Route de L'Or Gitana: a genuine passion for sailing - Oceanyachting 2008 Teil 1: Start New York - Kap Hoorn - Übersicht 09/02/2008 Just like in the books... ...And to top it off, I was there! 2 failed attempts, one of which was pretty close... 1 week of lying-to on rough seas, white with foam, with noble albatrosses caught up in the mix.1 exhausting week, full of low-lying clouds indicative of strong and turbulent winds, during which feelings run high for no good reason, and you need to find something to keep yourself busy, and not think too much about tomorrow. And then one day, someone asked: When? And our dear navigator replied solemnly: “Tomorrow.” We prepared meticulously during the calm for the long-awaited departure, timid in the early morning in a partial calm. The strait came first, with its rough chop, a boat-rattler that we made our way through slowly. Then we sailed toward the Rock in the face of swells from the Pacific, a long day. And finally, in the evening, appearing out of the mist, through eyes reddened by the sea spray, we saw a dark mass emerge: there it was, proud and impressive, watching over this passage for millennia. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...am I dreaming? No, I'm awake...at Cape Horn. It's happened: I’m a Cape Horner, which gives me something to talk about over drinks...and maybe I’ll get a long-coveted earring. Zolive 07/02/2008 - 17:48 - Cape Horn here we come "Everyone has his own Everest!" 9:30 UT, we are leaving base camp this morning after exactly five days of waiting. The packs are zipped, with new batteries in the headlamps, ice axes sharpened and crampons attached to our boots. The ascent to Cape Horn promises to be slow-going, but it was time to get moving. After some discussion, we decided to make the ascent without oxygen, it'll take however long it takes, but we'll get there. Our tent was rattled all night by dark squalls kicking up gusts above 50 knots. The mouth of Lemaire Channel is less than 10 miles away, but the sky is still dark and a heavy gray wall of rain lies on the horizon. With the ORC jib up and three reefs in the indexsail, we are resuming our long march. We should reach Cape Horn this evening. Lionel Lemonchois Foto: Gitana S.A. Foto: Yvan Zedda Gitana S.A. Foto: Billy Black Gitana S.A. 07/02/2008 - 11:55 - Awe-inspiring rock For five days we’ve been knocking on the door to the immense Pacific Ocean. But it’s not really so pacific, seeing what the god Zephyr has been throwing at us. With one low-pressure system after the next, the Horn doesn’t want to let us through right now. At these latitudes, Mother Nature imposes her law brutally, no discussion, no compromise: this is no place for the reckless, many of whom have lost their life here. Onboard, only three of us have already dealt with the harshness of the Great South. Apart from the thrill of challenging the record on this legendary sailing route, each member of Gitana 13’s crew—young or old—signed up for this adventure for one reason: to round Cape Horn come hell or high water! Forget about how long it takes and what we’ll have to put up with, no one onboard is complaining. This is why we're here and we will succeed!! For us, whether ocean racers or simple sailors, this is the Holy Grail: it’s one of those things you have to do at least once. It may be a useless trophy, an invisible award...that’s not important. Some may turn it into an earring—a sort of distinction, membership in a group—while others will simply enjoy the satisfaction of having done it, having been there. In any event, if this is the person’s first time or not, these wonderful memories will reindex engraved in our hearts and souls, and I think that's what we're really after anyway. Cape Horn: we want to go there!! And when we're there: we want to leave as fast as possible!! 06/02/2008 - 11:41 - Back on track! Today, at 16:38 UT, we will wrap up our third week of sailing, with Cape Horn still in front of us. Our time has gone from good to so-so. But what’s important today is that the southern tip of the Americas is back on the calendar. At the end of the night tonight—i.e., Thursday bright and early—a secondary cold front is expected to sweep across the area around Lemaire Channel, right where we plan to end our stand-by period. The westerly wind will be blowing at 40-45 knots, but we’re used to it—that's been the average wind speed over the past three days! As soon as the front has passed, we’ll take off in its wake, in seas that we hope won’t be too high and in a wind that should lose strength over the following hours. We have 110 miles of tacking to look forward to, from the start of the channel to Cabo de Hornos island. It’s going to be really rough going at first, then the strong wind will quickly weaken—too much in fact—once we're past Cape Horn. The area will be calm, before a new low-pressure system arrives on the scene. But the wind will come from the south-southeast, finally giving us the opportunity to reach. Then we’ll have another squeeze play coming: when we start our turn northward, we'll have to move fast to stay ahead of the new low-pressure system. If we tangle with this new system, we’ll be in for another good one, with a further loss of time. Two factors will be decisive: the difference of a few knots of wind, plus the speed of the low-pressure system. If it decides to move faster than forecast, the door to the north will be locked. For now, until we can put our plan into action, we’ll spend our last day (we hope!) near Tierra del Fuego. This hostile landscape—comprising desert and sandy cliffs—has protected us from the worst of the