Chilled, Balearic-style sunsets and the sparkles of shooting stars provide the overhead lightshow for this slow-paced chapter in the story of the final leg of our journey.
Like a snail on the hard shoulder of a busy motorway, making its way out into the traffic, BP Explorer is at this moment edging along at three knots with a multitude of crossing ships knitting a pattern of bright navigation lights in the blanket of darkness ahead of our bows. The throbbing sounds of their engines carry clearly across the still waters, through a slight, shivering mist.
Yesterday we were accompanied by a small, lazily-mooching shark and a very tired and lonely racing pigeon who circumnavigated the boat a few times before coming in to land. Some of us had hopes that we could help by delivering him home but we clearly weren't going fast enough for his liking; after a swift drink and a few porridge oats he was off, rejuvenated and back on his way home again. We can hardly blame him; it has definitely been a slow 24 hours.
Day three and we are now 41 miles behind the leading yacht, SAIC La Jolla, and 29 miles behind Me To You, in eleventh. If the yachts finish in their current order we would lie fourth or fifth overall so we will hope for something of a reshuffle at the front to improve things. Conditions have not given us any opportunity to make up lost ground but we are taking comfort from a number of angles; on the material side we have a delicious and bountiful diet of fresh food and beautiful weather; and we occupy our minds with a review of the highs which have punctuated our race so far - too many to mention in one sitting! Finally we have each other. In ten months we have never had more than the briefest of cross words on BP Explorer, we operate in a supportive environment and if someone is feeling down they always have
another to talk to. When asked how he was feeling today, Stephen commented: 'Actually, I feel fine - I have been very touched and moved by how everyone has helped each other in this difficult situation. That is something very special.'
As BP Explorer inches towards dawn, we have drawn level with the Ile de Sein, which is around 25 miles south of Ile D'Ouessant, due east of the next waypoint. The route for the leg is constantly under review by the Race Office back in Southampton, as they attempt to ensure that the leading boats finish around lunchtime on Saturday. The latest change to the course has seen us redirected to Devon's Eddystone Light which will no doubt be a sight for sore eyes and a pretty stirring landmark after so long from home. In
response to a rather Eeyore-ish email which I sent back to Somerset yesterday, my best mate Jo reminded me of just how significant spotting land off the West Country will be, writing: 'P.S. And remember; you have just sailed around the world! Everyone is very proud of BP Explorer.' She is right, we should all feel pretty pleased about this one, it is an adventure that we will never forget.
Showing posts with label Naomi Cudmore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Naomi Cudmore. Show all posts
Friday, July 15, 2005
Monday, July 4, 2005
46o09N 01o14W; La Rochelle
The final night of Leg Six and BP Explorer trembles as she skims off the backs of the waves and hurls herself forwards. She is spinning down the white horses, lifting her skirts under the boiling crests as we stretch our necks out to catch Me To You, less than a mile ahead. Two plumes of churning bow wave to port and starboard are lit up over the inky-black sea like molten, white wings. Lightning illuminates our faces in the gloaming, flashing over and over in brilliant streaks touching the coast of France. Our hull speed tops 19 knots with the next big surf and the trimmer fights to keep control of the kite.
'LET'S GET IT DOWN - NOOOW!' David's voice is urgent and edgy. We have held on long enough.
Troops gather in the cockpit, hanging on to the guy and ready for the call. 'SPIKE IT!'
'IT'S GONE!' cry the foredeck and down the halyard comes, metre upon metre of white nylon being heaved over the boom and bundled down below.
'Call trim on the yankee!'
In it comes, the boat powers up and we surge away. Then the yankee comes over - we are now poling out the No.1 and the speeds climb even higher.
'22.6 knots!!! Wooohoooo! We're gaining on them!' The helmsmen's arms have almost given up. A week ago support bandages came out as one by one they strained muscles with the effort of keeping BP Explorer heading straight as an arrow for La Rochelle through the storming kite runs. Not long now! We are eating up the miles, averaging 12 knots and we should be there by morning. We just have to keep hold of the reins and catch the yacht in front.
In the small hours the winds increase, touching gale force. Our wings of white water rise up through a huge surf, lifting above the toerails and hitting us full in the face. It is like riding an amusement park log plume - only there is nothing that is going to slow us down here!
Dawn breaks and Me To You are right next to us, just a couple of metres behind. Whilst we have the flanker up again, they are carrying their 1.5oz race kite. It looks like we also should have a lighter kite as the wind drops, but there is no time to change now. We are just minutes from the mark and we hold off Me To You, covering their every move. At the mark, we are neck and neck, but as we harden up on the breeze and drop the kite, we pull away, powering on towards the finish line, cheered by our supporters in a RIB. Second overall and with everything to play for - Leg Seven, bring it on!
'LET'S GET IT DOWN - NOOOW!' David's voice is urgent and edgy. We have held on long enough.
Troops gather in the cockpit, hanging on to the guy and ready for the call. 'SPIKE IT!'
'IT'S GONE!' cry the foredeck and down the halyard comes, metre upon metre of white nylon being heaved over the boom and bundled down below.
'Call trim on the yankee!'
In it comes, the boat powers up and we surge away. Then the yankee comes over - we are now poling out the No.1 and the speeds climb even higher.
'22.6 knots!!! Wooohoooo! We're gaining on them!' The helmsmen's arms have almost given up. A week ago support bandages came out as one by one they strained muscles with the effort of keeping BP Explorer heading straight as an arrow for La Rochelle through the storming kite runs. Not long now! We are eating up the miles, averaging 12 knots and we should be there by morning. We just have to keep hold of the reins and catch the yacht in front.
In the small hours the winds increase, touching gale force. Our wings of white water rise up through a huge surf, lifting above the toerails and hitting us full in the face. It is like riding an amusement park log plume - only there is nothing that is going to slow us down here!
Dawn breaks and Me To You are right next to us, just a couple of metres behind. Whilst we have the flanker up again, they are carrying their 1.5oz race kite. It looks like we also should have a lighter kite as the wind drops, but there is no time to change now. We are just minutes from the mark and we hold off Me To You, covering their every move. At the mark, we are neck and neck, but as we harden up on the breeze and drop the kite, we pull away, powering on towards the finish line, cheered by our supporters in a RIB. Second overall and with everything to play for - Leg Seven, bring it on!
Sunday, July 3, 2005
46' 00N 50' 51W
Well, the situation was already pretty exciting, but it is now a building crescendo leading up to possibly the most exciting leg finish to date. Hence the fact that David is beavering away on deck and unable to fill you in on events today.
Up until now we were steadily trying to work our way up from fifth towards the podium, with a clear order of yachts to be overtaken, beginning with a consolidation of our sporadic and marginal lead over BG SPIRIT, followed by Me to You, Imagine It. Done and - if something happened to reduce their 30-mile lead - Team Stelmar. Now, all of these yachts, bar Team Stelmar, are pretty much level. It is hard to tell who is actually in front - and Team Stelmar themselves are less than ten miles away. I have a feeling that the last 24 hours are going to exhausting stuff.
We do have a list of priorities, though. Obviously the most important thing is to come ahead of BG SPIRIT, who are currently three points in front of us in the overall race. If we manage to overtake them, the more places between us the better. And it is the same with Spirit of Sark. Not only do we gain one more point for every place, but that puts one more point between ourselves and one of our two main adversaries; an important detail when it comes to the final leg.
Beyond a small patch of Biscay bubbling with literally hundreds of leaping dolphins, we could see Imagine It. Done. and Me To You when I headed for bed six hours ago - now, no doubt, there are probably even more yellow sails in view. There are 194 miles to go and the wind has not, as predicted, died, but has kept powering us straight to the mark, which means that we should arrive around lunchtime tomorrow. If there are any hold-ups, this could prove very frustrating. The port is tidal and involves a huge lock gate - tomorrow this opens between 1300 and 1530 GMT - miss it and we could have to spend an agonising ten hours outside it waiting for our beer!
Up until now we were steadily trying to work our way up from fifth towards the podium, with a clear order of yachts to be overtaken, beginning with a consolidation of our sporadic and marginal lead over BG SPIRIT, followed by Me to You, Imagine It. Done and - if something happened to reduce their 30-mile lead - Team Stelmar. Now, all of these yachts, bar Team Stelmar, are pretty much level. It is hard to tell who is actually in front - and Team Stelmar themselves are less than ten miles away. I have a feeling that the last 24 hours are going to exhausting stuff.
We do have a list of priorities, though. Obviously the most important thing is to come ahead of BG SPIRIT, who are currently three points in front of us in the overall race. If we manage to overtake them, the more places between us the better. And it is the same with Spirit of Sark. Not only do we gain one more point for every place, but that puts one more point between ourselves and one of our two main adversaries; an important detail when it comes to the final leg.
Beyond a small patch of Biscay bubbling with literally hundreds of leaping dolphins, we could see Imagine It. Done. and Me To You when I headed for bed six hours ago - now, no doubt, there are probably even more yellow sails in view. There are 194 miles to go and the wind has not, as predicted, died, but has kept powering us straight to the mark, which means that we should arrive around lunchtime tomorrow. If there are any hold-ups, this could prove very frustrating. The port is tidal and involves a huge lock gate - tomorrow this opens between 1300 and 1530 GMT - miss it and we could have to spend an agonising ten hours outside it waiting for our beer!
Friday, July 1, 2005
47o14N 19o05W
BP Explorer accelerates down the back of another breaking Atlantic roller, up to her gunwhales in a white, roaring din of water. Shuddering from stem to stern like the Memphis Bell taking off, she tops 20 knots and from the snakepit we turn to the helm, pumping our arms in an 'L' against the early-morning sky, mimicking a train driver sounding his whistle. Grins stretch from ear to ear; the speed is exhilarating and addictive.
