Race 7 - Day 21
Crew Diary - Race 7 Day 21
15 February

Anyone who knows me will tell you I am not normally one for poems. So without daring to label this as such, what follows here is more like a spew of words I’ve put together over the last few days – the inspiration for which came either while lying under the starriest of starry night skies I’ve ever seen; or is a result of the concoction of anti-nausea drugs I’ve been taking for the last three weeks. Or a combo of both.

Heat. Sweat. Lack of sleep.

It’s in these conditions that we keep

Our seventy-foot home moving ahead

To land; fresh veg; a comfy bed!

We grind, we ease, we trim some more,

To keep other boats away from our door.

All the while, the sweat is dripping.

Must keep those spinnakers from ripping.

Wind holes, squalls, 50 knots or more.

A stationary boat is a real bore.

Stormy gusts are not much better,

With every watch feeling colder and wetter.

Rice. Pasta. Cous cous. Carbs -

Who’d have thought it would be so hard?!

Watches nearly coming to blows

As snack supplies dwindle dangerously low.

Down below duties – bilges, heads -

Two tasks that I have come to dread.

Impossible to avoid the awful smells,

Now’s the time to dig out the Kwells.

We stagger, and we slide at 40 degrees.

Around other people, we attempt to squeeze

To clamber awkwardly into bed -

Rarely achieved without hitting a head.

We continue with this daily routine,

Until at last, land is seen!

We know we’ll miss it when we’re ashore,

So let’s favour every second more

Of this crazy, wild, incredible task

For which we’ve all removed our daily masks;

Consultants, lawyers, accountants, IT -

It matters not when you’re at sea!

So sail on, my fellow crew,

And never forget, you’re one of the few

Who’ve joined the ranks of the mighty Shellback

The Equator – we crossed it! And what a craic

We’ve had on these ol’ Clipper Race yachts.

Even if it has been f***ing hot.