Twice across the finish line, almost
02.08.2022
Uroš Kraševac
Originalen tekst v slovenščini spodaj
Location: Horta – Azores. The season’s main
objective is in the pocket, along with a solid score and an experience worth its weight in gold. That makes the pocket full, and it feels good to carry it around.
However, a goal of this magnitude is so big and challenging that it is hard to comprehend once you achieve it.
The qualifications and sole appearance at the SAS regatta were full of “what-ifs” with plenty of obstacles and problems, which of course, are solved at the last minute. Therefore, the fact that we made it here is hard to grasp. Lisa Berger, a sailor from Austria, has regularly reminded me every half an hour for the last three days: “Uroš [read Jurosh], we sailed here from France! In our Minis!” She then pulls out her phone and shows a red dot on Google maps in the middle of the Atlantic: “We are here. Look, here in the middle!” I think I can grasp the moment only after the first good night’s sleep in my home bed, but it already feels good. Most of us have sacrificed a great deal to be here today – some practically everything. And I think we all shed a huge burden at the entrance to Horta Marina. But mine just didn’t want to fall off me.
A quick summary of the first stage would look something like this. The preparations are chaotic as always, this time even more so because I qualified for the regatta only two weeks before the start and then spent one of them in quarantine. Covid knows how to choose the best timing. There was not enough time to prepare, but somehow I managed, despite the consequences of Covid that amplified in the record heat. But I made it to the start. I have to boast that I obviously know how to embrace the motto:
“We have what we have; we are where we are, and now, action.”
We went through all the conditions throughout the first stage. From the strong downwind and reaching Cap Finistere, that went by super fast but diligently burned most of our energy on the second day already. Two fronts with rapid wind changes and long hurricanes followed. For the grand finale, anticyclone in the Azores, where we spent three days catching the lightest of winds and celebrating every little nudge in the right direction. Thanks to Jure, our weather master, I expected such a scenario.
I took advantage of the days with stable winds to sleep and rest so I could push on the last three days, actively sailing with almost no rest and sleep, diligently chasing every little breath. I made an intentional decision at this stage. Poseidon, the god, or whoever it is that manages the wind control panel, must be Dalmatian [beloved region of the Croatian coast, known for the easy-going and hedonistic way of life],so I happily sang the Dalmatian songs to him with the conviction that he’ll probably be kind in return! Yes, I was pretty “out-there”. But who would have thought the strategy was apparently excellent? At the entrance to the marina, just before the finish line, as I said to myself: “Here we are, this is it” someone somewhere behind the control panel thought: “Oh well, watch this!” and gave me the worst experience I’ve ever had on a sailboat.
Early morning, complete darkness, no moonlight. The red beacon of the marina entrance (left finish line marker) flashes so close it blinds me. There is very little wind, but the strong current helps it and nicely pushes me forward.
The fenders are already ready for me to dock as soon as I cross the finish line.
The mooring ropes are coiled and prepared in bags in the tidy cockpit. The mainsail and jib hoists are already untied, so they won’t get tangled when I lower the sails.
I’m a little proud of myself. For the last three days, I sailed practically without any rest, which paid off; I am 3rd in the prototype category and 5th overall. Well done me.
At this moment, the four illuminated masts inside the breakwater begin to move.
I am fatigued, and it takes quite some time before I realize that these Christmas trees are a huge sailboat leaving the marina at this very moment. It seems they didn’t notice me. With all the lights, I am not even surprised. I quickly ease the sheet and make a small circle in front of the marina entrance to avoid the giant bow and save my mini Mini and myself. This is when the media boats with flash cameras and powerful spotlights arrive. For a moment, they disturb me in my realization that the circle I am making is no longer driven by the wind, only by the current that is no longer in the direction of the marina entrance and the finish line but away from it towards the rocky cliff. But, of course, I can’t see the cliff. It’s dark as hell with spotlights and camera flashes shining into my eyes.
