THE NOT-SO-FAMOUS FIVE: GO ROUND THE ISLE OF WIGHTTHE NOT-SO-FAMOUS FIVE: GO ROUND THE ISLE OF WIGHTEleven years, numerous failed attempts and enough unfinished business to fill a very large WhatsApp group finally came down to five windsurfers meeting on Mudeford Sandspit one Sunday morning. There was just enough time for a quick briefing before the Famous Five promptly headed off in five slightly different directions. What followed involved broken kit, questionable equipment choices, disappearing team members, emergency repairs, expedition porridge, a night under sails and a heroic battle past the Needles. In the end, three made it all the way roundbut as youll discover from the following accounts, everyone had their own very different adventure.Below are the ramblings from Clyde Waite, James Cox, Jono Dunnett, Gregg Dunnett and Henry Cartwright in the wake of their epic quest!Clyde Waite:In 1970, Five years before I was born, a rocket called the Apollo 13 circumnavigated the moon. Apparently. Anyway, as you know the only thing that saved that mission was a big roll of Gaffa tape. Gaffa tape, duck tape or whatever you want to call it was also the saviour of this vague plan to circumnavigate the Isle of Wight. That is where the parallels end. The moon is also a lot bigger than the Isle of Wight, and further away.Seven weeks earlier I fractured and badly sprained my ankle landing an aerial at Avon beach, quite close to our launch spot. I doubted that I would be able to be fit or strong enough to windsurf on such a mission, so dis-regarded the prospect. I was still wearing one of those huge boot things. Nevertheless, the Wednesday before our proposed date, Jono Dunnett started firing up the WhatsApp group saying we had to go on the Sunday because the tides are in our favour. I was not readyAt all. (Rounding the IOW is a more complicated task than you might think. Regardless of the wind strength or direction, unless favourable tides are with you, in many spots you will just find yourself going backwards). I was unfit, I hadnt windsurfed in 7 weeks, didnt even know what kit was around. I managed to cobble together an oldish 8.5 rig and a Fanatic Cat raceboard. I also hadnt windsurfed on a raceboard in 12 years. Had I had more time I would have been able to get hold of a modern more durable rig from long time sponsors Simmer Style.The ankle was then strapped up with numerously well thought out bits of gaffa tape. It would be fine. And by and large it was. Because we made it. The bigger issue at the start was the 25 knot wind and a huge downwinder to Bembridge with an 8.5! The Gaffa tape not only was needed to fix a boom clamp that broke. The sail that ripped under the load, my bleeding hands and a small hole in Coxys bag. Without it, I would probably been drifting dangerously through the multiple shipping lane channels and the hole in Coxys bag would be a bigger hole. I doubt Tom Hanks will be up for the challenge of playing me in this feature film The IOW pt 3 but doors are open.We always planned to camp the night and made it to Shanklin at 10pm. This is where I discovered that the large orange dry bag, I strapped to the board with all my clothes in, was not actually a dry bag, but more of a bucket of water with some very not dry clothes in. Adding at least another 10kg to the board and slowing me down. A lot.The rest of the report is well documented by the other protagonists. Three of us made it back from the starting five. After the final 6 hour beat home on the south of the island, a hairy rounding of the Needles overfalls and I was probably more physically exhausted than I can remember. Hitting land my legs just gave way. One pint of water from my lovely wife Liz, then a pint of beer from my father in law and many hoops and cheers from an unexpected welcoming party elevated me to a huge high.. Jono was elated that he had finally made it round the IOW (despite having windsurfed around Britain, Europe and Japan). A special mention to Coxy who had never sailed a raceboard before and took it all in his stride, his UJ snapping clean in half upon landing. Henry and Gregg, well I am sure they will turn up one day.James Cox:Added to the IOW 2026 Whatsapp group, my plans for the next few days must change. My wife away and childcare needed, the grandparents were sent the bat-signal. The search for appropriate equipment commenced. Frantic drives up and down the south coast followed. And in time I was the proud owner of a long board of Olympic provenance and an Ezzy Cheetah whose size 8.0m size was absolutely out of my standard range. Clearly out of my depth. But at least I had the recommended