Donate a Pint

One big one to go, the third and final Atlantic crossing. Having discovered a very beautiful and picturesque part of the world that I previously didn’t know existed, I was sad to leave Nova Scotia. We had been offered such a warm reception and enjoyed our longest break for months, that I was a little nervous as we set off. No matter how experienced a sailor you are, I think there is always a few butterflies in your stomach before an ocean voyage and I am no different.

The start couldn’t have been better. Under clear skies and basking in sunshine we left Nova Scotia under good winds and took with us many happy memories. We were the only ones to go for a Number 2 yankee and it paid dividends as we soured off in second place. Sadly, a mile before we reached the wide open ocean, the winds dropped and we sank like a lead balloon through the fleet. Still, the racing was close, spirits were high and with over 2,000 miles to go, there was more than enough time to catch up and make a third consecutive podium.

It wasn’t long before the stark reality of ocean racing hit us hard. We were shrouded in thick fog, the temperatures plummeted and the waves were crashing over the decks.  Suddenly completing a cicumnavigation seemed like a long way off! Dressing for watch every few hours involved finding thermals, midlayers, fleeces, hats, gloves and then plunging my feet into cold, soggy boots. Due to the fog we soon lost sight of the pack but occasionally a boat would appear from out of the mist like a ghost ship. It was great to know that others were still out there and it provided a new impetus to continue trimming and pushing hard. There was a friendly wave and then a competitive focus on getting ahead – a strange blend of fleet camaraderie and racing adrenalin! Although after a few days we were still towards the back of the pack, we were only a few miles behind and there was all to play for.

Unfortunately those few miles proved crucial. Just a few miles north of the pack and we hit a wind hole that didn’t show on our weather files, couldn’t have been predicted and seemed to single us out. With the large swell against us and only light winds to power our sails, it was like travelling through quick sand. We sat watching the fleet sail on, leaving us miles behind. First they went double figures ahead, then the leaders stretched their lead to triple figures. Once their lead reached over 230 miles, our race strategy focussed on saving face and trying to get to Cork within 24 hours of their arrival – hardly the stuff of champions.

Somewhat disillusioned, a new plan developed. We headed south to find the most consistent winds.  24 hours after we’d hoped, they finally kicked in. It was a blast and a great finale. With over 40 knots (Force from behind and 15ft waves rolling in to offer us surf, we were most definitely back up and running. While the race to the podium was over, there was still a lot of fun to be had behind the helm. I loved it! Not quite at the levels of the Southern Atlantic but 18.3 knots down a wave isn’t bad! After a few days, we’d clawed our way back to a more respectable margin between us and the leaders and even managed to overtake a fellow straggler. Even the weather improved to allow us to dry off some of our gear before we arrived in Cork.

The final few days were a mix of emotions. The final leg was so nearly over, the big adventure was drawing to a close. We only had a few days, a few hours left of our life in this bubble, a life that carries with it so few concerns. We don’t worry about our food, our water, shopping, what we look like, what we’re going to do. Our course is dictated to us, we’re fed and watered, our watches are planned and when we’re not on watch, we’re trying to sleep. Even the decision as to what to wear is taken from us – the same as yesterday (and the day before that)! Adapting to life on shore could be tricky but I have a few days to think about that and come to terms with the end of what has been a great adventure. Still, there’s a final fling up the Irish Sea that could still be very testing and then there’s all the excitement of arriving home to look forward to and keep my mind occupied. For now, I’m happy just thinking of the Guinness in Cork and hopefully one last bit of glory on our way to Liverpool.