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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!

This entry was posted on Friday, March 21st, 2008 at 5:44 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.