Few boats have been talked about like this one has, and when you click on the PDF file and look at the drawings, you'll see why. Now THAT is what a sport boat is supposed to look like! The Cone of Silence (one of the all-time great names, btw) is of course a 30' R/P design that has been blowing people's minds Down Under with it's speed, particularly off the wind. The boat is coming west to do Transpac, and we got a few words from the owner James Neil on the boat, preparations for the 2,200 mile daysail across the pond, and a great (if a little long) story on the 2003 Sydney - Malooloobah Race . Enjoy the read and hopefully we'll get some more insight about the Transpac effort as they get a bit closer. All photos and PDF files courtesy of Reichel-Pugh. -The Ed

I used to race inshore sports boats – loved it. I used to sail offshore boats – loved that too. What I wanted was a sports boat that you take in offshore races and then trailer home behind my car. The other thing was I don’t want some barstard building a bit better one next year and making it obsolete. I think we got that, the boat is super light, has a slippery shape and packs heaps of sail – the only downer was the cost of meeting all the safety requirements which made the boat quite expensive (ridiculous !). Also you might be interested to know, I tried to get Reichel Pugh to do a canting keel boat – they talked me out of it as they reckon for a boat of this length, we are better off with a simple light boat, using a fat crew sitting out on winglets for righting moment.

For Transpac, getting it together is the problem - we are Aussies and our idea of forward thinking is remembering to buy beer on the way to the party. Needless to say it is all a bit last minute, but it looks to be coming together nicely at this point. In terms of crew, the reason we are taking 6 people is we find that with the A-sails we need some weight on the rail to ‘lean against’ to get the boat going. Even when running pretty deep to the true wind, we still seem to be pretty ‘hot’ with bodies on the rail. A bit like a skiff. You would think that with more weight there is a wind range where we don’t plane when otherwise we would if we were lighter. Obviously that is true but generally it seems that if we have some weight on the rail, we can heat up to get it planning and then head down onto course on the plane. The boat has a fair bit of power downwind - our biggest chute is just under 2000 square ft, roughly double a Mumm 30’s big chute. The boat itself is a bit lighter than a Mumm – about 2/3 the weight. Our risk in this race is that we will spend too much time displacement sailing and not enough on the plane. Your readers might also be interested in new technical details like the jet drive, the pole rotation and the minimalist deck layout - I can get much of that for you. Als for the build – it is pretty light, built it in Pre-preg Carbon over a female mould. Why a female mould ? to save the weight of the filler. All up, it tips the scales at about 3100 lbs – about 2/3 of that is keel and bulb. It will be a quite a bit heavier in the Transpac though.

| Deck Layout | Sail Plan |

A view from “The Cone”

Three hours into the 2003 Mooloolaba and I was starting to relax. The Open 70 Grundig was pulling away but otherwise our little 30 footer was showing it could hang in there with the Volvo 60’s and the IMS Maxi Brindabella. The log had been hovering between 17 and 23 for a couple of hours. The high pitched hum of water rushing over the tackline, the rope which holds the bow sprit down, had become comforting and the crew had rotated drivers and trimmers. We were settling into the routine of a long ocean race. Occasionally the helmsman would squeal “Ease”. The vang would go “Pop” and the winch would groan as the spinnaker sheet eased. The boat would bear away, the mast would point skyward once more and the helmsman’s tension would ease. Then the gear would come back on, the boat would accelerate and we would head back on course.

The driver and trimmers looked tense but the rest of the crew looked like the lottery winners you see on TV. Smiling. A bit sheepish around the eyes. Nervous; it’s just a dream and someone is going to wake them up.

There was no doubt in my mind; this was a new kind of Thirty Footer. I had been sailing ‘thirties’ for 20 years. For the first 15 years I never got one to go faster than 10 knots, except for a second or two down a wave. This one had been doing over 20 in flat water inside the harbour.

I think Syd Fisher knew he was seeing something new too. Near South Head, a gust hit and The Cone blew past Ragamuffin like she was parked. I looked over at Syd – Rag’s owner. Legend. Veteran of countless races. Initially he looked a bit shocked. A thirty had passed his Grand Prix 50. Then he grinned and gave us the big thumbs up.

The Cone of Silence is a new Riechel Pugh ‘JOG Super 30’ – 9.6M long. At 1500kgs it is about the same weight as an Etchells but with two thirds of that weight 8 ft 6 down under the water and 8 times the sail area of an Etchells, the power to weight equation has obvious implications.

