Clipper: One year on

One year ago today, I started racing with Clipper Telemed, leaving Albany on the way to Sydney. Despite four week of training where I had generally felt pretty good about my skills, I found out pretty quickly I wasn't really prepared. Then again, I think ocean racing is one of those things that you can't really prepare for, not fully; the only way to understand what it requires of you is to do it.

I thought that I was buying myself a relatively easy start, it being summertime in Australia and our route taking us around the south side of the continent rather than across any oceans. I was wrong. We were far enough from land to really get a taste of the Southern Ocean (though admittedly not at its most epic) and some unusual weather patterns had us beating upwind for the first week or so of what was supposed to be a nice downwind run. But the worst part was that I just didn't feel competent for that first bit. I had considered myself to be good in training, among the best of the previously inexperienced sailors at least. But I quickly realised how far ahead people were who had started the race in London, or even those who had just joined in Cape Town. Part of my was inspired by the thought that I would get to that point myself over the coming months -- particularly by Tony, whom I'd gotten to know and consider a peer during training but who now bossed the pit like he'd been doing it his whole life -- but mostly I was annoyed by how far behind I was.
Fortunately, I did develop all those skills. I never loved it at the bow, but I became a solid member of the team up there, even leading a few sail changes (with a bit of coaching from Han). I spent a lot of time at the mast and got more comfortable with my feet off the deck and the boat heeled way over than I ever thought I'd be. I also became a reliable hand on the helm. never as efficient as Alex or Matt but one of the few willing and able to put in full shifts (and then some) in any conditions.

I also wasn't really prepared for the living conditions. As I expected going in, the people were really good overall; something like this inherently selects for better-than-average people, interesting people, fun people, people with a sense of adventure. That said, there is still a lot of variation around that better-than-average average, and there were a few truly painful individuals and no way to escape them. The whole experience -- the stress, the close-quarters, the isolation -- intensified both sides. Over my five months on the boat, I formed some connections that would take years in normal circumstances. I also came very close to beating the hell out of a few people.

By the time I got to Seattle, I was very much ready to be done. I'm not sure how much it was the gruelling Pacific crossing specifically and how much it was just the knowledge that it was my finish line, but I felt like I'd given all I had to give. It was really tough to leave the guys (and not made any easier by they fact they immediately went on to podium in the next three races... bastards!), but I wasn't even a little bit tempted to extend. Since finishing, I've had a lot of people ask me, "Would you do it again?" In one sense, do I see myself doing it again in the future, maybe some other legs, probably not. I do want to keep sailing, but I think my ocean crossing days are over. I want to cruise in the sunshine with a G&T in my hand. Or maybe another Sydney-Hobart, or the Fastnet or something. But in another sense, if I had it do over again, I'd absolutely make the same decision. It was an incredible experience, and I don't regret it for a second.

I'd like to close with three stories that I didn't think were appropriate for the blog at the time but that I think are safe to tell now:

• First, toward the end of the Pacific crossing I mentioned that we had another tethered MOB. I didn't provide any detail, partly because the keyboard was acting up and partly because his mother read the blog and he didn't want her to worry. But he told her when we were in Seattle, so I figure I can share. We had just come through the biggest winds of the race. (I had said 83 knots in the blog post, but Jason later showed me a picture of the instruments reading 144! It probably wasn't quite that high, as the instruments get a bit flukey at that level, but it's still nuts.) Ryan and Justin were up at the bow. I think they were prepping the Yankee 3 to hoist, as we'd been down to stay sail through the big wind overnight. A big swell came in from from starboard, maybe 5-6m high, the boat tilted way over, bounced a bit, and over went Ryan. He was holding onto the guard rail at the time and did a full somersault on they way before losing his grip at the end. There was an exception level of "Oh shit!" to this, because Ryan had reputation for not clipping on. Fortunately, this time, he had. I was on the winches at the time and clipped on the inboard jackstay. I barely had time to transfer my clip outboard and start up to help, and he was in. The boat was crashing through the swells enough that the deck was getting down nearly to water level. Ryan was able to get a hold on the preventer and pull himself back up with some help from Justin. His first question was whether anyone had gotten a picture. He had wrenched his shoulder a bit and started to feel that as the adrenalin wore off, but came through it OK.
• Second, at the end of Race 8 to Qingdao, I mentioned that the cold had nearly broken me. I think "nearly broken" doesn't quite cover it. It wasn't helped by the fact that I was sick. I ended up taking off two half-watches at the urging of a few crewmates. It wasn't something I wanted to do, as we were short-handed as it was, but I think it was right. But there were times as I lay there in bed, just desperately trying to get warm after a bitterly cold watch on deck, that I really considered quitting. Honestly, it was the thought of explaining this to my friends and family that kept me from doing it, even though I know you all would have been understanding and supporting. So while I didn't have this conversation with you at the time, know that you helped me through the toughest part of the experience.
• Third, going back almost to the beginning, I mentioned in this post being knocked over by a wave, taking a winch in the ribs, and being reminded how important it was to keep tethered in. What I didn't mention at the time was that I was not actually tethered in. We had just started downwind sailing, which feels a lot more smooth than the upwind sailing we'd been enduring to that point. We weren't heeled over. We weren't getting waves over the side. I was trying to move more freely around the boat, running the preventer back (must have just been setting it up as we bore away). There were conflicting witness reports, whether I was headed for the edge but stopped short or whether I was actually stopped at the edge by the gate (I incline toward the former). I rolled into the cockpit quickly and clipped on. (Talk about closing the barn door after the horse has bolted!) I had a lot of concern from my crewmates, making sure I was OK. Mostly, I was just embarrassed by it all.  This was before Sarah Young had died after being swept overboard. At the time, all I had in mind was that three previous MOBs in the race had been recovered OK, and all I thought was that I had nearly become a giant pain the ass for my team, as they would have had to stop the boat and turn around to get me. A few days later, Barnaby called a watch meeting where called us all out for our performance. It was the first time I appreciated the stress my almost-MOB had caused, even if still didn't really appreciate the actual danger. I realised owed everyone, especially Barno, an apology for putting them in that situation, and i gave it to them.  This is also why I felt I was able to be assuring that I was very careful about clipping in after Sarah's death. I had learned that lesson fairly cheaply, but I had learned it.

**********************************************************************

A few final points.

1) I recently got a chart for my wall showing our track while I was on the boat. I don't think it quite does justice to just how long it felt like we were wandering around the South China Sea, but it's really cool to see the scope of the trip and amazing how many specific moments stand out, key tacks, the detour the bay in the Philippines to sort out the kite wrap, several land sightings, etc. Thanks to Han for coordinating.

Though it does constantly mock me with the fact that track isn't a full circumnavigation....

2) I still haven't finished sorting through my photos, but I am making progress. I have over 3,000, so I want to filter it down before sharing. (I probably have 30 shots of waves crashing over Eric as he helps Nick fix a stanchion.) Sure, I've been back for seven months now, and it's not like I have a job, but... um.... No, I really have no decent explanation.

3) I still need to provide a final accounting of the funds raised for GiveDirectly. I am waiting until I get myself a job before I match them and make the donation, but all donated funds are in their own account. I will confirm in this space when I finalise things.

Thoughts following the recent shootings by and of police

I see a lot of similarities between killing of innocent and/or unarmed black men by police and terrorism by Muslims.

• In both cases, there definitely seems to be a strong disproportionate link. Yes, there are innocent and/or unarmed white people killed by police. Yes, there are non-Muslim terrorists. But neither of those changes the fact that black men are far more likely to be the victim of police shootings and terrorist attacks are far more likely to be committed by Muslims.
• In both cases, the "bad actors" are a tiny minority of the whole. The overwhelming majority of police officers never shot anyone. The overwhelming majority of Muslims would have nothing to do with terrorism.
• Nevertheless, in both cases, there is an awful lot of "I don't approve of this, but...." excuse making.
• In both cases, there is backlash against innocent people wrongly associated with the original injustice, be it anti-Muslim backlash or anti-police backlash. And some people get more concerned about the backlash than the initial injustice. And some people pull out "I don't approve of this backlash, but...."

There are, of course, some significant differences.

• With police shootings, there's SOME element of error. I don't think any cop sets out saying "I'm going to kill an innocent black man today." Terrorist attacks are deliberate.
• I think police should be held to a much higher standard than the average man on the street. It's unfair to expect perfection, but we're a long way from perfection.
• There is a much more established institutional framework around the police than there is around Islam. There are police authorities who can choose who to make police and fire those who aren't living up to standard. There's no real parallel by which "Muslim authorities" could formally expel a "bad Muslim" (like, say a Catholic could be formally excommunicated). And even if they were to do so, it's not like it would really impact their ability to carry out a terrorist attack.

There seem to be some real cultural problems both in law enforcement and in Islam, and while in neither case do you want to tar everyone with the same brush, it seems they could both do with being less defensive and really looking inward to try to fix things. At the same time, a) I'm neither a cop nor a Muslim, so it's pretty easy for me to say they should get their house in order, but b) I have no idea what that would mean in any specific way.

Thoughts on Brexit

NOTE: For those of you who have been reading my sailing blog, first, thank you for following it. But, second, this is not a sailing post. This is more what I started the blog for in the first place, a place to write on miscellaneous, often political topics, to put into print things I've been going over in my head, with little expectation of anyone actually reading. But if you'd like to keep reading, please do. Finally, there are still a few wrap-up sailing posts coming, so stay tuned.

And with that out of the way....

I recently became a UK citizen. As soon as that became official, I registered to vote, so I was able participate in the Brexit referendum. Since registering, I've been working to figure out my opinion. And because a few people asked about my opinion, I decided to sketch out my decision and thinking here... too late to actually influence anyone else, as the vote is now closed and results are coming in.

