Crew Blog

Embracing the moment

13 February 2008

Our sincere apologies to young Ben in England and anyone else who might be awaiting our diary entries with eagerness (my daughter Raine in Chicago?).  We’ve been… busy. 

The howling winds, confused seas and dropping temperatures the fleet is battling off the coast of and north of Taiwan have provided such harsh conditions that we now have only ten minute rotations above decks for only two people at a time (one on the helm and one beside them in case a wave should knock the person on the helm off the wheel). Once done, we bring them down to warm up and be replaced by a fresh pair. This gives the rest of the crew around 20-30 minutes below to try to bring back feeling to one’s fingers, toes and face.

When an evolution is called for, everyone comes on deck and deals with the tack, headsail change, or putting in/taking out a reef. This happened to me last night just as I was finishing my ten minutes at the helm and, already frozen and pretty much useless for practical work, was left on the helm while the crew fresh from below took on the work at hand. 

A tack may seem a simple procedure but the necessity of bare hands for much of the line handling reduces everyone’s efficiency to appalling levels. It took fifteen minutes to prepare, execute and tidy up, during which I was treated so some amazing sights of teamwork and tenacity from my vantage point behind the wheel. 

One of the most gruelling tasks in this kind of weather is the release of the lazy (not in use) running backstay from the strop we use to hold it forward by the mast’s shrouds. The lazy runner is always on the leeward side of the boat, which means that the rail it’s attached to is right down on the water, if not occasionally below it. Having one’s feet, calves and even knees pummelled by flowing water while you struggle to unclip the restraining strop isn’t unusual. Last night, as I watch Graham take on this job, he not only endured this but additionally would disappear every few seconds in a ten foot high arc of white spray lit up by the masthead light (turned on for safety), only to re-emerge a half second later, dripping buckets but still at work.

All this appeared before me in a completely jet-black environment for anything beyond the white paint of the boat. For all we know, we could be sailing through space between Jupiter and Mars. I’m told, however, that we’ll be in Qingdao in a few days.

I so wished a camera could capture those night images as I watched Graham and everyone else endure these mountains of spray and reappear still at work on their task, dripping with frigid sea water, oblivious to the obstacles of cold wind, wet spray, heeling boat, cramped hands, exhausted body and, I wondered, perhaps even an overwhelmed soul? If the latter applies to anyone, I can never tell. This morning I mentioned to Skipper Mark that I’ve yet to see a glum face despite what we’ve endured this last five days and he replied that he’d noticed the same and was quite impressed and pleased.

We all chose to be here. We all embrace the moment.

Timothy Ettridge