The Vendée Globe: heartbreak in the fifties

The Furious Fifties

The leading pack is now half-way around the world. The race now is through the Pacific, around Cape Horn, then back up the Atlantic.

It’s a big ocean to sail on matchstick boats. There are only eighteen left from the thirty that started. I suspect we’ll lose a couple more in the Pacific.

There is more to be experienced in the Vendée Globe than waves, sea and sky. There’s a constant fight with the physical elements, but the heart and mind become the principle combatants in this the most solitary of battles. Confidence ebbs and flows with the waves. The heart gets heavy and despondent, the head overrun with the lengthening job list. Where’s the time for sleep, where’s the time for even racing? How in the hell can this possibly work?

Rarely do we see such a helter-skelter of physical and emotional hardship as we do in a race like the Vendée:  Passion. Agony. The deep satisfaction derived from impeccable seamanship. The respect for and breathtaking awe of such terrifying seas. The excitement of surfing such a brittle piece of kit at thirty knots. The shattered heartbreak of a boat broken, busted, and fucked beyond repair.
And those still with us are still only half-way around.

They are well into the southern latitudes now – well into the fifties. “Below forty degrees, there is no law,” it is said. “Below 50 degrees, there is no God.”

Among the first to retire in this latest period of attrition was Unai Bazurko (Pakea Bizkaia) with a broken rudder. The Open 60’s have two rudders to obtain the most effective steering, but as Unai heads home to Spain, he will have but one, forcing him to stay on a single tack for most of the journey.

Loick Peyron (Gitana Eighty) was in third place when he was dismasted on December 10th.  Good timing, too: he’d just climbed his mast the previous day to fix a halyard problem. Loick had previously been in the lead longer than any other skipper. He’s also the only skipper to have raced in the first Vendee back in 1989. He has managed to construct a jury rig and is now gamely making his way towards Australia.

At this point the boats are starting to seriously surf at 30+ knots of boat speed, often with only the aft quarter of the boat still in the water. This involves careful placement of ballast (stacking and water tanks) as well as full trust in one’s autopilot. Autopilot repair is a frequent maintenance issue for the solo skippers; most carry several for redundancy. Without an autopilot the skipper would always be tired and wet and never be able to race at the level required.

By the middle of December, Mike Golding (Ecover) was up to fourth, and Mich Desj (Foncia) all the way up to third – after having been seven hundred miles behind due to his early return to Les Sables. What a sailor! Mich is so nonchalant about it as well – doesn’t feel he’s pushing particularly hard, but he must be.

Icebergs are now being spotted by some of the skippers, from boat-size to four hundred metres in length and as high as a mast. Wildlife is causing problems too, as Safran hits a whale but somehow escapes damage.

.

Sam enjoying herself in the South

Sam Davies on Roxy seems to be really enjoying her race. Huge surfing; sometimes co-operative seas; the right attitude. She of all the skippers seems the most willing (or able) to express the magic and beauty of sailing such a boat in such an ocean.
Her McGyver side has also been busy – she’s been doing what sounds like some extensive rewiring, what with bypassing solenoids in the keel trunk.
Last week Sam hit her elbow so hard that she passed out with the pain. Thankfully she now seems to be ok.
Her quote about icebergs in my last post was eerie and frightening and beautiful…

Cheminées Poujoulat beached

The two Swiss skippers suffered badly in the Indian ocean. The keel head on Dominique Wavre’s Temenos II broke, leaving the keel swinging out of control under the boat. He diverted to the Kerguelen islands to try and effect a repair.
His compatriot Bernard Stamm (Cheminées Poujoulat) also had issues, discovering his rudder bearings were crushed by the excessive wave forces. Wavre, already anchored in the Kerguelens, tried to guide Bernard into the tricky bay so he could also attempt repairs, but Stamm ended up running aground after getting caught in a patch of weeds. His boat was badly damaged, but they eventually got her re-floated and she is now loaded aboard a supply vessel, bound for Reunion Island.
Meanwhile, Wavre continues on to Australia after making a makeshift repair to the keel head.