Short answer: Remain.

Slightly longer answer: I think the best possible result would be to leave the EU and do it well, i.e. negotiating an agreement that would maintain most of the benefits of membership while getting rid of most of the burdens. I just think it's incredibly unlikely that it would happen that way. Not only is the uncertainty of leaving huge, I think the downside is more likely than the upside.

So let's get into a few specifics. To the extent the EU is a force for free trade in goods and services and for free movement of people, I think it's generally a good thing. There are some theoretical reasons why limited free-trade areas might be less efficient that a consistent set of tariffs on all trade (basically, you might divert trade from a lower-cost external producer to a higher-cost external producer within the free-trade area), but I don't think this is a significant practical issue. Partial free-trade is more of a stepping stone toward wider free trade.

There are, however, a lot of burdensome regulations that come from the EU. One famous example is regulations on the curvature of bananas/ While often exaggerated in the popular Eurosceptic imagination, the fact they exist at all is ridiculous enough. In one televised debate, an audience member credited EU regulation with ensuring minimum room size in rented accommodation. I don't know the details, but let's assume she's right. This just makes it harder for lower-paid people to afford housing. There are more regulations on working hours and conditions. EU banking regulation can sometimes be a poor fit for the UK market. Each of these examples is individually small, and it's hard to point to clearly identifiable negative impact from each, but they accumulate and reduce the efficiency of the economy. However, at the end of the day, I think the UK is all too capable of imposing burdensome regulation all on its own, so it's not at all clear to me how much there would be to be gained by leaving the EU.

Perhaps the biggest disaster of the European experiment is the euro. Fortunately, the UK has remained out of the single currency and there is no indication that we would ever join, so that's a non-issue here.

A lot of the most heated debate is around immigration. Nobody seems to worried about immigration from Western Europe. Illegal immigration from, say, Northern Africa is illegal anyway. The UK isn't part of the Schengen area, so it does check everyone coming in, who whatever issues there are with lax border control in some parts of the continent giving illegal immigrants access to other countries, it doesn't really impact things here. The biggest real question is around newer EU members, specifically those in Eastern Europe, plus the potential for Turkey. I'm not at all concerned about immigrants "coming here and taking our jobs". In many cases these immigrants are great workers. The Polish bricklayer or the Spanish waiter are stereotypes but also reality, and we're lucky to have them. Do some immigrants come here for more generous benefits? Maybe. But they seem to me to be substantially outnumbered by workers. And there are proposals to require a period of residency before someone is eligible for benefits, which addresses the issue much more directly. Finally, there is some concern over refugees, being welcomed warmly by some countries who are then looking to force others to do the same. This is a complex one for me. I'd like to see a decent alternative for those, e.g., fleeing the war in Syria. But at the same time, I think people are right to be worried about large numbers of refugees coming in,  becoming ghettoized (perhaps through self-segregation, perhaps through normal-segregation), not integrating into society, and becoming a disaffected permanent underclass. I don't have a good answer for this, but I'm not sure that leaving the EU provides that missing answer.

Finally, I think the anti-foreigner sentiment provides so much of the animating energy of the Leave campaign, that I like a Remain vote for its anti-anti-foreigner symbolism. I don't want to paint too broadly here. There are many sensible arguments for leaving, and many sensible people I know making them. But they are nearly drowned out by the objectionably ones. A lot of the Remain arguments are also bad. I actually find most of the arguments I hear from both sides to be pretty awful. But while the Leave side has most of the best arguments, it also has the worst. And the worst are much louder. And that counts for something.

Anyway, soon we'll know. Something.

N 48 deg 12', W 123 deg 55'-- Race 9, Day 25

just a quick update, as the keyoard is acting up. Again.

We've finished!

Eventful last it, as we hit the iggeqst winds of the crossing -- 83 knots
at one point, though the iggest I helmed in was low 70's. We also had
another tethered MO, again quickly recovered with no real danger. The last
stretch was frustrating, as the wind really died, but we finally made it.
Fifth place finish, a little slip at the end, but pretty good for the
smallest crew in the fleet.

More detail when I have a working keyboard. Right now, just looking forward
to Seattle, seeing friends and family, and not being cold or wet for a
while.

46 23, 132 27 -- Race 9, Day 24

I was on the helm a few nights ago as we cracked the 1000 nm mark. I had
this whole post composed in my head about how it the home stretch, about
how 1000 miles is still a long way but in the context of a 5700 mile race,
not to mention nearly 20,000 miles of total sailing I'm doing in this trip
it's not much, about how I could almost taste that beer waiting for me at
the finish.

That feels like an eternity ago.

We're generally making good progress, but conditions remain tough. I keep
going on about the cold, but that really has been the most testing aspect
of this whole experience for me. We had another breakage yesterday, which
slowed us down for a while. The shackle at the top of the running backstay
failed, and it was several hours worth of work to get it replaced,
including two guys going up the mast and dropping all sails for a while. I
was on mother duty at the time, so I missed most of the action, just
keeping dinner and hot drinks going as semi-frozen people would come down
from time to time. The one moment that sticks out for me is hearing Matt
say at one point, "There is every chance this mast is going to come down!"
Fortunately, it never came to that, and by the time I came on watch at 2am,
we were ready to shake out to full main.

We have one more front forecast to come through. It was expected to be
pretty strong, but the forecast has moderated, and now it looks like it
might just give us continued good speed to the finish, likely some time
tomorrow night. Not going to count any chickens just yet though.

336 nm to go.

N 43 deg 25', W 150 deg 33' -- Race 9, Day 21

There wasn't a lot to report for a few days there, thus the lack of posts.
But then, just as I was thinking the Pacific was going to wrap up with a
long, tough, but fairly monotonous slog -- BANG!

It took all of two seconds to realise that the spinnaker halyard had
snapped. Matt later said it was a 50 knot gust, just more than the line
could handle. The Code 3 was streaming out in front of the boat, held only
at the two lower corners. It floated there for a few moments, then fell
into the sea to start dragging down the port side.

Matt, as I've said before, is cool in these situations. "No worries guys.
Tom, grind in on the active sheet. Mark, three wraps on that winch and tail
in the drop sheet. Kat, get some more bodies on deck. Sean, up to the bow,
we're going to have to bring the kite aboard from the tack end." A few
minutes later, I had locked off my line and joined Sean at the bow, where I
noticed the tack line sheath had gone. Sean and I tried to get the sail in,
but there was far too much tension from this huge bag of canvas being
dragged through the water at 10 knots.

We moved further aft and joined the rest of the crew, off watch having made
it on deck now, working to haul the sail in along the length of the boat.
We had some success, but one big bag of sail full of water was just too
much for us to lift. We were working at it when there was another bang, and
we soon realised the tack line had gone.

We were now dragging the sail by the two sheets. Alex said to me that he
would just cut the thing free, and I agreed, but Matt was determined to
save it. He came up with an approach where we would grind in on a sheet,
tie another line as far down the sail as we could, grind in on that, and
repeat. Fine in theory, but....

But nothing. It worked. It took maybe 45 minutes, and there were some big
tears that will take some fixing, but we recovered it. Despite it all being
a mess, it was also a great moment, with the whole team working well
together and salvaging a situation I thought was unsalvageable. It's still
going to take a lot of work to repair the sail, but that's probably one for
land. This leaves us with only the lightweight spinnaker, and there's
nothing in the forecast that looks like we'll be able to fly that. We're at
a bit of a disadvantage now compared to other boats, and we'll have to
catch some real breaks to podium, but we should still make Seattle in good
time.

On a personal note, as far as I know, my repairs held. They certainly
didn't start the problem. I'll check in port whether they survived being
dragged through the water.

It's been relatively easy sailing the past 24 hours, though the nights have
been really, really cold. We have another low expected through tonight,
which should bring with it some higher (but very manageable) winds, and
that should -- SHOULD -- be the last of the heavy weather.

1155 nm to go.

N 41 deg 27', W 166 deg 38' -- Race 9, Day 18

Cold, though not as cold as it was at its worst, but now with added grey
and drizzle. It's clear now to me why the set that musical in the South
Pacific rather than the North Pacific.

***************************************

I read this story a while back, an excerpt from a memoir of a Jewish kid
growing up in New York. One day he went to his grandfather, excited because
Babe Ruth had hit sixty home runs. His grandfather pondered, then asked,
"This thing that Ruth did, is it good for the Jews?"

I'm like that right now about getting to Seattle. If something gets us
there faster, great; if not, I'm indifferent. For example, one of the
overall leaders, I think Garmin, lost their bowsprit. This means they can't
fly a spinnaker, at least not well, so they'll go slower, and it helps us
place better. But this thing that Garmin did, does it get us to Seattle
faster? No? Meh.

On the other hand, usually race position and getting there faster go hand
in hand. Yesterday, we saw some old repairs in our Code 3 weren't holding.
(We inherited this sail after we destroyed our in the kite wrap incident,
so for once, it's not our old repairs that are going.) I spent about five
hour during the night doing repairs, first a bit after our 6pm-10pm watch
ended, then pretty much the whole of the 2am-6am watch. The first part, I
worked with Linda to cut and apply some new adhesive patches; the second
part, I sat on the floor and sewed so they would stay on. We were able to
fly it today, the patches held, and we made good speed. We've pretty much
given up on fixing the Code 2 (the repair might be possible, but the
conditions haven't been conducive to using the sewing machine, nor are
there enough people on board who know how to use ie), so it's important
that we have the Code 3 as an option, and a few hour sewing is a small
price to pay.

