Home At Last...

It seems that after circumnavigating the globe, Jamaica Get All Right have perfected the race start but are yet to master the finish. After a spectacular farewell from Derry-Londonderry we were off to a flying start and lead the fleet of twelve boats towards the north of Scotland, yet somehow this turned into a disappointing race for us. We came into Den Helder six days later and in tenth place, on the plus side we were still in time to watch Holland beat Costa Rica and secure their place in the World Cup semi final.

After so many weeks at sea I have become shut off from the outside world including international sport, which may have been a godsend when it comes to British attempts at Wimbledon and the World Cup - both sound like they made for painful viewing. I am patriotic but with England out of the tournament we could not have arrived in Den Helder at a better time to support the Dutch in their bid to reach the final. What a great opportunity to pretend to be from a country who had got so far in the tournament although it also meant I had to endure their frustration as they exited in the semi finals.

As Holland were still in mourning after their loss, we were busily preparing for the final race of this sailing adventure. True to form our boat was first out of the blocks and we did hold on for a little longer in this short race home only dropping to eighth. The disappointing result soon became a distant memory though as we sailed up the river Thames to be greeted by friends and family for the Clipper Yacht Race homecoming celebrations.

Over and Over Again

There has been plenty of time for the imagination to run into overdrive during these past few weeks at sea. It often feels as though we are in a movie somewhere between The Truman Show, Groundhog Day and Big Brother. For those of you unfamiliar with the aforementioned I will try and explain what I mean.

To start with we have a very strict watch rotation system in order for the boat to continue racing and the crew to get adequate rest. Each time you wake up (which happens five times every forty eight hours) it is the same process with the only variation being the food and temperature. The type of meal is the only thing that helps me remember what time of day it is when I wake up and the temperature dictates how many layers I have to put on.

Climbing onto deck after your rest the view is usually the same. There is a round circle of water that you are in the middle of and the only variation is the sea state and the weather. This feeling is even stronger in the Atlantic when we went days without seeing signs of any ships. We are completely reliant on the computer navigation system that tells us, apparently, we are getting closer to land. I have to admit at times it felt like we were in a goldfish bowl going nowhere.

This is a race but also an experience. A professional skipper and group of amateur sailors from all walks of life put together on a seventy foot yacht and sent out to sea. It could be a psychologists dream watching events unfold and sometimes it is hard to escape the feeling of being watched; I'm assured the two on deck cameras are purely for safety purposes.

As much as it might have felt we were making no progress at times in the Atlantic there was nothing to prove this but heading around Scotland was a different matter as the Isle of St Kilda became rather too familiar. By that I mean the view as I climbed onto deck was showing the same piece of rock from slightly different angles on three occasions. The flat calm conditions and very slight wind were not what I was expecting from the north of Scotland. The lack of wind and a current in the wrong direction meant progress became painfully slow; by that I mean we actually calculated a negative distance to the finish line on one watch. The most frustrating part was it seemed to be only us in this position and all we could do was wait for the wind to return whilst our competitors put in more miles.

A Royal Wave

I thought we had already bid farewell to Derry-Londonderry after the most stunning firework display on the final evening. I have high standards after attending the 2008 Olympic closing ceremony in Beijing yet somehow these rivalled it. As a comparison, what they lacked in quantity and size they more than made up for in style. There was a considerable delay before they could start - the stunning evening meant it was still far too light at 10pm but it was certainly worth the wait.

The next morning, following several group photo-calls and announcements, all crew were back on board and ready to set sail. As a means of thanking Derry-Londonderry for their awesome hospitality the twelve Clipper Race boats paraded up and down the river in front of the crowds. You would not have guessed it was a Sunday morning the turnout was that impressive. You might struggle to believe me but this send off made our New York departure pale into insignificance. I now know why The Queen waves in such a modest manner; my arm began to fatigue.

After a short motor down to the start we were in for one final treat - a truly incredible display by the Red Arrows. We watched in awe. I still cannot comprehend the level of skill and accuracy needed to fly with such speed and precision. Then it was our turn to sail at speed and with precision as we turned our attentions to the race start. It is nothing like a horse race in the gates or a running race where all competitors form a straight line. First you must work out the exact start line yourself using the markers on either side of the estuary and then set your watch to match the ten minute countdown gun. There is no room for errors as all twelve boats jostle for the best position whilst judging the wind and distance to the line. A false start would be penalised with a seven-hundred and twenty degree turn (not easy in a seventy foot sail boat) and an hour added to your time for every minute you spend the wrong side of the line.

It may seem strange to some that the start is so crucial when embarking on an eight-hundred mile race but if you could hear the screaming and shouting coming from each boat you would soon realise the importance. Getting above your rivals means you can find cleaner wind which results in in a significant advantage on the way to the first northerly marker. Jamaica Get All Right worked well as a team and despite a few barked commands from our skipper we had a smooth and successful start. Let the racing begin.

Derry - Londonderry - Doire

With a name like that it is easy to see why Derry-Londonderry was awarded the title of European City of Culture 2012. For a city that has had such a troubled past it has not let anything hold it back and, as I discovered, the people certainly know how to party.

The reception we received on Monday was incredible and there were well wishers alongside us in their boats before we even reached sight of the city. As we motored in, one boat at a time, up the River Foyle all we could hear were the crowds cheering us in. Considering we were due in over the weekend, the turnout was more than impressive and it transpired the mayoress had declared Monday a public holiday to ensure we received a warm welcome.

On top of the maritime festival, public holiday and crowds of spectators there was another reason for me to enjoy my time in Derry-Londonderry. I telephoned my parents on the way into port and they told me they were enjoying another glorious morning at home in Devon; which I completely bought. Little did I realise they had taken a scenic motorbike ride up to the very top of Northern Ireland to surprise me! Asides from Beijing, this is the furthest my parents have travelled to see me and what a lovely welcome it was.