Golding dismasted

On December 16th, Mike Golding managed to gain first place. He was sailing quickly and seemed to be managing the boat very well, but then… CRASH. Tragedy. The mast came down. Again. This is Mike’s third dismasting in four consecutive round-the-world races. Ecover was very powered up at the time, though apparently in the wrong configuration. He was just heading out on deck to deal with an unexpected squall when it all came down. It’s just heartbreaking. I thought Mike had a chance at first place this time around.

That’s three injured boats now headed for Perth.

Iceberg!

Vincent Riou (PRB), always up with the leading pack and a favourite for this Vendee, had to slow down for a while due to an injured foot. Last week he hit a glancing blow to an iceberg but somehow avoided injury or damage. The Vendee safety team has enforced a series of ice gates that forces the fleet out of the known danger zones, but this far South, there is still no avoiding the odd growler or iceberg. What an utterly frightening and humbling experience that must be!
Vincent’s foot is now on the mend and he thinks he can catch the rest of the fleet in the Pacific.

Jean-Pierre Dick (Paprec Virbac) – a front runner for most of the race – experienced rudder damage after hitting a UFO (Unidentified Floating Object). He then headed North into quieter seas to effect a complicated repair. Although not fully satisfied with it, Riou is now back on track after having lost 600 miles. I have a feeling he’ll find a way to keep that rudder working and make his way back up to the front.

Jean-Baptiste Dejeanty (Groupe Maisoneuve) finally decided to abandon the race after suffering from a series of equipment problems. These included autopilot failures, a ripped genoa, and a damaged mainsail halyard. He was one of the original boats to return to Les Sables for repairs. He must be gutted.

And of course there’s Yann Elies, who suffered for two days with a broken leg, waiting for rescue. He’s now safe and sound in a hospital in Fremantle.

Mich Desj in the lead

The comeback kid continues to astound: after a seven hundred mile deficit Mich Desj (Foncia) has been in first place since Golding’s dismasting. He’s still going strong and seemingly not bothered by the pace. This is typical French mastery in action.

So – eighteen left, and more serious weather about to hit the entire fleet. Let’s hope the excitement continues without any more injuries. It’s a tough race, on a tough ocean, but these are tough skippers. God speed to all of them.

The Vendee Globe: in their own words

On the work it takes to keep an Open 60 sailing:

From Steve White, (Toe in the Water):
“I signed off last time about to do a sail change in a building breeze. I had to roll up and take down the Code 5 in what was by the time I got on deck about 35 knots of wind, which is over the limit for an old sail! This is a perfectly normal procedure, I started rolling the thing up but it got jammed half rolled up and half unrolled! There it was, flogging itself silly at the front of the boat. I went up the front to try and free it up, but the furling drum is right at the end of the bowsprit – I was not going out there I can assure you – there was a big sea and we were surfing at nearly twenty knots sometimes! I taped my big kitchen knife to the deckbrush handle and went up to deal with the problem, which was that the cover of the furling line had wrinkled up like Nora Batty’s stockings (a character in a British sitcom-editor) inside the drum, got caught on a cunningly placed spike and wedged itself up very very tightly! Whilst hacking away I took my eye off the ball missed a big wave which we surfed down, and got hosed down the deck, knife in hand, as we buried the bow in the wave in front at high speed – everything went dark, there was a whooshing noise in my ears as they filled up, and I held my breath as water went down my neck right down to my boots, up my nose, up my arms, everywhere. I took some sizeable pieces out of my fingers as I tried to grab stanchions and guardwires on the way past – the force of the water was incredible and I still have the bruises to testify! When I came to a stop at the mast I had managed to keep hold of the knife luckily! I had several goes at cutting away at the drum, rolling and unrolling the sail; I cut forty five metres of cover of the rest of the line with a pair of scissors on my hands an knees, and still it was up there, half in, half out and flogging like nobody’s business. After nearly three hours I decided it had to be dropped on deck as it was whilst I still had a mast! I sailed as far downwind as I dared without gybing, and went for it – first time I aborted and winched it up again before it went in the water, then second time I had it on an “inboard roll” of the boat – it was there on deck, coming down, coming down, then,outboard roll – whoosh, over the side, in the water. The boat stopped short and rounded up into the wind with a parachute handbrake over the side. There followed another two hours of struggling as I tried to get the thing back onboard, but things were going badly wrong – bent stanchions, then the first rip, then around the keel – the stuff of nightmares. I finished up dragging the thing off the bowsprit after trying to save the boltrope for my poor old broken gennaker, but I couldn’t get the thing out of the middle of the partially rolled sail. In the end I had to let the thing go before I had to get in the water and get it off the keel. I watched it sink. A twenty thousand pound sail lost because of a hundred pound piece of string with a loose cover. All I had left was the swivel and two thimbles and a ten inch piece of the head………I don’t mind admitting that nearly killed me, I was fairly well beaten up and bruised, and soaked to the skin, and rapidly becoming cold. It was 1400 when I went on deck, and 1915 when I came back down.”