It is also a beautiful sight. Under cover of darkness and a shower of sharp stars, the phosphorescence weaved and span in flashing skeins through our wake like fairylights. A liquid-bright sickle moon yo-yo'd in and out of sight between the silhouetted luffs of the headsails, and a trio of dolphins - two adults and a tiny calf - urged us on towards the pink dawn which broke above a bed of silver-blue stratus cloud capping the horizon.
Everywhere was movement and a drift of cobweb-like clouds scudding high in the sky seemed to mirror the motion of the spray smoking up the backs of the grey waves. The boat is alive with noise - as we gallop onwards towards France, we screw up into the surf, and the kicker being released gives out a prehistoric groan as the boom is freed from beneath the weight of tonnes of rushing water.
Yesterday lunchtime saw us being accompanied to starboard by a lone whale (either Fin or Sei), but it seemed that we were even too fast for him. One moment putting in a dramatic breach on the beam, the next the fishy aroma from his blowhole told us that he was astern - and then, after spouting several times, he was gone.
As evening approached and the wind dropped slightly, it seemed like the perfect time to return to more mundane tasks and get down to some extreme ironing. "The things they ask me to do on mother watch," grumbled John Bass, appearing from the companionway, crumpled clothes in hand. Having made it safely to the foredeck, he set up a board and iron which we had stumbled upon in Major's cabin, and set to work. He had clearly forgotten to plug the iron in though, as it soon disappeared over the side with the next big wave - luckily not before we had committed the memory to camera.
After David's familiar bellow of 'SPIKE IT! Get it down now!' in the small hours, we are back from our edgy kite ride through the night and safe in the realm of poled-out No.1 again - the flanker preserved to fight another day.
This is a relief for the sail-repair team as sail-makers Hoods will not be servicing the fleet in La Rochelle and both a visit to another sail loft and the hire of sewing machines are against the race regulations. So it is heads up, engine whistles blasting and keep hunting down those leaders - BG SPIRIT, SAIC La Jolla and Barclays Adventurer for now behind us, our next targets are Me To You and with that a return to contending for a finish on the podium.
It is also a beautiful sight. Under cover of darkness and a shower of sharp stars, the phosphorescence weaved and span in flashing skeins through our wake like fairylights. A liquid-bright sickle moon yo-yo'd in and out of sight between the silhouetted luffs of the headsails, and a trio of dolphins - two adults and a tiny calf - urged us on towards the pink dawn which broke above a bed of silver-blue stratus cloud capping the horizon.
Everywhere was movement and a drift of cobweb-like clouds scudding high in the sky seemed to mirror the motion of the spray smoking up the backs of the grey waves. The boat is alive with noise - as we gallop onwards towards France, we screw up into the surf, and the kicker being released gives out a prehistoric groan as the boom is freed from beneath the weight of tonnes of rushing water.
Yesterday lunchtime saw us being accompanied to starboard by a lone whale (either Fin or Sei), but it seemed that we were even too fast for him. One moment putting in a dramatic breach on the beam, the next the fishy aroma from his blowhole told us that he was astern - and then, after spouting several times, he was gone.
As evening approached and the wind dropped slightly, it seemed like the perfect time to return to more mundane tasks and get down to some extreme ironing. "The things they ask me to do on mother watch," grumbled John Bass, appearing from the companionway, crumpled clothes in hand. Having made it safely to the foredeck, he set up a board and iron which we had stumbled upon in Major's cabin, and set to work. He had clearly forgotten to plug the iron in though, as it soon disappeared over the side with the next big wave - luckily not before we had committed the memory to camera.
After David's familiar bellow of 'SPIKE IT! Get it down now!' in the small hours, we are back from our edgy kite ride through the night and safe in the realm of poled-out No.1 again - the flanker preserved to fight another day.
This is a relief for the sail-repair team as sail-makers Hoods will not be servicing the fleet in La Rochelle and both a visit to another sail loft and the hire of sewing machines are against the race regulations. So it is heads up, engine whistles blasting and keep hunting down those leaders - BG SPIRIT, SAIC La Jolla and Barclays Adventurer for now behind us, our next targets are Me To You and with that a return to contending for a finish on the podium.
Monday, June 27, 2005
45o36N 37o14W
So much for being happy with our northerly position! Confident predictions about the wind favouring our route and the reality of the North-Atlantic weather are making uneasy bedfellows right now. After our storming battle with VAIO, Pindar and Spirit of Sark on Sunday evening which saw us coming off well and speeding towards the half-way point, day dawned - or rather reluctantly eased into a grey murk - with a steady, penetrating rain and a sail-plan of yankee 1, staysail and full main. The soaking spinnakers packed away for the time being, we spent a damp Monday struggling in rapidly-changing conditions to make the best of unhelpful winds, whilst those yachts further to the south did not slow down, as we had precipitously predicted, but sped up and left us behind. This is thanks to a repeat performance of last week's trick - a low, which was expected to develop north of us, has instead done so right above our heads, bringing us fickle conditions rather than a steady northerly wind.
Even within our own misty horizon conditions varied wildly during the day. In the space of the afternoon watch we were variously becalmed, ghosting along with a kite up, re-hoisting headsails and then banging in two reefs. Just three miles or so away on the starboard beam, we could make out another yacht, possibly Team Save the Children, reaching along under a spinnaker! Though sailing the same course as us, they might as well have been in an entirely different patch of ocean as we were meanwhile hard over and hiked out on the rail. No surprise then that within the six-hour period distances covered varied greatly across the fleet. Barclays Adventurer, again sailing the same course as BP Explorer, put nine more miles than us under their belts, Imagine it. Done. 14.
As I type this the scheds have just arrived to give us the damage report. The formerly southerly boats (who have now come north), have indeed prospered, Me To You, for example, being almost 18 miles ahead. Although we do not yet have positions for Barclays Adventurer and SAIC La Jolla, it seems likely that they too will be ahead, which would put us in seventh.
This might not be news to warm the cockles of our hearts as we race through the dark, wet night, but every cloud does have a silver lining - in this case it comes in the shape of our main targets Spirit of Sark and BG SPIRIT. We have increased our lead over the former to almost ten miles and BG SPIRIT is finally in our wake rather than in front - by a distance of 2.6 miles. For now it seems a sensible plan to focus on maintaining this status quo and refrain from any other pronouncements about the wind and weather!
Even within our own misty horizon conditions varied wildly during the day. In the space of the afternoon watch we were variously becalmed, ghosting along with a kite up, re-hoisting headsails and then banging in two reefs. Just three miles or so away on the starboard beam, we could make out another yacht, possibly Team Save the Children, reaching along under a spinnaker! Though sailing the same course as us, they might as well have been in an entirely different patch of ocean as we were meanwhile hard over and hiked out on the rail. No surprise then that within the six-hour period distances covered varied greatly across the fleet. Barclays Adventurer, again sailing the same course as BP Explorer, put nine more miles than us under their belts, Imagine it. Done. 14.
As I type this the scheds have just arrived to give us the damage report. The formerly southerly boats (who have now come north), have indeed prospered, Me To You, for example, being almost 18 miles ahead. Although we do not yet have positions for Barclays Adventurer and SAIC La Jolla, it seems likely that they too will be ahead, which would put us in seventh.
This might not be news to warm the cockles of our hearts as we race through the dark, wet night, but every cloud does have a silver lining - in this case it comes in the shape of our main targets Spirit of Sark and BG SPIRIT. We have increased our lead over the former to almost ten miles and BG SPIRIT is finally in our wake rather than in front - by a distance of 2.6 miles. For now it seems a sensible plan to focus on maintaining this status quo and refrain from any other pronouncements about the wind and weather!
Friday, June 24, 2005
42o33N 56o12W
Throughout the race, crew members have taken part in schools visits, clowning around in foulies, showing classes a typical meal from the boat and trying to convey what it is we have been up to. "How many miles do you think it is to sail around the world?" we have asked countless primary-school children. Dozens of small, eager hands shoot upwards, fingers wiggling, their owners desperate to get picked. "A MILLION!" is one enthusiastic, wide-eyed suggestion. "Sixty-five," a girl suggests doubtingly. "Nine thousand and fifty six and a half?" queries another, looking smug. (Then there is always the web-wise child who has done his research. "Probably about thirty-two thousand.")
Forget the right answer; some days the child with a passion for huge numbers seems to have hit the nail on the head. The oceans have a knack for searching out your weaknesses and needling away at them like a chronic toothache. And just when you thought it was all over, there is more. This was how it was in the Southern Ocean. Weeks of freezing temperatures - the wet, the aching muscles, the violent motion - seem to take months, those last thirty minutes before being able to head for bed stretching into a MILLION! Even with over a month and almost ten thousand miles behind us since then, the memory is fresh.
But now we are experiencing an entirely different kettle of flying fish. After Leg Five we thought that the calms were over and done with, and we were optimistically expecting a sleigh ride directly towards the nearest patisserie and, in many cases, dearly-missed friends and families who we have not seen since October. But for the last few days we have been floundering around in light, fickle winds, thanks to a low-pressure system developing directly over our heads. This should have built further to the north and provided us with a jet-pack of good wind to speed us to Waypoint Charlie (still 296 miles away), but the weather has not behaved as it should, as is so often the case.
There are times when luck does appear to play a big part in the reshufflings of the pack - especially in light condition such as this - and this can lead to an unsatisfying feeling as a result, the sense of not being in control of your own destiny. On the other hand, you always have the option to deal with your lot as best you can and never give up. This is invariably the attitude we adopt; on BP Explorer I believe that we react well to change and that in this way we try to remain in the driving seat whilst recognising that if there is one thing we cannot control it's the weather. As Paul Theroux writes in Dark Star Safari: 'The traveller's conceit is that he is heading into the unknown. The best travel is a leap in the dark. If the destination were familiar and friendly what would be the point in going there?'