seas. But it also prevented us from heading toward the Strait of Magellan on Tuesday. Too short, too abrupt, we had to give up. So, sailing along slowly, we again checked Gitana 13 and then got some rest. For the past three days, we have been enjoying six hours straight of sleep, as the stand-by watch hasn't been necessary. So we’re well rested and ready to pick up where we left off tomorrow...San Francisco here we come! Nicolas Raynaud 05/02/2008 - 10:50 - Esprit de corps Things obviously haven't been particularly easy in recent days. We are a team, however, with a common goal: to go as fast as possible on the Route de l'Or. Since Saturday morning, it’s as if the clock has stopped—even though the stopwatch hasn’t. No one onboard mentions it, no one is counting the days lost, no one is twisting the knife in the wound, no one is complaining or moping around. During our forced inactivity, everyone’s little quirks could easily be blown out of proportion. But life on the boat is a long, peaceful river, with each person being extra careful about respecting the others onboard. The handymen are taking advantage of the down time to make little repairs. The old steering chains were showing signs of fatigue, so two new ones were made. A splice done here and there, a block and tackle made, straps resewn, hatches re-weatherproofed, the kitchen properly cleaned...we’ve been busy, but time has still crawled onward. So the books came out of the duffels, and conversations started flowing. Sure, we’ve sailed together before and crossed paths on the docks or at competitions like the Grand Prix des Multicoques, but we don’t really know each other all that well. So now we’re learning more about each other, telling about our lives and experiences—indexly sailing-related—and discovering many shared acquaintances. These conversations, among two, three or even more of us, simply wouldn’t have happened if we had been able to push on through without stopping. We’re making the most of the situation, and honestly, this misfortune within our broader challenge has only strengthened our sense of camaraderie. So patiently we await the return of Zephyr’s good graces to get back into action. A window may open Thursday morning. But we don’t want to obsess about it, we need to keep a little distance, confident that Lionel and Dominic will let us know when it’s time to get going. It’s sort of like being on stand-by again, ready for the light to change to green. Except here we still need to manage the boat, with the watch system, sail trim, a route de follow... Our route today will be to the Strait of Magellan.. Why? For the sake of tourism. Don't forget, we’re not just a bunch of rope-pullers. To boost morale even further, each crew member got a can of cassoulet tonight. Nothing hits the spot better when you get out of bed. Thanks Loïck (Peyron) for the cassoulet—Loïck never goes to sea without a few of these cans. Nicolas Raynaud 04/02/2008 - 14:19 - On ice Average winds of 50 knots, gusts up to 65. During this black night, illuminated only by the white caps, Gitana 13 is heaved-to, no sails up, the wheel tied off, with the men on watch keeping an eye on things. Surrounded by the sensation of major storms, those that leave their mark. A few big swells roll in and shake things up, but we are pretty well protected by Tierra del Fuego. Farther out, where we would be if we hadn’t decided to wait things out, it must be hell. The mere thought of it, when we see how the seas batter the boat here, sends shivers down our spine, and the mast alone is enough. Any more would simply be too much. And then the thought of sailors from bygone days who had to face the same storms...but they didn’t have any way to avoid them like we do today. How did they do it? Respect! Tonight, Sunday night, we are at about the same place as we were Saturday morning—north of the mouth of Lemaire Channel—thanks to the weather forecast. It alone prevented us from taking a real beating. Yesterday, Saturday, we could have rounded Cape Horn, but it was afterward that things would have gotten dicey. Cape Horn is one thing, but getting around the whole southern tip of the Americas and climbing upwind along the coast of Chile—one of the most inhospitable coasts in the world—is another. That’s where we would be now, starting our turn northward, if we hadn't put things on ice. We wouldn’t be dealing with little swells, but big breaking rollers six to ten meters high, if not more. With no way out if there was a problem. The southwesterly to westerly wind relentlessly batters the coast. No need to say more, since we, like the boat, are sitting it out for now. The rest is just conjecture. We hope to leave our pseudo pit stop on Wednesday. By then, a new low-pressure system, similar to the one that we're experiencing now, will have passed through. We’ll be able to get back on the road, even though the going won’t get any easier. Nicolas Raynaud 02/02/2008 - 10:12 - Lemaire as watchdog Saturday, 4:00 UT. We have been playing a new game for the past few hours and expect it to take a few more: jockeying for the best possible timing through Lemaire Channel, which is the door to Cape Horn. For now, looking at the weather reports and latest info from Sylvain Mondon, it’s a no-go. The door is closed! So we tacked and are slowly working our way toward the coast in order to seek some shelter from the wind and sea. The door should open in a few hours, but the crossing from Atlantic to Pacific waters will not be easy. That's not really news...our marching papers had said the following: the Route de l’Or, rounding Cape Horn against the wind and current. We can’t