On being reasonable:

From Dominique Wavre (Temenos II):
“Forcing your way through these types of seas isn’t reasonable. You have to try and weave your way through gently when the sea state is poor. As soon as the boat’s making more than 20 knots the rudders scream creating a fairly stressful, sharp noise. I tune the I-pod into my anti-noise earphones and that tones down the noise well and it becomes more bearable.”

On icebergs:

From Sam Davies (Roxy) :
“I just passed an iceberg less than 0.5nm on my Starboard side. Size C2 – around 100m I think, big enough to show up on the radar easily. SO beautiful, intense blue at the base, gleaming white top, waves crashing off the sides, SO dangerous. I hope it’s the only one.”

On the balance between speed and safety:

From Mike Golding (Ecover):
“All of us are playing the knife edge as to what we can physically cope with and what the boat can physically cope with. The reality is, if we push on too hard there’s a risk of breakage and we certainly don’t want to be turning left too soon.”

The Indian Ocean awakens the warrior in Yann  (this was a few days before his injury):

From Yann Elies (Generali):
The adventure has turned into a hand to hand fight over the past few days. The Indian, the Apache, the Mohican is a brave warrior. And we’re the poor cowboys, who under-estimated the wild natural instincts of this ocean. We racers with our brand new silver dream machines, are no longer grouped together, but have spread out. The battlefield that appeared in the naked light of day revealed damaged multihulls and downhearted sailors.  This description may appear exaggerated, but talking it over with people around here and looking at my own condition and my boat, that’s how it feels this morning.  The Indian Ocean is in the process of granting or refusing permission and the toll is expensive.  Waking up this morning was like coming out of a nightmare. I’m stunned, not to say reeling from the violence.  The Indian, which was sleeping in me, has awoken.  I’m fed up simply putting up with it.  As I write this letter, as I try to find the right words, I can feel the rebel appearing in me, rather like an adolescent facing his father.  Now I’m going to fight head held high, intent on gaining revenge for you, my blood brother, for your gang in the Abers (in Brittany), my friend Bernard. The Indian deserves a lot of respect  and you need to remain humble when crossing it.  But I have even more respect for you and your family. The fight goes on.  For not much longer now, but I’m holding out.”

Some of these quotes are eerily prescient, as we shall see in my next post.

The Vendée Globe: Yann’s rescue

This has been a rather eventful week in the Vendée Globe, to say the least.

The biggest story – eclipsing other big news which I’ll get to soon – was Yann Elies’s injury and subsequent rescue.

Generali drifting under reduced sail with injured Yann below

Yann was on deck making a sail change when Generali slammed into a big wave. This is by no means an unusual event in this part of the ocean; it was just bad luck that he was working up at the bow when it happened. He was thrown to the deck, breaking his femur and probably several ribs.
He somehow managed to crawl back into the cockpit and then below-decks to radio for help.

For the next forty-eight hours he waited on his bunk at the nav station, in too much pain even to move across the cabin to open his medical kit (which contained morphine).

The two closest boats were Marc Guillemot’s Safran and Sam Davies’ Roxy, which were both asked to divert from their current course to Generali’s location. They wouldn’t be able to do much once they got there: the sea is very rarely flat enough to allow two yachts to tie up together. Their presence there would be more for emotional and psychological support.

