The fifth night of this first leg, day is breaking...the rhythm is intense, around 20 knots consistently, with many charges (the bow going under the waves) but il mostro is safe. However, the efforts are impressive and the material is put through a brutal test. On the deck, one is never totally calm, you are constantly thinking about what could break... For us as well, this rate begins to weigh, Salty and I share the watch, that for three days now we have tacked every six hours, usually right in the middle of our rest period. Tacking means shifting one and a half tonnes of sails onto the deck, and the other one and a half tonnes into bags within the boat. The watch on deck looks after the sails whilst we must extract ourselves from our bunks and attack our brutal task of transferring bags. Of course all this takes place in a tiny space (four feet), with bags of 30-50 kilos, and in record time we are then suddenly expected on deck to crank the winches!
The wake up is therefore brutal and painful, the sauna guaranteed. We are therefore not very fresh, but happy to be leading il mostro at the head of the fleet.
During this transfer phase, our friend Ricky Deppe (the media man) looks at us after having moved a few cups and spoons in the kitchen. There is nothing to be done, but the situation is still a little grotesque. He can't help out his partners whilst they sweat and struggle with their bags because the rules forbid it. Knowing this, I don't hide that I often want him to break free so that he uncrosses his arms and joins us in our pain! But that's the race...
There we are then ladies and gentlemen, it is not always a party here but that doesn't stop us appreciating the wet evenings, under a cloud, lit up by a full and smiling moon.
Salam Malecum.
Sidney