say that we weren’t forewarned. Like always, the seas are more of a problem than the wind. This strait between Staten Island and the continent can be compared to the famous Raz Blanchard and the Straits of Bonifacio. Venturi effect, current, it’s all there. But here around the Horn, with its well deserved legend, the air is heavier and denser than anywhere else. The seas are higher and more violent. Six- to 15-meter swells and breaking waves are commonplace here. We’ll have to get used to them if we hope to continue our long voyage. Last night, we had a brutal reminder of what it's like to sail upwind in rough seas on a maxi-catamaran. It’s not fun! It’s rough and harsh, not enjoyable. With a steady 45 knots and three reefs, we have adopted a docile sail configuration in order to keep down our speed on a really choppy sea. We have experienced some steep drops where we see Gitana 13’s hulls leave the water all the way to the centerboard before they tip forward into the void and come down with their full force on the water exploding under their weight. The problem here is not trying to go fast, but rather to tame Gitana 13’s power. The boat could certainly bolt across these rough seas, but would inevitably sail off course. The job of the helmsman—who is wearing a drysuit and gloves due to the biting air—is more demanding than ever, as a tiny change in trajectory could affect the boat speed by a factor of two. At 10 knots, okay, but at 20... Life inside the boat is punishing, since the smallest movement must be calculated and controlled to be successful...even staying in the bunk requires a certain expertise. The crew on deck is rewarded by the surrounding spectacle. We have just experienced our first real gale since the start, but it was against the backdrop of a blue sky. It was beautiful, really, really beautiful. Nicolas Raynaud 31/01/2008 - 13:38 - The pause before the Horn Only 600 miles to Cape Horn, the “peak” of our southern trek, a 98° change in latitude from New York. Our trip south was fast up to the equator, and since then it has alternated between high and low phases, which is never good for the average. The same pattern held true over the past 24 hours, during which we had to settle for a score of only 336 miles. After a really rough night, our first foray into the 40s started out nice and calm. “We've just entered bird country,” said skipper Lionel Lemonchois. All around us, various varieties of petrels, including black ones, puffins and the first albatross, small ones, frolicked around Gitana 13 as we gradually lost speed. Crossing the high-pressure ridge was slower than expected and, surrounded by the incredible purity of majestic blue, we dropped the indexsail for a general inspection in the sun. Once we finished taking apart and checking the batten slides, we put the index back up amid a rising wind from the north quadrant, a sign that we’d arrived on the right side of the ridge. Thus began another sprint, flying the big and then small gennaker, with one or no reef in the indexsail. After a night of fantastic beauty, we were again busy in the “gym” before dawn Thursday morning with another gennaker switch, as the breeze began to soften, a harbinger of the next obstacle to come. To keep things interesting, this time we had to make our way around a small low-pressure system. In a few hours, the gennaker should be back in its bag, and we expect to continue nearly close-hauled toward the Le Maire Channel, which we hope to reach tomorrow, 1 February, during the day. Skipper Lemonchois gets the last word: “This route is thrilling, and like anything that’s thrilling, it’s not easy. We’re trying to do things as intelligently as possible, to be as responsive as possible, as we go from one weather system to the next. That requires a lot of work on the map table as well as on deck. But at least there's no time to get bored.” The other nine of us can confirm these words! We haven’t had time to crack any of the books we brought onboard, and tomorrow we’ll be busy thinking about the Horn. So as for reading … Nicolas Raynaud Bring in the Horn It's sort of like two days before finals, but 35 years later. This is the reason I came: to round Cape Horn. I’m not really much more of a sailor—even after 17 years on multi-hulls, part-time trainer, part-time crew member—than I was a mountaineer after 12 years of teaching skiing in the Alps, or a pilot after several seasons of flying ultralights all over the country. I like to experience different human environments, but only for awhile, and then, after I’ve found my place, I leave a small imprint when I go. Yeah, so in two days I’ll make my mark: I’ll be a Cape Horner, like in the books. Will that be it then? You’ll see, in the next episode: Grampa is a Cape Horner Zolive 30/01/2008 - 14:53 - A pod of whales And 10 minutes later all hell broke loose! Yesterday, Tuesday, during our 13th day at sea, things moved at breakneck speed, as we went from summer to winter, from calm seas to some roughing up. In the early hours of the morning, we were cruising along nicely, all sails set, a lot of canvas flying. We were surprised by the mild temperatures after our first chilly night in awhile. Offshore of the Rio de la Plata estuary, the crew took a saltwater shower in the cockpit. They had no more than 2 liters of fresh water to rinse off, well aware that there wouldn’t be any more for some time. Once clean, we had to hurry back to the gym for one of our favorite workouts: replacing the reaching staysail by the beating one, and dropping the gennaker on the windward side of the solent, which was again unfurled! Time flew by as