The sound of breaking waves and the mocking screeching of nesting seagulls clearly announces the proximity of the rocks. “Uroš, wake up! Action!” somehow, I manage to reboot my half-turned-off mind and execute a manoeuvre of hanging as much sail area as possible to catch the last of the dying breeze. In a panic, I raise the big gennaker. I also prepare the anchor in case the manoeuvre does not succeed, and the previously tidy boat from earlier has decended into total chaos. I narrowly miss the rocks, but the strong current is winning despite sails full of wind, and the red beacon is slipping away. The media boats obviously didn’t notice my anger, but it is there.
The wind has died completely, and at a speed of 2kts, I am leaving the finish line of Horta in reverse in the direction of the open sea. It is now too deep to anchor. I will only come back when the tide turns, or the wind picks up. I see the light in the distance signalling the approach of my first pursuers. Media boats eagerly rush to them. The last bursts of anger deplete my remaining reserves of energy. I literally
collapse on the sail bags in the cockpit and fall asleep right there and then. I woke up a good hour later. There is still no wind, but a dark line in the distance suggests it is coming. The current was also waning. “We have what we have; we are where we are and now, action.” With a fresh wind, I return to Horta at dawn. Four hours after my “Here we are, this is it. “The heavy new gold experience in my pocket. I don’t wear belts. My pants are slipping down. It is no; it is really no trouble to pull them higher here and there.
I’m comforted by the fact: “Shit like that just can’t happen twice!”
DVAKRAT ČEZ CILJ, SKORAJ
Lokacija: Horta – Azori.
Glavni cilj sezone je v žepu. Skupaj s solidnim rezultatom in eno zlata vredno izkušnjo. Precej poln žep in dober občutek ga je nositi s seboj. Tak cilj je eden tistih, ki so dovolj veliki in težko dosegljivi, da jih je težko sprejeti, ko dejansko uspejo.
Kvalifikacije in nastop na regati SAS so bile polne ‘’če-jev’’ in ogromno je bilo različnih ovir in problemov, ki se jih seveda rešuje v zadnjem trenutku. Zato je dejstvo, da smo dejansko ‘’prigurali’’ do sem, težko dojeti. Lisa Berger, jadralka iz Avstrije, mi že tri dni vsake pol ure redno servira: ‘’Uroš (beri Jurosh), we sailed here from France! In our Minis!’’ In potem izvleče telefon in na Google maps pokaže rdečo piko sredi Atlantika: ‘’We are here. Look, here in the middle!’’ Mislim, da bo vse skupaj prišlo za mano šele po prvi dobro prespani noči v domači postelji, ampak občutek je dober. Večina nas je žrtvovala ogromno, da smo danes tukaj – eni tako rekoč vse. In mislim, da smo vsi pri vhodu v marino Horta odvrgli veliko breme. A moje pač ni hotelo z mene…
Hiter povzetek prve etape bi izgledal nekako takole. Priprave kaotične kot vedno, tokrat še toliko bolj, ker sem se na regato kvalificiral zgolj dobra dva tedna pred štartom in potem enega od njih preživel v karanteni. Covid pač zna izbrati najboljši tajming. Časa za priprave je bilo čisto premalo, ampak nekako sem uspel, kljub temu, da so bile posledica Covida v rekordnih vročinah precej očitne. Ampak etapo sem štartal. Moram se pohvalit, da znam očitno precej dobro ponotranjit moto: ”Mamo kar mamo, smo kjer smo, zdaj pa akcija.”
Skozi etapo smo menjali vse razmere. Od močnih hrbtnih in bočnih vetrov pri Cap Finistere s katerimi je šlo super hitro, ampak so nam pridno kurili energijo že drugi dan. Sledili sta dve fronti s hitrimi spremembami vetra in dolgimi orkani in potem grand finale v Azorskem anticiklonu, kjer smo tri dni lovili sapice in se veselili vsakega najznatnejšega premika. Po zaslugi Jureta, našega majstra za vreme sem tak scenarij pričakoval. Izkoristil sem dneve s stabilnimi vetrovi za spanje in počitek in odpeljal zadnje tri dni aktivno, s skoraj nič počitka in spanca in pridno lovil vsako najmanjšo sapico. V tej fazi sem sprejel namensko odločitev. Pozejdon bog, ali kdorkoli je že ta, ki upravlja s komandno ploščo za vetrove – ziher je Dalamatinec, zato sem mu veselo ”pjeval Dalamtinske” s prepričanjem – valda bo kaj zrihtal! Ja, precej sem bil že zdelan… Ampak kdo bi si mislil, strategija je bila očitno odlična. Ravno, ko sem si na vhodu v marino tik pred ciljem rekel: ‘’Evo nas, to je to.’’ je nekdo nekje za komandno ploščo rekel: ‘’Oh no, watch this!’’ in mi namenil najhujšo izkušnjo, kar sem jih kdajkoli doživel na barki….