**************************************

I continue to be surprised by the amount of breakage and fixing of things.
Just today, the preventer snapped. We fixed it. Reef 2 was in bad shape. We
fixed it. Just lots of wear and tear.

***************************************

I don't want to jinx anything, but we're looking on track for arrival in
the early part of the arrival window. No guarantees, as a lot can happen,
but the slowish start has given way to sustained good speed, and there's
nothing in the forecast that suggests that's going to change. Here's
hoping!

1816 nm to go.

N 41 deg 11', W 173 deg 58' -- Race 9, Day 17

I think I gave an excessively negative impression of morale on board in my
last post. Don't get me wrong, people are a bit on edge, and all those
things I mentioned did happen. And that's without even getting into the
really nitpicky stuff, like who ate more than their share of chocolate or
who did a mediocre job of cleaning the heads.

But the overall atmosphere is pretty good. For example, Justin just had a
laugh about the fact that he never thought he'd be kneading bread while
people wooled a kite around him. Han cracked a joke about how much we're
paying to do this work, and everyone had a laugh. More broadly, we have a
crew where most people get on with most other people and respect what they
bring to the table and the effort they put in most of the time. It's
actually impressive things don't get worse under these conditions. Again,
it's a huge improvement over the last leg. I'm not really sure how to
compare to Leg 4. That was also a really good crew, and people got along
well, I think comparable to now. But I was the new guy on board at that
point. I had little to compare to, and I was really busy just figuring my
own stuff out, so my perspective is completely different.

I do, however, stand by what I said about he cold. That was thoroughly
unpleasant. We had snow. We had rain. We had sleet and hail. These may not
stop the US Postal Service messengers from the swift completion of their
appointed rounds, but they are a bitch to sail in. Fortunately, it broke
slightly last night, and we had a decent morning of sailing today.* We
had the lightweight spinnaker, aka Code 1 up, the sun was out, no water was
coming over the deck, and we were consistently making 10-13 knots. It was
nice while it lasted, but the cold front is coming. And while the forecast
has moderated a bit, it still looks to be a lively one.

*By decent, I mean that I was wearing more clothing that I ever thought
possible, but it was tolerable instead of painful. Talk about defining
deviancy downward.

I don't think I've mentioned race position in a while, which is strange,
because we're doing pretty well. The leader, Derry, has pulled away a bit.
But we're in a group of three boats trading off the next three positions
and pulling away from the fifth and further back boats. We have a real
chance at a podium. This isn't lost on us, but there's more focus on just
getting there.

2113 nm to go

N 38 deg 54', W 177 deg 42' -- Race 9, Day 16

I'm not going to sugarcoat it, conditions are pretty miserable these days.
Everyone is cold, wet, and tired, and tempers are fraying a bit. Sean drops
the keyboard and rants at no one in particular that the ziploc bag we store
it in should have been zipped, as should all ziplocs. Neil complains that
he's gettig shouted at in stereo, Kat bizarrely thinks she's been called a
stereo, gets really offended, and calls him a pig. Since my snap over food
a week ago, I've saved my outbursts for inanimate objects. I have trouble
getting my life jacket on or my dry suit off, they get sworn at. Or every
time I get dripped on by this goddamn boat.... Some people are more stoic.
Doug is really good, but even he lost his patience a bit with the oven when
it wouldn't stay on.

I remember saying back in the heat of the Solomon Sea that the cold leg
would be better, because you could always put more clothes on. I didn't
think that I just might not have them. We might have to go to shorter
rotations on deck, but it's tough with the numbers we have. This is
just another challenge of having the smallest crew in the fleet, and one I
hadn't really anticipated.

There's some fairly big weather coming, talk of 50 knots sustained with
gusts of 70-80. This is a lot, but it should be from a favorable direction
and fully manageable with conservative sails. What really concerns me is
that it's a cold front and the thought that things will get colder.

At least we're making good time. We've crossed the International Date Line.
Opportunity there for a lot of obvious jokes about time travel, but I'm
going to pass. All that really matter is what gets us to Seattle.

It is nice to finally be starting that longitude with a W though.

2316 nm to go.

N 38 deg 27', E 175 deg 33' -- Race 9, Day 15

It's cold. The actual temperature may not be that bad -- not warm, but
safely above freezing -- but the wind is pretty fierce, and everything is
wet. I'm wearing waterproof socks inside a drysuit inside top-of-the-line
sailing boots, and my feet are still wet. I've been using some heavy rubber
helming gloves with a nice wool (I think) liner, but the liner is wet, and
nothing will make it dry. I have several drips onto my bunk, so my sleeping
bag is wet. Fortunately, it's waterproof, and so far the inside is OK, but
it still gets cold at night. We've started rotations with thirty minutes
out of every ninety below decks to warm up, which was absolutely critical
for night watch and still helpful during the day. Seattle remains a long
way north, and I'm actually worried about my ability to deal with the cold.
Not that there's much option.

We're about the latitude of SF now. It occurs to me that in prior years,
this is as far north as they would have gone, maybe a bit further if they
were following a great circle route.

At least we're making good time, with winds averaging about 25 knots (gusts
regularly in the high 30's and sometimes higher) giving us 250 mile days
for now. There's another low forecast through in a couple of days, and it's
likely to be a big one, but we should be relatively well positioned for it.
Relatively.

2641 nm to go.

******************************************

Sarah Young was buried at sea yesterday. We held a short memorial service
on board. Sean said a few words, and I understand he send something out as
a crew diary as well. It feels odd to say this, since I don't actually know
any of these people, but my thoughts are with her family, her friends, and
her team on Ichorcoal.

N 37 deg 18', E 169 deg 10' -- Race 9, Day 14

If you're following the wider reporting on the race, you'll know this
already. But if not, there has been another death. Sarah Young, from
Ichorcoal, was swept overboard by a wave. By the time they got her back on
board, they were unable to revive her.

I didn't know her myself, but several people here did. Sean, who joined us
from Ichorcoal a few months ago, was close to her. As you would expect,
he's taking it particularly hard, but everyone is definitely shaken.

She wasn't tethered at the time. I mention this only because it comes so
soon after our tethered MOB and so I can assure you that I am really,
really careful about keeping clipped on. I'm doing everything I can to
keep safe, and I'll be home soon.

2943 nm to go.

N 36 deg 04', E 156 deg 38' -- Race 9, Day 11

In order to not cause any unnecessary worry, I will point out at the start
that this story ends with everyone safe and sound and actually never in any
real danger. I want to make that clear, because it starts with someone
shouting "Man overboard!"

Hearing someone shout "Man overboard!" in a non-drill situation is a real
"Oh shit" moment. We're a long way from anything, and the sea is
unforgiving. MOB drills have been a big part of training, but you still
never really expect to use it. It was a relatively calm day, but only
relatively. We had just dropped the Yankee 2 for the Yankee 1. My legs were
under the sail, as after flaking, Ryan, Kat, and I had gone to work
replacing a couple of hanks. So that's my excuse for not jumping to action.
But everything else happened so quickly that I barely would have had time
to do anything anyway.

Calls followed. "Tethered overboard!" Slight relief. This meant the MOB was
tied to the boat and not going anywhere. Clipper acknowledge three MOB
incidents (all safely recovered) in the ten previous editions of the race.
They don't even (as far as I know) count tethered MOB's. I know of several
this year alone. Anyway, she had been throwing some food waste over the
side when a small wave came over or maybe we hit a wave, but she lost her
balance and slipped through the guardrails. But she was tethered in.

Next shouts, "Heave to!" and the helm turned us around without anyone
tacking sails. This basically stops the boat. It also swaps low side and
high side, so our MOB was now a bit higher out of the water and not getting
dragged along any more. Four people were already helping to pull her out,
and it was all over in under sixty seconds.

I watched this all from under the sail. My side had become the low side,
and I was now leaning back against the guardrails. Kat had sprawled out,
giving me one hand and grabbing an A-frame with the other, just in case I
slipped. I thanked her, but assured her I was well set where I was. She
said if I went, I'd probably drag her with me. I told her I was tethered in
and to let me go if it came to that. (Just to be clear, this was all
joking, not high drama. But I have to make this at least somewhat about my
experience. That's the point of having a blog!)

In the end, she drank a bit of seawater, slightly aggravated an old
shoulder injury while being hauled out by her arms, and lost a contact.
Doug, who leads Searvh and Rescue teams up in Canada, checked her
out and confirmed she was OK. Mostly, she was shaken up. Everyone else a
bit as well. But as I said at the start, no harm done and no real danger.

In wildlife news, we've started seeing albatross. A few people thought they
were confined to the Southern Ocean, but I had seen in Wikipedia that there
are North Pacific albatorss. Still really impressive birds. And today, we
saw a seal. I spotted a patch of seaweed with something black near it. On a
closer look, I could see it was a flipper. Then he popped his head up and
had a look as we sailed by. He's a long way away from any land out here.

3510 nm to go.

N 35 dag 23', E 151 deg 53' -- Race 9, Day 10

Eventful last couple of days.

Yesterday, we sailed right into a fairly lively region of low pressure.
Peak gusts of 75 knots, lots into the 50's, plenty of water over the deck.
It came up quickly in the morning and lasted most of the day, another
example of the weather forecasts being not too accurate. I was on mother
duty, so I stayed dry but got to cook and wash up in some inconvenient
conditions. It pretty much settled down by the time I came back on for 2am
watch, though it was still a fair amount of work.