We have certainly taken that leap in the dark and it has stretched us in more ways than we envisioned. Our destination has been neither familiar, nor, at many times, friendly. But I feel sure that the excitingly blank canvas of our daily watery horizon, the constant opportunities to make the best of everything that is throw at us, and the chance to write our own story will be over all too soon. As Matt, our BP Crew from Leg Five, emailed us yesterday - 'Don't wish away your time out there. You will be back, stuck on the M25 before you know it.'
Forget the right answer; some days the child with a passion for huge numbers seems to have hit the nail on the head. The oceans have a knack for searching out your weaknesses and needling away at them like a chronic toothache. And just when you thought it was all over, there is more. This was how it was in the Southern Ocean. Weeks of freezing temperatures - the wet, the aching muscles, the violent motion - seem to take months, those last thirty minutes before being able to head for bed stretching into a MILLION! Even with over a month and almost ten thousand miles behind us since then, the memory is fresh.
But now we are experiencing an entirely different kettle of flying fish. After Leg Five we thought that the calms were over and done with, and we were optimistically expecting a sleigh ride directly towards the nearest patisserie and, in many cases, dearly-missed friends and families who we have not seen since October. But for the last few days we have been floundering around in light, fickle winds, thanks to a low-pressure system developing directly over our heads. This should have built further to the north and provided us with a jet-pack of good wind to speed us to Waypoint Charlie (still 296 miles away), but the weather has not behaved as it should, as is so often the case.
There are times when luck does appear to play a big part in the reshufflings of the pack - especially in light condition such as this - and this can lead to an unsatisfying feeling as a result, the sense of not being in control of your own destiny. On the other hand, you always have the option to deal with your lot as best you can and never give up. This is invariably the attitude we adopt; on BP Explorer I believe that we react well to change and that in this way we try to remain in the driving seat whilst recognising that if there is one thing we cannot control it's the weather. As Paul Theroux writes in Dark Star Safari: 'The traveller's conceit is that he is heading into the unknown. The best travel is a leap in the dark. If the destination were familiar and friendly what would be the point in going there?'
We have certainly taken that leap in the dark and it has stretched us in more ways than we envisioned. Our destination has been neither familiar, nor, at many times, friendly. But I feel sure that the excitingly blank canvas of our daily watery horizon, the constant opportunities to make the best of everything that is throw at us, and the chance to write our own story will be over all too soon. As Matt, our BP Crew from Leg Five, emailed us yesterday - 'Don't wish away your time out there. You will be back, stuck on the M25 before you know it.'
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
42' 41N 66' 24W
The introduction to the Global Challenge for our new BP Explorer Crew, Americans Drew Morrell and Dennis Boyd, has been a peaceful one. Since an exciting and close start, we have been gliding through calm seas, accompanied by dolphins and pilot whales. "This is just like the brochure," Dennis enthuses, "and not dissimilar from sailing on Lake Michigan!" Drew, from Long Beach, California, is well used to a relaxed attitude but has been struck by the atmosphere on board: "Obviously the racing is fierce, but it is very laid back - it's great!" Not all of our BP Explorer Crew have had such gentle conditions to settle into and, indeed, it really would be helpful to have some more wind. If we continued at this speed, we would not get to France until 16 July, and according to our diaries we have an entirely different party to go to that day!
Currently heading through the Fundian Channel, we are just about to cross from Maine to Nova Scotia, 60 miles to the north. Not far away is the Bay of Fundy, famous for having the greatest tidal flow in the world, followed a close second by my home waters of the Bristol Channel. Out here the seas
are a somewhat different colour than I see there, in Watchet Marina, but the air has certainly had a more familiar feel to it since we left Boston. There is a fresh warmth to the bright, beautiful days, with no hint of the mugginess we have grown used to, and by night it is startlingly clear and nippy - a climate just like the best of an early, English summer! The
sunsets are pretty good too; last night, as the sun sank over our left shoulder, the full moon was already risen as we were surrounded by a perfect horizon of seamlessly melted pinks to blue and the bright light of Venus to the north-west.
The prognosis for the next few days is more of the same - no doubt we will be able to see other Challenge yachts for much of the journey, with everyone desperate to cover their positions and fight for more points. About four days away is Waypoint Charlie, at 42o North, which has been added to the
course to keep the fleet south of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland and the ice brought down from the Arctic shelf by the Labrador Current.
Another reminder that we are heading home is that we are now charting our progress from left to right on the computers - a very disconcerting sight after all that sailing the 'wrong way' at the bottom of the world. VAIO are
out in front of us, slightly to the south, whilst we have Spirit of Sark to port and Barclays Adventurer and Samsung neck and neck to starboard. It is not clear whether we lie in third or fourth at this precise moment, but the scheds, due in an hour, will hopefully bring us some good news.
Currently heading through the Fundian Channel, we are just about to cross from Maine to Nova Scotia, 60 miles to the north. Not far away is the Bay of Fundy, famous for having the greatest tidal flow in the world, followed a close second by my home waters of the Bristol Channel. Out here the seas
are a somewhat different colour than I see there, in Watchet Marina, but the air has certainly had a more familiar feel to it since we left Boston. There is a fresh warmth to the bright, beautiful days, with no hint of the mugginess we have grown used to, and by night it is startlingly clear and nippy - a climate just like the best of an early, English summer! The
sunsets are pretty good too; last night, as the sun sank over our left shoulder, the full moon was already risen as we were surrounded by a perfect horizon of seamlessly melted pinks to blue and the bright light of Venus to the north-west.
The prognosis for the next few days is more of the same - no doubt we will be able to see other Challenge yachts for much of the journey, with everyone desperate to cover their positions and fight for more points. About four days away is Waypoint Charlie, at 42o North, which has been added to the
course to keep the fleet south of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland and the ice brought down from the Arctic shelf by the Labrador Current.
Another reminder that we are heading home is that we are now charting our progress from left to right on the computers - a very disconcerting sight after all that sailing the 'wrong way' at the bottom of the world. VAIO are
out in front of us, slightly to the south, whilst we have Spirit of Sark to port and Barclays Adventurer and Samsung neck and neck to starboard. It is not clear whether we lie in third or fourth at this precise moment, but the scheds, due in an hour, will hopefully bring us some good news.
42' 41N 66' 24W
The introduction to the Global Challenge for our new BP Explorer Crew, Americans Drew Morrell and Dennis Boyd, has been a peaceful one. Since an exciting and close start, we have been gliding through calm seas, accompanied by dolphins and pilot whales. "This is just like the brochure," Dennis enthuses, "and not dissimilar from sailing on Lake Michigan!" Drew, from Long Beach, California, is well used to a relaxed attitude but has been struck by the atmosphere on board: "Obviously the racing is fierce, but it is very laid back - it's great!" Not all of our BP Explorer Crew have had such gentle conditions to settle into and, indeed, it really would be helpful to have some more wind. If we continued at this speed, we would not get to France until 16 July, and according to our diaries we have an entirely different party to go to that day!
Currently heading through the Fundian Channel, we are just about to cross from Maine to Nova Scotia, 60 miles to the north. Not far away is the Bay of Fundy, famous for having the greatest tidal flow in the world, followed a close second by my home waters of the Bristol Channel. Out here the seas
are a somewhat different colour than I see there, in Watchet Marina, but the air has certainly had a more familiar feel to it since we left Boston. There is a fresh warmth to the bright, beautiful days, with no hint of the mugginess we have grown used to, and by night it is startlingly clear and nippy - a climate just like the best of an early, English summer! The
sunsets are pretty good too; last night, as the sun sank over our left shoulder, the full moon was already risen as we were surrounded by a perfect horizon of seamlessly melted pinks to blue and the bright light of Venus to the north-west.
The prognosis for the next few days is more of the same - no doubt we will be able to see other Challenge yachts for much of the journey, with everyone desperate to cover their positions and fight for more points. About four days away is Waypoint Charlie, at 42o North, which has been added to the
course to keep the fleet south of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland and the ice brought down from the Arctic shelf by the Labrador Current.
Another reminder that we are heading home is that we are now charting our progress from left to right on the computers - a very disconcerting sight after all that sailing the 'wrong way' at the bottom of the world. VAIO are
out in front of us, slightly to the south, whilst we have Spirit of Sark to port and Barclays Adventurer and Samsung neck and neck to starboard. It is not clear whether we lie in third or fourth at this precise moment, but the scheds, due in an hour, will hopefully bring us some good news.
Currently heading through the Fundian Channel, we are just about to cross from Maine to Nova Scotia, 60 miles to the north. Not far away is the Bay of Fundy, famous for having the greatest tidal flow in the world, followed a close second by my home waters of the Bristol Channel. Out here the seas
are a somewhat different colour than I see there, in Watchet Marina, but the air has certainly had a more familiar feel to it since we left Boston. There is a fresh warmth to the bright, beautiful days, with no hint of the mugginess we have grown used to, and by night it is startlingly clear and nippy - a climate just like the best of an early, English summer! The
sunsets are pretty good too; last night, as the sun sank over our left shoulder, the full moon was already risen as we were surrounded by a perfect horizon of seamlessly melted pinks to blue and the bright light of Venus to the north-west.
The prognosis for the next few days is more of the same - no doubt we will be able to see other Challenge yachts for much of the journey, with everyone desperate to cover their positions and fight for more points. About four days away is Waypoint Charlie, at 42o North, which has been added to the
course to keep the fleet south of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland and the ice brought down from the Arctic shelf by the Labrador Current.
