I breath a huge sigh of relief - we are just outside the surf and I have visions of the mast digging in an snapping as had happened in 2008. I keep hanging on the righting line until the mast clears the water and she begins to come up very fast. I propell Jim forward onto the lower hull and grabbed the dolphin striker. We are both launched back into the water as she rotates right past vertical and what had been the lower hull rears into the air as she flips onto the other side. We have no option but to wait until the wind dies back into the twenties. We held her horizontal, mast to the waves and hunker down behind the tramp.

"Where's the finish?" "Just over there" says Jim. I look across the ragged waves about a mile and a half away to some flashing truck headlights. They may as well be on the moon. At this point we are on our own. The storm is carrying us in the right direction, but at a snails pace. Our one time second place had turned into a nightmare 3rd. The only consolation is there is not another boat in sight.

That's the thing about the GT300 - even on your side in the middle of storm - it's still a race.

'Has it died down?' I ask, from behind the shelter of the mesh tramp. 'No'. I stick my head past the cross beam into the blast - it is still howling. A few minutes pass and with frustration building we take the first opportunity of a slight ease in the gusts and get her back upright. The dagger boards are raised and we get to the back of the bus for  a wild turn down. Surviving this we lined up for the gybe - as we are headed for Cuba rather than the finish. Round she goes - and digs in, dumping us once more into the waves.

With the air turning blue from our curses we wait a while longer, riding on our side ever close to the pounding surf and the finish line. Once more - heave ho and up she comes. We are now on a beam reach to the line. Both gasping from the effort of righting the boat for the 4th time, we tear towards the line. Entering the surf line we have our weight too far forward and both bows submarine into a trough.  We pitchpole while fully lit up (captured perfectly by the video crew on the beach). With the last of our energy we right her once more and limp over the line - 9 hours after pushing off from South Padre island.

A beer is pressed in my hand - and then a microphone, as John Casey from Sailing Anarchy interviews Jim and I

The next boat arrives an hour later at sunset - no main sail, under jib and spinnaker alone. The VHF radio crackles with Coast Guard announcements of EPIRBs triggered and descriptions of missing catamarans….