Crew Blog

Bermuda Triangle Strikes Again

27 May 2008

In September 2007 I stepped onto Liverpool 08 with a wealth of training but relatively little ocean sailing experience and within the hour we were ravaged by the ferocity of the storms which frequent Liverpool Bay.

Six weeks later I stepped off Liverpool 08 onto the shores of Brazil with an Atlantic crossing tucked under my belt – a belt into which I had poked a couple of extra holes.

A week later, after enjoying the Salvadorian hospitality, the crew who had become my surrogate family, left for another Atlantic crossing to Durban whilst I flew on to Rio, then home to share my encounters and look forward to returning for Leg 7.

So, Leg 7 - the final leg – which was always a hundred years away is here. A few tears were shed as final phone calls to family were made, and loved ones were waved to on the shore at Port Antonio. And as Jamaica sank below the horizon we began to focus on the task ahead aboard Liverpool 08.

And now I sit in the nav station prodding at a keyboard, on a yacht I knew so well seven months ago which still fits like an old, favourite pair of slippers. And smells the same.

We are currently somewhere off the coast of Florida having navigated the sea between Cuba and Haiti.  The start to Leg 7 saw eight yachts go further inland with us and Nova Scotia take the more direct route into the Bermuda Triangle – such is the bold approach of Liverpool 08.  And we now see the horizon to our port side peppered with the small white triangles of the remainder of the fleet – so we are currently well positioned.

The characteristics of this final leg are one of a number of shorter races. That 24-day crossing from La Rochelle to Salvador was an epic and won’t be matched by anything here, but stops at New York, Nova Scotia and Cork will provide a fragmented but more enjoyable approach to ocean racing than featured previously.

Old crusty seadogs are joined on this leg by Shaun McGlue (also leg 3), Tony Loftus, the effervescent Peter Liggett, JonPaul Lowles, Roy Stevens and me (also leg 1) who all sampled the Caribbean hospitality before boarding in Jamaica.

The sailing started light but soon we were dealing with 35 knot winds during which we carried out the routine actions of reefing and sail changes.

It was during one of these that we crashed into a particularly deep trough and, being on the bow, I was unceremoniously propelled up into the air then down onto my backside into the pulpit.  I momentarily contemplated my position as the warm Atlantic water jetted up to part my buttocks and the cold steel of the forestay rammed into my crotch reminding myself that there could be slightly more relaxing things I could be doing at that very moment such as walking the dogs by meadow and stream. But my humble colleagues made it quite clear (with both gestures and words) that changing the sail was a little more important than sympathetic pleasantries. 

But worse was to come. 

The mysterious Bermuda Triangle – that harbinger of doom, that purveyor of tragedy, that spectre of the sinister - had also stuck. A ghostly hand had stolen from the depths of the ocean to pluck my size 10 deck shoes from both feet. Fortuitously, however, it was kind enough to leave both legs in place so I continued with no more than a little bruising of my pride. And left nad.

So, our final quest has begun and we set off once again into the great unknown and into the mouth of Atlantic. The temperatures will begin to drop, layers will increase and the warmth, the heat we have enjoyed here will soon be a distant memory as will that of the mosquitoes which feasted upon the soft flesh we used to have around our ankles back in Jamaica.

So, the race goes on to New York…

...barefoot.

Ian Tomo