we stowed the sails and distributed the weight onboard, and the weather changed insidiously, from bright blue to grayish-blue. Our efforts were rewarded, as we soon saw water spouts all over the place. Look...whales! Grab your binoculars! A few massive backs rose up and then disappeared, reminding us happily—as we crossed our fingers—that we haven’t hit anything since starting out. Humming along nicely, it took less than three days to expertly negotiate our second low-pressure trough. But on this stretch of water running right through the rotating winds, everything changed in just a few miles. A south wind came up from Antarctica, immediately causing the temperature to drop. The azure blue sea turned bottle-green, and the horizon took on a thick cloak of haze caused by the contact between cold air and still-warm water. In this universe of a thousand shades of gray, reminiscent of a winter cruise down the coast of Brittany, we experienced a moment of pure pleasure with the boat flying softly like a bird. We wouldn’t trade this for anything... And then, in a flash, our brisk gait was shattered by head-on swells that destroyed our momentum. Gitana 13 was no longer gliding...it started banging and bouncing and crashing with all the force of its 25 tons into the waves seeking to impede its progress. Without hesitating, we cut our speed in half, conceding this hopeless battle to the ocean in order to protect the boat. As I type these lines, the seas haven’t settled down. With one reef in the index and the staysail up, plodding along at 17-18 knots, we are continuing our forward march engulfed in a real din, shaken around like never before. Just above me, I hear waves crashing on the three-man watch. Dawn will soon break, and I hope the seas will calm down. Nicolas Raynaud 29/01/2008 - 14:40 - Expertise Yesterday, Monday, was our first day in the southern hemisphere during which we clocked more than 600 miles—616 miles in 24 hours, to be exact. Will there be more days like this? A concrete answer is of course impossible, but one thing is already certain: we won’t reach this goal during the day that will end today at 16:38 UT. Still, the wind is up, and we’re flying the small gennaker and genoa staysail, with one reef in the index. We’re still on port tack as we surf along the edge of the high-pressure system. But to top the 600-mile mark, it would need to blow really hard, with the needle rarely dropping below 23 or 24 knots. Yesterday afternoon the winds were weaker and further aft, a direction that is not ideal for speed. For a long time we considered putting up the big gennaker, but Lionel, the skipper, preferred to play it safe due to the rough seas, which have been bouncing us around for 24 hours already. And then Lionel must surely have the gift of sensing the wind. This slow spell, during which we were still able to move along at around 23 knots on average, only lasted a few hours. Then the wind came back, as powerful as before, and the sail of choice was the small gennaker. We were thus spared two time-consuming sail changes. Nice work Lionel. Tomorrow we should get close to 600 miles, and if I’m wrong, which is very possible, that would be even better. Nicolas Raynaud 28/01/2008 - 11:02 - Back up to speed We are encountering our first dark nights as the waning moon is rising later and later. In the celestial sphere, the Southern Cross is where it should be, to port, as we are on a heading of 240° in order to ride the western edge of a high-pressure system here in the southern hemisphere. It took quite an effort to reach this system! We were hoping to catch it easily, only 48 hours after crossing the equator. But the stormy depression that built up as we entered the Doldrums changed the equation. Now that we are again cruising full-bore toward Cape Horn, we can estimate the amount of time lost: a full day of sailing, around 500 nautical miles. First, the stormy low-pressure system weakened the southeasterly trade winds to about 10 knots. We then had to cross the related low-pressure trough, the dangerous zone where the winds rotate freely and there is also a windless zone whose size depends on where you hit it. This stretch cost us five hours—five hours at a near standstill overnight from Saturday to Sunday, our first “pit stop” so far. This was the lesser of two evils given the extent of the low-pressure trough...our thanks go again to Sylvain Mondon in Toulouse who guided us with a sure hand, keeping us informed with satellite photos and other GRIB files. And then there’s the question of interpreting the photos and files...Lionel and Dominic spent many hours at the map table. Once past the low-pressure trough, we picked up speed rapidly. I’m always surprised at how the weather conditions can differ so widely over such a small distance—only around 10 miles. We went from zero to 20 knots of wind! For us, that translates into an average speed of 25 knots. A sigh of relief. Yesterday we managed to cover 350 miles despite our pit stop in the middle of nowhere. Today we should be able to knock off more than 600 miles. We are zipping right along under the solent and two reefs, with 30 knots of wind and a real wind direction of 120-130°. As soon as the breeze moves aft, the small gennaker will come out of its bag. That’s the next sail change planned on Gitana 13. Nicolas Raynaud 26/01/2008 - 12:08 - In the arms of Morpheus Saturday, 2:45 UT. “It’s time, maneuver coming.” From a sort of deep coma, it takes a few long seconds to reconnect the system that allows you to understand this short sentence spoken by one of the men on stand-by. When woken like that, it means