Midnight Watch Moments

As I've shared before, we have a watch system on the boat that is broken up in periods of four hours during the night and six hours during the day with two hours overlapping to share lunch and provide social time with the other watch. 

The worst watch is probably the 11pm to 3am one because it breaks your sleep pattern and has no significant highlights like a sunrise or sunset. It is quite surprising how, even though it is very difficult to get up at 3am for the early morning watch, the general mood on deck lifts significantly when the sun rises over the ocean. But the midnight watch doesn't have anything like that to look forward to. 

Staying awake or keeping your concentration sharp during these four hours is an absolute challenge, especially when there are sail changes or reefings to be done (we fold the bottom of the main sail up in heavy weather so that we are not over powered). Understanding all the ropes, sailing evolutions and connections between all the different parts of the boat is a challenge for my non-technical mind in itself, but trying to bring these all together in the middle of the night pushes my boundaries. It is surprisingly easy to see what needs to be done when the moon is out, but mostly we use our head torches on red light - that's if you still have one and haven't already lost three overboard, like I have! I have often smiled at the unusualness of the situation when Im carrying a heavy sail with other crew members to the bow of the boat, in stormy weather, in the middle of the ocean, in the pitch dark, frustratingly tethered to the Jackstay (a cord that runs from the foredeck to the aft on both sides of the boat for the crew to attach themselves to, but that severely impedes free and fast movement), because who else anywhere in the world would be doing this at two o'clock in the morning!

A working watch goes by fast, but it is the many, many hours not having to do anything sailing wise on the boat that are like empty vessels drifting around not needing to be filled with anything in particular. Those mindless hours are just there to linger in and I give in to the unique opportunity to enjoy the sound of the water as we gush through it, or watch the millions of stars, or moonlight on the moving waves. I'm never bored - never. 

Someone going below deck to make us a 'brew' or hot chocolate breaks up the empty hours, or we share our life stories, or start chatting about the most inane topics. We talk about when and where we lost our virginity, or about food and things we miss. The food conversations can become a bit ridiculous (hamburger milkshakes or gin and tonic ice cream), but we would often laugh so loud that we would wake the other watch. Typical jokes vary from primary school frivolous ones (Why is the sand wet? Because the seaweed!) to ones I dare not repeat. We often listen to our favourite playlists or we would sing our most liked songs from the musicals. Sometimes we play games - invented, or oldies like 'I Spy' all ending in giddy laughter or banter. 

The obvious pastime is to catch a nap and when the skipper ventures on deck he might find bodies strewn all over the cockpit. But these rather uncomfortable shut-eyes are often broken up by either a 'rude' call for a sail change or tack, or a big dump of water as a wave crashes over the deck. A few nights ago I was awakened by what felt like someone throwing a brick at me when a flying fish hit me on the head! A little scurry of everyone trying to get it back over board provided a bit of excitement, but the stench that lingered was not welcome.

A particularly powerful feeling is helming the 70 footer at night. I love how it responds to every little move on the wheel, and the game of dodging the waves keeps me on edge and provides an adrenalin rush. I haven't done this often enough yet, but the few times I've helmed at night were quite exciting.

There is one particularly calm night magic moment, on a midnight watch on leg three of the race that will stay with me forever. The Windseeker (our lightweight sail we use in very light conditions to literally find some breeze to move us forward) was up with the deck light shining on it and making it look like a big movie screen. The moonlight was dancing silvery on the waves and someone played the most beautiful opera music through their ipod. We shared one of the last apples we had on board and then the air holes of two dolphins beckoned us to watch them glide through the phosphorescence in the wash of the boat. These special moments bond you to crewmates in ways hard to explain to someone who has not lived it. 

It's not easy to get up, get into your sailing gear, and then move your tired body on deck when all the world is fast asleep. But there is a special kind of bewitchment and feeling of exclusiveness to these wee small hours of the morning on the boat, because you know that very few have encountered such enchanting experiences. 

A Day to Remember

A day to remember - 9 February 2014

It was one of those days that just kept on giving. We woke up to another beautiful sunrise, but this morning it was over a jungle covered island of Borneo. One could just imagine how, years ago, the orang-utans swung from tree to tree in this wilderness. Obviously, and sadly, they are now limited to a very small part of Borneo. We had to stop in Kota Kinabalu to refuel after the second part of our first race from Brisbane to Singapore was cancelled, and the fleet

is now motoring the rest of the way.

