Race 10 - Day 24
Crew Diary - Mikhail blog 12 April
12 April

The weather has come, and it came only a few short minutes after I was complaining of light wind. How nice. All I can say is, we were not prepared. Down below I was happily baking some bread, something that we’ve gotten in the habit of doing the past few days as we only recently ran out of our stockpile of the highly desired stuff, mostly for PB&Js (although we can’t seem to find the PB anymore). I can now add accomplished sewer too, and overall handyman at least while out here at sea, that is. Standards are a bit lower, maybe the skills are a bit more necessary regardless of the quality.

Nonetheless, we had been cruising along in 15 knots of true wind with our largest headsail up, the Yankee 1. Then the wind began to build, it first doubled, then tripled, then quadrupled, finally peaking at 60 knots of true wind, although that was two or so hours later. It never seemed to stop, but it didn’t really matter, this is the stuff I’ve been dreaming of for the past three years. We were swept into a flurry of action as Wavy came racing on deck barking orders, ‘Drop that Yankee right now, we’re not going to be left with a sail much longer.’ As I scrambled to get my foulies on, the crew on deck began pulling lines and loading winches.

Dressed in yellow foulies that make us all look like minions from Despicable ME, those below rushed on deck. I got dressed nonetheless and had been on deck no longer than a few moments when I was immediately crushed by a wall of water, knocking me to the floor and dragging me back only to be stopped by a hard point on deck, who knows what. Standing from this, the water that pooled in my foulies came pouring out, and not a single piece of clothing was left dry. My eyes stung from the salt, my nose was leaking as if I had just done one of those nasal cleaners, and my mouth was full of the stuff, not to mention, my clothes are still soaked days later (nothing ever dries out here). At least I brought plenty of layers. Even after that smack down any WWE fan would have lost their mind over, we trudged onward.

Myself and Evan (my 50ish year old Hawaiian brother from another mother) soon found ourselves bouncing along the foredeck, in an attempt to reach the sail, but as we slammed down the back of every wave we seemed to have gained the ability to fly, at least for a few seconds, before reality hit and we were sucked backed down to the deck as the boat climbed up the face of the next wave. Lowering the sail was even more challenging, the wind ripped it from our hands, surely erasing any remnants of fingerprints I still had at the time (now is the time to rob a bank).We grabbed at it, yanked at it, clawed it, and tried to stand on it in any attempt to bring it back in but progress was slow as we’d lose ground as more and more water came sweeping over the bow The sail was fighting to be set free and left to live its days floating the ocean and surely it would have been if it had not been attached to the forestay. 30 minutes later, a lot of cursing, and plenty of bruised body parts, we had it tied down to the deck and stuffed below. Then we took on the less daunting task of raising the Yankee 3. This too didn’t stay up for long, although it took a few hours or so before it had to be dropped as well.

In the meantime, I went down below to finish baking, change into dry clothes and vowed never to go on deck again without my drysuit and boots. This vow paid off immediately, as not even 3 hours later I found myself back on deck, warm as ever, crawling my way up the foredeck on hands and knees, to a dropped Yankee 3 that was flogging thunderously in the 60 knots of wind we now found ourselves in. It was deemed too dangerous to be on the foredeck as the sail was being lowered, one wrong move and the sail could snap at you, doing who knows what to your arms or face. Luckily, the Yankee Downhaul line is made for just this case and we cranked on that to lower the sail. As it reached the bottom and with less square footage of the sail, we were still heeled over at what seemed an impossible angle to hold any footing, and it was indeed impossible. We walked across the Staysail like it was the deck and balanced on the guard rails like a tightrope. Reaching the bow, Evan and I again strained to get the sail under control, climbing on it and mounting it in all different ways to try and get it down, but surprise surprise, it would not relent. The 20-25 foot swells did not help either, and that feeling of butterflies you get when driving over a steep hill will not soon be forgotten. As we flew up and tumbled like Olympic gymnasts, but far less gracefully, we’d find ourselves in a heaping pile of sail. At first we tried to lasso it, but the wind would only lift our sail ties like a kite. We tried to muscle it closer, but no amount of strength would have overcome it. We finally climbed up the sail, of course tethered to the boat without we surely would have been washed away, and it seemed like we were riding some sort of flying bull that kept trying to buck us. It was truly a sight. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, we managed to conquer it and pull it aboard, tied it down, and left it for nearly a day until it was safe enough to manoeuvre it without fear of losing it.

The gale force wind persisted through the night and the whole next day, and life below was no easier than what we struggled with above. Bouncing around, things went flying and sleeping was near impossible, but we managed to make some tinned ham sandwiches with cheese (which I will never eat again), even that was a stretch, and of didn’t dare use the heads for fear of what would spill out.

Sitting on watch and helming were much less fun then they used to be as well. As the wind persisted, so too did the rain and at those speeds every droplet stings like that of a bee but luckily only your eyes and cheeks are left uncovered. My hands were less fortunate and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the intense cold they experienced during my hour long helming session. It took minutes for the feeling to return and even longer for them to relax from the seized claw like death grip I had held the helm in. My shoulders burned from the effort, but the smile on my face couldn’t have been wider, what a wild ride we’re on, and to think there’s so much more fun to be had. For us, the race continues and we’ll be reaching Seattle some time in the next week or two, hopefully seeing a few more crazy nights and even crazier seas. Until the next time enjoy the day because I couldn’t imagine doing anything else with mine.