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…and I thought the last leg was eventful! This time is wasn’t so much the conditions or the people that made the story but our home, the Big Blue Boat, the extraordinary places that we visited and the race itself.

After an emotional farewell to some close friends that we left behind in Qingdao, we headed out to sea once more. The winds were so light that our friends left Qingdao before us. As night drew in a few hours after crossing the startline, we could still see the lights of the city shining brightly a few miles away. We drifted along until the current changed direction and we started to be pushed backwards so for the first time in the race, we dropped our anchor. I was woken for my anchor watch shift at 4am and minutes after arriving on deck, flakes of snow started to descend from the night sky. Over the next few hours there was enough to build snowmen on deck and then we enjoyed one of the most surreal snowball fights of my life – in a yacht race, on deck, on board a boat off the coast of China, and wearing shorts and t-shirts! In fact we had so much fun that Clipper initially refused to publish the video we made of it all.

Once more we were out on a limb tactically. We headed north as part of our ‘Sultana Plan’, to make the most of the sea currents while the rest of the fleet stayed closer to the great circle route (the shortest distance between two points on the globe). We made good progress on the first few days and then we broke our spinnaker pole. Not our best move, although thankfully we do carry two. Occasionally we need them both for some operations but thankfully it didn’t hinder us too much.

A few days later and bang, the most immense crack. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my life jacket instantly. Our last spinnaker pole was hanging precariously next to the mainsail. Even I have learnt that it shouldn’t be there and especially not with a piece of the mast track dangling off the end of it. As well as holding the pole to the mast, the track is needed to move the pole up and down – key to maximising speed. A 6 inch piece had sheared off under the strain and was now at the mercy of the Pacific. There were plenty of rumblings, obscenities and shouts of our race being over. To make it worse, we were in third place at the time and we watched fourth place sail straight by us and a few hours later, they were only 20 miles behind the leaders. A killer blow to morale. Amazingly, with a structural engineer, a doctor of aeronautical engineering and ex-Royal Engineer onboard the mast was useable again within 48 hours. We were back up and running and with nearly 3,000 miles to go alongside our faith in the Sultana Plan, the race was on…

…that is until the 5^th March, 2008. For the third time in the race, “all hands on deck” was being shouted, screamed and called down below. However, there was a surreal calm on deck and as I followed the bewildered gazes, I saw what can only be described as chaos. We had just lost over half of our 80ft mast. The top 50ft was now hanging lifeless from just above the first spreader, dangling all the way down into the ocean. Thankfully no one was hurt. The light winds and clam seas made the whole thing even more bizarre.

We just stood there and waited for the skipper who was busy downstairs reporting the incident. None of us had ever been in this situation before and weren’t sure where to start. After numerous attempts we managed to clear the sail that was wollowing in the water and trapped under the boat. Then we cleared the pole away. By this time it was clear that we needed to cut the mainsail from the mast and so I set about cutting the sliders that attach the sail to the mast. Then came my first real moment of panic. The shout of “clear out” came and everyone around me moved but I was stuck. I landed on the deck and knew that something above me was going horribly wrong. Thankfully when I tried again my legs were free and I escaped. Looking up I saw the mast start to make its way towards the ocean. It was falling and with it came wires, spreaders, rigging and lines – more than enough to give you a headache if you were caught! At this stage any chance of salvaging the mast had gone. It was now making its way towards the bottom of the Pacific and we needed to act fast. Skipper and I just cut at the mainsail to free it from the rest of the boat. Then came the realisation that the mast is firmly attached to the deck by a number of wires. The hydraulic cutters came into play and minutes later we were almost free. As Skipper tried to cut the last wire at the bow, the guard rail gave way and he followed. Now was not the time for a man overboard, especially not the skipper! Thankfully he clung on and a couple of the crew helped him back onboard – a close escape but there was no time to ponder on it. As great as the cutters are, sadly they don’t float and had gone overboard with the skipper. So while the deck attachments were being taken apart, so half a dozen of us had to throw the attached sail overboard. Watching it float away was a sad moment indeed.

