During Leg 7 we were set to race from Jamaica to New York, before shooting off to Nova Scotia, across the Atlantic to Cork, before heading to Holland, then home to Hull. By all intents and purposes we were novices, but by Jamaica the worlders we old hands, and we leggers eager not to let the team down.
Like all expeditions there were plenty of ups and downs. The new 2013 crews will be experiencing many of them right now. Seasickness will hit first, followed by exhaustion, panic and possibly a couple of accidents. Even with the excellent training provided by the Clipper team it's not difficult to imagine the chaos some crews will experience in their first few days at sea. The professional skippers may even be thinking..."What the hell of I got myself into!?"
My own race had it's fair share of disasters - a dismasting, a grounding, several injuries, a couple a which were very serious - in fact I dislocated a toe and fractured my thumb (off the back end of the Isle of White, how exotic!) There were shredded sails, man-over-boards and broken steering columns. Onboard politics were a minefield, some crews were at breaking point. It's life-changing, and not always for the right reasons.
As an ocean rower I felt at ease with whatever the seas could throw at me, but the relative complexity of the yacht, certainly in comparison to a rowing boat, and the constantly changing dynamics of the crew were at times extremely tough. Imagine eighteen people squashed into a floating caravan!
But one of my fondest memories was sharing a five hour nightshift sat on deck with a chap called Heston - nicknamed for his remarkable likeness to the bespectacled Fat Duck chef. We'd not had much of a relationship before that night; in fact the worlders clique was at times difficult to penetrate. As Heston had won the converted title of Watch Leader (aka. second in command) he was often to be found standing behind the wheel, lighting a rolly deciding whether it was time for a sail change.
As our track across the North Atlantic demanded very little but careful helmsmanship, I sat out under the sails staring at the stars, trying not to get too cold. To my surprise Heston took a seat beside me, and we launched into a "What chocolate bar am I thinking about?" game, which left us laughing hysterically for hours!
We didn't speak much after that, there just wasn't a suitable moment. Keeping the boat moving tends to take over. But it was one of those shared experiences that always brings back a smile. Somewhere in the middle of the ocean we were debating whether Fry's Turkish Delight really counts as a chocolate bar or not.
Anyway, here's a post I wrote whilst aboard the good ship Singapore. It'll give you an idea of what it can be like on board.
Do follow this year's race, it's really is an incredible adventure. If you want to see the yachts, they'll be sailing back into London next summer.
www.clipperroundtheworld.com
***
We’d
spent all morning battling hard to make it to the front of the
fleet, only
Cork and 1000 miles of ocean stood between us and a race
win. Although still
very early on, in fact this was our second day at
sea, the crew were in top
spirits. I think we were all secretly gloating
at our early success.
The
winds began to fill and the white horses were out on a gallop, Jim
called time
on the medium weight spinnaker. We’d changed spinnakers a
hundred times
before, perhaps that was our downfall? Maybe we’d become a
little complacent,
perhaps we needed to take a little more time, do a
couple more checks? Buoyed
up with enthusiasm ‘B’ Watch scattered across
the deck manning winches and
gripping guys.
It
happened so quickly, I didn’t even realise we were in trouble until I saw the
foot of the spinnaker hit the water. We’d already dragged a huge body of
it through the boom and onto the deck ready for a quick dispatch down the
companionway. The guy rope taunted and we couldn’t hold the kite any longer and
back it slipped inflating into this menacing bubble billowing out from behind
the mainsail.
Jim
was glued to the helm bellowing instructions, cursing as the kite filled with
water. With all our might we could not get the guy back through the boom. The
halyards and guys slithered off into the ocean creating an enormous octopus,
which swam menacingly off our stern.
A
spinnaker can sink a boat, it can pull you over and under within seconds. I
have a healthy respect for their power. Even after a month’s sailing I’m still
filled with trepidation when we fly one. So much can go wrong, a Chinese gybe
and suddenly you’re in the drink.
The
octopus was beginning to tear, I remember seeing the first rip and naively
thinking “If we can get it in now a bit of Dacron will do the trick! A couple
of stitches and we can get out of this one with our pride intact.” But like the
dress on a Bond girl the seams began to unzip. Huge sections of the kite torn
apart slipping away into the waves.
Halyards
were flogging, Jim was swearing, crew were dangling precariously over the guard
rail desperate to catch hold of a tentacle in an attempt to bring it into the
boat. The awesome power of the wind and waves scuppered any attempt to tame the
creature. I stood helpless on the pushpin watching as a section disappeared
under our keel a wrapped itself neatly round our rudder.
We
lost steering.
‘A’
Watch were starting to appear on deck, still crumple-faced and bleary-eyed from
sleep. I can only imagine what horror they witnessed as they crawled out of the
companionway. Being in the thick of things you can’t take in the full picture,
the carnage that had unfolded about the ship.
Jim
yelled to drop the main, with no steering and a thickening wind we couldn’t
control the sail as it tumbled down towards us. Half of it made its way over
the side, the other cascaded all over the port deck trapping crew and ropes
alike.
“We
can’t just look at it!” cried Jim. “We’ve got to get the bloody thing in!”
This
was our Moby Dick, a mighty beast that seemed to elude every attempt to capture
it. Crewmate holding on to crewmate as bodies reached
well over the side to
grab fabric or rope.
Singas
began to breach, pitching and rolling in the swell. I didn’t see it but Jim
must have discovered the reason for our demise as what remained of the kite
found its way onto the deck, tugged by ten or more exhausted crew. There was
barely any sail left, just tattered shreds no amount of Dacron was going to
repair.
It
took a while to clean up the mess, tidy the lines, release the rudder from the
guy and shredded kite that had made its way under our keel.
Jim
called us to the cockpit; we sat their glum faced and knackered. A couple of
the lads joked but they were nervous giggles like laughing at a funeral. Jim,
in his usual understated style rallied the troops.
“Well
we got ourselves in a bit of a pickle!”
He
went on to explain that a knot in the lazy spinnaker sheet had caused our
catastrophe. He dangled the evidence in front of us. It wasn’t a knot anyone of
us would tie. It’s seems if there is an opportunity for a rope to tangle and
knot itself it will. The lazy sheet had caught itself around the block
therefore not allowing the kite to run free. There was no way the crew could
pull against a kite still attached to the other side of the boat.
I
think ‘B’ Watch still felt guilty. We skulked downstairs to our bunks wandering
if there was anything at all we could have done. I personally felt strange
about the fact that it was partly my responsibility to take photographs of the
event, it’s what ‘Media’ crew have to do, to be apart from the action and document
the moment. It must take a very different personality from my own to be able to
disassociate oneself and become voyeur instead of participant. I didn’t even
think to get the camera. So it is my hope that this blog gives you that picture
that I wasn’t able to take.
Oh, and less than 12 hours later
the lightweight spinnaker blew. ‘A’ Watch were on deck and the calamity started
all over again!
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