Race 11 - Day 17
Crew Diary - Race 11 Day 17
23 May

“Call me Ishmael.” The famous opening line of Moby Dick is followed by some rather less famous but to me more interesting reflections on the call of the sea, in particular, the line (paraphrased here):

“Whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul…

...I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”

Well, damp and drizzly November it is not. Summer is firmly here off the coast of Central America and Moby Dick springs to mind for all sorts of reasons. We are firmly in whale country and if my memory serves me correctly (no internet onboard to check this), the infamous encounter between The Essex and a sperm whale bull (which partially inspired Moby Dick) happened near waters at the end of this race. (Editor's Note: The Essex sank some two thousand nautical miles west of present-day Ecuador.)

For many, the race just past across the cold and fierce North Pacific or perhaps just “doing the Clipper Race” has been their White Whale, a thing to be chased wholeheartedly but with individual confidence varying about attainability. For some, the things they have given up to do the Clipper Race are remarkable, though I fortunately can say no one appears to be quite like Ahab.

For me, as a round-the-worlder, this race was the one that lurked in the back of my mind as the likely test of my mettle. Long, hot, and slow, this is a very different form of test, a test of living aboard with others. Mercury rising to sleep-depriving levels, tempers for the most part running inverse to that, galley shifts taking on nightmare proportions, slathering in sun-cream which sticks uncomfortably to your skin as you try to perspire through it. Above all, no relief is forthcoming. The wind in this race and the Panama Canal transit afterward means that this is essentially a fixed duration race, there are no shortcuts, no early finishes, no extra days in port to be won, just a long, hot slog to be endured and where possible, raced in. It is a curious exercise in all honesty, but it is there and it’s the only way round. Hopefully, it will make the rum taste all the sweeter when we do make land, only as a sample of a regional delicacy of course…

Those aspects of warmth, wind, stage of overall race, and such mean that many of the round-the-worlders, skippers, and AQPs are quite contemplative. Eight and a half months of monomaniacally pursuing a dream stretching out ahead is more and more looking like two and a half months until a new reality awaits. For almost everyone, this race forms something of an intermezzo in their life, some walked in knowing that, and others are discovering it through this period of *ahem* navel-gazing. Fear not though, it is exciting to hear the on-deck chat about what people hope to do next, even if the uncertainty makes it uncomfortable for some. It is the problem inherent with realising dreams, you end up needing new ones.