Generali as seen from Marc Guillemot’s Safran

Marc Guillemot arrived within twenty-four hours and was able to stay close by and chat with Yann as they waited for rescue from the Australian navy. Marc put together some packages containing water and morphine and tried to toss them though Generali’s hatch, but the seas were too difficult.

Eventually, Guillemot was able to talk Yann through each movement across the cabin to get at his medical kit. He finally got some painkillers into him and was able to sleep for a while.

Forty-eight hours after his injury, HMS Arunta, an Australian navy frigate, managed to extract Yann from his yacht using a RIB (Rigid Inflatable, like a Zodiac). He’s now resting comfortably aboard Arunta, under medical care, and is heading for a civilian hospital in Perth.

The story is all over the BBC just now. This is the first time they’ve even mentioned the Vendée Globe. Well done, BBC. Wait for the big tragedy then cycle it repeatedly.

I’ve been thinking about Elias and what it must have beeen like out there, by yourself with a broken leg, not knowing when help will arrive. The pain was sure to be excruciating. He must have been so grateful to have Marc there for him, even if conditions were too rough for any physical assistance.

The rescue as observed from Safran

It’s the risk you take with such a race. The boats are so fast, the ocean so rough and unpredictable, that a broach or a nose-plant are in no way avoidable. With traditional cruising yachts, your speed is such that the impacts against the waves (and the waves against the boat) have much less force. Water is hard – the impact can be incredibly loud and shake the whole boat, even at just five or six  knots. Image at four times that speed. The impact is unbelievable, even to the racers themselves.

I got thrown around a few times during my time at sea, usually when I had to use both hands for some operation like changing a sail or making tea. I would try and time my activities with the trough of the waves, but the sea is rarely orderly. The waves take on the general pattern of the wind, but when it changes direction (as it does), the seas can take many hours before they are once again in harmony with the wind. In the meantime there’s a lot of chop – waves crashing together from all directions, causing an even higher and more dangerous swell. It’s during this sea-state where accidents happen.

It was one of these cross-waves that probably got Generali.  Head down for one second, working on getting that halyard on, and SLAM.

Much of the rest of the fleet has gotten a little spooked over this unfortunate event. Some have reduced speed, others are now wearing helmets. Elies’ injury will now be part of their decision making process. The ocean is capable of dishing out bucket after bucket of nastiness and misery. It’s not that the ocean is mean or cruel. It’s that there is no way of beating it. One can attempt an understanding though: it’s the only way to get home.

***

More on the rest of the Southern Ocean carnage coming soon….

The Vendée Globe: week four

The start of the 2008 Vendée Globe

This Vendée is as fascinating a Vendée as I can remember. It’s been going for almost four weeks now, and although they’re not even properly into the Southern Ocean yet, the drama of the high seas is already unfolding.

The weather during the first couple of days of the Vendée was appalling. The fleet soon found themselves in the middle of a low, getting battered by six meter waves and 55+ knots of wind: your typical Bay of Biscay storm.

Every boat in the fleet was battered – battered hard. During those first few days, eight boats returned to Les Sables. The rules state that you may start again up to ten days after the official start. Anything other than that and you are disqualified.

The following five boats turned back for repairs:

Dominique Wavre / Temenos II: Electrical problems. He later sorted this out and left on the next tide. He’s now doing well in 12^th; about 250 miles behind the leader.

Bernard Stamm / Cheminées Poujoulat: Collision with what turned out to be a cargo ship. Bowsprit knackered. Turned back for repairs and has made good time, passing the rear of the fleet. He’s now in 16^th, about 600 miles behind the leader.

Michel Desjoyeaux / Foncia: Leaks in his ballast system resulted in electrical issues with his engine (used to charge the batteries). Previous time around he’d had similar issues, so this time he wisely decided to turn back while still fairly close. (One of my favourite video clips from the last Vendée was Mich Desj starting his engine with a block and tackle, using the wind’s strength across the mainsail to pull-start his diesel.)

He’s made a quick turn around, now caught up to 7^th place – less than 100 miles from the leader. That’s some sailing.