Previous day's highlight was dolphins, lots of them. It started when I
noticed lots of sea birds all around, and I said there must be something
going on below the surface to be drawing them. (I remember this from a
David Attenborough series. Blue Planet?) Soon, we saw fish jumping out of
the water, then dolphins jumping. Pretty soon, there was a fair group of
them around, fifty, maybe more. But then the real fun started. Off in the
distance, we saw a lot more splashing and heard a sound like a waterfall,
slowly getting louder. A huge number of dolphins were coming towards us,
leaping out of the water as they came, across a front hundreds of yards
wide and maybe fifty yards deep. Hundreds of them easily. I guessed a
thousand, though that was the highest guess. In a minute, they had
surrounded our boat. Shortly after, they were gone. Only negative, I
thought I had pressed record on my camera, but I hadn't. I got the very end
of them heading off, but I'll just have to rely on memory.

Another highlight of the past few days was sailing in close proximity to a
bunch of other boats. We were within sight of four, part of the lead group.
We were even within about 100 yards of Derry at one point. It's amazing
after this much racing to be so close, and it's great to be in the lead
group. We did separate a bit as the weather picked up. We're still pretty
tightly bunched, but it's not as personal.

One lowlight was me snapping at some crewmates (and the skipper) over food.
Or maybe the real lowlight was their making it necessary for me to snap,
depending on where you want to place the blame. Food is a bit tight on
these boats, and it's tighter on this race than in the past. I think this
is because we've gone from twelve crew (six women) to fourteen (three
women), but we still cook, e.g., 1.5 kg of pasta as standard. Anyway, two
days ago, Tom had cooked a really nice noodle stir fry. I was the last to
get served, so I was still only half done when seconds came on offer.
Pretty much everyone leapt forward like pigs at a trough. Several them
clamoured for bigger seconds when I (and one other) hadn't had any yet.
Some creative swearing ensued. I got my seconds.

Which reminds me of a time back on Race 7 when someone said something about
growing up in a big family teaching you how to be aggressive about getting
food. I answered that I grew up in a family where we put enough food on the
table that we didn't have to act like animals to have a meal. Touche.

One other lowlight. My bunk has developed a leak, or maybe a condensation
drip, right over my face.

3730 nm to go.

N 34 deg 05', E 145 deg 18' -- Race 9, Day 8

A lot has happened since my last post.

First, we destroyed our medium-weight spinnaker. Now, "we destroyed" is
probably not an entirely fair use of the active voice. I don't think we did
anything wrong this time.* It's just one of those things that happens when
you push a sail to its limits. Overall, I think we still have a much better
record on sail damage than most boats. Anyway, about 3m below the head,
there's a horizontal tear in from the luff. Partway along, it T's off
downward, and a massive tear runs all the way to the clew. It's bad, but
we're working on repairing it. Matt said it's not the worst tear he's ever
had to repair at sea, but he said it in that way that makes me suspect he's
possibly not being entirely honest in the interest of keeping us motivated.
We'll see how it goes. Even with that, his estimate is five days of round-
the-clock work to get it fixed.

* I did spend most of my time in Qingdao re-doing or reinforcing old
repairs to this sail. And I did say that if these repairs didn't hold, we
should just fly the thing until it exploded. I did say "if", and my repairs
did hold, so I refuse to take the blame for a jinx.

We have also had a lot of sail changes. This highlight was a drop of the
Yankee 1 (the biggest headsail) when it was gusting to 50. The thing is, as
the wind changes, it's much easier to adjust your main (reef in and out)
than change a headsail. So, if you think the wind is going to peak at a
speed where your current headsail is OK, you keep it up and reef. Then,
when the wind dies down, you can shake out reefs, and you would have saved
a lot of effort and maintained a lot of boat speed. But if the wind builds
more than you expect, you can end up with a really tough takedown. Matt is
generally pretty conservative this way, but this time the wind got away a
bit. He might be pushing a bit harder with the better crew we have now. The
last really big Yankee 1 drop I can remember was back in Leg 4. The last
leg, we went to smaller sails pretty quickly. And we have the crew to
handle it safely. It's just a lot of work.

That said, I report on most of this second-hand, because I was laid out
with a stomach bug. Two days ago, I started the 2-6am watch on the helm.
About 45 minutes in, I felt a bit faint, called Tom to take over, and sat
down. Within a couple of minutes, I felt better, but by the end of watch,
my stomach was cramping up. I'll spare you the details, but I blame the
day-old prawn curry I had supplemented my lunch with the day before. I
slept for almost 30 hours straight, which blew my track record of having
shown up to every watch, which was pretty disappointing. But I'm feeling
much improved now, and I've been up for the last two watches. I'm not 100%
strength, but I did take two trips up to the bow for sail changes before
declining a third to take a cockpit job instead.

One final note. It looks like we're currently at almost the exact latitude
of Channel Islands Harbor. Hi Mom and Dad!. For the wider audience, that's
just north of LA. Point being, I shouldn't be getting too comfortable with
the thoroughly bearable temperatures we've had so far. It's a long way
north to Seattle. It's also a long way east. When I zoom all the way out on
our nav computer, it still won't show both our position and Seattle on the
screen. Of course, 4050 nm to go sums it up pretty neatly as well.

N 32 deg 08', E 136 deg 26' -- Race 9, Day 5

Another quick one, since it's 10PM, I just got off watch, and I need to
grab some sleep while I can.

You may have noticed (I have) a lot of recurring themes in this blog.
Today's: Wow, the weather changes fast out here.

Two nights ago, we rounded Japan (actually the southern tip of Kyushu(?))
in second place. Unlike some previous races, this was a legitimate second
for us. We weren't off on some course of our own that flattered our
apparent position while being poor for the long-term. We were right within
sight of the "traditional" race leaders, just in front of most of them,
after making the most of several days of light but steady sailing.

By the time morning rolled around, we were in the Pacific proper, and
things were a lot more lively. The wind was up, and we were headed straight
into it (or as straight into it as you can sail this boat). The swells were
picking up too and the ride was getting pretty bouncy. By the afternoon, we
were getting 40 knot winds steady with gusts in the 50's (compared to a
forecast of 25). Reefs were in, and we were down to the Yankee 3, our small
headsail. We broke a batten, and had to drop the main to replace it. During
the night, the wind eased a bit, and we shook out some reefs, but we
snapped the third reefing line in the process. This morning, I was among
those woken up an hour early (brutal when you only have four hours off) to
help take in a reef again, as the wind had built up. Over the course of our
morning watch, we then shook out all the way to full main. At lunch the
combined watches changed up to the Yankee 1. During the afternoon watch,
the other guys shifted to spinnaker, then to windseeker. And over the past
four hours, we've been trying to get what we could out of 3-6 knot puffs of
air from no consistent direction. We've dropped a bit to around sixth,
partly because of the damage and partly just not being as good beating
upwind as we are downwind (I think), but still right in the thick of a
closely packed fleet.

We do expect the wind to pick up again soon, and it should be from a better
direction, allowing us faster, more pleasant, and better (for us relative
to the fleet) downwind sailing. We'll see if it delivers. Just over 4500 nm
to go. A long way, a lot can happen.

=?utf-8?Q?N 32 deg 02', =C2=A3 127 deg 38' -- Race 9, Day 3?=

Not a lot new to report since yesterday. Sailing conditions remain pretty
relaxed. The wind has come up and down and shifted around a bit, leading us
to change sails a number of times -- Yankee 1, Code 1, Code 2, windseeker,
back and forth -- but it's all gone smoothly, and it looks like we're
making the most of what wind we have. We remain within sight of LMAX,
overall race leader, covering their moves and even closing the gap slowly.
The temperature, while not exactly warm, is reasonably comfortable, as
long as I'm wearing a lot of clothes (though I still have a fair amount in
reserve). We're still picking our way around a lot of fishing boats,
floats, and nets, which can be fairly tense, but we've kept clear so far.

Still early days -- total remaining distance just ticked under 5000 nm
today -- but all good so far.

***************************************

Two notes for anyone meeting (or thinking of meeting) me in Seattle. First,
the finish line is off an island way out off the Olympic Peninsula,
basically (I think) at the entrance to Puget Sound. Just too much traffic
and too little space in the Sound itself, so we motor about 120 nm from
there to Bell Harbor Marina. This means that seeing the actual finish will
be even harder than I had expected. You'd have to be ridiculously dedicated
to head all the way out there to see us cross an arbitrary line at an
unpredictable time, after which I'd just sail past anyway. On the other
hand, it does mean that my actual arrival at the Marina should be more
predictable, with (I'd guess) about 15 hours lead time during which a drop
in the wind wouldn't slow us down. (I'm told to boat sat bobbing in the
water immediately outside Rio for hours, unable to make the finish line in
dead air.) I'll have immigration and customs to clear at the Marina,
but that should be pretty quick.

Second, I don't know much about the activities planned for Seattle. I
should be able to show you around the boat pretty much any time. There will
be a prize-giving party though I don't know the date or if friends and
family will be invited. Word is the skipper of the Seattle boat will be
throwing out the first pitch at a Mariners game and that he can't throw, so
that could be funny, but I don't know the date. I'll let you know more as I
know, but Clipper is not particularly good at keeping us informed in
advance.

N 33 deg 48', E 124 deg 16' -- Race 9, Day 2

Actually our third day on the water, but only the second day of racing. As
I mentioned in the last post, we opened with a Potemkin start. Conditions
around Qingdao are terrible for racing, with loads of fish traps and a lot
of commercial traffic. However, the city is an important partner for
Clipper, and appearances matter, so after the speaches and departure
ceremony (broadcast on live TV!), we faked a race start. Most boats,
including us, didn't seem to be trying very hard, as absolutely nothing was
on the line. A few boats hoisted kites for the downwind leg. I can't
imagine why. After sailng out a few miles, we dropped headsails, turned on
engines, and motored along the shipping channel through the night.

