As the last heat of the sun faded opposite Table Mountain, BP Explorer languished in a fickle breeze and we watched as Stelmar ghosted along beside us to port and Imagine it. Done flanked the golden beaches hugging the coastline to the west of the last of our three great capes - the Cape of Good Hope. The mast of Spirit of Sark, meanwhile, crept quietly away from us dead ahead in the building fog. The line of wind to starboard seemed to favour Imagine inshore and our genoa flapped sickeningly whilst we began to fear the worst - the possibility of losing the podium place which we have fought so relentlessly for over five tough weeks. The sun sank, and a band of colour melted behind Team Stelmar, lighting up a purple line of fog in front of their hull.
Suddenly, the breeze shifted. Imagine appeared to slide backwards and with a wind-shift aft, we unexpectedly found ourselves able to hoist the lightweight kite. It went up like a dream - everyone performing their roles seamlessly just when they needed to! BP Explorer lifted her skirts and began to glide away from Stelmar, who pursued us under No.1 yankee and staysail. All too soon, however, they were kiting it as well and hot on our heels. Spirit of Sark for now swallowed up into the fog, we played each gentle breath of breeze sent our way and inched away from Stelmar slowly but surely, covering her every move as she bore away and tried to sail cross behind us to starboard. The time for watch changeover came and went and with all 18 crew on deck we nurtured every 0.1 of a knot of speed out of our spinnaker. Each little move that you make in these conditions affects boat speed and nothing was left to chance. By 11pm boat time we were over a mile ahead of her and thinks were looking up!
Over the evening and into the night, the winds have shifted and built, stabilised and dropped and built again. Everyone is tired and digging deep to make the necessary sail changes (and even a reef at one point!) slick and fast. Accompanied by spectacular phosphorescence, which lights up atop the
welcome waves - and even the ominous forms of sharks - we have by turns inched and flown our way towards the last waypoint, Cape Town!
Our final position of second place has been hard-won; and the light-winds lottery which looked set to betray our efforts has not done so. The gods have been kind but here on BP Explorer we certainly feel like we deserve it. Each and every crew member has given their all and David, the watch leaders and our navigators have made great tactical calls throughout these final tense hours. Finally we are here and boy it feels good! It is an experience none of us will ever forget. How do we feel? ELATED one and all!
Naomi Cudmore
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Monday, April 4, 2005
35o41S 21o46E
With any luck, if the Gods are with us, we have about 24 hours to go. That said there is a good chance that the favourable winds that should carry us to within sight of Cape Town might die as we approach, leaving us wallowing in a windless sea. The good news is that we have caught up with Spirit of Sark once more and can see them on the horizon about five miles away.
Imagine It. Done. is some 15 miles ahead of us. It is all getting very exciting. All around us are quite large waves, which mean that we are rolling around a lot making steering and controlling (trimming) the kite very difficult. The helms have to fight the wheel and there are some spectacular boom dips, which send the snake pit crew lurching for the winches to protect us if it escalates into a broach. The important thing for us is to not look necessarily at how to go even faster but to make sure we don't do something wrong and damage something thus throwing away all we've done in the last weeks. Through all this, David and the watch leaders are the epitome of total calm and laugh and joke with the rest of the crew whenever they can. Yeah right! I'm sure anyone reading this is not going to fall for a tale as tall as the poo in a bucket one of a few days ago. They are less than calm because they know that when there is only five miles separating us and second place and a further ten for first, a one knot difference in boat speed is a massive advantage and one cock up total disaster.
Another layer, if not most of our layers, has been removed and it's down to shorts and t-shirts on deck. The skies are clear but for a few wispy clouds and the sea, for the first time that I can recall, is a jade green rather than the deep blue we've seen for most of the voyage. I don't know why, it just is. There is, a last, some would say desperate, hunt for any goodies/treats before the end of the leg and such things become plentiful again and the market for trading disappears. This will be my last log for this leg and, as is customary, I'd just like to thank everyone for their support and complements regarding my often-rushed efforts. Stay tuned for Naomi's log tomorrow and the continued exploits of the BP Ocean Racing Team on the next leg - Cape Town to Boston.
John Stewart would like to add some birthday greetings to Maura and Kevin. Happy Birthday, I'm sure he'll be having a few beers in your honour tomorrow - we hope.
