Race 2 - Day 9
Crew Diary - Race 2 Day 9: Punta del Este to Cape Town
13 October
The day for me started just before midnight when a person with a single red eye in the middle of their forehead grabbed my leg and said, "Time to go on watch."
They had grabbed my leg as the rest of my body was up inside a cubby hole on the port after section of the Clipper 70 yacht named PSP Logistics, that had become my temporary home for Legs 2 and 3 of the Clipper 17/18 Round The World Yacht Race. This bunk was next to the tool stowage where the boats tools and spare parts rattled and tapped, as if trying to escape. This bunk also lay underneath another bunk used to store the boats stretcher and various food bags as well as a long blue shore supply cable that had been hastily shoved away on leaving Uruguay following our 'whale incident'. It was this cable that at that moment of being woken, dropped onto me and entangled me in its grip. It took me a little while to disentangle myself from the shore supply cable, get myself into a crouched upright position and balance myself against the boats impossible motion as it bucked and heeled at over 45 degrees in a big sea. I needed the head, but an obstacle course of bodies, boots and belongings lay strewn in front me. I considered my options but decided the hazardous journey was required. Dressed in my underwear and a pair of large blue Crocs, I arrived at my destination - and waited as others, similarly dressed and with similar intentions, had arrived before me to do battle with one of the two Jabsco contraptions fitted to the boat. These contraptions (minus their seats) are a wonder of ergonomic design with a bowel into which you place yourself and a built-in bidet type effect provided if you over fill it... The Jabsco head deserves its own blog so I will not say any more here.
Call of nature answered, I slither my Crocs back to to my bunk to get dressed into my midlayer and waterproof socks. I instantly overheat and start sweating. I share my bunk with Stean who is Norway's eating champion from the other watch. I put away my sleeping bag and turn the bunk cushion over to 'Stean's side' and then head off to finish getting changed. Arriving eventually at the galley, I realise I have left my life jacket in its stowage by the bunk and am forced to repeat the dangerous, sweaty journey once again. Back in the saloon the rest of starboard watch are getting ready in the dim red light. Foul weather gear, gloves, lifejackets, hats and head torches lie strewn about the place as hot, sweaty sailors prepare to do battle with the elements. I drag my dry suit out of the foul weather gear stowage and find a space to start the dressing procedure.
This procedure seems to involve climbing into the legs and dislocating first your left and then your right shoulder to get into the arms before taking a deep breath and then forcing the latex neck seal over your head on one swift motion. Failure to get the neck seal in place in one motion leaves it suffocating you nearly to death. You then need to find an accomplice (preferably someone else in a dry suit) to help you do up the zip. Thus clad your core temperature will soar to sub-Saharan heat levels.
So I climb into my drysuit, take a deep breath and manage the neck seal without suffocating - but something is wrong, as I steady myself between the galley edge and a bulkhead a sharp pain goes across my back. It is then that I realise my error - I have left the coat hanger in my dry suit!
Eventually I am sweltering and dressed. Ready to go 'over the top'. I look up through the companion way hatch and see - nothing. It's dark, as dark as the inside of a cow. And it's wet with horizontal rain and sea water mixed together and sprayed at high pressure by the 30knt wind. First thing is to clip on and try to gain some sort of appreciation of the situation. There are 5 people with single red eyes sitting against the windward rail with the Yankee 2 sail bag on their legs and they call me to join them. As I sit under the bag, a bunch of shouting people from the foredeck puff and strain towards us with a sodden Yankee 2 and with grabbing fingers (and against the full intentions of Mother Nature) we somehow fold the sail into the bag, drag it to the forehatch and send it below, like a large black caterpillar slithering into its red nest.
Port Watch go off below leaving us on Starboard Watch to prepare and hoist the Yankee 3. That done, it's time to put in a reef and by now it's 2am and still raining. The motion makes moving around the boat treacherous, hard work and on the helm the lack of horizon fluctuating instruments, crazy sea state and wild wind make the risk of inadvertent tack ever present. Eventually, we do make a mistake and the boat is heaved to. Out of nowhere a pyjama clad skipper appears at the hatchway, issues orders and we are on our bucking way again. Eventually, it's 4am and time to go off watch. As I sit in the saloon with my feet still in my exited drysuit and recovering my senses and strength, I look over to the person next to me. It's Engines Dave and in his Seattle dialect he looks at me and says, "Dude, we all have just so many evolutions in us you know. When you reach your limit you know it". He is right. And I reckon for this watch my limit was reached. I head back to my bunk and climb in. I don't bother getting undressed or even getting out my sleeping bag. As I lie there I realise I need the head...I decide against the journey. The next watch is only 4 hours away. Surely I can last until then?
Chris Parnell
Starboard Watch Leader