Zgodnje jutro, čista tema brez mesečine. Rdeči svetilnik vhoda v marino (leva oznaka ciljne linije) utripa tako blizu, da me kar slepi. Vetra je sicer zelo malo, a močan tok mu pomaga in me pridno rine naprej.
Bokobrani so že pripravljeni, da jh navežem čim prečkam ciljno linijo. Privezne vrvi so že zvite v lično pospravljenem kokpitu in pripravljene v vrečah. Dvižnici glavnega jadra in floka sta že razpleteni, da se ne bosta zapletli, ko bom spustil jadra.. Kar malo sem ponosen sam nase. Zadnje tri dni sem jadral tako rekoč brez počitka in res se je obrestovalo, sem 3. v kategoriji prototipov in 5. skupno. Bravo jaz.
V tem trenutku se začnejo štirje osvetljeni jamborji na notranji strani valobrana premikati. Utrujenost zahteva kar nekaj časa preden spoznam, da so te novoletne jelke pravzaprav ogromna jadrnica, ki v tem hipu zapušča marino. Vse kaže, da me ni opazila. Pri vsej osvetljavi niti ni čudno. Hitro popustim škotino in se lotim manjšega kroga pred vhodom v marino, da se izognem orjaškem premcu in rešim svojega mini Minija s svojo malenkostjo na krovu. V tem pridrvijo medijski čolni s fleshi fotoaparatov in močnimi reflektorji. Za trenutek zmotijo moje spoznanje… krog, ki ga delam ne žene več veter, samo še tok, ki me ne poganja več skozi vhod marine proti cilju ampak stran od marine proti skalnati pečini. Pečine seveda ne vidim. Tema je kot v rogu in meni v oči svetijo reflektorji in bliskavice fotoaparatov.
A zvok lomljenja valov in posmehljivo režanje gnezdečih galebov jasno oznanja bližino skal.. ‘’Uroš, zbudi se, AKCIJA!’’ – nekako uspem zbuditi svojo že na pol izklopljeno glavo, sledil je manever izobešanja čim večje možne površine jader, da se s poslednjimi sapicami rešim skal – v paniki dvignem veliki genaker, pripravim tudi sidro, če manever slučajno ne uspe in prej lično pospravljena barka je že totalen kaos. Za las uspem zgrešiti skale, a kljub polnim jadrom vetra, močan tok zmaguje in rdeči svetilnik se vedno bolj oddaljuje. Medijski čolni očitno še niso opazili, moja jeza pa.
Veter je ponehal in s hitrostjo 2kts vzvratno zapuščam ciljno linijo Horte v smeri odprtega morja. Zdaj je tudi za sidranje že pregloboko. Vrnem se šele, ko se obrne tok ali pojača veter. V daljavi vidim luči približujočih se prvih zasledovalcev. Medijski čolni se urno napotijo k njim. Zadnji navali jeze terjajo poslednje zaloge energije. Dobesedno zgrudim se na vreče z jadri v kokpitu in na mestu zaspim. Zbudim se dobro uro kasneje. Vetra še vedno ni, ampak črta v daljavi nakazuje da prihaja. Tudi tok je pojenjal. ”Mamo kar mamo, smo kjer smo, akcija.” S svežim vetrom in ob jutranji zarji se vrnem v Horto. Ene štiri ure po mojem prvem ‘’Evo nas’’. Z novo težko zlato izkušnjo v žepu. Ne nosim pasu. Hlače mi pridno lezejo dol. Ampak ni jih odveč tu pa tam potegniti višje…
Tolaži me dejstvo: ‘’Shit like that just can not happen twice!’’