Another reminder that we are heading home is that we are now charting our progress from left to right on the computers - a very disconcerting sight after all that sailing the 'wrong way' at the bottom of the world. VAIO are
out in front of us, slightly to the south, whilst we have Spirit of Sark to port and Barclays Adventurer and Samsung neck and neck to starboard. It is not clear whether we lie in third or fourth at this precise moment, but the scheds, due in an hour, will hopefully bring us some good news.
Monday, June 6, 2005
42o07N 69o46W
At 2200 last night, we emerged on deck to find Imagine it. Done. close by on our port beam, with Spirit of Sark visible out to the east to starboard; three yachts, reaching hard under spinnakers for the waypoint which lies 50-odd miles from Boston. Sticking out our noses for fifth place, we were so close that Eolus, the god of wind, could have strung his washing line between our three masts.
As a gauze of mauve and gold dissolved into the flat chill of the water, the sea turned from a mermaid silver-green to inky black. Polaris peeped out beside the shivering fabric of the kite and night fell. A drift of stars showered the skies above Cape Cod and mingled with the flashing undercarriages of a dozen trans-Atlantic flights.
Across the water, the lights from other vessels criss-cross from every direction, whilst we keep a razor-sharp eye on the relative bearings of our competitors to see who is making or losing ground with each passing minute. The points between us are absolutely crucial for the overall leader-board. Come fifth and BP Explorer will be level-pegging with BG SPIRIT; six or seventh means that we will lose our lead. Spirit of Sark currently lie two points behind us, so if they achieved fifth and Imagine It. Done. sixth, being in seventh would mean that we would be level-pegging with them in equal second.
It was clearly going to be a tough watch; figures on a screen do not have the immediacy of lights flanking us neck and neck. Our fate is unfolding before us and we are doing everything humanly possible to make sure it goes the right way. There is no time to check the scheds, but no matter; it is laid out within our own glimmering horizon for all the protagonists to see.
The communication on deck is about fine-tuning BP Explorer to get her flying along at her absolute best - and this in the face of difficult, shifty winds. Commands and confirmations are ping-ponging back and forth between helm and trimmer, trimmer and winchman, cockpit ad snakepit - batting back and forth as sheets and guys, foreguys and preventers are altered every couple of minutes.
Then there is that fabulous call: 'Laaand-Ho!' Chris, trimming the kite at the shrouds, has spotted a lighthouse about 20 degrees off the port bow. Slowly the low orange glow of Boston dims our ceiling of starlight and we count down to the waypoint. As I head for bed, I can hear the new watch continuing the game. We are about half a mile in front of Imagine It. Done. and Spirit of Sark. David is at this moment overseeing progress right above my head in the cockpit. 'Well done everybody, we are now round the first waypoint! Let's just keep it going, stay focussed and trim the ass off this boat!'
Stick with us. We are sailing our hearts out. We are nearly there.
As a gauze of mauve and gold dissolved into the flat chill of the water, the sea turned from a mermaid silver-green to inky black. Polaris peeped out beside the shivering fabric of the kite and night fell. A drift of stars showered the skies above Cape Cod and mingled with the flashing undercarriages of a dozen trans-Atlantic flights.
Across the water, the lights from other vessels criss-cross from every direction, whilst we keep a razor-sharp eye on the relative bearings of our competitors to see who is making or losing ground with each passing minute. The points between us are absolutely crucial for the overall leader-board. Come fifth and BP Explorer will be level-pegging with BG SPIRIT; six or seventh means that we will lose our lead. Spirit of Sark currently lie two points behind us, so if they achieved fifth and Imagine It. Done. sixth, being in seventh would mean that we would be level-pegging with them in equal second.
It was clearly going to be a tough watch; figures on a screen do not have the immediacy of lights flanking us neck and neck. Our fate is unfolding before us and we are doing everything humanly possible to make sure it goes the right way. There is no time to check the scheds, but no matter; it is laid out within our own glimmering horizon for all the protagonists to see.
The communication on deck is about fine-tuning BP Explorer to get her flying along at her absolute best - and this in the face of difficult, shifty winds. Commands and confirmations are ping-ponging back and forth between helm and trimmer, trimmer and winchman, cockpit ad snakepit - batting back and forth as sheets and guys, foreguys and preventers are altered every couple of minutes.
Then there is that fabulous call: 'Laaand-Ho!' Chris, trimming the kite at the shrouds, has spotted a lighthouse about 20 degrees off the port bow. Slowly the low orange glow of Boston dims our ceiling of starlight and we count down to the waypoint. As I head for bed, I can hear the new watch continuing the game. We are about half a mile in front of Imagine It. Done. and Spirit of Sark. David is at this moment overseeing progress right above my head in the cockpit. 'Well done everybody, we are now round the first waypoint! Let's just keep it going, stay focussed and trim the ass off this boat!'
Stick with us. We are sailing our hearts out. We are nearly there.
Friday, June 3, 2005
38o11N 62o05W
On Tuesday we were bemoaning our prolonged light-winds fate; all around us the drifts of ochre-coloured Sargasso weed seemed to be travelling faster thanBP Explorer and we wondered if the three turtles we had seen were actually the same one as we spun around going nowhere.
We demanded that the navigators order us some better wind - and they certainly took us at our word. By the early hours of Wednesday morning, somebody had 'packed up the stars' and we were exchanging our 1.5oz kite for the heavier-weight flanker. Under rain clouds by dawn, the crew began to change down through the gears, donning their foulies and dropping the sails until we were left with No.3 headsail,
storm staysail and three reefs - the standard gale sail-plan.
With gusts of 52 knots across the deck as we approached the middle of the low-pressure system, even the mainsail had to come down, albeit briefly. But whereas we have on occasion groaned at the prospect of a Force 8-9, the general consensus was 'bring it on'. Lumps of old flapjack in hidden
recesses of the deck, weeks of unidentified fluff lodged here and there, most of all our energy levels - all called for a good blast of wind and water; a gale was just what was needed to refresh and energise BP Explorer, blowing away the ennui and frustration. We took the weather in our stride
and by afternoon were reversing the sail changes again, the new watch undoing what the morning watch had done and now belting back up through the gears.
Last night, having watched a huge cadmium sunset melting into the still-choppy sea, I allowed myself a peek at the scheds for the first time in days; it looked promising, Barclays Adventurer and Team Stelmar having both conceded around ten miles to us, from in front and behind respectively. Further north than BP Explorer, it might be that they are suffering adverse effects of the
Gulf Stream. Meanwhile, to the south, SAIC La Jolla and VAIO had grown closer, having already arrived at the lighter winds which we are now also beginning to encounter. The important thing is certainly to hold on tight to fifth, but it does seem possible that we might improve upon this, Barclays Adventurer (currently third) being now 38 miles distant, and SAIC La Jolla (fourth) 28.
As a visible reminder that we have to keep going - and going fast - we can see the masthead light of Imagine It. Done. about three miles dead astern, pointing straight up towards a grapefruit-yellow crescent moon. Now on a
level with Washington DC, we have just 424 miles to go to the Cape Cod waypoint. So with any luck the next log from me will be written just a few hours away from a bottle - or seven, or eight - of Bud, followed shortly by bath and a big bed!
As I went to send this I noticed that the new scheds had come in. If you take a look at the race viewer this morning you will see that these distances have been eaten up even more! A new light-winds lottery unfolding just a few miles ahead of us, you could even soon be watching the start to
the race - at least for second place - beginning all over again.
We demanded that the navigators order us some better wind - and they certainly took us at our word. By the early hours of Wednesday morning, somebody had 'packed up the stars' and we were exchanging our 1.5oz kite for the heavier-weight flanker. Under rain clouds by dawn, the crew began to change down through the gears, donning their foulies and dropping the sails until we were left with No.3 headsail,
storm staysail and three reefs - the standard gale sail-plan.
With gusts of 52 knots across the deck as we approached the middle of the low-pressure system, even the mainsail had to come down, albeit briefly. But whereas we have on occasion groaned at the prospect of a Force 8-9, the general consensus was 'bring it on'. Lumps of old flapjack in hidden
recesses of the deck, weeks of unidentified fluff lodged here and there, most of all our energy levels - all called for a good blast of wind and water; a gale was just what was needed to refresh and energise BP Explorer, blowing away the ennui and frustration. We took the weather in our stride
and by afternoon were reversing the sail changes again, the new watch undoing what the morning watch had done and now belting back up through the gears.
Last night, having watched a huge cadmium sunset melting into the still-choppy sea, I allowed myself a peek at the scheds for the first time in days; it looked promising, Barclays Adventurer and Team Stelmar having both conceded around ten miles to us, from in front and behind respectively. Further north than BP Explorer, it might be that they are suffering adverse effects of the
Gulf Stream. Meanwhile, to the south, SAIC La Jolla and VAIO had grown closer, having already arrived at the lighter winds which we are now also beginning to encounter. The important thing is certainly to hold on tight to fifth, but it does seem possible that we might improve upon this, Barclays Adventurer (currently third) being now 38 miles distant, and SAIC La Jolla (fourth) 28.
As a visible reminder that we have to keep going - and going fast - we can see the masthead light of Imagine It. Done. about three miles dead astern, pointing straight up towards a grapefruit-yellow crescent moon. Now on a
level with Washington DC, we have just 424 miles to go to the Cape Cod waypoint. So with any luck the next log from me will be written just a few hours away from a bottle - or seven, or eight - of Bud, followed shortly by bath and a big bed!