John Bass
Imagine It. Done. is some 15 miles ahead of us. It is all getting very exciting. All around us are quite large waves, which mean that we are rolling around a lot making steering and controlling (trimming) the kite very difficult. The helms have to fight the wheel and there are some spectacular boom dips, which send the snake pit crew lurching for the winches to protect us if it escalates into a broach. The important thing for us is to not look necessarily at how to go even faster but to make sure we don't do something wrong and damage something thus throwing away all we've done in the last weeks. Through all this, David and the watch leaders are the epitome of total calm and laugh and joke with the rest of the crew whenever they can. Yeah right! I'm sure anyone reading this is not going to fall for a tale as tall as the poo in a bucket one of a few days ago. They are less than calm because they know that when there is only five miles separating us and second place and a further ten for first, a one knot difference in boat speed is a massive advantage and one cock up total disaster.
Another layer, if not most of our layers, has been removed and it's down to shorts and t-shirts on deck. The skies are clear but for a few wispy clouds and the sea, for the first time that I can recall, is a jade green rather than the deep blue we've seen for most of the voyage. I don't know why, it just is. There is, a last, some would say desperate, hunt for any goodies/treats before the end of the leg and such things become plentiful again and the market for trading disappears. This will be my last log for this leg and, as is customary, I'd just like to thank everyone for their support and complements regarding my often-rushed efforts. Stay tuned for Naomi's log tomorrow and the continued exploits of the BP Ocean Racing Team on the next leg - Cape Town to Boston.
John Stewart would like to add some birthday greetings to Maura and Kevin. Happy Birthday, I'm sure he'll be having a few beers in your honour tomorrow - we hope.
John Bass
Sunday, April 3, 2005
36 52 S 26 42 E
As we emerged on deck last night, we were greeted with a spectacular starry display punctuated by the unblinking beacon of Venus. The moon not yet up, the southern-hemisphere constellations decorated our perfect canopy with a blaze of light, casting their own white star-paths on the water. There is nothing quite as lovely as helming in a fair wind with a star as your guide; it beats the red gloaming of the compass which we have followed through the endless greys of the dark latitudes hands down. Unfortunately, however, the stars have been more like a kaleidoscope on a slow spin than the source of any 'ever-fixed mark' during the past night - as our track on the MaxSea will testify. We have been labouring in swirling, feather-light puffs of breeze and cursing a strong Agulhas current coming towards us. Together, these factors have resulted in the quite demoralising sight of minus-speeds towards the waypoint lit up on the instruments in front of the wheel. We have drawn a picture not dissimilar to the outline of England minus the West Country and East Anglia in a ragged and circuitous red line on the chart (see picture)! Yesterday we ended a 24-hour run having travelled 240 miles; by comparison, over the last 6-hour session we sliced just 2.6 miles off our distance to waypoint. Most of us have temporarily stopped plaguing Andrew and Stephen for an ETA, which at this speed will be some time next Christmas.
As we ooo'd and aaah'd at an incredible moonrise come one in the morning, things did not improve. But there is no denying that this was a beautiful sight. Like a wedge of Edam cheese melting around the edges, the yellow moon slid, sylph-like, up out of the sharp black horizon, lying on it's side in a sleepy man-in-the-moon pose as it took up it's rightful place in the sky and stole brilliance from all the stars around it. Even better than the moon though was the pinprick light which, after some debate, we were soon able to identify out to the west, also just on the horizon. Some thought it impossible given our glacially-slow progress, but the navigation light of Spirit of Sark it could only be. It got our hearts racing and all of us running up and down the companionway to check if the latest scheds had come in yet. Finally, after a cruel delay, they arrived and confirmed our hopes - just in front of us, at four-and-a-half miles distant, there they were!
Sadly, our pleasure was to prove as short-lived as a meagre boat ration of chocolate. As Cop's watch came on deck at two, they joined in our elation and took over the onerous task of trying desperately to get BP Explorer going and escape the useless slap of still water on her hull. But, inch by inch, Spirit of Sark slipped away on a stolen breeze. This morning's scheds show them once again over ten miles away. Meanwhile, with the lightweight kite up, we wade as if through mud to try to reach her. The battle of the bog-doors-on versus the bog-doors-off goes, and on.
