We have (finally) gybed to head north towards Fremantle, warmth and sunshine. This also comes with the ever-present risk of a windhole intercepting us before the finish - no such risk appeared to exist over the last ten days as we have been heading east somewhere between 45 and 46 degrees south. While there has been some incredible sailing, life on board a race yacht at this latitude is brutal. Everything ends up wet. Waves are coming over the top of the boat constantly and the little additional warmth offered below results in a high level of humidity and condensation which rains off the inside of the cabin and means nothing is dry. Warmth is also a relative concept. Even down below we could see our breath. On watch has been really cold. Over the last few days, while the wind has remained in the SW, the air feeding into it has been coming from a high-pressure system to the north. The temperature has increased a few degrees as a result, so we are now able to wear only two hats instead of three and only two pairs of socks instead of three when on watch. The relentless wind and waves demand a high level of focus from the helms as the downwind sailing continues day and night. Boat speeds are regularly in the teens and speeds over 20 knots are not uncommon.
The evening and dawn watches offer the relief of a light sky before sunset and after sunrise respectively which enables us to see the boat, horizon and waves for at least a good part of the watch. Summer down here does at least mean the nights are relatively short. The dog-watch between 11pm and 3am however offers no such comfort. Nights with the moon and stars have been few and without those it has been dark, dark, dark. Fluorescent stripes and breaking waves provide the only contrast to the blackness.
Ocean racing also results in an extraordinary perception of time. Life is very binary. You are either on watch or off watch. On watch we are rotating the helm every 20 minutes to manage fatigue and we are otherwise busy with trimming and sail changes - as well as asking the galley watch nicely for, and sometimes getting, hot drinks to help us through the watch. Off watch we get to eat and then try and spend as long as possible in our sleeping bags (still with thermals on) before being woken up with 30 minutes to get ready to be back on deck for the next watch. It is easy to lose track of whether you are getting up to have breakfast or dinner and whether the next watch will be in the light or the dark. The watches turn into days and into weeks. It has been 17 days since we left Cape Town. From there we went south for six days, gybed and have been going east until our gybe north today. I reflect on the fact that in my “normal life”, over a typical 10-day period, I would enjoy a weekend with family (and the myriad of activities which that includes – sport, cafes, bbq!) go to work for a full week; have another weekend and start another working week. 10 days in the Southern Indian Ocean: I have been constantly damp; cold; out of my comfort zone on many occasions. I have been on watch 25 times (that means 25 times getting out of my sleeping bag and into my drysuit and onto deck; 25 times of getting out of my drysuit (and, usually, very gratefully) into the sleeping bag. No question it has been an endurance, but also unbelievably rewarding (more particularly in retrospect). We are very conscious also that we are undertaking this journey in relative comfort compared to the early pioneers of Roaring Forties sailing, to think of the likes of Sir Robin. Down here, further south and headed not for the promise of family, sunshine and cold beer in Fremantle in (hopefully) less than a week, but rather with no expectation of landfall until his circumnavigation was complete. We also have state of the art wet weather clothing, weather forecasting and navigational equipment. All of this means we are a lot more comfortable than those of earlier decades. But it still feels brutal (at least to a 50 something, comfortable land-living office worker). I have loved the opportunity to sail this remote ocean, but, without wanting to wish away the rest of this leg, I am really looking forward to the finish: family, land, a still bed, coffee and not eating out of a dog bowl wearing my thermals.