As I went to send this I noticed that the new scheds had come in. If you take a look at the race viewer this morning you will see that these distances have been eaten up even more! A new light-winds lottery unfolding just a few miles ahead of us, you could even soon be watching the start to
the race - at least for second place - beginning all over again.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
34o11N 52o24W
One of BP Explorer's mottos is 'control the controllables'. It has served us well, but for much of the time over recent days it has been more a case of reacting to the hand we are dealt. We had day after day of glassy, carribbean-blue waters, negligible - or even negative - speeds towards Boston and ripples of restless boredom amongst those torturing their weary bottoms on the rail. Then, the night before last, we went from swimming-pool-flat waters to reaching along under the flanker. Somebody had switched the wind on. Then they changed their minds and turned it off again. The spinnaker was out of its bag, flying, down the companionway and back in its bag in less time than it takes to nip out for as pint of milk.
And, as the scheds have shown all too clearly, if the wind can change so radically over a couple of hundred yards, it is not surprising that the yachts fighting it out behind BG SPIRIT and VAIO are playing musical chairs.
If I had a bit more self-discipline I would avoid looking at the figures until the situation regains some semblance of normality, especially when they read as they did half an hour ago, putting us back from fourth to eighth. But for now it is in some ways meaningless; less than seven miles separate us from third and we have at least made gains on Imagine it. Done. in third. The wind that we are currently enjoying will help us knock a few more miles off before daylight. Then, after tomorrow's return to light winds, a gale is predicted to serve as the introduction to the final few days of the voyage.
Sunday saw the last of the alcohol come and go with Christian's birthday, so it was with some relief that we passed on to the right side of '1,000 miles to the waypoint' yesterday afternoon - Boston is now 946 miles distant.
Right on cue to rouse Chris from his worries about ageing, we were also treated to yet more wildlife; every time that he talked about wanting to go for a birthday swim another shark would appear. Several sperm whales also kept us company, spouting in the sunshine, and yesterday we saw our first turtle - swimming in an ungainly, flapping kind of way past the hull, one leathery 'arm' in the air, waving us on. 'Hurry up,' he seemed to be saying. 'They're waiting for you!'
And, as the scheds have shown all too clearly, if the wind can change so radically over a couple of hundred yards, it is not surprising that the yachts fighting it out behind BG SPIRIT and VAIO are playing musical chairs.
If I had a bit more self-discipline I would avoid looking at the figures until the situation regains some semblance of normality, especially when they read as they did half an hour ago, putting us back from fourth to eighth. But for now it is in some ways meaningless; less than seven miles separate us from third and we have at least made gains on Imagine it. Done. in third. The wind that we are currently enjoying will help us knock a few more miles off before daylight. Then, after tomorrow's return to light winds, a gale is predicted to serve as the introduction to the final few days of the voyage.
Sunday saw the last of the alcohol come and go with Christian's birthday, so it was with some relief that we passed on to the right side of '1,000 miles to the waypoint' yesterday afternoon - Boston is now 946 miles distant.
Right on cue to rouse Chris from his worries about ageing, we were also treated to yet more wildlife; every time that he talked about wanting to go for a birthday swim another shark would appear. Several sperm whales also kept us company, spouting in the sunshine, and yesterday we saw our first turtle - swimming in an ungainly, flapping kind of way past the hull, one leathery 'arm' in the air, waving us on. 'Hurry up,' he seemed to be saying. 'They're waiting for you!'
Saturday, May 28, 2005
31o08N 48o04W
Tonight BP Explorer is becalmed in a slight swell. She is making that particular noise - a gentle thudding slap of hull against the gloopy-sounding water - 'thwump. pause. thwump. pause. thwump'. This is not exactly music to the ears of the helms who wait patiently for enough wind to make it possible to sail course. Every few moments the navigator pops his head up like a meerkat through the companionway. Squinting into the gloom of the cockpit, he delivers a running commentary on our progress, which he has been watching
below on the MAXSea. In this case it is Stephen.
Up the steps he goes. 'That's course Holger. Keep steering 345 degrees.' Down he goes. Five minutes later, up he goes: 'You are 25 low, we need to start thinking about a gybe.'
And so we yo-yo back and forth, back and forth.
People are trying to contain their sighs and remain patient, but even a saint would struggle right now. Our probable arrival date is slipping back (it looks like Saturday at the moment), and the prognosis for the next 24 hours or so is not brilliant. The navigators order new weather forecasts
almost every day via email, and BG SPIRIT, around 150 miles to the north, can clearly see the same thing as us. They have continued their flyer but have been sacrificing miles to us as they sail due north. 'They are keeping an
eye on this lousy mess and are trying to avoid it,' I am told. This 'lousy mess' (a technical meteorological term) is, crudely speaking, caused by two highs, with north-flowing wind on one side, south-flowing wind on the other and very little - just light, flukey winds - between. This is where we are.
Those of us at 31oN or thereabouts are fighting a battle through similar conditions. Within our own horizon, we are engaged in an ungainly dance, with Spirit of Sark watching us watching them, and Team Stelmar watching us watching Spirit of Sark watching them. If you see what I mean. Meanwhile, some 20 or so miles to
the east, Barclays Adventurer and SAIC La Jolla are also experiencing much the same pattern of events and are now three miles and almost seven miles behind respectively - which at least puts us back in third.
Bob Dylan sings 'The times they are a-changing' on the stereo, Christian is baking bread in the warm fug of the galley, time seems to be slooowing down. The meerkat, sleepy by now, appears again, huffing and puffing, exhaling his
words with a tired groan. 'We are still 25 low. We just need some more wind!'
'Well, YOU ordered this sh*t!' jokes the helm. 'Why don't you go and order something different - like about 20 knots!'
below on the MAXSea. In this case it is Stephen.
Up the steps he goes. 'That's course Holger. Keep steering 345 degrees.' Down he goes. Five minutes later, up he goes: 'You are 25 low, we need to start thinking about a gybe.'
And so we yo-yo back and forth, back and forth.
People are trying to contain their sighs and remain patient, but even a saint would struggle right now. Our probable arrival date is slipping back (it looks like Saturday at the moment), and the prognosis for the next 24 hours or so is not brilliant. The navigators order new weather forecasts
almost every day via email, and BG SPIRIT, around 150 miles to the north, can clearly see the same thing as us. They have continued their flyer but have been sacrificing miles to us as they sail due north. 'They are keeping an
eye on this lousy mess and are trying to avoid it,' I am told. This 'lousy mess' (a technical meteorological term) is, crudely speaking, caused by two highs, with north-flowing wind on one side, south-flowing wind on the other and very little - just light, flukey winds - between. This is where we are.
Those of us at 31oN or thereabouts are fighting a battle through similar conditions. Within our own horizon, we are engaged in an ungainly dance, with Spirit of Sark watching us watching them, and Team Stelmar watching us watching Spirit of Sark watching them. If you see what I mean. Meanwhile, some 20 or so miles to
the east, Barclays Adventurer and SAIC La Jolla are also experiencing much the same pattern of events and are now three miles and almost seven miles behind respectively - which at least puts us back in third.
Bob Dylan sings 'The times they are a-changing' on the stereo, Christian is baking bread in the warm fug of the galley, time seems to be slooowing down. The meerkat, sleepy by now, appears again, huffing and puffing, exhaling his
words with a tired groan. 'We are still 25 low. We just need some more wind!'
'Well, YOU ordered this sh*t!' jokes the helm. 'Why don't you go and order something different - like about 20 knots!'
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
25o12N 44o07W
As the wind shifted forwards at 6pm watch changeover yesterday, we dropped the flanker and those left on deck took a well-needed bath as the heavens opened. Below decks it is the same temperature as a steel-works, so fireman Rob tells us, so the wash was a refreshing treat. Not that this was how everyone saw it. Holger, on the helm, was determined to stay dry and had somehow managed to reach for his foulie jacket just in time, whilst those at the shrouds and on the winches got as soaked as they would have done on any Southern Ocean watch, albeit in considerably warmer water this time. But it just didn't seem fair, so before coming off deck Chris and Rich poured two bottles of water down Holger's neck. Herr Doktor was not impressed!
Now, we are slipping through the early hours with the genoa up after a brief spell with the yankee and staysail, and the breeze is fading. Rain gave way to a wash of watercolour sunset before the full moon lit our path towards Boston. A net of bright stars emerging between fleeting white clouds promises a lovely dawn when we hope to discover that this dying wind has not lost us any ground to those following in our wake. Very light winds are expected over the next couple of days and it seems likely that we will lose some miles to those boats out to the east - fingers crossed that any reshuffling in their favour leaves plenty of scope for us to recover the lead in the final week.
The distance seems to have been eaten up so quickly - yesterday we again reached for the cocktail umbrellas and a couple of fresh limes to put the finishing touches to our G&Ts - poured in celebration of crossing the Tropic of Cancer in second place. So that's another of our objectives for the leg marked with a tick and something to feel very proud of. The only one left now unmarked on the wall is 'Win the Leg'. We have 1,600 miles left in which to achieve this and work continues around the clock to seize every opportunity to maximise boat speed. One of the most important objectives in the short term must be to keep our thoughts in the here and now. With emails coming thick and fast requesting decisions and information for the finish at Portsmouth, this can sometimes be harder than you might think. The conversation on deck is now less about the trading currency of a cereal bar versus sour jelly worms (priceless by the way), and more about what we will all do when we get back, what it is going to feel like racing up the Solent and what a party it is going to be!
But we do, after all, have around 5,000 miles of racing before us, valuable points for three of the seven legs left up for grabs and several weeks of sailing during which anything could happen. So it is a case of fixing our eye firmly on the ball. It's all about that feeling once you reach the end of a race; the beer tastes so much sweeter if you feel that you have done everything possible, given every ounce of your concentration and effort to get the best possible result. Do that and I am sure that Boston, La Rochelle and Portsmouth will be days that are hard to beat!