On which, happier note I would like to point out that any of you who are worried about our sanitary well-being in the wake of Friday's log might like to check the date on which it was written! We are, in fact, still delighting in the dubious pleasures of plenty of Kimberley-Clarke public-toilet-style loo roll AND fully-functioning heads.
And on a personal but important front I would like to wish my brother Tom a VERY Happy Birthday. With lots of love and hugs Tommy. I will see you in La Rochelle. Xxx
Naomi Cudmore
As we ooo'd and aaah'd at an incredible moonrise come one in the morning, things did not improve. But there is no denying that this was a beautiful sight. Like a wedge of Edam cheese melting around the edges, the yellow moon slid, sylph-like, up out of the sharp black horizon, lying on it's side in a sleepy man-in-the-moon pose as it took up it's rightful place in the sky and stole brilliance from all the stars around it. Even better than the moon though was the pinprick light which, after some debate, we were soon able to identify out to the west, also just on the horizon. Some thought it impossible given our glacially-slow progress, but the navigation light of Spirit of Sark it could only be. It got our hearts racing and all of us running up and down the companionway to check if the latest scheds had come in yet. Finally, after a cruel delay, they arrived and confirmed our hopes - just in front of us, at four-and-a-half miles distant, there they were!
Sadly, our pleasure was to prove as short-lived as a meagre boat ration of chocolate. As Cop's watch came on deck at two, they joined in our elation and took over the onerous task of trying desperately to get BP Explorer going and escape the useless slap of still water on her hull. But, inch by inch, Spirit of Sark slipped away on a stolen breeze. This morning's scheds show them once again over ten miles away. Meanwhile, with the lightweight kite up, we wade as if through mud to try to reach her. The battle of the bog-doors-on versus the bog-doors-off goes, and on.
On which, happier note I would like to point out that any of you who are worried about our sanitary well-being in the wake of Friday's log might like to check the date on which it was written! We are, in fact, still delighting in the dubious pleasures of plenty of Kimberley-Clarke public-toilet-style loo roll AND fully-functioning heads.
And on a personal but important front I would like to wish my brother Tom a VERY Happy Birthday. With lots of love and hugs Tommy. I will see you in La Rochelle. Xxx
Naomi Cudmore
Saturday, April 2, 2005
37' 07S 27' 12E
Holes! Some as tiny as your fingernail others bigger, that's what we are looking for and dreading. It's spinnaker weather on BP Explorer and every time we hoist we scan the kite for any damage. To be able to fly in light winds the spinnakers are made of a very light nylon similar to the material used in the pack-away rain jackets you get from camping shops. This makes them very susceptible to damage especially if they wrap around some of the rigging or catch on something as they're dropped. The winds are a bit fluky at the moment so that means a lot of hoists and drops. The ones at night are the most worrying. The nights are very dark when there is no moon and everything is checked and re-checked to make sure there are no costly mistakes. When it is hoisted torches sweep over it like search lights during the blitz. When the slightest of holes is spotted we drop and hoist another kite in its place and fix the hole before it gets any bigger. Extra care during these procedures can mean gained miles on yachts that are not so diligent and have had something go wrong - often the only advantage you can get. We have been gaining steadily on Imagine It. Done. during the times when the spinnaker is up and we hope that this may be a weakness in their sailing that we can exploit. Spirit of Sark are more elusive and are pretty much holding their distance between us, they are also gaining on Imagine It. Done. Today has been very hectic and before the end of it we'll have probably hoisted all our kites and the headsails. The sun shines on deck and we are down to green mid-layer bottoms and long sleeved shirts, though in the shade a jacket is needed. Below, the flatter sea means showers and a chance to clean off the last few weeks grime. The thick Mountain Equipment sleeping bags have been replaced with just a thermal liner and maybe thermals though most of us are now down to the minimum (just enough to keep our mystique you understand). Major Malhi gave us another one of his inspirational speeches today and although we tease him over his 'football manager' style what he says is spot on. "We deserve a win because every one of us has put the 100% effort in what is the most difficult leg of the race," he said. "What we have to do now is hold it together and find that extra 1% for the last few days".
