Leg 6 Race 2.. Rough

16.04.2024

It’s been too long in the cold and dark (bar brief sunshine episode), our foulies won’t dry, and the general mood is faltering, this is ocean racing. People still make the effort though, despite the late returns to the deck for handover, and the endless sail changes, people still manage to squeeze out a smile, letting you know they’re alright. We check on each other regularly, any niggles, bumps, bruises, and the ugly lurgy that’s been floating around since the start, none goes amiss without some considerate concern. We’re a team and we’re going to push each other safely through to the end. And we’re gonna do it fast.

We entered into the low pressure system with a half plan, get across as quickly as possible, along the shortest route. After holding the Yankee 2 as long as we could, the wind began rising to the high twenty knot zone, the waves followed suit as they began edging to three metres high. The Yankee 3 had been hanked on the previous evening in anticipation, it was time to hoist the tough little sister sail. To bring down the two was no easy process, the wind was too strong to take it on course, and with so much water coming over the bow it was unsafe to send anyone forward. Careful not to tack the boat in the unsteady sea, Rick took the helm and brought the boat head to wind. The boat came to a cumbersome bob amidst the madness and we moved to the foredeck to deal with the vigorously flogging sail, careful of the heavy clew. Even de-powered the sail refused to come down; pulling each hank down individually at a snails pace was as grunt and moan inducing as putting on wet socks. With each flake I ended up in a half split straddle, luff in one hand, sail flake in another, leg out and on top of the flake further down to stop it re-inflating, I felt like a circus act. Once hauled down we unhanked the two and continued with the hoist, sheets spanking the staysail as the three reluctantly climbed the rig. The Yankee two was tidied on the low side, the head and hanks tied securely to the inner forestay and the clew to the shrouds.

Our course and plan of action was to hold a 50-55 apparent wind angle and follow the curve of the low pressure, giving us the shortest route across, passing us just past the eye of the system. The sailing was rough, the helming was hardcore, rolling through the cold wet nights we had three of us rotating every forty minutes, or until we couldn’t; safety systems developed naturally as people entered the helm from the low side, hands and knees, connecting onto the helming tether and then moving into the cage, short and calculated, the handovers were slick. Going off feel for the most part was hard in the day, but the dark brought a different beast as you heard the breaking waves coming but couldn’t see them, only feeling the slam of the impact.

The waves built through the following days, two metres, then four, it was starting to get really big, the slamming from a misjudged wave regularly echoed through the bones of the boat, and offered some competition as to who could do it the least. Six metres! The breaking waves became harder to avoid, the shout of “wave!” initiating a panicked shuffle of the cockpit crusaders, sending people clinging to winches, jackstays, and desperately trying to hide dry gloves as they braced for the inevitable wall of cold wash and spray; not that the helm avoided any water either as rogue waves smashed over the side and back of the cage, forcing faces to wince at the cold, and hands to stay firm and steady on course. The wind continued to build further, questions around Reef 3 were pondered as the gusts increased into the high forties, but we were going so fast already, the boat was relatively balanced from the wind, the waves were causing havoc on the wheel though, the helm felt like the weight of the crew, and to some extent was as we tried to safely steer our dragon through the deluge.

Eight metres! These huge blue walls priced their way towards us, nearly as high as our first spreaders, forcing us into an unnatural collision course resembling some kids game show, trying to fit the shape of the hole in the wall. We reached the end of our afternoon helming shift, the watch below we’re getting changed before returning for their battle with the dark, when a huge breaking wave came to meet us head on. Like some angry ancient force this wave was full of malicious intent, we began to climb as it began to break at the top. Can’t go over it, can’t go under it, have to go through it… As we hit the top I tried to bear away as quickly as I could, to try to slide nicely down the other side, but it was so steep the our dragon decided to fly. CRASH! The boat slammed with crunching force, the now slippy helm step refused to hold me as my legs flew from below me; luckily, I had clipped on with my short tether to the high side, so I just slammed straight down onto my lower arm, shooting the most instant, intense, pins and needles right through my fingers. Smiley reached from behind the helm to steady the wheel and I jumped back up to thank him for his quick reactions and take it back. The cockpit was a pond, yellow clad ducks bobbed about, asking over eachother, all was well. Keep sailing. I spoke to BB afterwards - who was downstairs - apparently the floorboards jumped up from the ground.

The well secured Yankee 2 was still relatively well secured… but the guard rail it’d been secured to was a little worse for wear. Having had the weight of the waves smashing the sail against the stantions was enough to remove two of them from their base and destroy the netting in between, not so safe, but this fix would have to wait for a tack, or port. Similarly, one of the jackstays had decided to snap on the low side, sketchy, and the lines kept trying to jump ship, always retrieved; our spinnaker anti-wrap also made a break for it, Santa spotted it and I quickly jumped down low to pull it in before it left the boat completely, swimming through the side wash to save our kite saver.

As the last night of the weather went on it calmed to more reasonable levels. The wind backed to let us crack off a little bit, flattening the boat slightly as we began our journey back to downwind sailing. The sea confused itself with the changing of the wind but by the morning it had evened out. We had lost a little to the two boats behind us, but the boat was flat again, we were moving fast again, and I could change my sopping, stinking clothes, which I had worn for well over a week, unable to change on the heel as the replacement sacrificials were well deep below everything, of course. Fresh now. Vitamin I levels are depleted, as well as protein bars. But now, new chapter. Final stretch.

Will x