While waiting for the first boats to fill up, three of our boats anchored and rafted up together in a little bay just off the main centre of Kota Kinabalu. It was great to meet up with some new faces after four weeks of seeing only the same 18 other people. We exchanged stories and got an idea of what provisions they were short on, or where we fell short. We watched them have lunch and it was almost embarrassing how some of our crew mates drooled over their beetroot and tuna. We got a packet of biscuits from them - something we ran out of a week

ago. No-one had any chocolates left to share or exchange!

A few of us swam across to a beach, which was again sadly very polluted. However, it was great to get some oxygen into my lungs and do a bit of cardio exercise for a change. I really miss doing a good workout. We use a lot of upper body muscles on the boat, but we don't get any cardio exercises apart from very short spurts of grinding on the winches.

After lunch on the deck we motored into the resort area, and even though all crew were told that they were not allowed to get off the boats and venture into the resort area, we found that the crew from the other boats before us at the fuelling station had already bought some fresh produce, had some lunch and beers, and got themselves some treats. Our skipper stays well within the rules, so we were not allowed off our boat. Three of us sneaked off though to find somewhere to buy a few of our cravings such as ice cream, chocolates, drinks and tea. I

immediately took the opportunity to get off the boat and go for a little walk. It felt so strange to walk a few hundred meters after not having walked for four weeks (have you ever not walked more than 60 feet for four weeks??!!)! It was a very delighted crew when we returned with Cornettos, KitKats and Coke!

One of the crew mates knew some locals and he ordered us a few bags of fresh fruit and vegetables that were delivered to our boat - this was the greatest treat of all and he was obviously our hero of the week. We haven't had any fresh produce for two weeks, and especially the green vegetables went down incredibly well in our bean soup last night. To top it all we had water melon and papaya/paw-paw for desert!

It's the little things that make all the difference and give meaning to life. I went to my bunk a very happy little sailor!

The Bluest Blue

The bluest blue

One would think that blue is blue, and the sea is obviously blue. But you would be surprised, once you?ve sailed half way around the world, that the sea could be the most varying different shades of blue and green and black or metallic silver, and even variations of brown? Yes, I have now sailed over twenty thousand sea miles from London and have crossed four oceans (the North Atlantic, South Atlantic, Southern ocean, Indian ocean, and currently on route to crossing the Asia Pacific Ocean).  We?ve completed four legs and seven races (including the Rolex Sydney to Hobart race) and the sea has been completely different in colour and of course sea state, in different places across the globe so far. But it?s the colour of the sea that most intrigues me.  And the most beautiful to me is the deep blue, the bluest blue, of the Southern Ocean on a bitterly cold, sunny day.

On the first leg, sailing through the Doldrums and crossing the Equator (becoming a fully fledged shellback) the sea had an aqua marine colour in places and was as warm as 25 to 30 degrees. There were parts of the trade winds route that provided a deep purpely, almost violet blue sea.

Flying our kites and surfing down the front of deep rolling swells across the South Atlantic on leg two from Rio to Cape Town was another deep blue experience. We spent many hours watching the awesome waves and the Albatrosses glide over the steel blue surfaces.

Leg three was my favourite blue leg ? the sea of the Southern Ocean and the infamous Roaring Fourties, is a royal, electric, somewhat fluorescent and inky blue. My limited set of adjectives can?t describe it, but I can tell you that if you haven?t sailed this icy deep ocean, you cannot understand how blue this blue can be! 

Contrasting the indigo blue the Southern Ocean of course also provided the most intense 120 knots gale force storms we encountered thus far. This blue was ferocious and wild, foamy grey in its unforgiving coldness in both the height of the waves, as well as in the bucket loads it served up over us on deck. 

The race from Albany to Sydney was a figurative blue as I mourned the death of my father and missed the calming and restorative power of the ocean. But the Rolex Sydney to Hobart, and the route back up to Brisbane didn?t disappoint in its true Ocker Aussie blue.

We are now on leg five of our race, having sailed the tough beat up north past the Gold Coast and Northern Territories of Australia, and feeling the heat of the tropical Pacific Doldrums north of Papua New Guinea (I am still humbled and stunned that I am actually sailing this Bismarck sea past live volcanic islands and remote little communities). The seas here vary from a sapphire blue to a strange light green, to slate grey under the squally skies. 

The blues sometimes match my moods - sometimes dragging me a bit down, and sometimes lift them -  but mostly they inspire and amaze me. The crystal aquamarine when the light shines through a breaking wave at the bow, moonlight playing on the blue-black surfaces, the hues of the seas blending into the skies, or other colours reflecting in rainbow shades at every sunrise, or the gods? fingers contrasting through dark rain clouds at sunset... this beauty of the blues at sea still takes my breath away.