Squid are proving something of a hazard and they seem to be firing themselves onto the deck in large numbers. Such is the risk of injury to the helm they have taken to wearing riot police type helmets as protection. Just when you think you've seen everything in this race something else slaps you in the face - quite literally.
John Bass
Squid are proving something of a hazard and they seem to be firing themselves onto the deck in large numbers. Such is the risk of injury to the helm they have taken to wearing riot police type helmets as protection. Just when you think you've seen everything in this race something else slaps you in the face - quite literally.
John Bass
Friday, April 1, 2005
38' 36S 32' 50E
The whole of March spent at sea, almost 6,000 miles sailed and just 740 miles to Cape Town! We celebrated all of this, plus the fact that we have now officially left the Southern Ocean and the Roaring Forties behind us, with that elusive bottle of Jura which we yesterday found safely wedged in the box of toilet roll. (And, unlike Spirit of Sark, we are lucky enough not to have any shortage of that.)
On which note, it has to be said that although we are in pretty good spirits above decks - we have pulled away from those behind us and second place is there for the taking just 12 miles in front - the same cannot be said for life 'downstairs'. Here we have been having a pretty crap time of it (excuse the language). On starboard tack, it has for some time been impossible to use the starboard head (the one on the high side), because it back-pumps and presents the user with a nasty surprise about 30 seconds after use. This has never before been a problem, however. We have grown accustomed to long queues to use the bathroom but the simple solution has just been to only use the low-side head when on starboard tack. Unfortunately, yesterday, one of the beefier men among the crew (no names mentioned, and it was not their fault anyway!) was quietly sitting wedged in the port head when a massive wave hit. They clearly had not wedged themselves in tightly enough though, and flew up into the air (otherwise known in the trade as a 'heads bronco'). They landed back down on the toilet with such a thump that they completely cracked the bowl, thus rendering the port head totally unusable. As everyone knows, David takes his racing seriously and he refuses to tack the boat at intervals to enable us all to go to the loo, so whilst on starboard tack we have only one choice. Our safety rules include an absolute ban on relieving oneself over the side, thus we have now installed a bucket in the port head.
Use of the bucket is not a lot of fun! For a start it is not a very sturdy bucket, the handle came off weeks ago and it just has a rope as a carrying device. Short of someone being landed with the horrible job of emptying other people's offerings, the only option is for each and every crew member is to empty the bucket each and every time. The boat is beginning to smell. very, very badly. Wet, five-week-old socks have a note of bluebells and an English spring about them by comparison. We are not celebrities but, as we screamed out at our first passing ship late last night, 'please, PLEASE - GET US OUT OF HERE!'
Naomi Cudmore
On which note, it has to be said that although we are in pretty good spirits above decks - we have pulled away from those behind us and second place is there for the taking just 12 miles in front - the same cannot be said for life 'downstairs'. Here we have been having a pretty crap time of it (excuse the language). On starboard tack, it has for some time been impossible to use the starboard head (the one on the high side), because it back-pumps and presents the user with a nasty surprise about 30 seconds after use. This has never before been a problem, however. We have grown accustomed to long queues to use the bathroom but the simple solution has just been to only use the low-side head when on starboard tack. Unfortunately, yesterday, one of the beefier men among the crew (no names mentioned, and it was not their fault anyway!) was quietly sitting wedged in the port head when a massive wave hit. They clearly had not wedged themselves in tightly enough though, and flew up into the air (otherwise known in the trade as a 'heads bronco'). They landed back down on the toilet with such a thump that they completely cracked the bowl, thus rendering the port head totally unusable. As everyone knows, David takes his racing seriously and he refuses to tack the boat at intervals to enable us all to go to the loo, so whilst on starboard tack we have only one choice. Our safety rules include an absolute ban on relieving oneself over the side, thus we have now installed a bucket in the port head.
Use of the bucket is not a lot of fun! For a start it is not a very sturdy bucket, the handle came off weeks ago and it just has a rope as a carrying device. Short of someone being landed with the horrible job of emptying other people's offerings, the only option is for each and every crew member is to empty the bucket each and every time. The boat is beginning to smell. very, very badly. Wet, five-week-old socks have a note of bluebells and an English spring about them by comparison. We are not celebrities but, as we screamed out at our first passing ship late last night, 'please, PLEASE - GET US OUT OF HERE!'
Naomi Cudmore
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