Wet and Cold

How's that for Cold and Soggy?

Remember when I mentioned wet socks yesterday?  Well the proof is in this post.   Poor guy.  But I can't say that I didn't warn him.  I'm the type that doubles up on necessities.  Two pairs of boots.   Two pairs of gloves.  Hand warmers.  Foot warmers.  Toe warmers.  Not Martin.  Have I ever mentioned that Martin saves shower caps from hotel rooms because he likes how compact they are and that they are a good way to keep your head warm without carrying around a big bulky hat?  Uh, I'll take the big bulky hat, thank you!

Today has been good because I have had better contact with Martin than I have in the past week.  Granted, our conversations go something like this...  Martin: "Hi! %45how's lily?! Love u!l32.  Miss you.  I'm freezing!" (I think his hands are cold and he is punching buttons before he gets to the right key).  Me: "Love you too!  Hey, what's the combo to the boat lock?" or "Who aerates our lawn?"  and "Stop saying 'puke' so much in all your posts! So gross!"  I am totally romantic. Anyway, it's nice to just know he's there and thinking about us.  I miss him.

All the boats have officially passed the halfway mark, so it's basically downhill from here.  Visit Seattle should be in Seattle in less than 15 days.  I can't believe it.  I am beyond excited and planning one big BBQ!

Anyway, enough about what's happening here and more about being wet and soggy.

Enjoy!

- Kym

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

"We have been battling forward against a strong cold northeasterly headwind for the last four days. As a result, we are instantly sprayed as we go on deck, and remain constantly wet for our entire time on watch. Somehow the water seems to find its way against gravity and go up my foulie sleeves and soak the lower parts of my inner layers. My gloves have been soaked for days and my hands look like white prunes. While I thought that I was pretty savvy to utilize rubber Alaskan fishing gloves, I hadn't realized their disadvantage in that their linings just don't dry out. There is nothing I hate worse then putting on cold wet gloves to start my four or six hours on watch. My left boot filled with water several days ago due to my adventures up at the bow, and ever since each pair of dry socks just gets soaked. Somehow I don't seem to mind my cold wet feet as much as my cold hands, maybe because my feet are now beyond all feeling.

Sailing along we have had snow, hail and, the worst for me, frozen ice crystals pelting us in the eyes and face as we take turns at the helm. The water temperature is a cold 9 degrees Celsius, but it's the wind chill from the 30-knot wind from the north that gets to me.

I've also observed at night that the phosphorescence we normally see in the boat wake can get sprayed up into the air making for very cool fireflies or sparkler effects. With no stars visible, steering just to the compass is a chore, and I've come to appreciate the poem verse that says, “And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.”

Even below deck it's wet. The ceiling and walls just drip everywhere, and everything is damp, including my sleeping bag. It's that damp wet and cold that chills you to the bone that drains your energy and makes you wish you could curl up in front of a warm fire. Unfortunately, on board Visit Seattle we have neither heat nor hot water. So we just make do. As of today, we have about two weeks to go to get warm, clean, dry clothes in Seattle.

Martin"

The Endless Journey

Alas, a photo of Martin!  Out in the middle of the North Pacific.  Martin at the helm.

Martin and I decided to hold off from posting for a few days out of respect for the loss of Sarah Young, a crew member on the Clipper race boat, ICHORCOAL.  What a terrible tragedy. We were heartbroken. Martin and crew have had a rough couple of days because the storms have continued to be rough.  So, they are back at it trying to get through the elements.  I have had little contact with Martin because of the weather, but even the littlest of contact suffices... for now.  I have a few posts that I will be posting the next few days from Martin so check back regularly.  Here is one that he sent to me last Thursday.  

Cheers!

Kym

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

"When you look at a map the enormity of the Pacific Ocean becomes clear.

Sailing from Qingdao to Seattle takes up 120 degrees of longitude.  The earth has 360 degrees, so you quickly see that sailing across the Pacific means sailing 1/3 the way around the globe.  Another way to think about it is if you look at Google Earth, the Pacific Ocean takes up the whole page.

Previously my longest sailing passage has been from the Galapagos Islands to the Marqueses Islands in the South Pacific.  A trip that took 18 days during which we didn't see another boat or plane for 11 days straight.  I remember that those 18 days seemed to take forever, especially for my wife Kym.  This North Pacific passage will take about 30 days and is in much rougher conditions.  As I think about how far we have come, and yet how far we still have to go, it feels like it will never end.  The good news is that we have 20 people on board to make it as enjoyable as it can be.

One of those crew members who makes it work well is Amancio, a production company owner from Spain.  Amancio manages all the food and provisions on board Visit Seattle.  In China he worked hard with Alex, a female investment banker from NYC, to plan, find, and stock up on everything we needed for the voyage. He then organized it all into daily food packages etc.  Need more hot sauce?  Only Amancio knows where it is buried and can dig it out. The daily cooks or "Mothers" rely on Amancio for the menu and ingredients before they can start chopping and dicing for lunch or dinner.

