THE Fastnet race—famous among yachtsmen the world over for its tough course of over 600 miles from Cowes to round the Fastnet rock off the south-west of Ireland—is contested only by strong and experienced crews. This year there were nearly 250 crews from many countries, and they included 47 of 'pick of the pick' forming the Admiral's Cup teams from 17 countries.

It was a record in 1971, not only for the number of entries, but for the speed of the first yacht home, and this meant ample strong winds. Yet there vere quiet times as well, moments when the crews had to use their wits to creep against contrary tides, especially round headlands like Portland Bill. Start Point or the Lizard.

It was dusk when we approached the Lizard in light wind conditions. I was sailing in] 'izard of the Bermuda Admiral's Cup team close beside the British team captain, Ted Heath, in his Morning Cloud. Should we stand in to search for the eddy off Bass Point shown to me by the coxswain of the Lizard/Cadgwith crew, or should we tack out to sea looking for the slacker tides several miles south of the Lizard? The life-boat crew, a year or two ago, had also shown me a close-up view of the Men Hyrt rocks, into which that eddv could soeasily take a boat, and had warned that there was no gap between these rocks and the Lizard race.

However, there were signs of more wind to come, so when Morning Cloud tacked for the open water, we stood on planning, to keep just clear of those rocks, but to rely on the rising wind to carry us through the tidal race. A mile or two ahead I had seen two rather bigger yachts apparently risking a course even closer to the rocks; one I had recognised as a team mate, whose skipper and navigator had discussed with us an hour or two before the start this very problem of rounding the Lizard against the tide. Every detail had been carefully thought out by experienced yachtsmen, and no doubt this was much the same aboard most of the competitors.

Naturally I was intrigued by how those two yachts ahead would fare, and kept a careful watch through the binoculars, hoping to see their lights as they turned out from the eddy close inshore.

Suddenly my binoculars were blinded by a flash, and with naked eyes I saw a red flare of distress climb into the sky from just about the bearing of Men Hyrt rocks; a few seconds later a second flare followed. Someone was in real trouble, and I had little doubt that it was one of those yachts.

It was easy to imagine the businesslike activity in the Coastguard Station on the cliff top close above the casualty.

I could almost, in my mind, see the coastguard watchkeeper ringing through to the R.N.L.I.

honorary secretary at Ruan Minor. I could imagine Lindsay Britton's voice as he gleaned a quick summary of the situation, and I knew that he would waste no time in calling out the life-boat crew. It would be Maurice Legg, the coxswain, he would be giving his orders to, I presumed.

'We'll see the maroon any moment now', I said to those in the cockpit of Wizard. And it was just then that it fired over the headland. It looked to me as though it had come from the Lizard Hotel, whose host had been chairman of the life-boat committee when I was last there; it was there that I had been told by Peter Mitchell, the life-boat engineer who had worked the rocks off the Lizard for a livelihood, how a ground swell sometimes sets in without warning long before any strong wind, and gives conditions that would be thoroughly dangerous to any boats close to the rocks.

I prayed that the ground swell would keep away until any yacht in trouble had got clear.

Yet even as I watched, it seemed that a swell had begun to come in from the Atlantic Ocean.

'Where does the life-boat come from?' asked an American crewmate with me.'By Kilcobben Cove, just there', I pointed, and almost at that moment the lights switched on to form a line down the face of the cliff.

'My God, do they throw it in from that cliff top?' someone asked.

'Just about that', I answered. 'Those lights show a lift down the cliff face, and the life-boat itself ;s on a slip at the foot of that.' Soon afterwards I could see the door of the life station open, and could imagine the crew donning their oilskins and life-jackets ready for the launch.

'Surely the swell is getting bigger', I suggested, but no one else seemed to notice this, so it was probably my imagination.

We had ample to do in sailing our boat, so I did not see the actual launch in the darkness.

Indeed the next I saw was another red flare climb up into the dark sky from the sea somewhere near Bass Point. My first anxious thought was that the other yacht might also be in trouble, perhaps having hit-the wreck a couple of hundred yards out from the point.

Yet then a red light showed moving fast along the base of the cliff near Hot Point. It was obviously the life-boat afloat, and perhaps the coastguards had advised the first yacht to fire another flare to show her position to the life-boat.

Soon we could see that the life-boat was in contact with a craft of some sort, and not long afterwards she was making slow speed away from the danger area.

By that time I was quite convinced that the swell had increased; certainly we directed our course further offshore. If another yacht was to get into trouble, those on board certainly could not expect such speedy help until the Lizard-Cadgwith boat got back on station, although I could imagine Lindsay Britton ringing his neighbouring honorary secretary, Dr. I. Wort at Coverack, warning him that there were a couple of hundred craft afloat in the Lizard area with his own boat off station.

If the casualty remained afloat, we conjectured, perhaps the life-boat would tow her into Falmouth. If all went well, was the general feeling, at least the rescued would be able to give their rescuers a bit of a party to prepare them for spending the rest of the night getting back to Kilcobben Cove.An Apology In an article contributed by Commander Erroll Bruce in the October, 1971, issue of THE LIFE-BOAT his christian name was inadvertently misspelt. For this we apologise..