kit. And with the likes of Herculean adventurer Jono, the heavily experienced Henry and the disciples of shred, Clyde and Gregg I had gentlemen I could rely on when the croutons hit the futon.Clyde where are you? I search the horizon trying to track him down. Our team scattered on our opening gambit to Hurst due to strong winds. A strategy of closer quarters was needed. What of equipment breakages and shipwrecked sailors? The lost became found and we stick together blasting like madmen into the Solent. Down-winders of righteous grandeur followed until a broken boom clamp forced us to a muddy shore to make emergency repairs.What of Jono and Gregg? And Henry? These questions lingered but press on we must until rehydration and depleted energy levels demand attention. A welcome boost of morale as Jono emerged from the chaos. News that Gregg and Henry would no longer be with us followed. We will raise a drink in their honour later. Onwards. Our minds were fixed on progress before nightfall. The sands of time were against us. We had unknown challenges ahead and I had children to collect.The rampant down-winders of the Solent ended. Cautious upwind beating in fickle offshore winds followed. Gratefully we land at Shanklin under the cloak of night. Camp was set up swiftly. Water turned to wine. Realisation that Clyde had no dry clothes. Laughter, hysterics possibly. Clyde became Long John Silver, Jono the Blue Phantom. We left Shanklin as the sun rose. The tides guided our passage beneath the cliffs. Only resting in the guiding currents that would take us to our journeys end. My hours of reckoning. Learning to make progress with daggerboard, sliding track and rail. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes became hours. Eventually re-united with Jono and Clyde under the watchful Needles. With conviction we run the gauntlet tooth and claw through the forbidding over-falls of Dolphin Sands. Onwards to the safety of Christchurch Bay.Arrived exhausted, satisfied, surprised. A glorious welcome. As if by an unseen bolt of lightning a strange significance. The final resting place of my UJ. Guided me this far, it meets its end. Board and sail separate in my hands with a dying breath.Gregg Dunnett:Fail to plan, plan to fail thats what my previous unsuccessful attempts at circumnavigating the Isle of Wight had taught me. So, when I signed up for a third attempt, I knew there could be no mistakes. I drew up a rigorous training programme involving sit-ups and a watermelon-only diet.But then I realised what if carrying out this plan resulted in me showing up my fellow adventurers? Jono has windsurfed around practically half the planet. Henry is favourite to inherit his crown as the worlds craziest windsurfing explorer when Jono finally hangs up his harness. Even Clyde was a national raceboard champion in his youth, as he never stops reminding me. And James Cox needs no introduction as a half-man, half-natural-windsurfing-freak-machine-thing.No, I couldnt risk humiliating them. The rigorous plan was set aside and instead I did absolutely nothing to prepare.It was a mistake. A big one almost as big as including me in the expedition in the first place.As we set off, the wind built steadily into five-metre-sail weather. I was wrestling an 8.5m with adjustable downhaul and outhaul and no instruction book. Was it daggerboard up and mast track forward? Pull the red rope or the blue one?Shouted instructions from Jono helped a little, but the wind was so strong he might as well have been a tiny hamster named Wilbur whose squeaky voice couldnt cut through the vicious gusts.I went down. Once, twice, three times slammed by another gust because Id pulled the wrong rope, or possibly the right rope in the wrong direction. Then down again.Every time I staggered back up, I had less energy. My soft desk-job hands hadnt touched a boom in four years and the skin was already flaking off. Soon I could manage no more than fifty metres before the next crash, and it became clear that completing the full route was impossible.So, I changed the plan again.I would become like one of those booster rockets NASA used to launch the space shuttle giving all my energy to send the others successfully around the island. The only difference was that my efforts wouldnt actually assist them in any way and were, in fact, hindering them quite considerably by making them wait for me.Still, I liked the analogy.Then came a new plan.I would get to Lepe.Lepe was where some of us had reached on an earlier attempt, travelling the opposite way around the island. If I could just make it there, I would at least have achieved something. I