The Cone was built by Mark Matthews of Brenmark Industries in Queensland. Mark is best known for designing and building Cherubs. The construction was in pre-preg carbon with a nomex core - which means the boat is not only light but super strong and rigid too. The mast is carbon. The bunks are carbon. The 4 metre bowsprit is carbon. Pretty much everything is carbon except the flushing toilet. (Flushing toilet? Sports boat owners have wives to please too.)

At the briefing on Monday night the forecast was grim. Four days of strong northerlies….. And rain for those who find beating to windward in twenty knots in a 30-foot boat too dry. When we got out on the racecourse it was 25 knots from the south with stronger gusts and more wind forecast. Things were definitely looking up.

The pin looked like it would be the busiest end to start. It had the best angle to the Heads but we decided a 30 footer starting there would be blanketed. We started near the pin, relatively conservatively, looking for clean air rather than being right on the line. We got it, soon our smallest ‘green’ fractional kite was drawing and off we went skidding down the harbour, trying to stay out of trouble. It seemed like five minutes later and we were at South Head. Third out and well pleased with ourselves - behind Grundig and the 80 ft sled Broomstick but in front of Brindabella, the Farr 52 and the two Volvo 60’s.

That pleasure was short lived. It was inevitable that on the two sail reach to North Head the big boats would pass us. Several did but at North Head, we turned left again and set the green kite, back on equal terms with the big boys doing 16 and accelerating to 20 down the waves.

Things then got very wet for a while. The No. 4 headsail had got caught in the Tuff Luff coming down and we couldn’t leave the sail on the bow as it kept getting washed away. A man went to the bow to clear the problem. While he was there everyone else was literally hanging over the stern trying to prevent the boat from doing a front somersault. The boat charged over most waves but through quite a few. When it went through one the boat became a white water raft, with foam sluicing through the cockpit and out the open transom. As for the bowman, each time the boat buried its snout he disappeared into white water and then came up and snorting and shaking his head like a dog after a swim - if we hadn’t been so petrified it would have been hilarious. After 20 minutes he gave up, cut the sail off and dragged it aft exhausted. One sail was dead but trimmers and driver could relax a bit as the bow of the boat was up and planing well out of the water, no danger of a pitch-pole.

Two hours later.

“Bobsled. What a bloody broach !” was the shout. I looked behind to see what can only be described as an “A Grade Broach” for 66-foot sled. Masthead almost in the water, spinnaker pole broken. Ouch. A few minutes later, they picked themselves up and got going. In retrospect it should have been an ominous sight.

So three hours of glory, I’m relaxed. Then what happened ?

The inevitable. The broach wasn’t bad but in that strength of wind and that sea we just couldn’t bear off for a minute or so. The spinnaker didn’t take too kindly to the flogging and decided not to participate in the rest of the race. It had shredded. Later analysis showed the clips had pierced the material during a flog and created a hole – after that shredding in that weight of breeze was inevitable.

Second sail dead and the only decent one for hard running gone.

With the green chute gone and having the left 10 lb conventional spinnaker pole on the dock (due to overzealous weight saving by the Owner) we could not pole out a headsail. Sensibly therefore, we decided to go for a bigger spinnaker.

Up went the purple masthead ‘chute. It lasted approximately 13 seconds before our own “A Grade Broach”. Proving that we were fast learners, we took it off pronto. It was a long race and it wasn’t going to do us much good to shred all the kites in the first 100 miles.

Next up, the Code zero. Not really blowing the 0 to 10 knots that Quantum recommends but what the hell, it was big and we had Rory the sail maker on board who reckons he can fix anything. It lasted an hour before a broach and flogging caused “technical problems.” It too retired hurt

Three sails down.

Without the pole and without a suitable spinnaker we had to two sail reach with the number 3 and full main, sailing hotter angles than the rest of the fleet to keep the jib full. The breeze was still up, maybe 30 knots now and the seas were about 3 metres (our wind speed was knackered, so we were just guessing). The mood on board was a bit dark. We knew our opponents in the other fast thirties would be slipping away under spinnakers while we were tooling along under a jib and in the wrong direction.

About 9 pm we gybed onto port and headed back towards the coast steering about 350° or about 20 degrees left of the rhum line. Our pre-race strategy was that we would just try to get north as fast as possible and would be happy to stay offshore until at least Crowdy Head. At about 0430, as we closed the coast the breeze veered to the southwest. This was merciful for us; we could stop slashing our wrists, as the wind change meant the other boats would have to drop their kites too.