Now, we are slipping through the early hours with the genoa up after a brief spell with the yankee and staysail, and the breeze is fading. Rain gave way to a wash of watercolour sunset before the full moon lit our path towards Boston. A net of bright stars emerging between fleeting white clouds promises a lovely dawn when we hope to discover that this dying wind has not lost us any ground to those following in our wake. Very light winds are expected over the next couple of days and it seems likely that we will lose some miles to those boats out to the east - fingers crossed that any reshuffling in their favour leaves plenty of scope for us to recover the lead in the final week.
The distance seems to have been eaten up so quickly - yesterday we again reached for the cocktail umbrellas and a couple of fresh limes to put the finishing touches to our G&Ts - poured in celebration of crossing the Tropic of Cancer in second place. So that's another of our objectives for the leg marked with a tick and something to feel very proud of. The only one left now unmarked on the wall is 'Win the Leg'. We have 1,600 miles left in which to achieve this and work continues around the clock to seize every opportunity to maximise boat speed. One of the most important objectives in the short term must be to keep our thoughts in the here and now. With emails coming thick and fast requesting decisions and information for the finish at Portsmouth, this can sometimes be harder than you might think. The conversation on deck is now less about the trading currency of a cereal bar versus sour jelly worms (priceless by the way), and more about what we will all do when we get back, what it is going to feel like racing up the Solent and what a party it is going to be!
But we do, after all, have around 5,000 miles of racing before us, valuable points for three of the seven legs left up for grabs and several weeks of sailing during which anything could happen. So it is a case of fixing our eye firmly on the ball. It's all about that feeling once you reach the end of a race; the beer tastes so much sweeter if you feel that you have done everything possible, given every ounce of your concentration and effort to get the best possible result. Do that and I am sure that Boston, La Rochelle and Portsmouth will be days that are hard to beat!
Sunday, May 22, 2005
16o29N 38o23W
Can we, can't we? Can we, can't we? The wind is see-sawing forwards and backwards, taking us in and out of the parameters for flying the kite at a frustrating rate. Still carrying our yellow headsails and sailing fast enough to slowly improve upon our position sched by sched, we are itching to hoist the flanker which will give us even better boat speed.
"Wind has gone aft," calls the helm, and the headsail trimmer disappears up front to re-check trim.
"Wind has gone aft another five degrees." Now the flanker seems possible. David stands by the wheel, huffing and puffing, brow furrowed.
"We'll give it five minutes and see. If this holds we'll go for it." Bowman, foredeck guys and snakepit get everything ready for a hoist.
"Wind has come forwards again," notes the yankee winchman, and we all stand down - for the umpteenth time.
This is the cycle of events which has kept us on our toes for watch after watch and it seems to take place about once an hour. It makes it impossible for David to switch off and he is regularly telling the navigator, 'wake me in an hour'. It's very tiring.
Of course, we could bear away and put the kite up no problem, but heading west may not be such a good idea bearing in mind the high-pressure system building ahead of us. Whether this system will herald a return to a light-winds lottery remains to be seen, but seems likely. Inevitably if the wind dies in front the yachts in front will slow down first, giving those behind a chance to make up considerable ground. We must wait and see, trying in the meantime to build up as many miles as possible between ourselves and those who follow on a similar course.
Luckily this situation, which is enough to test anyone's patience, is no longer exacerbated by a dripping, jungle-like sauna down below - rain-soaked clothes hanging everywhere, the limbs of restless sleepers flung over the sides of bunks. Now the back bedroom is almost liveable-in.
Stephen continues his recovery from The Curious Incident of the Fish in the Nightime, although his eye is not a pretty sight. Hopefully he can still see enough to keep us on the right course and in the meantime it should certainly be considered a safety issue - perhaps some kind of fish siren could be rigged up, clear fish goggles donned and the helmet worn by anyone going forwards.
"Wind has gone aft," calls the helm, and the headsail trimmer disappears up front to re-check trim.
"Wind has gone aft another five degrees." Now the flanker seems possible. David stands by the wheel, huffing and puffing, brow furrowed.
"We'll give it five minutes and see. If this holds we'll go for it." Bowman, foredeck guys and snakepit get everything ready for a hoist.
"Wind has come forwards again," notes the yankee winchman, and we all stand down - for the umpteenth time.
This is the cycle of events which has kept us on our toes for watch after watch and it seems to take place about once an hour. It makes it impossible for David to switch off and he is regularly telling the navigator, 'wake me in an hour'. It's very tiring.
Of course, we could bear away and put the kite up no problem, but heading west may not be such a good idea bearing in mind the high-pressure system building ahead of us. Whether this system will herald a return to a light-winds lottery remains to be seen, but seems likely. Inevitably if the wind dies in front the yachts in front will slow down first, giving those behind a chance to make up considerable ground. We must wait and see, trying in the meantime to build up as many miles as possible between ourselves and those who follow on a similar course.
Luckily this situation, which is enough to test anyone's patience, is no longer exacerbated by a dripping, jungle-like sauna down below - rain-soaked clothes hanging everywhere, the limbs of restless sleepers flung over the sides of bunks. Now the back bedroom is almost liveable-in.
Stephen continues his recovery from The Curious Incident of the Fish in the Nightime, although his eye is not a pretty sight. Hopefully he can still see enough to keep us on the right course and in the meantime it should certainly be considered a safety issue - perhaps some kind of fish siren could be rigged up, clear fish goggles donned and the helmet worn by anyone going forwards.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Atlantic Ocean
At the prize-giving in Cape Town, BP Explorer scored a hat-trick; not only did we pick up prizes for our second place on Leg 4 and the Cape-to-Cape trophy (fastest boat from Cape Horn to the Cape of Good Hope), but our favourite chef and general all-round good guy, Major Malhi, also collected an award for Best Mate in the Fleet. Our boat song is 'Right Here, Right Now' by Fatboy Slim, and, as the lyrics suggest, 'We've come a long way, through the hard times and the good.' Major was nominated for his unerring friendliness through those 20,000-plus miles of racing. His curries have lent flavour and colour to even the coldest, grey day, he is always funny and cheerful and selflessly agrees to sleep up front so that we do not have to suffer the sounds of his impressive snoring! What more can you ask? Today Major turns 21 again so it is a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to him from his mates on BP Explorer and no doubt the rest of the fleet too (Major is a household name amongst the other crews).
Giving him the bumps might prove problematic though. After a difficult 24 hours hoisting and dropping spinnakers in the changeable winds of the doldrums, we are now heeled over with the yellow sails up, almost for the first time since Cape Town, and a steadying north-easterly is carrying us towards Boston. After repeated drenchings in the heavy downpours, alternated with unbelievably sweaty kite packs below decks (five alone last night in the 37°C heat), we are hoping that we have finally clawed our way out of the doldrums; we should know if this is the case by the end of the day.
Meanwhile, the boats further east are sailing a little faster, with SAIC La Jolla and BG SPIRIT twelve and seven miles in front respectively. Spirit of Sark are six-and-a-half miles behind and Barclays Adventurer have closed up to just eight miles distant. So we are doing everything we can to regain our lead and hold off those behind.
It is going to be a boozy week - whisky for the Equator, Champagne from Challenge Business and a bottle of Highland Park from Holger's parents, Herr und Frau Bindel, for crossing our track - and (hopefully soon) more bubbly to celebrate our escape into the north-easterlies. This should be almost enough to tide us through to our arrival in the USA, 2,908 miles away. We certainly know that we are on the way; last night Polaris put in an appearance for the first time in seven months, greeted with ooohs and aaahs from the more romantically-minded amongst the crew. It is beginning to feel like we are headed for our home stomping ground once again.
Giving him the bumps might prove problematic though. After a difficult 24 hours hoisting and dropping spinnakers in the changeable winds of the doldrums, we are now heeled over with the yellow sails up, almost for the first time since Cape Town, and a steadying north-easterly is carrying us towards Boston. After repeated drenchings in the heavy downpours, alternated with unbelievably sweaty kite packs below decks (five alone last night in the 37°C heat), we are hoping that we have finally clawed our way out of the doldrums; we should know if this is the case by the end of the day.
Meanwhile, the boats further east are sailing a little faster, with SAIC La Jolla and BG SPIRIT twelve and seven miles in front respectively. Spirit of Sark are six-and-a-half miles behind and Barclays Adventurer have closed up to just eight miles distant. So we are doing everything we can to regain our lead and hold off those behind.
It is going to be a boozy week - whisky for the Equator, Champagne from Challenge Business and a bottle of Highland Park from Holger's parents, Herr und Frau Bindel, for crossing our track - and (hopefully soon) more bubbly to celebrate our escape into the north-easterlies. This should be almost enough to tide us through to our arrival in the USA, 2,908 miles away. We certainly know that we are on the way; last night Polaris put in an appearance for the first time in seven months, greeted with ooohs and aaahs from the more romantically-minded amongst the crew. It is beginning to feel like we are headed for our home stomping ground once again.
Monday, May 16, 2005
0o35S 24o51W
The countdown has begun and the slops bucket is filling rapidly - currently it is a gelatinous mountain of googah, cous cous, cheesecake and pasta, with the odd tea bag thrown in. If this breeze holds, we should cross the Equator later this morning. Somewhat more cosmopolitan than the Viking crews who supposedly began the 'Crossing the Line' ceremony, we are still bent on making sure that the occasion is marked properly, bearing in mind that it is one of the oldest nautical customs in the book.