would have windsurfed every mile of the circumnavigation even if the two halves were eleven years apart and completed in opposite directions.It was honestly the hardest thing Ive ever done on a windsurfer, but, shepherded along by Jono, I made it. Five hours after setting off, I finally collapsed ashore at Lepe.Then I boosted Jono off, NASA-style, to catch up with the others.Fail to plan, plan to fail be damned.The island had been conquered just not all at once, or entirely by me.Jono Dunnett:I had windsurfed round Britain, Europe and Japan in preparation. Would it be enough? Would it be third time lucky for the IOW?My sail was a 9.2 Turbo and my board an IMCO, the same as James, though we had one each.It was windy enough to plane at full tilt going deep downwind. Within a few minutes, the group had separated. Clyde and James were towards the horizon; Henry was ahead somewhere; Gregg was in the water. I abandoned my attempts to herd the group and instead tried to coach Gregg, but the 8.5m sail Id lent him was too big, and his boards mast track wouldnt budge. In these conditions, Greggs gear was a tricky beast.Staying with Gregg meant stop-start sailing for me too. Hauling the sail up dozens of times was draining. We were slow getting to Hurst, our supposed rendezvous point. With no gear visible on the beach, we continued to an easier stop a mile farther on. Gregg was exhausted; my arms were cramping. My barrel had cooking gear, so we brewed coffee to lift morale. Then we sailed a little farther.At Lepe, Gregg called time on his effort.Go on without me! he said. Get round this damned island!There was nothing I could do but leave him there on that exposed slope of the seawall. The seagulls were already circling.I took Greggs board my round-Japan board and hared after Clyde and James, who were taking a breather about eight miles farther on. I arrived in time to accept a sausage sandwich from James. There had been much talk of sandwiches. In terms of taste, it met the glamour benchmark.Where was Henry? A message arrived from Hayling: apologies for absence; a reluctant bail. Two sailors down, three remaining. We were a few miles from Bembridge, the eastern tip of the IOW. Sunset was one hour away.On the last downwind leg, I broke a harness line. Then Clyde needed to stop to repair a split in his sail. We rounded the end, sailed upwind in an offshore wind, and were pushed farther offshore than was comfortable. After ninety minutes, I reached Shanklin beach, followed by James and Clyde under a nearly full moon.Clyde wrung out his soaked clothes. We lucked out and found an Indian restaurant before retiring under our sails for the night.We snoozed through a glorious pre-dawn sky. A few hours later, James and I breakfasted on expedition porridge a genuine recipe used on missions to the poles. Clyde, lactose intolerant, missed out. I was keen to get away early, make best use of the tide when it turned, and avoid the strong winds forecast from mid-afternoon.The wind shadow took a while to clear. Then the current pulled us towards St Catherines Point. Great progress. Lets push on, staying offshore to get the stronger current. In this river of favourable flow, progress was nothing short of astonishing.We regrouped just short of the Needles. The overfalls just past them looked lively, and they were. I followed the others in downwind mode on a joyous romp through the treadmill of breaking waves a treat for our decade of patience. We arrived home to a heros welcome. Cold beers were chinked between us. Friendships had deepened. So had my connection to the island. I looked back towards the chalk stacks. Even the view had changed.Henry Cartwright: (after 5 pints)The Sunday morning it was blowing 20-25 knots and we were rigged in an assortment of sails ranging from huge to gigantic. I was on a more modest 7m in order to tackle the first leg directly downwind to the island for a clockwise circumnavigation over 2 days. Despite long distance windsurfing since 2019, there was something completely new about having a convoy and other people to think about as well as the usual intensity that comes with being solo. A few smiles and handshakes on the beach and we were off. Jono led the way and I was momentarily keeping up. I was very keen not to hold up the show so made it my business to aim deep downwind, get planing and no relent in my efforts to fly downwind, picking the gusts and not falling in. I suspected the pack had gone inshore but was wary that my sail was smaller than the others so headed further out to remain powered up and hopefully keep up for the first check point, Hurst Castle. Halfway to Hurst