Dead Calm

Dead Calm

Written on Board

2 February 2014

Somewhere near Palau

After being thrown around and having to move around on a boat at a 45 degree angle for a couple of weeks, it is a great change to be on an even keel just bobbing around on a calm sea. To be fair, we have actually been moving along at about eight knots average with the gentle swoosh of the water at the side of the boat as proof of our progress, even though it is not fast enough for our competitive spirits. We've had three days of a calm that is frustrating in the sense of wanting to move forward faster on our way to Singapore, but the welcome alternative is hard not to enjoy and revel in.

The mood on the boat is laid back and up beat even though we have started running out of food and our meals are becoming mundane and very predictable, with only slight variations on the pasta and lentil dishes. We are all dreaming of fresh vegetables and fruit, and all sorts of other delights when we arrive in port again. The past three days have been great for doing our washing, showers at the back of the boat, laying around reading, enjoying each other and the beauty around us. I've been doing lots of helming during the day and night time, and love the challenge and different sea states to contend with and master.

A highlight for me was the initiation of the new Shellbacks on board. You might recall that I mentioned in a previous blog that when someone sails across the equator the marine tradition is to do a little ceremony with King Neptune turning the Pollywogs into Shellbacks. This was a crowning moment for me in the sense that I realized that this was now the second time that I had crossed the Equator; a rather significant achievement in this race around the world, and an indication that we are not truly over the half way mark!

How time flies. Even though I sometimes just live for the next port and proper shower, I am also very mindful that this is such a unique experience and that I really shouldn't wish any moment, good or bad, over too soon. 

Leg Five - The Least Popular by far!

Written onboard: Monday, 27th January

When we talk about sailing around the world, romantic visions of far away lands and blue oceans might evoke feelings of envy of the current adventure we are experiencing. But I'd like to provide a small insight into our lives on the boat on this leg of the race from Brisbane to Singapore - a full four weeks at sea! It definitely is all but glamorous! (And please take note: I am not whingeing, merely explaining what we are going through.) 

To say that I am not enjoying this leg at all is an understatement. We Round-the-Worlders have agreed that it is the worst leg of all those we have completed thus far. The heat is overpowering, and then there is the constant beating into the wind, the crashing down of the bow over the stormy waves, the severe angle we have to try and move around in, the heat, the humidity, everything being damp, frustratingly calm wind holes and drenching squalls, and did I mention the heat?! You constantly feel like your skin is turning inside out as the sweat just oozes from you. You are forever dehydrated and probably the worst part is that we are all getting heat rashes - some worse than others - because of the constant dampness and heat. Sailors endearingly call it yachty-bottie; not very charming at all! This is a very severe form of heat rash that presents itself in an acne-like appearance starting with your butt and then your legs and all over your body.  Very painful, itchy and horrible!

Going on deck is a decision of whether to sacrifice getting wet from a wave pouring buckets of water over you, or wearing your foul weather gear but then being over heated and worsening the heat rash. There is no escaping it, and nothing seems to really help much.

We are all mentioning body odour (BO) to each other because this would have to be the longest most of us have ever been without a shower. Doing a wet-wipe shower just isn't enough, and you mostly feel that it is not worth the bother because by the time you have cleaned yourself you are sweating so much from the exertion merely trying to keep yourself standing while doing it. Any back of the boat showers are impossible in this sea state, so we are just tolerating our own and others' human smells. There is no shaving, we are all rather sunburnt, we all have oily, sun-bleached hair or dreadlocks starting to form for the longhaired amongst us, and bruises all over our legs and arms. 

photos taken in dock at Sydney Harbour

Getting anything done, even walking around the galley counter to get milk from the fridge is just too hard. One hand is always somewhere on the boat because the 45 degree angle is so exhausting to move/climb around in and you are constantly in danger of falling or getting hurt. We are also getting accustomed to the motion of the boat when you can feel the bow moving up, float weightlessly for a second, and then it seems everything and everyone braces themselves for the crash down. The bang smashes relentlessly through the boat and one's body, and everything seems to dislodge itself as items become airborne or liquids spill everywhere. Being on mother watch (cooking for the crew for the whole day) is particularly challenging and an OH&S nightmare when working with boiling water and sharp objects.

Because the boat is bending, moving and twisting so much, leaks are occurring and cubbies are getting full of water, and paper or cardboard items are all damp. I was sitting on deck the other day when a Wilbur Smith novel came flying out from below deck and whirled overboard rendered soaked and illegible. A little over halfway through this race we have now run out of fresh fruit and vegetables, and the last few onions and cabbages have rotted in the storage space leaving a putrid smell hard to get rid of. 