As is traditional the night before 'Crossing the Line', our Captain has been duly informed of Neptune's imminent arrival by one of his messengers and has obediently filed his list of 'slimy pollywogs' (aka Matt, Gabi and Giles). Pollywogs are those who have never crossed the Equator before and who must therefore be subjected to a cruel litany of tortures at the hands of us Equatorial old-hands, the 'trusty shellbacks'. After their 'preparation', the pollywogs will be judged for their crimes by the most senior shellback of all, Neptune himself. Roman god of the sea, Neptune is said to be the evil spirit of the ocean, the name itself being corrupted from 'Duppy Jonah' ('duppy': the West Indian name for spirit or ghost; Jonah: the Old Testament prophet who was thrown into the sea). Neptune always appears with a trident, and usually with his queen, Amphitrite, and Davy Jones. Word has it that this retinue are otherwise engaged as messengers to the ten yachts behind us, and we have fashioned a trident and a crown out of weetabix packets and foil googah bags just in case Neptune forgets to bring his own in the rush - after all he has a busy day or so ahead.
We are reliably informed that as well as being bathed in Equator goo, it is custom for the slimy polliwogs to have to kiss the 'Royal Baby' (the fattest chief on board) on the belly. He has not yet been named! One thing we can guarantee though is that he will be very hot and sweaty indeed. Not a nice thought. Thank Neptune I'm a trusty shellback!
As is traditional the night before 'Crossing the Line', our Captain has been duly informed of Neptune's imminent arrival by one of his messengers and has obediently filed his list of 'slimy pollywogs' (aka Matt, Gabi and Giles). Pollywogs are those who have never crossed the Equator before and who must therefore be subjected to a cruel litany of tortures at the hands of us Equatorial old-hands, the 'trusty shellbacks'. After their 'preparation', the pollywogs will be judged for their crimes by the most senior shellback of all, Neptune himself. Roman god of the sea, Neptune is said to be the evil spirit of the ocean, the name itself being corrupted from 'Duppy Jonah' ('duppy': the West Indian name for spirit or ghost; Jonah: the Old Testament prophet who was thrown into the sea). Neptune always appears with a trident, and usually with his queen, Amphitrite, and Davy Jones. Word has it that this retinue are otherwise engaged as messengers to the ten yachts behind us, and we have fashioned a trident and a crown out of weetabix packets and foil googah bags just in case Neptune forgets to bring his own in the rush - after all he has a busy day or so ahead.
We are reliably informed that as well as being bathed in Equator goo, it is custom for the slimy polliwogs to have to kiss the 'Royal Baby' (the fattest chief on board) on the belly. He has not yet been named! One thing we can guarantee though is that he will be very hot and sweaty indeed. Not a nice thought. Thank Neptune I'm a trusty shellback!
Friday, May 13, 2005
8o40S 15o56W
In the early hours of this morning, events threatened to see Friday 13th evolving into everything it is cracked up to be. For Cop's watch especially, things on deck were momentarily as hairy as a woolly mammoth. "This was the most scared that I have been so far," admitted BP Explorer crew Gabi. Already sweating in foulie bottoms below decks, which she wore as a safety measure whilst cooking breakfast in the heavily-rolling galley, she was summoned upstairs to help with a particularly difficult gybe. As if the pressures of being a first-timer at the porridge and fresh bread were not enough!
After six days solid with the same kite up, the wind had first increased yesterday at around 6pm. The 1.5oz kite was dropped and the flanker hoisted. The swell continued to build and it looked like a long night ahead for everyone - the helms steering with all their strength to keep the boat steady and avoid broaching, only the best trimmers controlling the kite and those in the snakepit adopting the traditional position for chapel watch - crouched in a prayer-like stance for long hours whilst holding onto the preventer, white-knuckled, ready at any minute to 'dump' it in response to the boom being dragged underwater as the yacht rolls to leeward. Failing to release the preventer means that the boom is pinned heavily beneath the waves and things are in danger of breaking under the load - which could pose a serious risk to crew.
During the first of Cop's night watches, the 6-10pm, the VHF crackled into life as Spirit of Sark called us up with a warning that they were about the gybe - so near were they that in the pitching darkness the encounter could otherwise have been rather too close for comfort as they lurched in front of us. Hardening up to avoid them, the on-watch looked on as the enemy headed into the gloom to the beam. And there they stayed for around the next six hours, neck and neck as usual!
As David explained yesterday, gybing the kite gets more complicated the higher the wind strength, and during the second of Cop's night watches, the 2-6am, things were getting so marginal that it became necessary to reduce sail and put a reef in the main in order to be able to execute the gybe more safely. The boat lurched like a light aircraft taking off in heavy winds, voices on deck frantically yelled commands and safety checks at full volume to be heard above the sound of rushing water and those of us struggling to sleep in our Turkish sauna had at least one ear open, half-expecting a call of 'all hands' if anything went wrong and we had to drop the kite. Thankfully all went well, but at breakfast those coming off deck looked truly 'pooped' - hopefully they will be tired enough to sleep through our own similar yells and struggles this morning!
At least we are going fast as we try to claw our way back up the pack once again! Currently in sixth, we are 23 miles from the leaders but within ten miles of all the other boats in front as we storm towards the Equator (about 800 miles or four days away). Here we are going to make sure that the BP Explorer Crew get a dousing they will never forget - after full-body wrap and head massage a la googah, mashed potato, porridge and more they are going to think that high-wind, adrenaline-fuelled gybes by starlight are a walk in the
park!
After six days solid with the same kite up, the wind had first increased yesterday at around 6pm. The 1.5oz kite was dropped and the flanker hoisted. The swell continued to build and it looked like a long night ahead for everyone - the helms steering with all their strength to keep the boat steady and avoid broaching, only the best trimmers controlling the kite and those in the snakepit adopting the traditional position for chapel watch - crouched in a prayer-like stance for long hours whilst holding onto the preventer, white-knuckled, ready at any minute to 'dump' it in response to the boom being dragged underwater as the yacht rolls to leeward. Failing to release the preventer means that the boom is pinned heavily beneath the waves and things are in danger of breaking under the load - which could pose a serious risk to crew.
During the first of Cop's night watches, the 6-10pm, the VHF crackled into life as Spirit of Sark called us up with a warning that they were about the gybe - so near were they that in the pitching darkness the encounter could otherwise have been rather too close for comfort as they lurched in front of us. Hardening up to avoid them, the on-watch looked on as the enemy headed into the gloom to the beam. And there they stayed for around the next six hours, neck and neck as usual!
As David explained yesterday, gybing the kite gets more complicated the higher the wind strength, and during the second of Cop's night watches, the 2-6am, things were getting so marginal that it became necessary to reduce sail and put a reef in the main in order to be able to execute the gybe more safely. The boat lurched like a light aircraft taking off in heavy winds, voices on deck frantically yelled commands and safety checks at full volume to be heard above the sound of rushing water and those of us struggling to sleep in our Turkish sauna had at least one ear open, half-expecting a call of 'all hands' if anything went wrong and we had to drop the kite. Thankfully all went well, but at breakfast those coming off deck looked truly 'pooped' - hopefully they will be tired enough to sleep through our own similar yells and struggles this morning!
At least we are going fast as we try to claw our way back up the pack once again! Currently in sixth, we are 23 miles from the leaders but within ten miles of all the other boats in front as we storm towards the Equator (about 800 miles or four days away). Here we are going to make sure that the BP Explorer Crew get a dousing they will never forget - after full-body wrap and head massage a la googah, mashed potato, porridge and more they are going to think that high-wind, adrenaline-fuelled gybes by starlight are a walk in the
park!
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
14o45S 6o18W
On a hot leg, where all the sounds from above-decks reach the back bedroom through open hatches and the body is not knocked unconscious by Southern-Ocean exhaustion, sleep, though welcome, can be fitful and restless. Many of us swap stories of bizarre dreams once on deck and sometimes things seem a little surreal upon waking! When I lay in my bunk and heard the cry of 'Land Ho!' at dusk yesterday, I thought that I must be dreaming, but on climbing the companionway steps, sure enough, there was a murky outline of hills on the port beam. This was the island St Helena - and, as usual, Christian was the first to spot land and give the call.
We had not expected to actually see the island (a British colony since 1834), but Cop and his watch had gybed westwards during the afternoon and this was a welcome surprise to the oncoming crew. Close though we came, we did not pause even for the briefest look though - if we had made a pit-stop, we would certainly have been in interesting company. Since being discovered by the Portuguese navigator, Joao dã Nova, on 21 May 1502, St Helena has been visited by such illustrious characters as Edmund Halley (1677), navigator and explorer William Dampier (1691), Captain Cook (1775) and Charles Darwin - who stopped on his homeward-bound journey in 1836. During the nineteenth century it was the haunt of numerous exiles - Napoleon Bonaparte (1815), South African Zulu Chief Dinizulu (1890) and over 6,000 Boer-War prisoners from the Anglo-Boer War. When he arrived, Chief Dinizulu would have been greeted by St Helena's oldest inhabitant, Jonathan the tortoise. Already 50 when he arrived in 1882, he is now over 170 years old! Today, Jonathan shares his home with 5,000 other citizens, most of whom make their living from work in the Public Services, fishing or at the fish-freezing facility. Some 1,000 St Helenians also work offshore, in Ascension or the Falklands.
It seems that the sheer cliffs intersected with deep valleys, the rocky shores and rolling hills, subtropical forest and grasslands found inshore can expect to remain largely unspoilt. For the tourists who enjoy these sights, along with St Helena's lush semi-tropical vegetation, are few. The island has no airport, no safe anchorage for yachts in heavy seas and little space aboard the passenger/cargo ship RMS St Helena, so tourism is unlikely to develop rapidly.
This must be a relief for Jonathan who no doubt has got used to things as they are and it seems a shame that there was no time for us to enjoy a brief visit, but as ever we are being hounded by another little inhabited island - Isle of Sark. As we fly through the gloom towards a new day they are hot on our heels and almost within shouting distance! It feels like our own private form of exile; our fate to sail the seven seas forever more, head to head, neck and neck with Captain Gillespie and his determined crew.