I've been truly impressed by Amancio's diligent and tireless provisioning efforts on our behalf; he is also a great sailor and navigator.

The food on board our boat has been wonderful and one of the keys to our happy crew, particularly for the RTW's (round the world racers).  We've had everything from shrimp, steaks, and pork loin dishes to name a few, as well as fresh bread and cakes for dessert.  This is one difference between the Clipper Race for amateur sailors, and the Volvo Ocean Race for professionals where they eat only freeze dried foods on board to save weight.

During the last storm, I saw Alex cooking for 20 while bouncing up and down and side to side.  I don't know how she did it as all I could do that day was lay on the floor nearby and puke.  We gave her a big round of applause for the great meal. I truly dread the day when it will be my turn to be Mother. Working in the galley is the fastest way to bring on my seasickness and I'd much rather clean heads and bilges, or work on deck in a typhoon.

I wonder if I can work out a trade.

Martin"

A post update...

This is not a race that should be taken lightly.  I have had little to no communication with Martin other than a few texts because the conditions are very rough and have been the last 3 days.  Martin and Team VISIT SEATTLE are very saddened by the news of Sarah Young, a teammate on the Clipper boat, ICHORCOAL.

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

Martin's statement:

"Everyone aboard Visit Seattle is devastated by Sarah's loss. Our thoughts are with her family, skipper and crew."

Full report here.

I think the tributes to Sarah should be recognized. Click here.

—Kym

The Storms of Life

I got another update from Martin this morning.  I have to say that I got a little teary with this one just knowing that Martin is out there wrestling the elements while still fighting off seasickness in the middle of the North Pacific.  As reported in Martin's previous post, they have a broken bowsprit which made flying a spinnaker impossible in fair winds, but after reading this post, it looks like they won't need one for awhile anyway.

Enjoy!

-Kym

"Yesterday I woke up to the sounds of the crew frantically moving around up on deck. From my bunk on the leeward side, I hear the water rush by my right ear and I knew we were moving fast and heeled over hard. Soon, the sounds of water surrounded me and I listened with fascination as the water rushed down the deck just inches above me. Was I trapped? Then came the call: “All hands on deck!” As I scrambled out of bed and put on my foulies, I then heard a second call: “All hands on deck...now!”

The scene on deck was an exciting one. The wind was howling and the waves were a frothy white. The third reef was in the mainsail but eight of the crew were up on the bow trying to drop and secure the headsails. I clip on to the safety lines and crawl forward on the slanted deck, dragging a big black sail bag to the bow with what I thought was the storm jib only to be told that it was the trysail. Foolish rookie mistake, as the name is stamped on the other side of the bag. I crawl back and get an identical black bag with the storm jib and drag it forward. Next I'm on the winch, grinding the sheet to trim it. Winds are 55 knots – with gusts at 65 – but I'm hot and sweaty. The wind literally blows the top of the waves off into the air and prevents them from building too big. Greybacks, as these waves are called, are hitting us broadside and pitch the boat side to side as well as up and down; frequently, they crash right over the side and we get soaked each time. Somehow water runs up my right sleeve and soaks my inner layers that keep me warm. With the sails now set for the storm, there is nothing to do on deck but hunker down and ride it out.

Because we are still in a race, as soon as the wind backs down some, Huw, our skipper, calls for the storm jib to be moved from the inner to the outer (front) forestay in lieu of a Yankee sail, and for the staysail to be set up again. Now I'm called to go forward to the bow with Tino and Dana to set the sails. Tino is from Barbados and is the kind of guy who doesn't always adhere to the boat routine but who you definitely depend on when things break down in the middle of a storm. Dana, a tax accountant from Los Angeles, is about five feet tall and is the closest thing to the Energizer Bunny I've ever seen. She is always the first to volunteer to take on the hard jobs.   Tino hanks (clips) the storm jib on to the forestay as Dana and I feed it to him while keeping it under control in the wind.

Meanwhile, we are getting doused repeatedly and bouncing up and down approaching liftoff velocity, where we could be thrown in the air. The storm jib gets hoisted and we then pull hard to hank on the staysail on the inner forestay. Once it gets hoisted, I lean against the forestay for a moment feeling elated that I had experienced the storm, did my job, and all was well. It’s one of those memories I'll cherish. Greybacks were still plentiful, but their ferocity had diminished. Just as I move aft, a big wave launches Dana and she goes flying up in the air and crash lands hard on a cleat. It caught us by surprise, and she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry with the pain.

Sitting on deck with my back to the wind and spray for an hour leaves me cold and nauseous. I sit down on the floor to get out of the wind and endure another hour, but the nauseousness builds despite my focusing on the clouds and horizon. I go below and as soon as I'm inside, the nausea overtakes me and I start repeatedly puking while laying on a sail. I lay there for several hours realizing how drained I am until our watch is finally over and my bunk is free. I drag myself to bed.

