Leg 2 Day 36 : 42' 02S 176' 47E

Just for today, I will give John a break and fill in as the boat scribe. My job on the boat is bowman; I am one of the grunts that ends up doing the brunt of the heavy work on the foredeck, a bit like the postmen: 'come rain or shine'. John - himself on the foredeck team although on the opposite watch - did a sterling job to describe how relentlessness the job is; personally I see it like a battle, a fight, often even a brawl. Changing sails in itself is not a big deal, the problem is the cold, the waves, the water that washes over you, the narrow space we wedge ourselves in wrestling down furiously-flagging sails, often in the dark and rarely with time to spare. All the training that we underwent over the last four years was largely to render these operations as safe and as fast as possible, but we are human beings, the fear to some degree is always there, but so is the adrenaline, the camaraderie of being surrounded by people, who not too long ago were strangers and now literally look after your life. The foredeck is a bit like a sprint into a ring, where you are going to fight an intense and hard fight, whilst at the other end of the boat the helms are more like marathon runners, for hour upon hour keeping the boat on course, face on to the wind and the cold. Now a mere 100 miles from the coast of New Zealand, we all have a sense of pride in the job done. Whatever these last few hours will bring, we now trust each other and rely on each other's support and care; it is a very warm feeling. I personally had a hard first two weeks, as I was plagued by a terrible cold coming out of B.A., followed by a pulled muscle in my back which left me doing mother for a couple of days. In very rough weather that meant that I was also hit by acute seasickness. I felt useless and it was horrible to be in my bunk hearing the shouts and noises of hard-fought watches and not being able to help. I have a memory of those first encounters with the Southern Ocean of a particular sail change, when I was stuck at the back of the boat with my back in pain, while my team-mates where taking down the no. 2 Yankee in strong winds, they were having problems and they were struggling, being washed down time and time again. I had tears in my eyes, it was years since last time I cried. Not able to stand it anymore I was on my feet before even I realized what I was doing and I ran forward screaming at the top of my lungs, thinking about it now, it makes me smile as it must have been quite funny to see this big Italian guy charging in the waves, hunched down and yelling.at last the sail came down, my team mates thanked me and called me names for the sake of it and I instantly felt better. I was suddenly having fun. Last night in the middle of a dark and moonless night we where suddenly surrounded by about 20 or 30 dolphins, which in the blackness of the water left behind trails of fluorescence, giving the impression that we where bombarded by torpedoes, this and other amazing things we saw are what a lot of us will remember for the rest of our lives. A lot of us, however, will also remember what it means to be in the most miserable state and yet finding within ourselves the strength to carry on. Christian Talpo This will be the last log in my slot as we hope to be in Wellington very soon. After a day of calm we are now fighting 20-30 knot winds and they are set to rise throughout the day. The Ocean is not going to let us off with a sedate entry into New Zealand indeed we may get the strongest winds of the leg. Alas, no rest for Christian, the foredeck team or the rest of the crew. And so, it just leaves me to thank all the website visitors for their support and hope you stay tuned for the next leg - Wellington to Sydney. John Bass Christian Talpo & John Bass