After leaving the Netherlands, I had an amazing downwind sailing along the Belgian, northern-French coast, and through the Strait of Dover. Running under the fully furled genoa, I averaged 6 kt and 140 nautical miles in 24 hours. But thinking I’d bypass the unstable autumn weather of the English Channel the first big challenge

Sailing Through a Thunderstorm Front

After two amazing days of straight-downwind sailing from the Netherlands through the Dover Strait, the evening of the third day proved to be the first real test. Around 40 nautical miles north of Cap de la Hague in the middle of the English Channel and just before sunset, a huge wall of clouds suddenly blocked my way. I’ve never seen anything like this at sea before. A huge, black wall of clouds and just dark emptiness below it. There was no other choice than preparing Wolf as well as possible for the likelihood of very strong wind gusts and pushing through to the other side.

A frontal system like this is usually pretty small, and it should take not more than 20 minutes before Wolf and I are through it. I tied the second reef into the mainsail and prepared the genoa, which already was furled in quite a bit to be reefed even more. And so we entered this black void. To my surprise, there was no strong wind, but soon my worst fear became a reality. Lighting flashes. I always divide events into two categories: things I have at least some control over and those which are out of my control. And this is one of those second ones. I could just hope that the lightning wouldn’t get worse. To my relief, it just remained in the cloud and didn’t hit the surface of the ocean.

The next challenge was that ten minutes earlier, a cargo vessel had suddenly disappeared into the distance. Until then, I had been monitoring its AIS position on my chart plotter, but the visuals were limited to the tip of the bow. Now, still trapped in this dense fog, I had lost the AIS position of the enormous cargo ship. With zero visibility and no AIS information about this massive vessel that was just about a nautical mile away, I could only increase the engine speed and head away from its last known position and where I estimated it to be now.

Finally, after about 20 minutes of heavy rain and intense nerves, the sky opened up again, allowing me to savor the last rays of the sunset. Additionally, the cargo vessel appeared approximately 1.5 nautical miles west of me. Consequently, my estimates of its course and speed were remarkably accurate.

After the Rain Comes the Storm

Just as I believed I had successfully navigated Wolf through this challenging situation and was eagerly anticipating a refreshing yet enjoyable night watch, the wind suddenly intensified. Not just a slight increase, but a significant one, prompting me to make a crucial decision. With 6.5 kt of speed heading directly towards the southern English Channel, I switched to the Storm jib. After 15 minutes, with only a portion of the genoa extended and closely monitoring the evolving conditions, I made the final choice. Unfortunately, my calm night watch was over.

Then it happened. As I wanted to furl the genoa in completely to hoist my storm jib over it, the furling line, which turns the furler drum on the bow, broke loose from it. With a loud bang, the huge genoa fully unfurled itself. You get a good impression of the forces carried by a gale when that huge sail is slapping around on the foredeck, and the rigging is vibrating as I have never experienced before.

Now I was sailing downwind and right towards the front. I just sailed through, with the genoa at least stopping to slap around. With the mainsail in the third reef and the engine supporting the autopilot, I clipped myself into the lifeline and fought my way onto the foredeck. About 10 minutes later, I managed to finally furl in the huge slapping sail by turning the furler with my hands. Exhausted, I just lay on the foredeck for a minute before getting the storm jib out of the aft cabin. Setting it went perfectly, and soon I could resume an upwind course. With the current now turning and Wolf unable to maintain a southerly course, I decided to divert into Fecamp, about five hours from the French coast. On the way there, the wind calmed down again, and after a cold night sail under the storm jib, I fastened my lines in the marina of Fecamp.