We had not expected to actually see the island (a British colony since 1834), but Cop and his watch had gybed westwards during the afternoon and this was a welcome surprise to the oncoming crew. Close though we came, we did not pause even for the briefest look though - if we had made a pit-stop, we would certainly have been in interesting company. Since being discovered by the Portuguese navigator, Joao dã Nova, on 21 May 1502, St Helena has been visited by such illustrious characters as Edmund Halley (1677), navigator and explorer William Dampier (1691), Captain Cook (1775) and Charles Darwin - who stopped on his homeward-bound journey in 1836. During the nineteenth century it was the haunt of numerous exiles - Napoleon Bonaparte (1815), South African Zulu Chief Dinizulu (1890) and over 6,000 Boer-War prisoners from the Anglo-Boer War. When he arrived, Chief Dinizulu would have been greeted by St Helena's oldest inhabitant, Jonathan the tortoise. Already 50 when he arrived in 1882, he is now over 170 years old! Today, Jonathan shares his home with 5,000 other citizens, most of whom make their living from work in the Public Services, fishing or at the fish-freezing facility. Some 1,000 St Helenians also work offshore, in Ascension or the Falklands.
It seems that the sheer cliffs intersected with deep valleys, the rocky shores and rolling hills, subtropical forest and grasslands found inshore can expect to remain largely unspoilt. For the tourists who enjoy these sights, along with St Helena's lush semi-tropical vegetation, are few. The island has no airport, no safe anchorage for yachts in heavy seas and little space aboard the passenger/cargo ship RMS St Helena, so tourism is unlikely to develop rapidly.
This must be a relief for Jonathan who no doubt has got used to things as they are and it seems a shame that there was no time for us to enjoy a brief visit, but as ever we are being hounded by another little inhabited island - Isle of Sark. As we fly through the gloom towards a new day they are hot on our heels and almost within shouting distance! It feels like our own private form of exile; our fate to sail the seven seas forever more, head to head, neck and neck with Captain Gillespie and his determined crew.
Saturday, May 7, 2005
21o45S 2o10E
When the scheds come in every six hours, the numbers are displayed on our screen at the chart table in red and black - red for the yachts in front of us, black for those behind. "Please go downstairs and find out how to turn the red off," was David's wry request to Rich this morning. "It is a bit depressing to look at and I think that this is going to last a good few days."
By the time that the clouds parted out to the east at around seven, the sun had already crept a few fingers above the horizon; appearing to break on our day from above, it shot tentative golden brushstrokes across an otherwise watery dawn and illuminated a newly rolling sea. Thankfully, it also lit up Spirit of Sark's spinnaker on our beam - our primary adversary has failed to escape the same fate as us.
This is one blessing in the otherwise gloomy picture with which we are dealing right now. Yachts to the west and yachts to the north have got away from us and meanwhile we have been labouring in far less wind watching the red grow and grow. We are now in seventh.
Overnight, however, the wind did begin to build once again; twice in the darkness we have flown our kites to the edge and hurriedly changed up a gear, first to the 1.5oz and then to the flanker - amidst edgy-voiced commands as we realise that we are pushing our luck. But this is the name of the game - pushing things just far enough to be competitive but not overstepping the mark. We do, after all, have to nurse ourselves and our equipment almost 6,000 more miles to Boston and one breakage now could ruin our chances of storming back into position.
On a lighter note, as we struggle to keep one step ahead whilst the fleet is constantly reshuffled by the elements, we find ourselves invaded with alarming regularity. Whether arriving on the back of the gentle South-Atlantic waves, or spinning onto the deck with the aid of jet-propulsion, numerous squid have been making their presence felt underfoot and elsewhere. Their hideous blue-black ink does not go with our colour-scheme and those kite trimmers who lapse into that classic head-back, mouth-like-a-goldfish stance would do as well to watch out in case they find themselves dealt an unwelcome snack as the next squid whizzes through the air!
By the time that the clouds parted out to the east at around seven, the sun had already crept a few fingers above the horizon; appearing to break on our day from above, it shot tentative golden brushstrokes across an otherwise watery dawn and illuminated a newly rolling sea. Thankfully, it also lit up Spirit of Sark's spinnaker on our beam - our primary adversary has failed to escape the same fate as us.
This is one blessing in the otherwise gloomy picture with which we are dealing right now. Yachts to the west and yachts to the north have got away from us and meanwhile we have been labouring in far less wind watching the red grow and grow. We are now in seventh.
Overnight, however, the wind did begin to build once again; twice in the darkness we have flown our kites to the edge and hurriedly changed up a gear, first to the 1.5oz and then to the flanker - amidst edgy-voiced commands as we realise that we are pushing our luck. But this is the name of the game - pushing things just far enough to be competitive but not overstepping the mark. We do, after all, have to nurse ourselves and our equipment almost 6,000 more miles to Boston and one breakage now could ruin our chances of storming back into position.
On a lighter note, as we struggle to keep one step ahead whilst the fleet is constantly reshuffled by the elements, we find ourselves invaded with alarming regularity. Whether arriving on the back of the gentle South-Atlantic waves, or spinning onto the deck with the aid of jet-propulsion, numerous squid have been making their presence felt underfoot and elsewhere. Their hideous blue-black ink does not go with our colour-scheme and those kite trimmers who lapse into that classic head-back, mouth-like-a-goldfish stance would do as well to watch out in case they find themselves dealt an unwelcome snack as the next squid whizzes through the air!
Wednesday, May 4, 2005
26o52S 9o07E
Downwind sailing is definitely, to use one of David's catchphrases, 'the way forward'! From the small pluses to the huge advantages, there is no comparison when it comes to comfort and speed. The bread rises perfectly, people have no excuse not to wash their socks regularly and getting dressed takes just a few seconds - which means more sleep! We have been steaming north-west out into the Atlantic for approaching three and a half days now and have already covered 650nm. We have been very, very lucky with the weather. When the fleet left Cape Town on the Atlantic leg to France in the 2000 race, they got stuck for days in a sickening windless hole just outside the city and the race finish had to be postponed.
Our long journey north is broken into several stages and the first of these, the Tropic of Capricorn, is just a short hop away, where the crew will be treated to a special treat of a gin and tonic complete with a slice of real lime and a cocktail umbrella (pink of course!). The freezing temperatures of the Southern Ocean are a 'still fresh but thankfully past' nightmare and things are looking good. And without the distraction of simply trying to survive intact in the face of all that weather, there is renewed vigour amongst the crew when it comes to racing. The competition could not be closer; as we travel at ten knots through the perfect starry night towards another fantastic dawn, we are flanked by Team Stelmar and VAIO on the port beam and bow respectively, with Spirit of Sark on the port quarter and Barclays Adventurer dead astern. The ghostly shapes of lit-up spinnakers are all around on our high-speed runway heading straight to Boston!
In the immediate term, however, there is rising concern regarding tactics. Those boats out to the west - SAIC La Jolla and Samsung - have seen considerable gains (they were 17 and 4 miles ahead on the last scheds), whilst those of us who came out east to avoid the high-pressure with its accompanying light winds (which should arrive tomorrow) have lost some ground. So there are important decisions about routing to be made. David is in and out of bed like a man possessed. As we try, with varying degrees of success, to sleep in our rolling bunks, the regular noises which rouse us are the all too familiar screams of 'get it down now!', shortly followed by the whoosh and wet flutter of yet another kite being rugby tackled onto the deck in the nick of time. Leg One memories come flooding back.
Our two new BP Crew, Gabi Froes (a lawyer from Rio) and Matt Cannon (a Marketing Analyst in Marine from Hemel Hempstead) seem to be enjoying themselves and are doing brilliantly at picking everything up at top speed. In my humble opinion they have been allocated a great leg. The war of attrition against mountainous seas might be over for the time being but there is definitely a battle raging out here and it is already a fierce one!
Our long journey north is broken into several stages and the first of these, the Tropic of Capricorn, is just a short hop away, where the crew will be treated to a special treat of a gin and tonic complete with a slice of real lime and a cocktail umbrella (pink of course!). The freezing temperatures of the Southern Ocean are a 'still fresh but thankfully past' nightmare and things are looking good. And without the distraction of simply trying to survive intact in the face of all that weather, there is renewed vigour amongst the crew when it comes to racing. The competition could not be closer; as we travel at ten knots through the perfect starry night towards another fantastic dawn, we are flanked by Team Stelmar and VAIO on the port beam and bow respectively, with Spirit of Sark on the port quarter and Barclays Adventurer dead astern. The ghostly shapes of lit-up spinnakers are all around on our high-speed runway heading straight to Boston!
In the immediate term, however, there is rising concern regarding tactics. Those boats out to the west - SAIC La Jolla and Samsung - have seen considerable gains (they were 17 and 4 miles ahead on the last scheds), whilst those of us who came out east to avoid the high-pressure with its accompanying light winds (which should arrive tomorrow) have lost some ground. So there are important decisions about routing to be made. David is in and out of bed like a man possessed. As we try, with varying degrees of success, to sleep in our rolling bunks, the regular noises which rouse us are the all too familiar screams of 'get it down now!', shortly followed by the whoosh and wet flutter of yet another kite being rugby tackled onto the deck in the nick of time. Leg One memories come flooding back.
Our two new BP Crew, Gabi Froes (a lawyer from Rio) and Matt Cannon (a Marketing Analyst in Marine from Hemel Hempstead) seem to be enjoying themselves and are doing brilliantly at picking everything up at top speed. In my humble opinion they have been allocated a great leg. The war of attrition against mountainous seas might be over for the time being but there is definitely a battle raging out here and it is already a fierce one!
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