The next day, at 9am, we started the actual race. It was a Le Mans start,
something invented by Clipper, where the boats line up with mains up, crew
near the stern, and engine running. With one minute to go, you cut engine.
At race start, crew can move forward and hoist sails. For ten minutes, you
maintain course and sails, but you can get ahead through better trim. After
that, you're free to do whatever you want. We had a pretty good start, with
sails up really quickly, but we then lost a bit of ground, probably due to
trim. A few boats hoisted kites early but had to bear away to keep them. We
waited, but eventually a wind shift came and our kite went up too. Initial
racing went well. I was driving as we passed Ichorcoal. (They seemed to
have put someone on the helm who couldn't hold a straight course.)

Night watch got a bit more complicated, as we came into a region full of
fishing nets. We were just a little way behind Da Nang as they got caught
in one. We offered assistance, but they said they were managing OK and
seemed to be moving again after 30 minutes or so. Meanwhile, we picked our
way through, not really sure what the lighting conventions were (if any),
sometimes spotting unlit lines of floats just a few feet from the boat and
turning to avoid. Winds were light, the sea was calm, and the moon was
bright, which all helped. No idea how we made it through here on the way
up.

I've been on mother duty today, cooking and washing up, but the sailing has
remained pretty quiet. We're moving, but not fast, and the sea is nearly
flat. Actually not a bad way to start, as we've had four people in various
stages of getting over stomach flu, plus Matt with a head cold. Easing
people in without seasickness problems as well, but we'll see how that
holds as conditions pick up. We're expecting 25 knots or so tomorrow, from
a good direction. The long-range forecast is looking promising for when we
round Japan, but we're not counting on that at all.

With the light winds and the move south, the cold hasn't been too bad yet.
By "not too bad", I mean 10C (50F) down below this morning (we now have a
thermometer) and maybe 5C (40F) on deck. So definitely not warm, but not as
cold as on the way up. And, unfortunately, not as cold as it's going to be.
We have a "virtual beach" at N 45 latitude for much of the course, but
that's still about 700 miles north of where we are now, and I expect we're
going to be going that way faster than spring does. But that's Future
Mark's problem. For now, I can sit in medium-weight thermals, a mid-layer,
and wool socks in relative comfort... as long as I'm below deck.

One final note for today. Words can't express how much better the
atmosphere is now than on the last leg, and I like to think I'm pretty good
at expressing things with words. It's still early, and we haven't been
tested, and I'm sure that as things get tougher, some cracks will appear.
But I'm as confident as I can be that they won't be serious. The new and
returning guys are all looking very good. People are not only pulling their
own weight, but they're actively looking for places to pitch in. People may
be slightly rusty after a while away, but they're all much sharper than
some people on the last leg after a month and a half of sailing. Sure,
there's still a range of capability, but overall it is much, much better.
And with that comes much better inter-personal relationships as well. In an
environment like this, if someone doesn't earn your respect with their
work, it's pretty much impossible to look past that to how them might be a
nice enough person in a different context.

So, feeling very positive. Looking forward to it continuing.

Qingdao, pre-departure

We set sail today. Fourteen crew, which is a bit lighter than initially expected. Nick, a former round-the-worlder who left in Albany and rejoined in Da Nang, re-left here. It took him about two days to confirm that this was not how he wanted to spend his time. Paul, who also joined us in Da Nang because issues with his Viet Nam visa had kept him from joining another boat in Airlie Beach, isn't leaving with us because of issues with his Chinese visa. Seems to be a bit of a pattern.

I am very optimistic about the crew we do have. Ryan and Justin are back after missing the last race. Three others joining have done previous legs. And the other two new joiners come with experience and great attitudes. One, Tom, I sailed with during training, and I've been looking forward to his joining for a while. The deadest of the dead weight from the last leg is gone. Overall, a massive improvement in quality despite the modest increase in numbers.

Unfortunately, we do have three guys currently laid low by a stomach bug. I ate dinner with them the last two nights before they all got it, but so far seem to have dodged the bullet. Hope it clears quickly for them. We don't actually expect to start racing for about 24 hours, as we'll motor out of the busy, fishing-gear-filled waters immediately around Qingdao after a ceremonial start. Might give everyone a chance to get back to full strength.

We expect the Pacific to be our biggest test, certainly the biggest since I've joined the boat. I'll admit to being a bit nervous. I'm not really worried about the wind or the waves. I know they'll be huge, but I feel well enough prepared to them (though maybe that just shows I don't really know how huge they'll be!). Mostly, I'm worried about the cold. It really gave me trouble the last few days coming up here, and we'll be going even further north, for longer. Spring is advancing rapidly, but not rapidly enough. I have a lot of warm gear, but I wasn't able to add as much here as I would have liked. Not much to be done about ti now though.

Hope to blog this race reliably, so keep checking for updates!

N 36 deg 4', E 120 deg 24' -- Race 8, finish

That's the location of my hotel room at the Crown Plaza :)

Just a quick post to say that I've made it to Qingdao. It was a tough race, upwind most of the way, some heavy weather, lots of fishing boats to keep clear of, lots of things breaking on the boat. The cold the last few days nearly broke me. But we're here now. The hosts seem really happy to have us, and the locals have been very welcoming. Like, I think, much of China, Qingdao is a shockingly big city for something that would be completely unknown if not for the beer.

I'll post something in the coming days with a bit more about how the race went. We have a new keyboard coming, so I should be able to report more regularly from the Pacific crossing. Meanwhile, facebook (among other things) is blocked here, and my phone is still not working, so other communication out will be limited.

Off now to the prize giving ceremony and a few drinks!

N 25 deg 18', E 124 deg 02' -- Race 8, Day 9

Quick update. The keyboard is now completely broken, so I'm using the nav
computer. Not sure I'm really supposed to be doing this, but since it's
midnight and things are very quiet, I think nobody will mind.

Biggest personal news is that I've come down with a cold. There's a bit
going around. Not too many people to catch things from out here, but two
people got on with colds, and I think it was inevitable it would spread
eventually. In normal life, I'd work from home for a couple of days and
that would be it. Out here though, it's hard to "dial in" to a sail change.
I'm determined to answer the bell for every watch, but I'm definitely not
100% effective. My comparative advantage is grinding winches and lifting
heavy things, and this has sapped my energy. But these things still have to
be done, and I still end up in the half of the crew doing them, just more
slowly than normal.

Conditions have gotten quiet. It's a welcome respite, though it comes with
the significant downside that we aren't making much progress toward
Qingdao. Still in with a chance of arrival on the 11th, though things will
have to pick up a bit, as they should in a couple of days. I think we
should be using this to rest people a bit more, but Matt has had other
ideas. We put the Code 1 (the big spinnaker) up at the 2am watch last
night. This is a huge piece of work, both hoisting it and wooling/packing
it away when done. It stayed up for 30 minutes. Then, at lunchtime today,
he wanted us to pull up and wash floorboards and clean out bilges. I can't
deny the boat is now cleaner, but I'm not sure that was the best use of
time and energy from a tired crew.

We've seen a few pods of dolphins over the last days, though we seem to be
too slow for them to bother playing around with us much. There were some
other mystery leaping fish this evening as well as occasional remaining
flying fish, but wildlife is pretty thin overall. Shipping traffic, on the
other hand, it thick. At one point last night, we had no fewer than seven
other ships in sight. One tried to signal us in Morse by light rather than
radio for some reason. We decided to avoid, ducking behind but still
passing very close. It was ENORMOUS. Earlier tonight, the other watch say
they saw a US aircraft carrier. Not surprised there's one around, but I am
surprised we got that close.

We passed by Okinawa earlier today. That was pretty cool. We've seen a few
other picturesque islands off Taiwan as well and some nice sunsets. Right
now, we have a clear sky and lots of stars.

The boat keeps falling apart, but we keep fixing it... mostly. We have a
fix for the mast track, again a bit of a kludge, but it's enough that we're
sailing with a main again. We're having some problems with the connection
from the pedestal to the port primary (i.e. the thing that allows up to
four people to grind a winch together for big jobs connection to one of the
big winches), but it is partially fixed. We were having trouble with the
generator (which I really like to point out, as Clipper Race Office
censored an earlier mention of generator problems from the Skipper blog),
but that seems to be fixed now. Our one remaining problem is the inner
forestay. A split pin sheared, leaving the connecting pin to partially slip
out and the bracket to bend before it was caught. Fortunately, it was
caught before it leg go completely, but several repair attempts have been
unsuccessful, and it probably just has to wait for a new bracket in
Qingdao. This means we can't fly a staysail (a smallish headsail that hangs
from the inner forestay). This costs us a bit of speed, but it does making
tacking simpler and frees up some winches for reefing, so glass half-full
and all that.

That's all for now. I'll try post more updates if I can, but it will
continue to be hit-and-miss until the keyboard gets replaced in Qingdao.

N 21 deg 02', E 118 deg 22' -- Race 8, Day 6

Apologies for the lack of blogs, especially to my mom, my most loyal
reader. Three issues: we're REALLY short-handed, conditions have been
tough, and (the big one)the keyboard is broken.

We're down to twelve crew now, the absolute minimum we're allowed to sail
with. We lost five from the last race Three were sick/injured most of that
race, so we don't really miss them. But two others, Ryan and Justin, are
big losses. And Ryan had a good music collection. He set me up with
all-Rush playlists a few times for helming and mother watch, though his
Van Halen selection is a bit heavy on Sammy Hagar era. Fortunately,
they'll be back for the next leg. We also picked up Nick (a returning
crewmember) and Paul and Kat from other boats. But still, some crew are
not super useful. Others are good but limited. I'm one of six, maybe seven,
who get called in for any big, physical job, even if it's in the middle
of our already short downtime. Result. tired.