Finally we were almost free and as the mast bounced against the side of the boat, seemingly trying to worsen our predicament by blasting a hole into our hull, we cut the final ropes. There she went in a matter of seconds. 50 ft of bright white mast disappearing into the dark, blue, Pacific Ocean waters, leaving no trace.

The decision was made that we should set up makeshift sails and motor when necessary (we didn’t have enough fuel to motor all the way) to Midway Island, 1,500 miles away. Our other option was to go back to Japan but thankfully the weather ruled that one out - I want to sail around the world and I feared that we would then fly to Hawaii and shatter my dreams. Conditions were no longer easy and the waves grew to around 25ft+. Reports from on deck suggested that knees were trembling and lips were quivering as we reached speeds of up to 22knots with our jury rig! We battled through for about 10 days and eventually we were warmly welcomed to Midway Island, an ex-naval base for the USA. However today it is home to some 2 million birds including 1 million albatross. They are everywhere and as they have no predators, you can get close enough to touch them. Unfortunately the brown, feathered hatchlings are difficult to see at night as they nest on the paths, which makes cycling home after a night in the bar its own little adventure!

30 hours after arriving we departed with extra fuel drums lashed to the deck and a revived (but slightly hungover!) crew. Conditions were appalling. We had huge swells and strong winds (I can’t tell you how strong as our wind instruments are now 4,000 metres below sea level!) and water poured over the decks from every angle.

200 miles out I was once more lying in my bed and heard a very distinctive ‘clunk’ and then the engine died. Our gearbox had just fallen off! We were now at the mercy of the ocean without proper sails and without an engine. We were now vulnerable, although with a functioning water maker and enough food to last for weeks, there was no need for panic just yet. So with the wind behind us, we returned to Midway. Thankfully we hadn’t burnt our bridges and we were welcomed back once more. It was a real privilege to have been once, but not many people can say they have been twice, especially under jury rig!!

Thankfully our third attempt to get to Hawaii was a far more successful endeavour and with the sun shining, we motored all the way, enabling us to relax and rest prior to all the hard work that needs to go into restoring the boat in preparation for the next race. The decision as to what happens about points and what happens if we’re not ready for the next race (amazingly another boat also lost their mast and so we’re not alone in this scenario) has yet to be taken. It has caused a fair amount of stress already as our overall race could effectively be over but that decision rests with Clipper. I don’t know if I’ll even get to Santa Cruz for my 30^th but at least I’ll have a story to tell you all in the pub!

1 fractured skull, 2 cracked vertebrae, 1 slipped disk, 1 upper arm broken in 5 places, more broken ribs than I can count, 1 sent home due to severe frostbite, 2 hospitalised with serious infections and 1 crew member with a case of ‘cabin fever’ that demanded 24 hour care and tranquilisers. This is just a sample of the injuries sustained on this leg across the fleet – yep, conditions were tough!

 The leg hadn’t started well for our Big Blue Boat as 3 of our ‘Round the Worlders’ pulled out until Qingdao for personal reasons. That’s quite a heavy blow when you are left with just 13 crew plus a skipper but the show had to go on. Despite leaving those 3 behind, we only said cheerio to 1 other and she’ll be back later in the race so spirits were high after a great stopover and a good rest in Singapore and Batam, where I’d thoroughly enjoyed visiting a night zoo, splashing around in a water park, drinking Singapore Slings in Raffles, mountain biking (yep, I’m officially unfit!) and gate crashing a gala Burn’s Night dinner.