Castle the wind was getting up and I was close to the limit, making turning around to see what the others were up to at best at best a red herring and at worst a catapult inducing thwack. Lots of gybes later and I decided to pull into the Hurst Castle spit in a rush of shingle and waves and the horrible grinding of a fin.I was slightly confused and surprised to realise I was the first there. Jono was obviously being more sociable and holding back to shepherd the flock, there were some mast track issues with James and some cobwebs to clear for Gregg after years, rather than months or weeks of not sailing. My last trip across the Bristol Channel felt a long time ago being a month prior but that excuse seemed empty in comparison to the others. It had been a long time coming for Clyde, a Southbourne local with too many years looking at the Isle without having lapped it by windsurf, only a few will know that frustration!Anyway, back on the spit I was panting and observing my watch at 184bpm. There were sweets and 7 bottles of water I had carried up the steep shingle bank, so it made sense to eat a few to lighten the load and use the eating and drinking as an excuse to wait for the others. That said, the boiling cauldron of sea to the east at the Hurst Narrows was not remotely tempting, so I decided to descend the north side of the spit and into the sheltered lagoon behind. Theoretically this would be part of the Solent had there been any water. The tide was out. So, on the seaward side I had dodged the shore-dump, remnants of wind over tide which would eek out until slack at 3pm and a horrible kit breaking mess of a sea but now on the northern side lay a muddy swamp with ankle deep water and an hour of wading, suction sounds of legs in sludge and lifting of heavy kit until eventually I was free.The Solent proper was glorious when I was eventually released. I glanced at the lighthouse, the checkpoint and with no surprises there werent any windsurfers waiting. Further ahead however an orange sail James or Clyde I fathomed, and one other sail, Clyde or James. This was great news and gave me a reason again to chase them up the western Solent. Dream conditions! I overtook lots of expensive looking yachts and they could only wave as I left them behind, sailing at a thrilling 8 knots. The board regularly hit 15 and around 20 tops.At this point as you round the Gurnard Ledge Spinnaker Tower appears and it doesnt feel that far to Hayling. Except the others had disappeared and this 7m sail wasnt making life easy. I continued to Lee on Solent to bank a position near the mainland and sat on the board looking at a misty phone screen through the plastic waterproof protector.What was the plan? I saw a photo from Jono and Gregg on the Calshot bank. Somehow I was ahead?? Gregg looked finished, lying out on the beach this didnt look much like an Isle of Wight circumnavigation. There were messages below the photo and I documented one of my own to share, which looked unrealistically cheery. I was in fact quite tired. Setting off on the next broad reach towards the Isle the thought soon dawned that I could return to Hayling and bail out of the Isle of Wight circumnavigation. Were all bets off? Would they make it to the Isle but not back let alone around? I had been there before, three times. The thought of hiring a van to get an expensive ferry to retrieve my kit from a hidden hedge wasnt that tempting. And Hayling was maybe 8 miles away.I tried to bear away as much as possible and, skirting around the Sail GP event with all its buzzing fuss of ribs and helicopters, decided that a DNF would be okay. Several gybes later and I returned to HISC after 50 miles and a hard six hours. I assumed that was really it and the others, like me would find their own face-saving bail outs. That wasnt to be. The evening wore on and I washed down my kit and they were still windsurfing. Shower, changed. They were sill windsurfing. It was now 8pm and there were some pings and photos of Jono tending to one of the others ripped sails, emergency patch. They were still windsurfing. And now as the moon was high and dusk had truly descended three windsurfers, Jono, James and Clyde drifted across Shanklin Bay to land on Isle of Wight. It was the perfect staging post for what was to come.The following day they rose early and with a mix of jealously and relief I observed them advance westwards around the island, across the treacherous overfalls of the Needles and back to Hengitsbury Head to complete a many year long dream, congrats guys!The post THE NOT-SO-FAMOUS FIVE: GO ROUND THE ISLE OF WIGHT appeared first on Windsurf Magazine Online.