With the boat beating on and heeling over at a severe angle in these conditions, you can imagine how excruciating this is to pay a necessary visit to the heads (no matter what the circumstances, when nature calls one has to answer)! I have considered not eating or drinking to minimize having to go through the humiliation and struggle of trying to stay on the toilet seat, wiping yourself, getting your pants up, and not falling through the canvas curtain every time the boat smashes down.  Oh yes, and then there is the anxiety of trying to 'flush' by pumping as much as you can to empty the bowl and ensuring all doesn't bubble back up again! One of the crew members had a rather uneasy and distressed look on his face while he wondered out loud if anyone would be upset if he did his business from the back of the boat as the sailors of old used to do. That was frowned upon and he was forced to face the small cubicle of horror.

But after offloading all of that I have to tell you that if I had a choice again, knowing what I know now, I would again choose to do this damn race around the world.  One would sometimes see a crewmember throw a tantrum or utter a loud exclamations of not ever going sailing again - especially not ocean racing! But as with everything in life - negative and positive - this too will pass, and I know that I will, in a year's time, yearn to be on this boat somewhere in the ocean close to Palau. I'm still loving being right here in this moment and experiencing an incredible journey.

Better than Sex?

Better than Sex? Well, probably not, but it came pretty close! The Sydney to Hobart race was definitely an adrenalin pumping, action packed, physical and emotional high. It started with the parade of sails in Sydney harbour with all the maxi boats showing off their beautiful sails. One day, when I am big, I would love to be a crewmember on one of those (lots to learn still before that will happen!). We showed off our fleet of Clipper boats underneath the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera house. It was such a proud moment and one I never thought would be possible.

My dream to do the Sydney to Hobart started when I was on holiday in Tasmania about six years ago. It was New Year's Eve and we wandered around the marina where all the yachts that had completed the race were moored. The vibe was electric and all the race crews were celebrating their success. I sensed then that merely completing the race was an achievement. I wanted to be a part of one of those crews, but at that stage of my life it seemed but a distant dream. 

The day Clipper announced that our race would include the Sydney to Hobart I was ecstatic!  But I couldn't have anticipated how thrilling it could turn out to be, especially the start.  With so many boats in the harbour, being amidst all those sailing stars, watching the commotion of all the yachts scampering for the start line, hearing all the commands and shouting between boats to stay clear of each other, the leaning over and the wind in our ears, and then the excitement and exertion of the evolutions on our boat to stay in the thrust of things, it was magical. I don't have enough adjectives to describe it and surely it was the most fun I've had with my clothes on. I loved it!

The rest of the race was no disappointment either.  Showing my crew mates the coast line close to my house, Stanwell Park where we used to do paragliding, the coastal hike to Bundeena from Otford, the bridge at Coalcliff that I have walked countless times with my darling dog, Calca, and my favourite lookout point where I've pondered life with a special person, and then further down past Kiama, Jervis bay, and beyond. Having land to use as a reference provided a pleasant change from sailing so many oceans with only sea surrounding us. 

The weather was typical Sydney to Hobart, with Bass Straight especially living up to its reputation. It was wild and very hard on the body. We pounded into the waves and the wind was overpowering. It was cold, and we raced with everything in us. Arriving in Hobart and tacking up the Derwent river was especially physically demanding. I'm sure we did about 50 tacks! (Okay, allow me some writer's freedom!)

Being part of those boats docked in the King's Pier Marina, partying with the other teams on Old Year's Eve, sharing our war stories, and feeling part of a group of very special people who completed a classic world famous yacht race, gave me that 'after-action-satisfaction' smile as I wore and earned my Rolex Sydney to Hobart t-shirt!

I'm Back! More posts to follow, keep coming back.

Apart from very difficult circumstances of this fifth leg of the race, I also had to battle the fact that our crew laptop broke and I couldn't get any blogs to my blog master (my wonderful shore crew friend and supporter who is helping me get my blogs up when I am at sea and don't have access to the internet). It has been a while since I have been inspired to write (I was still dealing with many family and catch-up issues since having to leave the race to support my mum) and it has been really difficult to write my blogs in this heat and at these angles, so I am pleased that I could at least get something out to my supporters to give you a small view of my take on the past couple of races. I hope you enjoy reading them, and thanks again for your support - this race has many challenges and the thought that people do read my blogs does help with the motivation to keep going!

Ursula's new blog posts coming soon!