By daylight we were off Port Macquarie the wind had moderated enough to get the medium sized purple asymmetric spinnaker back on. We were back ‘racing’.

The morning sked and our worst fears were realized. Tow Truck, a Mumm 30, was 24 miles in front. Krakatoa, Rod Skellet’s Young 31 was 5 miles in front. The Tow Truck had clearly had a blinder during the night as they were also 7 miles in front of the IMS 50’s Ragamuffin and Quest. Later, in bar talk, Tow Truck’s crew would claim they left the ‘chute up all night because no was brave enough to go forward and take it down.’ Either way it was a hell of an effort from the group of young Newcastle sailors. (For “young” read “not old enough to care about the consequences.”)

During that morning we ran under the middle sized purple asymmetric in light to moderate S-SE winds. We were inshore because sailing with two sails had driven us there - there wasn’t much current. Rory, the sail maker set to work on the code zero we wrecked the night before. With stitching and Kevlar tape he had it ‘good to go’ in a few hours. Much followed consternation when the young sailmaker simply refused to repair the green kite - to be fair though, it was truly massacred. He claimed he needed a sewing machine, so discussions then centered on how Mark the boat’s builder could make him a carbon fibre sewing machine for next race.

Later that day the breeze moderated further and up went the big white asymmetric kite. What a monster! To give you an idea of what a silly size this kite is, consider this. Quantum have put clear panels in it. “So what?” you might ask? The clear panels are a window to see where you are going. You look THROUGH the kite, rather than under it.

I had aimed to take us on a mid course through various reefs and hazards that make up the Solitaries but the breeze faded with the light and as night fell we were forced to head up to keep the boat moving, offshore of South Solitary. Once past South Solitary we gybed onto port, heading northwest - positioning for the ‘night westerly’ on the coast. Later we were rewarded. The breeze went west and we spent most of the night on port, steering close to the rhum line with good speed on port. Occasionally we gybed to seaward when we ran out into the coast.

Early next morning, heading towards Ballina and Byron in WSW breeze - a little fresher. The log read “8” but the GPS said “6” over the ground. The current running at 2 knots against us was obviously becoming a factor to consider. We tried to stay high enough on port gybe under kite, to be in close at Ballina and out of the current.

At first light, a large boat was coming up from offshore under ‘white’ sails. As the light came up we could see it was Bobsled, the Maxi that had wiped out the previous day. Strewth, an MKL 49 which we had been with at dusk was visible a mile or two behind.

The morning sked was encouraging. We had cut Tow Truck’s lead down to 11 miles and Krakatoa was now 10 miles behind.

At Cape Byron, the breeze was lightish and variable with storms out to sea. The strategic choices were to either hug the coast and avoid some current or sail the rhum line directly under those storms for Point Lookout 60 odd miles away which is a right hander corner toward the finish. Who knew what would be under the thunder storm clouds, too much wind, too little, wrong direction? We chose inshore. First under headsail and then under the middle sized purple asymmetric.

Meanwhile, Bobsled, now under asymmetric was catching us and by Cudgen Head was almost abeam of us. Much to our relief the breeze lightened and went a bit more south forcing them to come up onto our line to fill their asymmetric. We gybed to come out around Cudgen Reef and crossed them by a hundred metres. This seemed too much for the 66 ft “Sled.” They must have had a tough time of it. They had broken their spinnaker pole soon after the start and had sailed the last 250 miles with only a bowsprit and asymmetric. The wind was dying and freeing making their asymmetric ineffective. And they had a 30 footer in front of them. Who could blame them when they lowered their sails, started the motor and headed for Southport Yacht Club Bar?

We spent most of that day under the big white spinnaker sneaking along the shore heading for the towers of the Gold Coast in not much breeze – trying to stay out of the current which seemed to be running at 2 knots.

Owever, H3 pm sked and bad news. Tow Truck, had pulled out to a lead of about 15 miles. Strewth however had gone out to sea and slowed - we now had 6 miles on them. Krakatoa was a bit further back than before too.

That evening was ‘champagne sailing’ under the big white asymmetric. The breeze picked up and “The Cone” was in her element, skimming along in flat water close to the shore gently on the plane at 9 knots in about 12 knots of true breeze. First the music and lights from the bars of the Gold Coast in twilight, then the quiet beauty of Stradbroke Island in the dark. Fantastic.