that you have the standard 15 minutes to haul yourself out of your bunk and put on clothes appropriate for the season in order to be ready for any eventuality. But when you then hear “Maneuver coming,” that means you’ve got to get a move on. Up on deck, the watch leader has held off the necessary sail change as long as possible so that we could all be together to do it faster. But impatience mounts, and, barely out, you see that the “coffee grinder” is beckoning. Waking up—be it in the morning or otherwise—can be qualified without a doubt as a bracing experience! If you need more attention, a hot drink or time to stretch, you picked the wrong sport...you should’ve played football. This morning, the small gennaker was selected to accompany the descending moon. Not the first time...over the past 24 hours, there was a constant back-and-forth among the sails to see which would have the honor of flying. Why? Shifty trade winds, and squalls that, if not overly violent, have a knack for breaking up the general wind pattern—the famous synoptic wind. In a breeze averaging 10 knots and the sun occasionally obscured by short bursts of rains, the crew was kept busy with sail changes in response to the fluctuating wind. On top of that, a 400-mile day. Today, with the first change of tack since we started expected toward the middle of the day, we will probably do even fewer miles. We probably won’t be able to get back up to speeds we reached early in the trip until Sunday evening. Nicolas Raynaud PAPPY GOES TO WAR It all began like a lottery game. Our dear skipper and nonetheless friend Lionel sent the whole Gitana team a list of highly exotic destinations to choose from. As a gambler and inveterate traveler, I checked all the boxes. A few days later, the list was sent back to me stamped “approved.” Intrigued, I turned the card over and read the rules of this bizarre game...Oh Heavens! I had just signed up for a 10-month stint on Gitana 13. I, who due to my ripe old age had sworn never to sail again on these overpowered flying machines, was betrayed by my nonchalance. Why does he want me onboard? For my muscles? For my deft sail trimming? For my touch at the helm? For my keen navigator’s eye? I doubt it. More likely out of simple friendship or to get me out into the fresh air...and maybe for my skills as a handyman, useful on these long voyages. Stay tuned for more... Zolive. 25/01/2008 - 10:39 - Struggle with the elements Generally, sailing in the trade winds is a beautiful thing. Here, colors are uncommonly intense—one look at Gitana 13’s blue hull gleaming in the sun and gliding over the deep blue sea elicits pure rapture. Also, thanks to the mild weather, we don’t have to change out of our t-shirts and shorts even if they repeatedly get wet from the spray. And then there are those exceptional moments, like when the wind comes to life for no apparent reason. This happened on Thursday, just before the sun reached its zenith. From a solid 20 knots, the wind rose to 22, 23, 24 knots. We were flying the solent, with one reef in the index. This simple acceleration transformed the boat from a state of gravity to one of weightlessness. Such a wondrous impression of lightness, of seemingly unstoppable power, is born when the speedometer rises above 25 knots. It’s felt by everyone onboard immediately. We became more attentive to the sail trim—and to the helmsman’s face—in a mix of smiles and concentration. With the wind coming from 90°, the experience is intoxicating, as the windward hull skims the waves on the way to rising high in the air. Thanks to its weight-to-power-to-width ratio, Gitana 13 is able to take off on a single bound. Playing the sheets and the tiller to stay up on one hull is an exercise in pure yet forbidden pleasure if we want to make it to San Francisco. Therein lies the difference between a one-day joyride and a long-distance race like ours. You have to treat the equipment differently. The solent is wisely replaced by the staysail, but not for long. This wind gust dissipated almost as quickly as it formed. After that we flew the solent and full indexsail in trade winds of only 12-16 knots—not strong enough for our taste. The result: 480 miles over the past 24 hours, with the hope of doing at least as much today. But we’ll have to go a little faster. In front of us, along a latitude just north of Rio de Janeiro, a storm front is building right in our path. We’re now in a race against the clock. Regardless of who wins—us or the clock—the amount of time gained or lost will be significant. Record attempts are a constant struggle with the elements. And we love it. Nicolas Raynaud 24/01/2008 - 13:29 - Cape Horn at the end of the month We wrapped up our first week on the water yesterday, Wednesday, with a 266-mile day. The week started with a bang and ended smoothly, par for the course with the Doldrums. Week two began more slowly than expected: a cloud formation moved in and “ate up” the trade winds. Gitana 13 didn’t really wake up until mid-afternoon. Now, the hulls are humming, the platform is bouncing—in a word, the boat has come back to life and we’re once again getting tossed all over the place. Truth be told, it’s not all that violent yet, but paradoxically we want it to be, because that’s a tangible sign that we’ll top 500 miles that day. We get pretty caught up looking at the pretty lines on the map (otherwise we wouldn’t be here, eh?), knowing that it usually takes a “normal” sailboat three good days to go from one line to the next. A week has already passed, but it seems like we left yesterday. The notion of time is relative, and it loses all meaning when