The next morning, my appetite has returned and I try to rehydrate. The seas have calmed and the sun is shining. It seems to be a whole new world outside, and my dread of nausea turns to lightheartedness. The day is spent organizing and drying out our gear. We joke that only 15 hours before the storm, the Pacific was calm enough to swim in.

Late in the day, we get a weather update. There is a huge low forecast to reach us by tomorrow night, which means another storm is coming. This one is expected to easily last three to four days. Here we go again!

—Martin"

Life Aboard Visit Seattle

The current race standings as of today.  Team Visit Seattle is the white boat

For current updates of the race standings, go here:  ClipperRoundtheWorld.com

Hi All-

I have been a little late in posting this and I apologize.  Martin sent this out on Monday and well, I have had a wedding, taxes, guests, taxes, planning a grand welcome home party for Martin and had some shift changes in crew that I have had to deal with on AMARA.  So, as you'll read below, you'll find that both Martin and I have had to deal with some pretty rough waters these past few days.  But our heads are above water now and we are hoping for some smooth sails going forward.

I think you'll love this post that Martin sent because it really gives some great insight on what he is currently doing aboard Visit Seattle and how he is dealing with his seasickness (which he isn't all that well).  

Enjoy!

—Kym

"Our Clipper Race sailboat has a crew of twenty which functions as a small

little society in the middle of the ocean.  In some ways we are like two

large families named Starboard Watch and Port Watch living in the same

house and using the same facilities. For 4 hours at a time at night, and for 6

hours during the day, one family sails, manages the boat, cleans, and empties bilges while the other family sleeps. Then at the watch changes the

roles reverse, and those coming off watch, take the warm bunks of those who just went up on deck to start their shift. Hot bunking as we call it,

affords us little personal space of our own, as we are stacked in together liked sardines. I'm on the top bunk and if I raise my elbow, I hit the ceiling.  Our off watch time, isn't just for sleeping, as there are often support duties like packing up sails, eating, and fixing things that can easily eat away at the time.  Just getting into and out of our foul weather gear and putting on and taking off our life jackets takes up to 30 minutes.  To protect our night vision and not offend those sleeping, everything is done under red lighting.

We have been sailing for 8 days and covered over 1500 miles and are some 800 miles off of Japan.  Our initial few days were in the relatively calm waters crossing the Yellow Sea and the Sea of Japan, but as soon as we got

into the Pacific Ocean, the rolling sea swells and head on wind waves made me gravely seasick. We bounced around like we were inside a washing machine. For 2 nights I slept on the floor on top of a sail, unable to get out of my own life jacket and foul weather gear as I threw up repeatedly. On deck, I didn't feel any better and remember laying on deck after throwing up, and someone came by and washed the puke off the deck, not too worried if I got doused with water in the process.  

In addition to the constant bouncing motion, the boat is usually healing over (leaning) at a 30-50 degree angle. This creates challenges getting around and doing things like cooking, eating, or going to the bathroom.  As a result, there is no table to eat at, we simply sit near the galley or on deck and usually have one bowl meals. Actually served in dog bowls, as they function the best. In the micro sized head that makes an airplane bathroom look spacious, everyone sits down. Also interesting is that there are no toilet seats, which I'm told, is for male safety reasons in the rough conditions.

As we are a racing sailboat, the process of sailing goes on 24 hours day and 7 days a week.  We are always looking at the weather, our routing, and the

position of the other boats, and think about how to gain an advantage.

We are constantly working to make our boat go a little faster by helming more efficently, trimming sails, or changing them to best suit the

conditions. On board we have 14 sails, including 3 spinnakers and 3 yankees that get changed often depending on conditions, and a staysail and a mainsail.  Our largest yankee weighs about 250 lbs. and has to get from the sail locker up on deck, then hanked (clipped) on to the forestay, and manually hoisted up the mast. It is very tiring to lug around and takes a coordinated team effort. Fortunately we have "coffee grinders" which allow us to turn the winches faster then just using the manual winch handle.  Every headsail that comes off the forestay must also be folded up and packed away, and folding big sails on the windy deck can

be challenging.  After several days of bashing through the waves our

bowsprit has broken preventing us from using our spinnakers.

Our little society or crew is made up of people from all walks of life

and nationalities with a great esprit de corp. Athough I'm just sailing the

Pacific leg of the race, many of the crew are doing a full circumnavigation.

I've really enjoyed getting to know them as we talk through the night, share duties, or a bunk. We each bring something different and uniquely our own to our Visit Seattle team.  Our skipper Huw Fernie, manages the overall process of sailing this Clipper ocean race, keeps us safe, informed, and sometimes entertained as well. Because he was asked to throw out the first pitch at an upcoming Seattle Mariners Baseball game, today we held pitching practice and the crew cheered as he practiced pitching rotten oranges down the deck and over the side.

I’ll share more insights on the crew in the future.

So this is life aboard Visit Seattle.  I've learned that it is partly an ocean sailing race, partly a very challenging expedition, and partly a fun adventure similar to summer camp.  Thanks for reading; I hope you will join in with us for the voyage.

—Martin"