And there has been a lot of physical work. We've been sailing upwind,
always tough. We've seen 40+knots and 5m swells. We were planning to be
conservative about sail changes so as not to burn people out. But then we
found ourselves in the lead, so that plan got chucked. And a modification
to the main that the race office insisted on to stop reefing lines
snapping but nobody thought would work didn't work, so we had to drop the
main, re-rig it, and re-hoist, all while at sea. Then the repair to
the main track from the problem we had shortly after I joined failed, so we
had to drop the main again, and we've been sailing without it for two days
now, though we might have a fix in mind. In short, it's been hard.

But the keyboard may be the biggest problem. Just this little bit has taken
nearly an hour to type, and hours are just really hard to come by these
days. I'll try to get in some more updates as I can, but it's going to be
lighter than previous races. Again, apologies. You can get some news
(though lacking my flair and personal touch) from the skipper reports and
official crew diaries. Hope to be back to regular reporting for the Pacific
crossing.

N 14 deg 08', E 113 deg 03' -- Race 7, post-race

Thirteen hours after race end, and we're making good time toward Da Nang.
We should get there in the early hours of 17 Feb, but we can only make
it to our berths with a pilot whose start time is unclear, and we've been
told to expect cumbersome immigration checks and a big arrival ceremony.
Bottom line, it could still be some time before I get that shower.

Meanwhile, we're trying to get a few things done while underway. Cleaning
and maintenance activities have started, so we can reduce what we need to
do in port a bit. I learned from Linda today how to make donuts, which are
spliced loops that are used for rigging all over the boat. Tomorrow, I'm
going to try dig out the Yankee 3 and do a bit of sail repair. Can't
remember if I've mentioned this, but I've been recruited for this on the
basis of my demonstrated knowledge of sewing techniques, i.e. stick the
needle through back-and-forth a bunch of times, then tie a knot. I also
have the strength to get the needle through a few layers of heavy canvas
and webbing, which rules out about half our crew.

I said earlier that I felt I'd been getting "better" at sailing.
"Interesting", I hear you say. "What does that look like?" Well, I'm glad
you asked.

Let's start with the trivial. I move around the boat much more easily now.
Still not as nimble as the best -- Matt, Ryan, and Alex, for example, move
around a pitching deck like it's nothing -- but much better than when I
started. I don't think anything on this trip has had me crawling to get
around, and while the seas haven't been bad, there have been moments that I
think I would have had trouble with before. They've certainly nearly
immobilized some of the new joiners.

More generally, I now blend in with the round-the-worlders as an integral
part of the team. When we're going through a sail change, I can step in to
pretty much any role and just do it, without having to be talked through
the steps. Same for a tack, reef, gybe... whatever. I also have enough of
the big picture that I can anticipate what else needs to be done and and do
those next steps. For example, when changing spinnakers, it used to be I'd
be, say, on the grinder, and once I ground the clew in, I'd wait to be told
what to do next. A while back, I realised that the sheets would need to be
untied, so I went to do that. Then the halyard needed to be moved to a
different winch, so I did that. Then, after the hoist, the halyard needed
to be transferred again, so I did that.

Related to all that, I'm now finding myself in a position to coach new
people a lot. And while I have mentioned some poor attitudes, there are
also some people with great attitudes, and it's fun to bring them along.

I'm also picking up some errors, mine and other people's, early enough to
stop them from becoming problems. As one example, a few days ago we were
about to tack, and I saw one of the Yankee sheets was under a sail tie that
we had tied across the foredeck because of an open hatch. When a similar
thing had happened earlier in the race, Matt caught it mid-hoist (it was a
hoist rather than a tack) and had to go forward with a knife to cut the
sail tie before we damaged the guard wires or stanchions. This time, I saw
it before we started, called a hold, and undid the sail tie. Other times,
I've spotted sheets that were run over jackstays when they should have been
run under, runner blocks that were twisted, halyards that were tangled....
It's just slow accumulation of a knowledge of what looks right and wrong
and the confidence to stop things and fix the wrong ones when they appear.

Finally, helming. It seems like it should be pretty simple to steer a
boat -- you just turn the wheel the direction you want to go -- but it
isn't. Wind and swells are always pushing the boat around. The boat reacts
slowly to the wheel, so you don't get the feedback you would in a car. You
often lack good visual references to know how far or even which direction
you're turning. And when the wind is strong and the swells are big, it can
take a lot of strength just to move the wheel. Sailing instructions might
look like "Steer bearing to waypoint but keep the wind angle below 45",
which means that you want to keep the boat going toward the next mark, but
if the wind shifts, you have a limit. This requires looking at several
different instruments, constantly correcting. You also have to remember
that turning to starboard makes your bearing increase, but it will make
wind angle increase only if the wind is from port. When I first started
helming, this was a LOT to think about, and I wished people would just tell
me to turn left or right. Then it got to the point where I could think
about it all. Now, I barely even have to think, as it's become pretty
instinctive. I'm incorporating more information now, from the horizon, the
sails, and the windex. Again, I'm even coaching some people. And I've had
comments, from Ryan and LInda in particular, that my helming is getting
really good. I'm still not in a class with Alex (who is just REALLY good)
or Ryan (who's the designated "best helm" on our watch), but I'd say I'm
solidly in the next tier. The Pacific is going to be the real test, but I'm
comfortable I can handle pretty much anything.

**Pretty much** anything.

N 13 deg 08', E 115 deg 08' -- Race 7, Day 28

At 0500 today boat time, 2100 UTC, this race finally ended. I can't even
say "we finished the race" as it was just a matter of the clock running
out. We almost certainly finished in seventh place, which isn't too bad,
especially considering our kite wrap. We were in sixth at the time and
dropped to eighth by the time we'd sorted it out. But we managed to
overtake Ichorcoal to get back to seventh and seemed to be closing on Da
Nang (the boat), but I'm perfectly happy not to have had the time to claw
back another spot and instead finally be heading to Da Nang (the city).
We're about 48 hours away, with wind expected to build a bit and remain
from a favorable direction and the motor to help us now if necessary.

This was always going to be a tough race, very long and through patience-
testing if not particularly physically demanding conditions. It was
aggravated by crew issues and the messing around from the race organisers.
But it definitely had its positives as well, particularly some long
stretches of excellent trade wind sailing and some nice, smaller moments
with some of the people in the team. And personally, I feel like I've had
an opportunity to step into the role of "experienced crew" rather than "new
guy", and my sailing skills have supported that, as has my confidence in
them.

And I read that Trump and Sanders won the New Hampshire primaries, so maybe
being stuck out at sea isn't such a bad place to be.

N 11 deg 40', E 112 deg 46' -- Race 7, Day 26

Not a lot to report. The wind has died down quite a bit and the sea is
flat, so the sailing, while still upwind, is not too bad. If we were
actually trying to get somewhere, progress would be frustratingly slow. But
as it is.... Ryan's recent line was "Sleep is the only escape." But the
sailing is so sedate, it's actually hard to sleep your full off-watch. At
the same time, it can be hard to stay awake through the very quiet night
watches.

I engaged in a little creative re-branding / petty vandalism today, using
duct tape and markers to change a few "Clipper Round The World" logos on
the boat to "Clipper Round The South China Sea". I'm planning to ask a
friend who's a graphic designer (Shirley, if you're reading, this means
you) to see if he can do the same more professionally. Then I'll try get
some shirts printed up in Da Nang. Consensus is they'd sell well around the
fleet.

I'm having trouble charging my iPod and phone, so I'm without music or
podcasts. Several other people in the same situation, so it seems to be a
boat issue. Fortunately, my Kindle is still working, so I have that to
occupy the time. "Between Silk and Cyanide: A Code Maker's War", really
good WWII memoir that touches on a lot of the secret operations the British
ran in Europe. Also had one of the guys on the boat, Imre, telling us his
life story today. He defected (his term, I've never really liked it) from
Hungary is 1986, and there was quite a lot of interesting stuff leading up
to and following that.

I almost feel like I should be making up some better stories!

N 7 deg 41', E 109 deg 55' -- Race 7, Day 24

We've rounded the southern marks and are headed back north, basically
backtracking as we continue to wander around the South China Sea. Didn't
the Israelites wander in the desert for forty years? Seems like something I
would know if I'd paid better attention at various seders through the
years.

We're now headed upwind, which is a miserable way to sail. In a way, it's
impressive that you can sail upwind at all. However, the boat heels over a
lot, which makes everything difficult, especially down below. You also tend
to bounce and slam a lot more over the waves rather than riding them
smoothly. It's almost like you're paying a price for doing something so
unnatural.

Which leads me to this philosophical digression. I've been thinking for a
while that this is only partly a sailing test. It is also partly a "life on
a boat endurance test". I sort of knew this going in, but I only really
appreciated it after being properly at sea for a week or so.

The sailing part is everything you need to do to get the boat from place to
place: hoisting sails, changing sails, trimming, helming, even maintenance
and bilges. It's hard work. Some of it stinks, i.e. bilges. But there is
often a real sense of accomplishment. If you execute a good sail change,
you can take pride in what you've done. I've been very happy with how the
sailing is going. I feel like I'm doing well personally and we're doing OK
as a team, especially given some personnel limitations.

"Life on a boat", by contrast, is everything that you would do in normal
life, but now you have to do it on a boat: getting in and out of bed,
bathing (or not), cooking, using the toilet.... This is also very hard
work, but the thing is, there is no sense of accomplishment-- "I got into
bed without killing myself!" "I got dressed in under ten minutes!" "I
managed to take a leak!" -- just constant annoyance that basic things are
so difficult.