you’re surrounded by nothing but blue. If you don’t feel this way, then this isn’t your calling. It’s pretty simple. In the middle of the day, we were lucky enough to be joined by a flock of gannets that had come to fish around our hulls. They have two techniques of air attack: they execute an impressive nose dive and either follow through right into the water or pull up just before hitting the water and inevitably catch the flying fish in the middle of their aerial flop. Grace on the one hand, clumsiness on the other. The gannets never miss—and we aren’t aware of the time passing. We are beginning our descent of the South Atlantic under the full indexsail and the solent, with a breeze coming from 80°. The wind should move aft and allow us to lengthen our stride and reach speeds we held in the northern hemisphere. Our goal is simple: to be in the waters around Cape Horn at the end of the month. Another 3,600 miles until we’re there...but that’s nothing when your head’s in the clouds. Nicolas Raynaud 23/01/2008 - 10:51 - Chronicle of a successful crossing On Wednesday 23 January, at 7:24 UT, Gitana 13 crossed the equator. It left New York 6 days, 14 hours and 52 minutes earlier. We can compare this performance to those of sailors attempting to break the round-the-world record. The distance from New York to the equator is 200 miles longer than from Brest to the equator. The fastest time for this latter route belongs to Olivier de Kersauson, who did it in 6 days, 11 hours and 26 minutes on his 34-meter trimaran Geronimo back in 2003. Gitana 13 logged 3 hours and 26 minutes more than de Kersauson, but also covered 200 more miles. Let’s get back to our smooth crossing of the Doldrums. Tuesday, 00:00 UT. We’re all on deck, as is normal for the change of watch every three hours. The moon hangs high above. Gitana 13 is humming along flat water at 25 knots, the solent flying and one reef in the index. Upwind, a cloud formation is kicking up the northeast trades. According to the latest files received, we aren’t far from a squall line, while the “door” to the Doldrums is only 80 miles distant. Lionel and the rest of his watch, Zolive and Florent, are going to bed. Ludo is on deck with Fred and David. Stand-by is starting for Thierry, Léo and me. 2:00 UT. Nothing on the horizon, all around us a clear tradewind sky. We shook the reef out of the index and, with the wind coming from 110°, our cruise in the tropical mildness is again a real pleasure. We came upon a fishing boat, our first encounter since starting. We’ve seen nothing, not even an “animal,” only two or three feathered creatures. 6:00 UT. We’re at the door—that imaginary place defined by Sylvain Mondon which has determined our trajectory for the past three days. This door, constantly adjusted in recent days and then hours, marks the most advantageous point to cross the Doldrums between the northern-hemisphere trades and the southern-hemisphere trades. Dominic Vittet appears suddenly with the latest update from Météo France. A wide lane is opening in front of us, the squalls ahead have broken up, and there is no storm activity to report. However, the satellite photos show that there’s going to be hell to pay to our left and right. We’re in the right corridor. Onboard, the joy is palpable. Well done Sylvain! 12:00 UT. Still a perfect tradewind sky. No cloud activity on the horizon. The trades have nevertheless slowed to 8-12 knots and are now blowing from 80°—a good sign. Onboard, it’s time to clean up and to inspect the platform and the mast. Léo, hoisted 40 meters above the water, confirms that our path ahead is all clear. 16:30 UT. The small gennaker was only up for an hour. The solent is again powering Gitana 13, which is using this godsend to swallow up precious southward miles at an average of 8-10 knots. Our task is clear: avoid at all costs falling below our route. We are sailing along the western edge of the corridor as defined by a major squall zone. We mustn’t enter that zone, we just need to stay upwind of the storm zone to continue riding the trade winds, which should logically start to gather strength. We covered 475 miles over the past 24 hours—our first day below 500 miles. The equator is now only 148 miles away. Wednesday 00:00 UT. The trade winds have never been weaker, or the sky clearer. At 8-10 knots, we’re making our way toward the equator, which is only 80 miles ahead. We’re getting a little impatient, especially since the wind reports tell us that there is a good reaching wind ahead that will help trim some miles off the course. Crossing the equator is good, of course, but the real exit is located at 1° South, meaning another 60 miles before we can latch onto the prevailing southeasterly trades. The latest satellite photo shows that our route will reindex cloud-free. It appears as though we’re past the danger zone here, we simply need to have some patience and enjoy this mild, luminous night. 3:00 UT. We’re all out on the “balcony” looking upwind at the Archipelago Sao Pedro and Sao Paulo passing only 1.2 miles away. Never heard of it? Four little rocks, the biggest of which is barely 120 meters long, with a lighthouse on one of them emitting its white burst every 10 seconds. That’s about all we can say of our first “land sighting” since New York. Around us flicker the lights of some fishing boats, which must be hauling in lobster. Exotic, no? Unfortunately the past two hours were difficult, as a cloud formation “ate up” the little we had left in the way of trade winds. Another 50 miles to the equator. 