Navigationally, this wasn’t intended to be a particularly demanding race and it was a pretty straight forward upwind slog past the Phillipines, through the Luzon Straits keeping Taiwan on our left and then up through the China Sea to Qingdao, host to this year’s Olympic sailing regatta. After the obligatory ‘fly by’ for the press, we passed through one of the busiest shipping lanes with more massive tankers than I ever care to see again to arrive at the start line. We started well, up there with the leading pack for the first hour but then the wind died on us while those closer to shore picked up breezes that never made it out to us. After only a couple of days we were already chasing the fleet. Position in the race and morale tend to be directly related and conditions were not conducive to comfortable living. Temperatures were well over 40*C and humidity was sky high. Within days my bed sheets were soaked through from sweat. We had to have the hatches closed as sailing into the wind, water was crashing over the decks. The only relief from the stifling heat was a trip to the bow to check trim and hope that you got caught by a wave that would cool you down. Sleeping was a luxury that few were afforded. As Watch Leader I had been looking forward to trying my hand again but with a little more knowledge and confidence than the first leg of the race. However, my watch of 4 was soon depleted to just 2 of us as crew went down with heat exhaustion. The overpowering heat and humidity seemed to last for weeks but in reality it was probably only about 10 days. I still remember my last day of wearing shorts; I made a trip to the bow for a few photos late in the afternoon, had a very pleasant drenching but made the mistake of leaving it too late to dry my shorts in the sun. They lay wet, next to my bunk for another 2 weeks.

Seemingly overnight the weather changed. Welcome to the Luzon Straits. Helming suddenly became something that was exhausting. There were times when just keeping a grip of the wheel took more strength than I could muster. On more than one occasion I was flung from the helm as the wheel shook me around like a rag doll. Just returning to the deck time and time again took courage, real courage. But, that is why I believe that this challenge is different – once we leave port, there is no turning back. Once we’re in a storm, that’s it, we’re there to the bitter end where the only option to leave isn’t worth considering. On one occasion I lost my footing and slammed the inside of my knee against the deck and I couldn’t move. I knew that in 30 mins time, I’d be fine but for those 30 minutes I was immobilized. I yelled out to the other half of my watch to take the helm, at which point her life jacket inflated as yet another huge wave came crashing over the decks. Waves were growing with each day, as was the wind strength. Doing anything on deck took immense effort and life down below was no easier as walking around, eating and going to the loo with a boat rocking to around 35* angle is no easy task. Making a cup of tea becomes a long task requiring quite a few pairs of hands! Dealing with these levels of discomfort is something that you can become accustomed to but the difficulty comes with the constant, unending and perpetual continuity of it all, with no sign of a break for weeks to come. Where my bed sheets had been wet with sweat, they were now cold and wet from the condensation. Everything was wet; the cushion covers, clothes, boots, floor, sails, bunk mattresses, sheets. My pillow was so wet and mouldy that I through it into the bunk storage and didn’t see it again until I arrived in China! 

Amazingly, on the racing front, we were doing well. I kept telling myself and those around me that everyone was experiencing the same thing and that if we can just stay slightly more motivated and put in just a little bit more effort than others, then we’d do well. Slowly we battled up the fleet, taking one boat at a time. Incredibly after hundreds of miles of racing and in the middle of the ocean, we had to call right of way over another boat. However, at times like that knowing that there are others out there in a similar position is comforting. It was great to see them, especially as we sailed past!

Then life got tough. To be honest, most people went into survival mode for the last part of the race. I was astounded that more people didn’t find the experience too much. I have never felt cold like it. Time up on deck was limited to 30 minutes to prevent frostbite. However, having been on the helm for 30 minutes and returning below deck to thaw out, I cannot describe the pain as my fingers slowly came back to life. They had gone numb and I wish they’d stayed that way; I just held them close to my face in the hope that somehow the pain would dissipate. Eventually it did thanks to others warming them in their palms and dipping them in what I was assured was tepid water – I had absolutely no idea as I could only feel the cutting pain. The pain from cold is like no other and I’ll never forget that feeling.