Occasionally we gybed out to sea to wake everyone up and to avoid running it up the beach. I mused to myself that watching the shore on the chart plotter was more fun than in the days before GPS. In those days we would locate the shore in the dark by tensely listening and looking for breakers. More than a few times the shore was located in a more drastic fashion.

Things continued to look rosy until a few miles before Pt Lookout, that left hand turn toward Cape Moreton, Moreton Bay and the finish. The South Westerly died suddenly. We parked.

Later, the breeze swung 180 degrees and a light easterly sprang up. Up went the code zero and now we were trying to claw off the bricks to miss Boat Rock off Point Lookout. As we rounded, two boats appeared from offshore. It was dark but we were pretty sure one was Strewth (still bloody there!) Being offshore, they must have picked up the easterly breeze earlier than us and won back that 6 miles despite the current. They came up quickly under spinnaker and then bore away behind us toward Cape Moreton. “They are going inside the rocks, why can’t we?” moaned The Cone’s crew. Ten seconds later Strewth dropped the kite and made a sharp right hand turn, following us around the outside of the rock. The whining stopped.

Approaching Cape Moreton The breeze was light and all over the place as we turned left for the last 30 odd miles across Moreton Bay to the finish. Then it died altogether. We could see plenty of lightening from rainsqualls around however.

Next was 15 knots from the South West – another 180-degree swing. Shy kite up, 10 knots on the log and everyone looking nervously at the lightning and the clouds of rainsqualls. The breeze was all over the place – both in velocity and direction. The trick seemed to be to just hang onto the kite, even if it took you 30° off course. Continuously changing between kite and headsail is slow in a little boat and when the rain of each squall cleared you could climb back up to course again. This set the pattern for the rest of the night. Squalls causing big wind shifts and giving the crew a tough final work out when they could almost taste that first rum and coke.

About 0400 there was discussion on the rail as to whether the bright flashing light was Coloundra or Pt Cartwright. Two of our crew knew the area well and insisted it was Coloundra so we headed lower for a while. A prudent check of the electronics however showed the bright flasher was indeed Pt Cartwright – the finish. A few miles from Cartwright we dropped the purple kite and went to the code zero for a 70° reach in - still doing 8-9 knots. A boat directly astern in the dark: Strewth still!

Rounding Cartwright we were perplexed to find that the race committee had moved the finish line in the ten years since any of us had done a Mooloolaba. Luckily, the boat behind us knew where to go and kept on sailing, so we kept our sails up past the breakwater where we were ready to take them down and we sailed on madly reading the sailing instructions. Eventually we located the finish a mile or so further on. One final drag to the finish, all the time anxiously looking over the stern as the 49 footer, now visible as Strewth in the improving light slowly mowed us down with its longer waterline under two sails.

The Cone of Silence finished at 0600 on the 12th, a time of exactly 2 days 17 hours. An hour and half behind Quest and Ragamuffin. Strewth finished 40 seconds later. As we finished another boat appeared out of the gloom to leeward, heading for the finish. Tow Truck! To this day I don’t know how we caught that last 20 miles. Neither do they.

The 2003 Mooloolaba was a great race for the fast thirties. Tow Truck sailed a sensational race and was a well-deserved winner overall on IRC, Krakatoa was second on IRC. The Cone’s bowsprit is treated so harshly by IRC that it makes unrealistic to race on IRC so it raced on PHS. We finished 3rd on PHS which we thought was OK. Our PHS handicap was a shocker. In the Coffs Race at Christmas The Cone had beaten all boats under 50 feet. As the Coffs was our only “performance” and this was “Performance Handicap” the CYC’s handicapper decided on “performance” we should give all boats under 50 ft five percent. (mmmm, stop whining.)

Most importantly for us though, we had won the thirty footers race. Just. And miraculously. This was great cause for celebration for us. Tow Truck and Krakatoa also had much to celebrate too of course which explains the unruly scenes at the thirty footers lengthy ‘debriefing’ at the bar.

Something really seems to be happening with the Thirties. There are now well over a dozen really quick 30’s in Australia – all capable of finishing with the 50s in the right conditions. As CYC Director Roger Hickman said at the presentation, “Once upon a time you would finish a long race and it would be the maxi crews in the bar - now it is the scurrilous thirties.”

06/01/2003