I bring this up now because yesterday I was on the verge of failing the
endurance test. I was on mother duty, so I was below all day trying to cook
and wash up in a hot, sweaty environment, heeled over, with things not
working right. It was actually fairly moderate upwind conditions, but
coupled with a lot of tiredness and the fact we should have been in Da Nang
days ago with no upwind at all... I was near the breaking point. If someone
had offered me the chance to end this trip right then and there, I might
have taken it.

Of course, no one was going to make that offer. In a way, that makes this
easier than, say, a marathon. It's almost impossible to quit when it's at
its hardest. Sure, I can drop in Da Nang, but I expect things will look
different after a few days of rest. Hell, they look different today after a
slight easing in the wind, some time on deck rather than mothering below,
and a bucket shower.

Which reminds me, I had a great dream last night. I was having a shower.
That was it! Really, a shower and clean, dry sheets are what I'm looking
foward to more than anything, and they're now only six days away. Not sure
this is what the Clipper marketing people had in mind when they talked
about achieving your dream, but it's in sight.

7 28, 108 43' -- Race 7, Day 22

Not much to report, as we continue to sail our holding pattern in the South
China Sea. As we head south, the weather is getting warmer and stickier
again, and conditions are getting less and less pleasant down below. Not
quite the unbearable sauna it was early on, but lots more sweating.

The sea around here is crowded, at least as things go in the middle of the
ocean. We see a lot of commercial vessels, mainly big container ships, as
we're right on the Singapore-Hong Kong route. A few nights ago, we saw a
several squid boats. Tonight, we passed about half a dozen oil platforms.
Even from a couple of miles off, they're impressive structures.

The Southern Cross is back in the sky as well. I say "back", but I'm not
sure it ever left, as we've had cloud cover for a while, and I'm not sure
how far north you can normally see it.

Finally, I managed to set a new personal best two nights ago of 25.0 knots,
this with full main and Yankee 2. I actually hit it twice during one watch.
Unfortunately, boat culture rewards flashes of brilliance over sustained
excellence, so Han retains bragging rights for the trip with his 25.1. With
the wind easing a bit and us about to turn upwind anyway, I think that's
likely to stand.

Sailing 101: Crash gybes

"Crash gybe" sounds like a violent thing, and it can be, but it isn't
necessarily. Ours wasn't, but it was still bad. So what is it?

Let's start with what a gybe, non-crash, is: a turn where the wind comes
across the stern. Picture yourself standing with the wind coming from over
your right shoulder. Then turn to the left. At one point, the wind is
directly behind you. Continue, and it's coming over your left shoulder. Do
that on a boat, it's a gybe. (The contrasting turn is a tack, where the
wind comes across the bow. It's also, of course, possible to turn so the
wind stays on the same side of the boat. This is much simpler and is called
"heading up" if you go more upwind or "bearing away" if you go more
downwind.)

So, if you're sailing downwind, your sails will be swung out wide, away
from the centerline of the boat. In particular, the mainsail and the boom
will be out, maybe even nearly perpendicular to the boat. When you gybe,
you first bring the boom back to the center, under control. Then you turn.
Then you let the boom out again. (You do other things with the headsails
to move them across, but set that aside for the moment.)

If you're sailing along and you accidentally gybe, the the boom can swing
right across the boat as the wind angle changes. Booms are very heavy. Best
case, you get a massive crash with huge strains on boom, mast, and rigging.
Worse case, people get hit. This is, quite simply, one of the most
dangerous things that can happen on a boat. (An accidental tack isn't
nearly so bad, since the sails will be very close to the centerline and so
don't move much. And accidental tack is just embarrassing for the helm.) We
sail with a line called a gybe preventer, or just "preventer", that keeps
the boom from swinging if you accidentally gybe, which helps with safety.
It's important enough that we actually rig two.

Two reasons our crash gybe wasn't so violent then. First, we had the
preventer, so the boom didn't swing. But also, this didn't happen as we
were sailng along. The wind died. We drifted around without realising. Then
the wind came back up, and it was on the wrong side of the boat. Still
called a crash gybe, but not the classic version.

That said, we now had the spinnaker on the wrong side of the boat, blowing
back into the rigging, where it go wrapped. Thus, it turned into a big
problem, even without the big crash.

N 14 deg 04', E 114 deg 53' -- Race 7, Day 20

Last entry, I mentioned having small sails up to get a bit of a rest. Never
happened. Instead, the conditions livened up further to pretty much justify
the sail choice, with wind averaging 35-40 knots, gusting to 55, and swells
of 5-6m. It decreased a bit today, but not much. The upside is we're
continuing to make good speed. I set a new personal best of 22.8 knots,
hitting that twice during the last watch. Pretty good for Yankee 3 and two
reefs! We now have Yankee 2 and full main, and shortly after putting that
up, Han did over 25 knots.

The other reason we didn't get much of a rest is that the people who did
most of the work sorting out the wrap are the same ones who do most of the
work sailing the boat. We didn't do much other than helm, but it fell on
few shoulders, as now is really not the time or conditions to get untested
people up to speed. (I am now one of "those who can helm", which is good.
More on that another time.) Justin is getting particularly shafted on
sleep, as the the generator has stopped working and he spent his entire
off-watch trying to fix it. After getting as little sleep as anyone. And
he's insisted on going up to work his next watch.

We have some new SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures -- have to love a good
TLA, i.e. Three Letter Acronym) to try prevent a repeat occurrence, mainly
around always having a spotter for the helm and ensuring more experience
on deck, which is all good, but means even more responsibility landing on
key people. Opinion seems to be that everything started with a crash gybe,
so we're aiming to prevent that from happening. What's a crash gybe? I'll
do a separate post on that.

I was talking to one of the other crew about the whole experience. She
asked if I'd been afraid. She had been, a bit, as it had felt like we were
out of control. Honestly, I wasn't. First, I have a lot of trust in Matt's
ability to untangle these situations. He's seen a lot, and he's already
taken one of these boats around the world. Second, I trust the boat. I've
probably said this before, but these things are built like tanks. Yes, it's
dangerous, but I continue to think it's dangerous like playing rugby is
dangerous. It may be a stupid thing to do, but it's not something to scare
me.

So what was I feeling through it all? Annoyed. Frustrated. Exasperated. I
just hated the fact that we had messed up. A small bit of pride in being
among those in the thick of fixing it, but just a small bit. Mostly, I felt
tired, which I know isn't an emotion, but which pretty much dominated the
experience.

*******************************************************

Whie helming today, I was enjoying a bit of dark chocolate when a wave
crashed over the deck. Et voila, small-batch, all natural, artisinal Sea
Salt Dark Chocolate!

(This moment dedicated to Johnny Skate, my formal colleague who could never
understand why anyone would put salt in chocolate and who would
occasionally give me his sea salt chocolate bar when he accidentally bought
the wrong one. And while I'm at it, thanks to him and my other ExCo former
colleagues for the sailing shorts they gave me as a parting gift. I have
been using them... intensively... for the past two months, and they've been
great. Hope all is good back at the ranch.)

******************************************************

I think today is Superbowl Sunday. Never mind the fact that I'm missing the
game for the first time in I don't know how long, but I have no idea who's
even playing. I'm sure it's not the Niners. Are the Patriots out? Carolina
were doing great last I saw.

*****************************************************
Finally, we're now actually south of Da Nang. And while we're a fair way
east, we're less than twelve hours from completing the originally set
distance. It would be great if that were the home stretch. But of course,
it isn't. Instead, the course has now been extended again. The plan is to
basically have us zig-zag around the South China Sea. Then, in ten days,
they'll declare the race over, positions based on how far each boat has
gone, and have us all sail in. This isn't a round-the-world race. It's
stupid. Just stupid.

Goddamn Clipper organisers. Goddamn City of Da Nang.

(Yes, I said I'd be more stoic about all this. Trust me, this is the stoic
version.)

N 17 deg 28', E 119 deg 44' -- Race 7, Day 19

Well, THAT happened.

About 4:30 yesterday morning, the wind died. Then in picked up again.
Within five minutes, all hell had broken loose. At about 10:00 this
morning, we were finally racing again. In that 28.5 hours, I got about
three hours of sleep. Some people got less. Three different people went up
into the rigging, each multiple times. And we completely destroyed a kite.
Was it just two days ago I was talking about reliable but uneventful trade
wind sailing?

It all started in thick darkness, heavy cloud blocking out the moon and
something between thick fog and drizzle all around. It wasn't easy helming
conditions, but we were dealing with it and making good time. I popped down
to put on a jacket. Shortly after I got back on deck, the wind died down.
We gave it a minute, then went to wake Matt for guidance. By the time we
woke him, the wind was back but coming from the wrong side. I think we
accidentally gybed thanks to the dark and the reduced steerage, though it's
possible the wind shifted. I still don't know. Regardless, as we started
setting up to gybe properly, the rain started bucketing down and the wind
came up with a vengeance, easily 50 knots, probably more. We tried to shift
gears to dropping the kite, but it was too late. The sheets were wrapped
together, the kite itself was around both inner and outer forestays and
tied into the wrap net, halyards were tied into everything. It was a mess.

We fought for hours trying to get it down. We got it partially under
control, lashing some of it down but unable to do anything about a big
balloon of sail half way up the inner forestay. We tried to unwrap it. We
tried to pull it down. People climbed up to try crush it down with their
legs and tie sail ties around it. we tried to use other halyards to depower
the sail, but it just wrapped them in. None of it worked. At about 1pm, we
headed toward land to try find a sheltered spot to make the work easier.