7:25 UT. We have just crossed the equator. Since entering the Doldrums, we did not change sails once and did not tack once, we simply adjusted the indexsail and solent as necessary to adapt to the wind shifts! This crossing, if not among the fastest, was certainly one of the easiest. The exit is still 60 miles farther on, only another three or four hours. Nicolas Raynaud 22/01/2008 - 12:19 - The mood lightens “You’ve earned it, guys,” said Lionel. It is midday Monday, and for the first time since casting off, we can now ditch our oilskins. For the first time, we aren't getting buckets of seawater dumped on our heads; for the first time, Gitana 13 is running under full sail. The ocean has gotten smoother, and, cruising along at “only” 20-22 knots, we are soaking up the tropical mildness. It’s amazing how much easier things get when sailing on a calm surface. With the can of peanuts back next to the coffee grinder, discussions are lively here on the left hull, where all the action has been since the start. “Vacation’s over.” It’s now the middle of Monday night. The big gennaker has been stowed, the small one is ready to go up, and the solent is pulling the boat southward. Less than 10 miles away stands a squall line, picked up by the satellite photo just sent to us by Sylvain Mondon, also on the alert at his computer in Toulouse. According to Dominic Vittet, the Doldrums are exhibiting “textbook behavior,” i.e., violent, with powerful, ink-black squalls separated by zones of dead calm. “The door isn’t open, it’s only half open...got it boys?” That’s Zolive, the one who never misses a chance to crack us up. You’re right Zolive, even if you are a first-timer to the equator: now more than ever we need to reindex humble in this zone where, like Asterix and his fellow Gauls, you feel like the “sky is going to fall on your head.” Nicolas Raynaud Dear friends, I would like to take advantage of this moment of calm (30 knots, 1 reef in the solent) to relate a very important culinary event that took place onboard Gitana 13. Today, the most adventurous among us, the winner of the Route du Rhum, our skipper—yes, I'm talking about Lionel Lemonchois—has taken a firm step forward on very shaky ground: he tasted the freeze-dried omelet. This requires some background. This mustard-yellow powder, to which you add three parts water, is not very appetizing at first glance. In fact, it immediately elicited serious reservations among my fellow boatsmen relative to its gustatory value. However, I can now inform you—thanks to one man's daring—that this omelet made of dehydrated eggs has surprised everyone. Dotted with bits of ham and cheese, this concoction will surely, in the future, be the origin of more than one conflict among the crew. We need to find a solution. Léo 21/01/2008 - 09:28 - Under a full moon We caught up with the trade winds during the wee hours of Sunday. They are blowing at an obliging 30 knots on average, from 110°. With the staysail up and two reefs in the index, Gitana 13 is cruising along magnificently on an azure blue sea. They’re having a ball at the helm, despite taking spray as if from a fire hose. Result: 615 miles under our belt. This is to be expected: this wind angle and sail configuration always add up to excellent progress on the ocean. Comfort onboard has obviously improved, apart from volleys of spray and big waves. We are in a real shaker, and the simplest act, like getting dressed, requires some technical prowess to avoid getting tossed from one side of the hull to the other. The same is true in the kitchen. The only culinary act possible is to heat water, which is just fine since that's all we need to do. Nevertheless, let me take a moment to mention the food provided last year by Doindexe du Mont d’Arbois, which seriously improved the fare during our attempt on the Route de la Découverte. That food—enough to make even the dullest palate salivate—was unfortunately not an option on this trip given our route. We've been sailing on port tack since we left NY, and every night we have been graced by the moon's appearance. During the night from Sunday to Monday, this precious navigational aid shone with its full force. The ocean has changed from azure blue to a silvery grey, adding to the beauty of the spectacle. We're enjoying this fully now, as the trades will begin to ease tomorrow. Tomorrow night we'll start nearing the Doldrums. We're gently adopting the ideal trajectory to cross this zone, but we all know that it reindexs unpredictable. Nicolas Raynaud 20/01/2008 - 09:19 - “Little by little, the bird builds its nest”… …this popular saying fits our crew like a glove as we adapt to Gitana 13’s non-stop pace, mile after mile. This relentlessness has meant that the stand-by watch has been kept busy. For three-hour shifts, the stand-by watch can be called on to lend a hand to the crewmember on deck for any maneuvers. Let me explain: Gitana 13 loves to fly a hull, which is perfectly appropriate in the flat expanse of Quiberon Bay but strongly discouraged when we’re roller-coastering over rough seas. This means we constantly need people on deck to man the sheets and “tame” the beast. But there are three sheets to trim—four when the genoa staysail is up. It’s easy to see that the three-man watch on deck, helmsman included, cannot do it all themselves. So in addition to standard maneuvers, the stand-by watch is also enlisted to trim sails. Since the stand-by period is also when we eat, we need to down our meals fast. The Doldrums—a zone synonymous with multiple maneuvers—are not far off (we should reach them overnight Monday), which means that things won’t calm down for us for awhile yet. No one is complaining, of course, and we’re ready to give