Tuesday 23rd December 2008
"My finest battle since the start of this long voyage"
Account by the skipper of Sodeb’O last night
"Since passing New Zealand where, once again, the transition between the
Indian and Pacific Oceans, wasn’t an easy one, I’ve been struggling to stay
ahead of a NW’ly air flow. I’m now in a new battle to get the very most out
of this weather system, which has shown little leniency since the start.
Added to this is a second major constraint: the presence of ice which is
spread out extensively across a whole section of the Pacific. This drifting
ice is a result of the part of the ice floe separating and drifting
northwards. A collision with one of these pieces would cause total
destruction to the boat, which wouldn’t be able to resist the impact at the
speed we’re going at the moment. In this region, the water is at 3° and
survival is a matter of minutes.
This is the reason, even though it’s a decision which will lose us more
time, that it wasn’t possible to envisage taking this optimal southward
course. Nevertheless, I know that in two days time I’ll be entering another
zone of icebergs which I won’t be able to avoid this time. For the first
time we have data pinpointed by satellite which is helping us to predict
where some of them are located. Unfortunately this doesn’t include all of
them and they will be drifting too so they move around at the mercy of the
currents and the prevailing winds.
Yesterday evening, last night and throughout today though, I’ve been
involved in the finest battle since the start of this long voyage.
The NW’ly wind filled in very quickly and I reduced my sail area,
manoeuvring as little as possible with the wind strength. It was pleasant at
the start before the sea built and I sailed 623 miles in a day after a
superb session slipping along at an average of 26 knots, with the speedos
often displaying in excess of 30 knots.
The wind has not stopped climbing since then and most significantly the seas
have become big to very big. The 30 knots of breeze forecast is closer to
35/40. The seas are building and it very quickly becomes borderline. The
seas are slightly on the beam and I can’t avoid them. It gives my port float
a violent knock and it soon becomes very difficult to negotiate. In a bid to
keep the sea from destroying and hounding the float you have to lean the
boat onto the other float, ensuring that you aren’t carrying too much sail
aloft. This is all part and parcel of the difficulty in adapting to the
slightest variation in the wind, both in terms of strength and direction.
Changing the headsail and switching from storm jib to staysail, involves
going up forward to dump one sail and hoist another. Stowing it away
properly after each manoeuvre is exhausting. The cold quickly gets to your
fingers. The deck is concealed with each movement. Working on the trampoline
is exhausting as balance is virtually impossible there. My head torch
doesn’t light the area very well with its tiny halo, so everything’s done by
instinct. You then go to the back again, into the cockpit, where the
unfurling of the staysail requires a real sprint of effort for a few
minutes. Beneath your foulies, the body perspires and gives everything it
can. There is nothing in reserve, it’s all there. The boat picks up speed
again and the movements are very jerky once more. The sea slams against the
hull and some enormous sprays of water crash into the cockpit. I slip in
under the coaming, looking out the back of the boat. I get my breath back. I
can see my wake for a few tens of metres, before it disappears into the
night and I climb over the next wave. This one is big so I hold on; the boat
is picked up in a single motion and the dials whizz round as the bows plunge
into the night and hit the base of the next wave. With these accelerations
it is impossible to be detached and completely calm. If the pilot makes a
mistake or if the impact is overly brutal at the base of a wave, anything
can happen.
I’ve been playing this game for several hours. The most exhausting element
is putting in and shaking out reefs in the mainsail: it takes 45 minutes of
non-stop effort to achieve this, in either direction, with the risk of
breaking all the mainsail battens. I’ve performed this same manœuvre three
times in the night. Indeed I thought the wind was finally easing and that it
was time to hoist some more sail to keep this famous speed up and stay in
the downwind conditions. Despite the big seas, I was focussed on the fact
that I might miss this opportunity to stay ahead of this low. What a
mistake! Out here you have to pay for every mistake and it costs very dear.
In fact I shook out the second reef too early. The wind had dropped off
again as forecast and I was sure I’d got it right. However, I’d barely
finished and was stowing all the sheets in their housing when a gust hit
which was stronger than all the others, propelling the boat along like a
rocket. The automatic pilot didn’t react well to it and, on pushing the
helm, it positioned the boat beam on to the next wave. Due to having too
much sail aloft, Sodeb’O was already on a single float and the wave just
picked us up.
I rushed to the mainsail traveller winch to ease the tension in the sail.
For a few moments time stood still and you could see how things were likely
to pan out. If I capsize the only place to be is down below, so I move back
a few steps to begin my withdrawal, but the boat drops back down, tenses up
and resists. She’s such a warrior. She stands upright again and shoots off
on an incredible surf; everything vibrates and the wind howls in unison with
the hulls, which creates a deafening racket. A dull thud can be made out and
a whistling sound follows immediately afterwards. A piece of the traveller,
that I was holding just seconds earlier, explodes and has just zipped across
the cockpit, decapitating the two steering wheels. I was right there just
seconds ago and my legs wouldn’t have withstood the impact. I assess the
situation straightaway. I order the pilot to change course with a few clicks
on the electronic keyboard to my right and rush towards the mainsail
halyard. I undo what I’d just that minute completed and start over again
with the reverse manoeuvre. Before my very eyes, I look at the damage caused
and I’m already thinking about how I’m going to resolve it. My heart is
still pounding and I’m furious with myself though I’m already on the case
making progress with it.
A new day is beginning. The whiteness of the deck stands out as it is
fluorescent. The wake also becomes increasingly vivid a long way back and
the sea leaves the sky’s grasp. I discover with a certain amount of
amazement the size and the strength of the waves surrounding me. What a
battle and what a night in the South Pacific!
See you soon Tom."
The part which has broken is made of very hard plastic and guides the
mainsail traveller sheet in its circular course around the cockpit. On
breaking, the sheet, freed from this guide, has sprung out and broken two or
the three carbon spokes located inside each of the steering wheels. Thomas
has replaced the plastic part with an opening pulley and other ropes. He has
also replaced four of the broken spokes with pieces of mainsail batten,
these too made of carbon and stuck together with hyper-resistant duct tape.
This slight damage has already been repaired then and has no influence on
the boat’s headway.
Translated by Kate Jennings – Expression
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