From : Sarah Brice
Yacht : Concert
Date : SUNDAY 30th MARCH - Easter Day
Just when you think the worst is over and it's safe to put your nose
outside without getting hurled across the deck, the Southern Ocean
comes up and smacks you in the face again. There we were, past the
Kerguelens, above 45 degrees south, and with 2.500 miles to go. The
sun was shining in a clear blue sky and we have a whole day of
cruising along with the No.1. For the last hour of each watch we
risked removing dry suits to dry our fleece layer, standing on the
edge of the cockpit like birds perched on a roost. The sea was warmer
and we were all beginning to imagine Cape Town.
The following day we again had clear blue skies, but this time with
60 knots of breeze and enormous waves, sending us roller coastering
along under the no. 3 and three reefs. These waves were bigger than
any we've seen and just sent us crashing about all over the place. We
could barely hold a course and had only 2 knots of waypoint closing
velocity. Helm stopped shouting "big wave" - they were all big - just
"hang on". And everyone did, ducking down in the cockpit. The
noise down below was horrendous, with bone-shaking bangs as 40
tonnes of yacht fell off the waves. Not good for the nerves of a crew
who've heard the mast break above them.
The squalls were dramatic, with heavy grey clouds looming over a
streak of orange sunlight just above the horizon. The wind would go
from 40 to 70 in seconds, you'd be lashed with driving rain and then
it would be over as soon as it began, leaving you heaving a sigh of
relief - survived another. Keith reckoned you could see the colour of
adrenalin.
We're learning a lot about ourselves and about each other, and I
guess we'll all be a little different when we get home. It's one
hell of an experience - and not all bad, honest. But this really is
the most hostile place, and I'm not sure we should be here at all. I
for one am not coming back!
Cape Town is going to be huge. A party to end all parties. We'll have
done the Southern Ocean - nothing the Atlantic can throw at us will
be as tough as this.
Yours, with 1900 miles to go. But who's counting?
Sarah.