The six nights on dry land could have been spent partying nonstop but after a couple of nights I was ready to escape and headed down to Belfast to enjoy some quiet time with friends. My last two days have been busy preparing the boat and attending briefings about briefings. I cannot believe it is time to start the next race already - Den Helder here we come.

The Moment of Truth

A sitting duck - that was how I felt during the last few hours of this race. It was down to the tacticians, the wind gods and dare I say it a certain amount of luck to decide where we would finish. As crew all we could do was sit and wait. We were instructed to put all of our weight on the far left side close to the bow in order to obtain the most efficient position through the water. The skipper requested that we all remained focused and kept up our effort; this was certainly a different type of focus and effort to what I was used to as an athlete.

It is hard to believe that after racing for sixteen days the last few hours of sailing could still change the top six positions. For us (Jamaica Get All Right) it had seemed ours to lose at the half way point as we collected three extra points for crossing the scoring gate in front of the field. A few brave decisions on the course cost us dearly and proved to be a gamble that frustratingly did not pay off. All of this information was coming to us via satellite until twenty four hours ago when we caught sight of one of the opposition. By race finish today three other yachts were in view as we watched with baited breath debating among ourselves whether we were in front or behind. This could sound obvious but I have discovered nothing in ocean sailing is obvious.

I personally felt moving my position by a few metres was unlikely to make the required difference. It is impossible to prove but all of us moving that distance must have had an impact. One of our sturdier crew members even took his effort one step further and whilst remaining within the rules with his feet inside he used his weight and leant out as far as possible. The clock struck twelve and we knew there was nothing else we could have done.

The suspense was painful. Varying theories were being thrown around, some more positive than others. Our target had been the podium and four hours ago, when in fourth place, it had seemed feasible as we were consistently gaining on the front runners with hardly a thought for those behind us. As the positions were calculated it started to dawn on us that we were actually fighting for those smaller places and suddenly we were desperate for that fourth place. Silence swept the deck when it was revealed we had devastatingly dropped to sixth. On the chart we had equalled Great Britain’s distance to the finish yet been awarded the place behind them due to a rule the race organisers adopt in the case of a tie. After sailing over three thousand miles it seemed incomprehensible that we could have matched our rivals to the metre but we were not ready to accept defeat. On closer inspection, and the use of a further decimal point, those extra efforts had paid off. We had beaten Great Britain by a mere three boat lengths. Suddenly fifth place and those valuable extra points felt like a victory. On a personal level I must admit - beating compatriot and England Rugby player Ollie Philips into fifth place and successfully sailing across the North Atlantic Ocean deserves a celebration.

The Final Countdown

The race is suddenly on. Technically it has been for the last fortnight although that has been difficult to keep sight of at times. We have been making our way across the Atlantic with nothing but updates on a computer chart to remind us we are racing eleven other teams to the finish line in Londonderry. Due to the relatively light winds that have been blowing in an unfavourable direction, this finish line has become unattainable in the time limit allowed.

In my early days as a multi-sport competitor the swimming event was a set time length rather than distance. We had to swim as far as possible in three minutes. I always found this harder to pace than a straight two hundred metre race and however much I practised I would still always be able to sprint those last ten seconds. This transatlantic crossing began as a 2950 mile endurance race and has turned into a twelve hour sprint. Clipper Race Control have decided to calculate the results at midday today by plotting each boats distance from the original finish line. I've discovered on this race that there really is no such thing as plain sailing and the wind conditions mean the final few hours will be very tactical indeed.

Being part of a team on such a big boat, it is sometimes difficult to feel your input is making that difference but right now everyone is making that extra little effort in whatever way they can. We are now poised on the edge of our seats or I should say the edge of the port (left) side of the boat in order to optimise our speed. It is literally a waiting game. The question is: is it too little too late?

Day 13 – Unlucky for some...

It is almost two weeks since we left land. The tensions on Jamaica Get All Right have started to rise and for the first time I have noticed a negative mood on board. This could be due to the way I go about my work (in a bit of a 'bubble') or the fact we are actually a good team who work well together – probably a mixture of both.

The largest contributor to this mood change was our race position as overnight we seem to have lost our impressive lead. The winds have been relatively light and therefore the race has become quite tactical. Our skipper was the first to admit he got it wrong and misjudged the wind. This news dramatically dampened the team spirit even though we all know that this is the nature of ocean racing. Coming from a sport in which positions can change dramatically right up until the finish line, I am one to never give up although others found this news harder to digest. The sea can be a cruel mistress.

Unfortunately for me I soon had another reason to be less cheerful as the sea state increased again. I thought I had suffered more than my quota of seasickness and come out the other side. Whether it was a repeat performance or a stomach bug I'm still not sure but once again I felt truly awful. The combination of feeling rough and being extremely tired resulted in a greatly diminished sense of humour.

I was lying on my stomach on the high side of the deck desperately focusing on the horizon when out of the blue came a freak wave which soaked me from head to toe. In my desperation to escape for fresh air, I had not only forgotten to put my full waterproofs on but also left my port hole open. The result was disastrous: not only was I wet through but so was a crew member from the other watch sleeping innocently in her bed. The chances of a wave coming over the high side and finding its was into a bunk were amazingly slim although this did nothing to console the soaked victim. I admitted my mistake to our watch leader who suggested I keep schtüm for the time being.

Having survived my six hour watch with only minutes to go until bedtime I was confronted by the wave victim. I tried to explain that I had suffered too and offered an apology. It may sound trivial but at that moment I would have leapt at the chance to jump ship.

Thankfully that low point already seems far behind me and we are back on course - Londonderry beckons.