We tried again and again. We tried to remove the inner forestay, a huge
piece of work, but we couldn't get at the pins we needed to remove. We
tried to crush down the bubble a few more times. Eventually, we decided to
sacrifice the kite and cut big gashes in in, hoping the wind would flow
through rather that powering it up. Instead, it just flogged more. Finally,
we took the most extreme step and cut across the head of the bubble,
loosing it from the forestay. That did it. We were able to unwrap most of
the kite, though we ended up also having to cute off the head, which
dropped into the water and floated off. We can't even put the thing back
together now, but nobody really cares. We're just happy to be done with it.
It took a few more hours to unwind everything and put back together what we
could, and finally we were sailing again.

We have relatively small sails up now, trying to let people get a bit of
rest. Not sure yet how much damage this has done to our race standing, but
it can't have been good. In Matt's Skipper Report, he called this the worst
kite wrap he'd ever seen, so there's some comfort in knowing we weren't
undone by something simple. Still, these things are partly luck and partly
failure or technique, so it's also a bit disappointing to be involved in an
epic disaster.

On the bright side, I've now seen the Philippines! However, I don't think
it counts as a country visit, since I didn't clear immigration or have a
meal. I didn't even have hot dogs and marshmallows on a toothpick! (Thanks
to Sam and Sumo for that cullinary experience.)

N 21 deg 02', E 123 deg 12' -- Race 7, Day 17

Not a lot of action yesterday, at least not for me, as I was on mother
duty. This means getting pulled away from sailing the boat to spend a day
cooking, washing up, and catching up on a bit of sleep. I'm paired up with
Judith from the other watch, and she did most of the cooking this time
around, including a nice apple crumble for dessert, and left me to the
cleanup. (Last time around, I did more of the cooking and let her sleep
more.) I did take a few hours on deck to do some laundry, during which time
we had another dolphin visit.

The weather, meanwhile, has turned cloudy and somewhat rainy as we approach
a front. We expect to hit the heart of it just as we round Batan, a small
island north of Luzon that is our next waypoint on the new route. (It's
not, by the way, THAT Batan. I've avoided "death march" jokes partly our of
respect for historical accuracy and partly because the sailing hasn't
remotely merited it. That will come later, if it comes. You'll notice that
considerations of poor taste didn't really enter into it.) The wind is
forecast to shift as the front passes, just as we need it to for our new
course. Ironically, fast sailing doesn't do us much good at the moment.
But if anyone knows of a way to make the 17th come faster....

On that topic, there has been a follow-up communication from Sir Robin, the
founder of Clipper, regarding the moving of the goalposts. It's somewhat
better than what came before, but I remain unimpressed. They keep saying
they don't control the weather. Perhaps they should have told that to the
city of Da Nang!

Anyway, not going to dwell on that. Just sailing on.

N 17 deg 06', E 130 deg 15' -- Race 7, Day 15

We're definitely in the trade winds. Sailing conditions continue to be
about as good as you could ask for, with steady winds -- not too light, not
too strong, not changing direction -- and pretty mild seas. It doesn't make
for the most challenging sailing, but it's fast and fairly easy. You can
see how, back in the age of sail, this would have been your express global
shipping option.

It's also cooled off a bit. Still a bit warm below, but we've been able to
open a few hatches, which has helped. And on deck, I was actually slightly
chilly as I lay in the shade of the lowered Yankee 1, trying to get some
sleep during my off-watch this afternoon.

I've been helming a fair amount, including night helming under spinnaker
the past two nights. Just continuing to increase the degree of difficulty,
as the kite requires a smooth hand on the helm and night offers fewer
visual cues as to what the boat is doing, but it's all getting more
instinctive with practice, and I've been getting some good feedback from
the more experienced guys.

We finally had our equator crossing ceremony today with a visit from King
Neptune, a kangaroo court, and some atonement. I think we got off a bit
easy. Being over 1000 nm north of the equator and I don't even know how
many days past crossing took the edge of a bit, but it's still cool to have
been a part of what is really an ancient, global maritime tradition. I was
charged with Crimes Against Fashion (thanks again for the shirt Chloe,
Nicky, Ella, and Jake!), and had to atone with some entertainment. I went
with a joke. "And old Scottish guy and a young Scottish guy are sitting at
a bar together...." I can say with complete confidence that it was the best
joke told on the day, though it wasn't as well received as Judith's can-
can/splits routine.

Also saw our first dolphins of the trip shortly after. A small pod, maybe
20-30, stayed with us for about ten minutes. Always fun to have those guys
alongside for a while.

N 14 deg 19', E 135 deg 18' -- Race 7, Day

So, after having slept on it, at least for 2.5 hours before the sweltering
heat of 9am woke me up, and given it some thought... I'm STILL pissed off
at Clipper for moving the goalposts mid-race.

That said, you don't come here to read me complaining about their poor
planning, you come to read about the race. And I've decided to take a cue
from my teammates, most of whom are no less pissed off but are being more
stoic about it. Might as well make the most of this while I'm here.

I'll then let Clipper have it with both barrels once I'm done with the
race. (You, of course, are still welcome to let them know what you think.)

One thing I have decided to do is stop writing any official blogs. I don't
really feel like contributing to their PR machine, and I'd rather save my
material for here.

Unfortunately, after that lead-in I don't actually have much to say today.
The sailing is steady, with the wind down a bit and the sun out. We
continue to cover a lot of miles, though we're no longer celebrating as we
hit milestones, seeing as how the endpoint is so arbitrary. The biggest
story of the day is about a girl who vomited everywhere, but I suspect that
even that is more information than anyone wants.

N 12 deg 27', E 137 deg 57' -- Race 7, Day 13 (late)

I'm angry right now. Very, very angry. You know me, you know that's saying
something. Clipper race organizers have just added 1200 slow miles to the
race, probably adding about ten days at sea. The fleet has been moving too
fast, so they've decided to punish us.

Of course, it isn't quite that simple. They have reasons why we need to
delay our arrival to hit the estimated window. For example, there are
visas. My visa doesn't start until 15 Feb, as I allowed for getting in a
bit early, but not this quickly. UK and French citizens have visa on entry
but only for fifteen days. So an early arrival complicates things, but I
think that a good race organizer together with the city of Da Nang as hosts
should be able to work with Vietnamese immigration to accommodate this.

The bigger issue is that Clipper and Da Nang simply aren't ready for an
early arrival, and it's easier to keep us at sea than it is for them to
adjust. This is complicated by the fact that Tet is coming up, but that
just strikes me as more poor planning.

Clipper argue that this was set for a 31-day race, arriving on 17 Feb, and
we're getting a 31-day race, arriving on 17 Feb. This, of course, is
nonsense. There was a race route set. It was estimated for 31 days, but
we've covered the route faster. This is not how real races work. If they
wanted us to sail in circles for 31 days, they should have said that from
the start.

I understand that an early arrival disrupts things, but I'll contrast this
approach with that taken in Airlie Beach. We arrived there early. There
were some welcome events that couldn't be moved forward, so they were held
after we'd been there a few days and maybe were a bit less special for it.
However, the crews had a great time, rested up with the extra days, and
came away with lots of good memories as advocates of the area. Now, what
you have is angry crew, and I'm certainly coming into Da Nang with a lot of
negative associations. And for now, at least, it's taking a lot of the joy
out my of Clipper experience.

If you have any views on how Clipper and Da Nang have handled this, I'd
invite you to share them with the organizers. I don't think it will change
anything with the race, but I do think that Clipper and Da Nang have earned
a certain PR response. Email to Clipper, Facebook, and Twitter are probably
all useful channels, though I understand Clipper have in the past removed
critical comments from Facebook pages they control.

It's possible that this post will lead to my removal from the race. There
is something in my contract regarding negative public comments, but I don't
have the wording with me, so I don't know if this would be covered. At the
moment though, I'm not sure I care.

N 11 deg 27', E 139 deg 36' -- Race 7, Day 13

My friend Claire (Hi Claire!) said she almost stopped reading the blog
after the first few days, because I sounded so miserable. Well, you might
want to skip this one.

I am just really, really tired. I haven't had a decent sleep in days. The
head below decks is abating a bit, but it's still really uncomfortable. I
think my bunk is particularly bad, being high side and upper, so heat flows
there. When the lee cloth is up, which it needs to be to stop me from
falling out, air circulation gets even worse. And despite my efforts to
keep some clothes dry to sleep in, some combination of sweat, condensation,
and/or leaks means my bed is soaked. Of course, everyone thinks their bunk
is the worst. And the constant heat and damp create rashes for everyone in
all sorts of places, which make it even harder to sleep. I'm actually a bit
impressed people are keeping it together as well as they are, but there is
an all-in-this-together mentality.

Sailing short-handed is also taking its toll. We're still one of the
smaller crews, if not the smallest. And we've had a few injuries. Nothing
major, but enough that people have been at reduced capacity or even out for
a week or so. And I have to revise my withdrawal of the "passengers"
comment. Yeah, it was a bit harsh, but at the same time, it's not enough to
just make a bit of an effort. Some people have physical limitations, but
they work hard to make up for it. For example, Linda is not only 69-years-
old but also about 90 lbs soaking wet. She's not a lot of use when we need
power. But she more than makes up for it in other areas. She may be the
hardest working person on this boat. I wouldn't want to try sail with a
crew full of Lindas, but I think we're lucky to have one. But some
people... they make a certain level of effort, then, wehn that isn't
enough, they seem content to let others pick up the slack. It's corrosive.
But of course, these people are also the least self-aware, so they're
immune to even fairly direct suggestions that they could up their game.

Anyway... on a happier note, we're right over the Mariana Trench, the
deepest spot in the oceans. Those who were at my leaving drinks in London
might remember I was drinking Mariana Pale Ale. Didn't even think we'd be
coming this way, so that's worked out nicely. And this would be a really
bad place to drop your keys. And I didn't!