GISPY MOTH IV What’s it really like to sail Chichester’s iconic boat? Come aboard and let us show you
Sir Francis Chichester’s circumnavigation has inspired generations of sailors, but what is his famous boat really like to sail? Theo Stocker went to find out
A face popped up alongside the boat. ‘Is this the real
Gipsy Moth IV?’ Looking over the gunwale were two kayakers alongside the boat. Having assured them that it was, they asked if they might touch her, ‘as it might give us a bit more strength.’
It doesn’t take long sailing on Gipsy Moth IV to realise that the boat in which Sir Francis Chichester made his famous circumnavigation in 1966-67 still has enormous significance for sailors and the public at large, both in Britain and internationally.
Time and again, people wanted to know if this was
the boat, and to recount stories of when they’d seen the boat at the Greenwich Maritime Museum, sailed in her since her relaunch, or had been there when Chichester first returned home. Even the vast Swiss superyacht against which we moored Gipsy Moth IV took our lines happily: ‘It’s an honour to have such a boat alongside us,’ they said.
I was on board Gipsy Moth IV, having been invited to sail in her in the 2019 Fastnet Race, a chance at which I jumped. So it was with some excitement that I joined the iconic boat — no hyperbole given that she appears inside the back cover of all new British passports — on her home berth at Buckler’s Hard on the Beaulieu River. I would be sailing with skipper and mate Ricky and Kirstie Chalmers, and crew Steve and Paddy. With bags stowed, we headed downriver and out into a sun-baked Solent to practise a few manoeuvres ahead of the race start the following day.
In Cowes, yachts were cramming into the marinas, and the larger yachts were lined up in the approaches. The buzz around the crowded pontoons was electric, and we set to work ticking off the final preparations for the start.
Light winds were forecast for race day; it was clear this wasn’t going to be a quick race, at least to start with. A morning briefing over tea and bacon sandwiches identified one main issue that needed resolving. The engine switch panel was causing temperamental starting, though the engine itself ran sweetly. With the clock ticking, the marina emptied around us. Start time came and went, but we would be allowed to start as long we got underway before 1900. With the engineer on board, the engine was finally deemed good to go at 1630 and we cleared off the pontoon, crossing the start line shortly after. The
fleet may have disappeared westwards down the Solent, but we set off in hot pursuit.
Light winds gave us a beautifully serene run towards the Needles, but did little to hasten our progress. We were almost within touching distance of Hurst Castle when the tide turned, slamming the gate emphatically shut in our faces. The flooding tide was soon pushing us backwards at over a knot, and we had a decision to make.
Over dinner, skipper Ricky ran through our options. Anchor and wait out the tide, but risk missing each of the subsequent tide gates in the following 24 hours in which light airs were set to continue, or switch the engine on to motor through the light airs, forcing our retirement, but opening the prospect of making it as far west as possible within reach of the rest of the fleet.
A CHANGE OF PLAN
Given that we had 600 miles to cover in six days, with most of it to windward, completing the course would be a challenge so with heavy hearts, we agreed that retirement was the most sensible option, and would give us the best few days’ sailing.
As the sun set over Keyhaven, we focused our sights afresh on a westward cruise and motorsailed against the fiercely flooding tide. Those off watch, myself included, headed below for a few hours’ kip. From my narrow, secure pipe cot, I heard the silence that follows the engine being stopped, then the quiet sounds of the boat under sail, water trickling past the hull. By the time 0200 came round and I stumbled up on deck clutching a mug of tea to relieve Steve of his watch, the little wind there had been had faded again and we were motorsailing with St Alban’s Head astern; full sail was set but with barely 4 knots of breeze on them. The tide had turned in our favour though, whisking us past the Jurassic Coast at up to 9 knots towards the loom of Portland Bill lighthouse.
By the end of my three-hour watch, the low slope of Portland Bill and its punctuating light was, like a navigational exclamation mark, five miles inshore and dropping astern.
I awoke again, disorientated, at 0945, well into the morning but with over an hour till my next watch, to find us over halfway across Lyme Bay, alone in the midst of a grey and drizzly seascape. As the foul tide turned fair to take us around Start Point, the wind finally filled in. The engine went off and we could start beating again, for the first time really letting Gipsy Moth show what she was made of.
Over lunch and with the crew all awake at the same time, Ricky explained the plan. Having retired from the Fastnet the previous night, we were now free to do as we pleased. Our motorsailing had caught us up to the back of the fleet and as we started sailing, we were free to keep going as long as we wanted. We set on a new target of the Isles of Scilly — still a significant achievement, but less arduous than the Fastnet Rock itself, and close enough that after a day or two to explore, we’d be able to get back to
Sailed fairly full, Gipsy Moth IV shouldered the mounting seas aside powerfully
Plymouth in time for the finish celebrations. Imposters, maybe, but keen ones at that.
24 hours into life at sea, the crew began to settle into their routines, and we each went our own way, with some down below catching up on sleep ahead of their next watch, others reading, while I sorted through the photos I had been taking. Gradually, the wind continued to increase as the afternoon drew into evening, and skipper Ricky was called. Under full sail, we were going along nicely now, Gipsy Moth IV finally fully powered up and pushing the mounting seas aside with ease, but we knew this was just the start of things to come; a large front was coming our way overnight. The boat would be able to stand more breeze, but she’d heel more, making the helm heavy, life uncomfortable, and ultimately slowing us down. Before darkness fell, the decision was made to swap from the number one jib to the number two. Smaller by a fifth, it was a more sensible sail for the forecast.
