The bird: Now I can't tell you whether he was a brown booby or a juvenile Australasian gannet but a couple of nights ago we had him land on the mast. I say him of course in that his name is Frank. I like Frank. Be more like Frank. He had it pretty sorted. I was initially concerned he was going to clout his face / feet / wings on the spinning wind anemometer at the top of the mast. I had been hoping he would try to land the mast but Frank can teach us all about perseverance.
He knew what needed to be done to ultimately achieve what he set out for and when it didn't work he researched. He tried again and again and didn't give up. He landed on the mast and found somewhere to roost.
The next evening Frank provided a spectacle when he returned. He must have been heading northward and had a pleasant surprise in the morning when he realised we were heading Airlie Beach. Flying past the helm stations on the second evening, Frank decided he'd like to land the radar. His first attempts didn't go to plan and once again he circled and did a reconnaissance of the area until he was happy. Frank later moved to the pulpit.
We mostly tried to leave him be but what a beautiful animal. Not particularly pretty in his juvenile plumage but each part of him was designed for his purpose. Fine example of evolution. This morning at first light, Dale and I discussed finding a flying fish that was alive with Donna Von Tunk. We had joked about waking Michelle up with the fish as she likes them so much. For the record Michelle really doesn't like the flying fish and perhaps it’s a good job the fish moved and we hopefully extended his life by throwing him back. We had discussed how it would make a great meal for the gannet.
After a quick scout around the foredeck, Dale came back with another flying fish. This one was dead but not dried out so we tempted the big bird. His beak was long and clearly powerful so Dale timidly held the fish out at arms reach to be consumed. Frank took the bait and immediately started to articulate himself and the fish into a head first position and down it went. We felt a sense of pleasure given the weight of the fish and the bird. It seemed like we may have very well provided quite some portion of sustenance and potentially improved his chances of making his next meal.
I sat and watched him prune himself, feather by feather until he was content and with that he made for the water, doused his plumage and launched for the sky. I wonder if he'll return.
Animals are so beautiful and provide such pleasure to watch. There’s some great reward in the simplicity of their lives and aspiration which is usually to survive.
When we start to complicate our lives, things can become convoluted. Live each day. I came on the Clipper Race for a race. It’s all I know how to do. I don't know how to not comment if the helming is off or the trim is wrong. It's just in my nature to be that focused on a boat for that long. I feel like we are meandering slightly too much and I haven't heard grind enough times which means the Spinnaker sheet is not being eased often enough and so our performance is slightly hindered.
Outside of sailing I think. A lot. I was talking to someone recently who asked me what are you thinking and I told them. They replied: "you thought all those things in that 15 seconds?" I then went into the level of detail I had considered for each point in those 15 seconds. Sailing has always been my escape. A safe place from all those thoughts, totally immersive and all consuming. It takes all my mind and effort.
Leading a team for more than a day or a week has highlighted to me that I am slightly odd in this way. People have not come to escape their thoughts. Possibly a distraction from their lives in some cases but not their thoughts or not exclusively. How could I expect them to be totally consumed in the performance of the boat all the time? I decided being as regimented as we were in Leg 1 wasn't going to work in the long term and I have backed off a little. I now don't advise all the time as I realise anything I might say is already known.
I must be careful as backing off a little has lost something in the sailing. Without total focus to the performance of the boat, shared by the same ambition of the majority, it has lost its sparkle of being totally immersive or consuming. I now have time to consider. I will work hard with the crew to return that focus and redefine our team objectives.
When it’s clear everyone is trying to achieve the same thing then there is willing inspiration, motivation and effort. The last being an interesting thing because effort is effortless if it’s what you want to do.
And on that note I'm signing out - It’s been emotional. Until tomorrow, speak soon