all we have to indextain our lightning speed on the big blue. Skipper Lionel Lemonchois, in his wisdom, decided to have Dominic Vittet—normally off-watch—get a little more involved. Twice a day, Dominic replaces one of us on stand-by. Today, Léo Lucet and Olivier Wroczynski were the lucky ones who were able to log six uninterrupted hours in their bunks. We covered 575 miles over the past 24 hours, and our goal for the day is of course to top this number. Saturday was punctuated by sail changes: gennaker, then solent, then staysail, then solent again, gennaker again, and finally solent again and staysail again. The wind is as unstable as before in terms of strength and direction, but at least we haven’t been slowed by slack winds like yesterday. So maybe 600 miles today...in any case, our motto hasn’t changed: we still have a long way to go. In the meantime, we’ll keep hurtling forward at 25-30 knots, with some long, lovely stretches above 30 knots. We’re getting wet, but the water is warm. Cold would be okay too, but warm is definitely better! Nicolas Raynaud 19/01/2008 - 10:25 - Through a mouse hole Flying fish, sun, azure blue sky, squall line...the tradewinds can’t be far off. We haven’t reached them yet, but we’re making good progress. These conditions are our reward after a tenser-than-expected start. Here’s the play-by-play from Dominic Vittet, our navigator. “The window was narrow, and turned out even narrower than expected. We slipped through a mouse hole. In New York, less than 12 hours after we left, a storm came up from the southwest, surely with snow. It was this depression that drove the ridge that we left with. It could have engulfed us, because it was moving faster than expected (Ed.: the winds were calm at first before a strong headwind rose). We managed to stay ahead of it, in the good north-northwest air current. We made out well, that part was a success and now we’ll see how it goes when we reach the trades. We’ll know in less than 48 hours, and it looks good.” Apart from the big gennaker, the full suite of Gitana 13’s sails has been put to use, most of them twice. Yesterday, David Boileau, who has kept Gitana 13 healthy over the past year, admitted that he was exhausted. We could have all said the same thing. “The convoy to New York, the start and then all the maneuvers—I don’t remember the last time I slept. I don’t know what day it is anymore, or for how long we’ve been at sea. Today is better, the day has been calmer even though there was still work to do on deck.” With the small gennaker and genoa staysail up, a reef in the indexsail—or not, as necessary—we managed to chalk up 545 miles in the last 24 hours. “In four days we can be at the equator,” Lionel Lemonchois announced at the change of watch. He is steering Gitana 13 like he steered Gitana 11: with a sure and determined hand. We’ll be kept busy... Nicolas Raynaud 18/01/2008 - 10:21 - Attacking, with a dose of caution “Intense race start onboard Gitana 13. A mix of caution and speed, the first 530 miles in 24 hours is no mean feat. The ocean was difficult: bumpy, steep drops, sharp rises, a real hodgepodge.." The wind, generally from the north quadrant, also made life difficult, varying within a range of 30 degrees and blowing between 22 and 32 knots. The Gitana 13, a real animal, was not easy to handle, yet the message from skipper Lionel Lemonchois is unambiguous: “Fast but safe...San Francisco is far away, and the only way to get there is by going forward.” The crew understands this and, given the wind and weather, was kept busy on deck. With one reef in the indexsail, we hoisted the gennaker which, after having been stowed for a good part of Thursday, pulled us along at an average speed of over 25 knots. The watch system is punctuated by the easing and trimming of sails—a slightly chilling noise—and the helmsman must focus on the difficult task of staying on course. In this tense but not quite feverish atmosphere, each of us is settling in. The old routine has recommenced: throwing on an oilskin, opening freeze-dried food and, most importantly, waking up every three hours for six-hour shifts on deck...fortunately the weather has been getting warmer. Back into the duffel go the gloves, fleece caps and other body warmers. We’ll pull them back out as we near Cape Horn. But we’re not there yet...we have a ways to go. Nicolas Raynaud 17/01/2008 - 11:38 - Let the adventure begin! On Wednesday 16 January, at 11:29.11 (UT), Gitana 13 crossed the line at the foot of Ambrose Lighthouse, the starting point for some of the most legendary record attempts, including the one begun today called the Route de l’Or. The last 24 hours have been more than intense. Departure mid-afternoon Tuesday from Newport, a windy night below Long Island with gusts of up to 30 knots in a glacial cold, dawn spent tacking into a stiff wind to reach Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty, a quick photo in this marvelous setting with all the right ingredients—blue sky and sun—then jibing out of New York harbor, all this capped off with the inevitable sail changes: our crew of ten sure had its hands full. With our muscles kept warm by three layers of fleece, broad smiles broke across our faces as we embarked on our own “long way” at an average of more than 25 knots, flying the small gennaker with a reef in the index sail. The promised wind, 25-30 knots, did not disappoint. We too are in top form. Life is beautiful, our sights are set on the equator. With Lionel Lemonchois at the helm, the adventure has begun for Gitana 13. There’s nowhere we’d rather be. Nicolas Raynaud Copyright © 1996-2008 - SEGEL.DE