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.