Sail change complete, 2000 came around again quickly and I was due on watch. With night just around the corner, I layered up in waterproofs for warmth, and taking the tiller, settled in to helming. As I got the feel for the boat, I began to enjoy myself.
Gipsy Moth prefers to be sailed fairly full, and at 40-45º to the wind, she shouldered the seas aside powerfully. Pinch up however, and she’ll drop back in speed, her momentum sapped by the waves and she develops a pitching motion. Bear away slightly and she soon gets the bit between her teeth again. Gipsy Moth also gave me a slap on the wrists for inattention; I had noticed the sheets lying on the cockpit floor, and began to coil them out of the way. By the time I looked up, her headsails were luffing and I’d lost steerage. Her bow was pushed through the wind, and we fell back on to the wrong tack. There was no hiding from that mistake. Kirstie and I set about getting speed up before tacking back to our proper course, and were soon underway again, lesson learned.
I went below at 2300 and collapsed into my pipe cot, one of two in the main saloon. Chichester himself slept in the quarter berth from where he could monitor the instruments, but it was still a thrilling sensation to listen to the rushing of the water through the cold-moulded hull, to hear the creaking of the rigging and rushing wind, and imagine being Chichester himself, sailing into the unknown.
A living, breathing experience of history.
‘Theo, you’re on’, came the quiet voice. As I opened my eyes in the dim light of morning, the boat had
gone quiet and the engine was running. We were in the lee of land, and approaching Falmouth — it was time for a stopover and to reappraise our plans. With successive fronts heading our way, the Isles of Scilly looked like an increasingly arduous slog into Force 6 or 7 and driving rain. And so Falmouth would be our furthest point west, opting for a much more leisurely exploration of some of Cornwall’s finest harbours, en route back to Plymouth for the Fastnet finish party.
DESIGN AND LEGACY
Commissioned by Francis Chichester and built by Camper & Nicholsons in Gosport, Gipsy Moth IV was designed by John Illingworth and Angus Primrose for the purpose of challenging the passage times of the wool clipper ships to Australia, boats five times the waterline length. Chichester aimed to complete the voyage in 100 days, well ahead of the average 123 days of the clipper ships. He made it to Australia in 107 days, and returned to Plymouth in 1967 after 226 days at sea, where he was knighted by the Queen using the sword of Sir Francis Drake.
It’s no secret that by the end of his record-breaking voyage, Chichester had fallen out of love with the boat. Famously, he declared: ‘Now that I have finished, I don’t know what will become of Gipsy Moth IV. I only own the stern while my cousin owns two thirds. My part, I would sell any day. It would be better if about a third were sawn off. The boat was too big for me. Gipsy Moth IV has no sentimental value for me at all. She is cantankerous and difficult and needs a crew of three — a man to navigate, an elephant to move the tiller and a 3ft 6in chimpanzee with arms 8ft long to get about below and work some of the gear.’
Having had the chance to sail Gipsy Moth IV,
I couldn’t help feeling that some of Chichester’s disdain for the boat came from the fact that he had endured a feat of solo sailing that would have made anyone ready to hang up their seaboots.
As yacht designer Nigel Irens explained, ‘Gipsy Moth IV was built part way through a major progression in yacht design. The advent of aeronautical engineering filtering into yacht design meant long keels were becoming shorter and deeper, with a higher aspect ratio. This made them more efficient, but also brought the rudder too far forward. While this may have been acceptable on inshore racing boats, Chichester’s unusually challenging voyage revealed the weakness of this development. It wasn’t long until rudders were moved aft.’
Chichester had also fallen out with the designers on aspects of the boat, having commissioned a boat of 48ft and 8 tonnes, but had got one of 53ft and 11 tonnes.
Yacht designer Allen Clarke, who has worked on many single-handed racing boats including Ellen Mcarthur’s Open 60 Kingfisher, and was taken by his parents to see Chichester sail Gipsy Moth IV back into Plymouth in 1967, agreed that it would have been an almost impossible design brief to meet:
‘There is always compromise in any design process. Chichester and
To hear the creaking of the rigging and rushing wind, I could imagine being Chichester himself, sailing off into the unknown
his designers would have been aiming for a lightweight, fast boat that was strong enough to withstand the expected weather, which would make her heavy. Over-engineered fittings would have also added weight. The engineering then was largely by trial and error and they didn’t have time for multiple iterations before Chichester set sail.’
When Gipsy Moth IV was relaunched in 2005, her first sail revealed that by modern standards she was indeed heavy, under-canvassed and tender. To stop there, however, is to ignore her remarkable voyage in a record-breaking time, and the trail she blazed for a new age of solo sailing.
‘Gipsy Moth IV defines the quintessential singlehanded race boat of her day,’ said Clarke. ‘She is built entirely around the skipper and as such was probably the first of her kind in this country. If you look at boats that followed her, like Chay Blyth’s British Steel, you can see the similarities they took from her.’
He continued, ‘It’s well known that the boat wasn’t a complete success – she was quick, but lacked form stability and balance – but with her deck and rig layout, lines led aft and windvane steering, she is the complete package for a singlehander.’
Whether you sail Gipsy Moth IV or just enjoy her sweeping lines, it’s impossible not to admire this boat and the man who sailed her.