By this time, we were crashing into waves that were well over 20ft high. Going into them was one thing, coming out of them quite another. Each wave was a lottery as to whether we slid smoothly back down it, enjoying a little surfing or crashing 40 tonnes of boat onto concrete. Down below, the G Forces whilst lying in my bunk would literally lift me so that I nearly hit the ceiling. On another boat, one crewmember was thrown up and over his Leecloth (a piece of material about 1 ft high to prevent you from falling out when the boat is sailing at an angle) and onto the floor. Sleeping wasn’t really an option, even for me, the world’s most talented sleeper!  People were literally thrown all over the boat and ribs were being broken and bruised all over the fleet. Cracks started to appear on the boat and with every crashing wave came the concern as to whether or not the boat would hold together. It wouldn’t have been a huge shock had the boat split in two – that’s how big each and every crash was and there’s lots of waves in 24 hours of sailing let alone 20 odd days of it! Helming in these conditions was a challenge, but in many ways I thrived off it. Many understandably did not want to do it and it was left to a few to take it on. It was me against the elements, trying not only to survive but to keep everyone safe, to steer a good course and to race. There were some enormous waves coming over the decks and I regularly stood at the helm with water pouring over my boots. Night time brought its own additional difficulties. Without being able to see the waves, we had no chance. Sailing into such waves with the wind in your face without being able to see anything beyond the bow is quite an experience. For all I knew, I was going to fall off the end of the world – are you sure it’s round?!? I can only describe it as mountain biking along a downhill track in the pitch black. Sometimes I’m sure I took off into the air and I was just praying that I could land this thing that I was clinging onto for dear life. And then, 5 seconds later, I was back thinking the same thing, and again and again. It was neverending.

They say that sailing is the easy part – living conditions and dealing with people is the difficult bit. Despite everything I’ve just said, I think it’s probably true. We had an incident whereby one of my watch suffered what I can only describe as cabin fever and after an argument, he made a dash for the decks without a life jacket and in shorts and t-shirt where sub zero temperatures awaited him. Thankfully 3 of us managed to pull him away but then he made a dart for the Man Overboard button in the Nav Station. He was put under 24 hour care and sedated for the rest of the trip but once again, my watch was down to 2 crew to cover the 3 hour watches where frostbite, large waves and howling winds were periously close. 

The support that I received for the rest of the leg was quite simply phenomenal. If I’d taken all the help offered, I don’t think I’d have needed to go back up on deck. Despite the conditions, people were offering to go up and assist with my shifts in a way that blew me away. I will never forget that. People didn’t whinge or even pass comment, they just helped in any way they could and I was touched, very touched. People’s true colours come out at times like that and I was fortunate to be sailing with some great people who I’m privileged to call fantastic friends.

After such traumatic times, the racing element almost got lost. With a few days to go we were in 6^th position and decided to take a gamble tactically. We knew we’d lose ground to start with but then with the right wind shifts, we hoped to make up all the ground we’d lost and more on the final run into Qingdao.

I was woken for a shift having fallen asleep in the saloon to be told the devastating news. The race was being cut short to make sure that all the fleet, some of whom were hundreds of miles behind, would make it to the opening ceremony on time. I was gutted but we had a few hours to go all out. 4^th place was within our grasp. We tried everything in our power. The following day, Skipper gathered us together to tell us that we’d failed in our quest. We were 1.5 miles behind 5^th place and 3 miles behind 4^th. Some crew looked on the positives of having arrived in one piece, some highlighted the gains we made coming from 10^th to 6^th but I was devastated. After all the courage, the strength, the teamwork and the effort, I just felt as though we deserved more. It hurt, it hurt a lot and I spent a few hours on deck just mulling over everything.

With two days of motoring still to go and some great friends around me, by the time we arrived in China I’d picked myself up. It was quite an emotional arrival after everything we’d been through as a crew. The arrival ceremony was spectacular with hundreds of press, drummers, fireworks, champagne, Harry Potter style capes, dancers and Olympic mascots. It surpassed everything we’d had in other ports by a long way. Everyone wanted photos with us and we took on z-list celebrity status. It was great! After the 2 day boat cleaning and repairing ritual, I headed off to Beijing for a much needed break. It’s very strange to feel so close to people that were strangers two months previous and yet, the entire relationship is based onboard a boat so spending time on land with people you feel so close to is new and slightly surreal, but very, very enjoyable.

It was a leg that will be unforgettable for so many reasons; the good, the bad and the ugly but mostly for the friendships that were made in some very trying times. I just hope it’s true that things that don’t break you make you stronger. If ever I need to look back on events for strength and courage, I think I have one in the bank!