Race 13 - Day 8
Crew Diary - Crew Diaries: Race 13 Day 8
18 July
Day 11 and 1,500nm since Washington, DC.
Eleven days since leaving DC. Champagne sailing. What a contrast to Leg 2, and yet some things remain the same. Well almost.
First, I’m on the top forward bunk, starboard, as opposed to the bottom bunk on Leg 2, but with it comes challenges. Climbing into a piece of canvas strung between two poles and a thin slidey mattress, adjusted by a precarious pulley system to keep it level when the boat is heeled over at a stupid angle, is not for the feint hearted. On a starboard tack adjusted to level by said pulleys means you are faced with a 7-foot high over hanging edge above you, no ladder, a floor which slopes away at times by 35-40 degrees and of course someone probably slightly grumpy and already asleep in the lower bunk. So, there’s a moment where, judging the motion of the boat, you have to swing one leg above your shoulder/head height and hook your ankle over the outer pole then clinging precariously to whatever you can find - no handles as such – and haul yourself in. You cannot hesitate, otherwise...
Once in, you pull up the ‘Lee Cloth’ to stop you falling out and then try to get into your sleeping bag. Now when the boat is healed over and crashing up and down and the ceiling, there is 26 inches at most above your face and the bunk itself only a little wider; getting yourself sorted not forgetting you are now sweating buckets as the small porthole is shut, becomes just one more Clipper Race boat challenge.
Mind you, once you are in and zipped up it becomes something of a cocoon of safety for the next few hours.
The other difference is the time to think. Leg 2 was hard, wet, cold and very tough. So most of the time was spent changing sails, clinging on for dear life as you made use of the facilities (see other people’s blogs on this subject), simply trying to stay warm huddled on the cockpit floor, or getting in and out of the layers and layers of kit at the beginning or end of a watch. Net result - precious little time to think, never mind admire the views. But now on Leg 8 we have more crew, warm sunny days in great breeze and suddenly there’s time to take in your surroundings. And wow, what surroundings.
So here I am, with time to reflect, cocooned in my nest, high above the companion way where the other watch will soon be packing the ‘Code 3’ (spinnaker sail) preparing it for the next raise. Just above my head it sounds like chaos (organised I hope). The grinder is cranking away, the sails are cracking and snapping, the sheets are whipping and banging on the deck, and the hull is slapping the waves and yet despite this cacophony of sound it feels safe, and cosy. A place for reflection you might think, and yet try as hard as I can, I can’t seem to hold a thought.
It’s the same when up on deck, day or night; clear skies full to bursting with galaxies of stars or the endless blue sparkling seas, nothing stays in my mind - ideas and thoughts form and then drift away. Is this what mindfulness is all about?
Whether it’s looking at the International Space Station passing overhead, the dolphins hurtling past in tunnels of phosphorescence, a whale blowing 400 yards to port, or simply the miles and miles of emptiness, the vastness of the ocean hits you. It washes over you, taking away thoughts with it.
The colours are indescribable, truly indescribable. I try to follow lines of thought but they spin away, and instead I find myself simply absorbing what’s everywhere about me but with no chance of really being able to capture it and lock it into my memory so I can share it with others when I get home. Perhaps this really is what mindfulness is all about?
I suspect an immersion tank would be an easier way to achieve this zen like state, but then the sheer scale of everything would be missing to keep us, me, the experience in perspective.
One thought, however, that does make it past first base is that while I’m the one having the adventure, indulging myself in this once in a lifetime experience, I’m not or at least shouldn’t be seen as the hero of the story. That belongs to someone else. In truth, having made the decision to join the Clipper Race and completed the training there isn’t really much more to do other than turn up and take orders until you get back to port. Yes, you have to overcome fear (Leg2), sleep deprivation, cold, heat and lack of personal space but it’s the supporters who are the heroes not us. All we had to do was take one decision, stick with it, do what we are told and we come back adventurers/heroes/whatever, but it’s those at home who have it tough: family, friend, wife, partner, work colleagues, who have to deal with all the day to day crap that fills up our lives, pay the bills, worry about our return and hold it all together while we have our little adventure. I know which I find easier.
So, my real thoughts are with those at home who have supported me. Theirs is a much harder role and that needs greater recognition. Let’s face it, without their support, no way could we indulge our dreams and play the adventurer.
To all you supporters, one huge thank you from here on Zhuhai, somewhere in the mid Atlantic.