“Oh, crap.” Never entirely comforting words to hear from your captain, but utterly appropriate. I heard it too, after all—the cascade of rumbling and ripping, rising gradually in pitch in the span of seconds—the sound of thousands of pounds of sailcloth shredding.
The final countdown echoed across the bay, a long-anticipated moment: "5… 4… 3… 2… 1…BEEEEEEEEP!" Just like that, a flotilla of 140 yachts was off, sails hoisted all around, headed across the Atlantic, a 2,800 nautical mile navigation towards the Caribbean.
The immense fuselage of Flight Risk sits high up on the hard in the shipyard of Cape Marina. Cabinets, hatches, panels, and furniture are still open or missing as there is still much for the owner to refit.