Jean Baptiste Dejeanty / Groupe Maisoneuve: Deck panels ripped out in the storm. It took some time to repair; he’s now second-last in 24^th, 1500 miles from the leader.

Derek Hatfield / Algimouss Spirit of Canada – At first some electrical problems, but later realized his mainsail track was also in need of attention. This took a fair bit of work, with plenty of help from other teams. He’s now sailing well, having just sailed a personal best of 368 miles over 24 hours. He’s in 22^nd, 1400 miles from the leader.

* * *

It should be noted that most (if not all) the boats that turned back for repairs received generous help from other teams, their shore crews providing scarce parts or specialized labour. This was especially welcome for less well-financed teams like Hatfield’s Spirit of Canada.

There have also been several retirements due to extensive damage. What would a Vendée Globe be without dismastings and other assorted catastrophic failures?

Here are the five retirees:

Yannick under jury-rig after dismasting

Yannick Bestaven / Aquarelle: Dismasted. This is not easily repairable in 10 days time, even if you have a spare mast. He was devastated. Yannick’s self-portrait (see right) is my favourite photo of the race so far. Note the height of the mast – that’s probably a jib pole or boom. Normally the mast is three or four times that height. The look on his face says everything.

Groupe Bel / Kito de Pavant: Dismasted. He’d been doing so well, too – right up front.

Marc Thiercelin / DCNS: Dismasted – extensive damage. He eventually made it to La Coruña, in northwest Spain, under engine power.

Extensive delamination on the port-side

Alex Thomson / Hugo Boss: Structural problems. Hugo Boss began taking on water due to some stress cracks in her port-side hull. This is the opposite side from where he was hit two weeks before the race; but my feeling is that that initial collision was so hard that it fucked the whole boat. After getting it on a lift back in Les Sables, it was clear that Hugo Boss wasn’t going anywhere soon. This must be heartbreaking for Alex, having busted so many boats in the past.

Said Thomson:“It’s gutting, I feel very sad not only for me, but also my sponsors and the team. These things happen in sailing, you just have to pick yourself up and move forward, my Vendée dreams are not over.”

Jérémie Beyou / Delta Dore: All of the damage to the fleet had so far occurred during the storms in the Bay of Biscay; Delta Dore’s occurred during her third week at sea, almost in the Southern Ocean. Her spreaders came loose on the starboard side, severely compromising the mast’s integrity. I hate when that happens. Jérémie found a spot to anchor (allowed by the rules if unassisted) and, after surveying the damage, decided it was impossible to repair himself. Jérémie has retired from the race.

An great quote from Jérémie a week before his retirement:

“Everything is fine, except that the lads ahead of me are going really fast. When I match their pace, it really gets to me, as it’s very hard on the boat. I’m surprised about how much of a risk they are taking. I don’t want to lecture anyone, but I don’t feel like sailing in that way. It’s tough seeing them get away. But I always remember that the equipment will let you know at some moment what you have put it through.”

* * *

The dismasted and otherwise terminally damaged vessels all made it back to port unaided, which at least allowed the solo sailor to retain his dignity. This is important – even expected – for the solo sailor. He is self-reliant, resourceful, and maintains a fierce conviction that he will find a way to proceed. After all, he must – there is no one else. And if that involves using a jib pole as a mast then so be it.

For the solo sailor a tow would be ignoble and contrary to all that solo sailing is about. A tow would not be keeping with the spirit if the Vendée.

Mike Golding on Ecover is doing well, though after crossing the line first was told he’d crossed too early and had to turn back around. This left him on his back foot, though he has made up good time. He’s now bouncing around between 5^th and 9^th, right up there with the top of the pack, less than 100 miles away from the leader.

Dominque Wavre on Temenos II sailing fast

Derek Hatfield in Spirit of Canada (I can’t bring myself to affix the sponsor’s name) is one of the slower boats in the fleet, yet he just did 368 miles in 24 hours. That staggers in my brain a bit.

One of my rituals on my seven-week single-handed transatlantic crossing was the ‘noon sighting’, where I’d find out where I was, then calculate how far I’d come from the previous day’s sighting. Of course, I wasn’t taking sights with a sextant; although I did have one on board. I just used the GPS. My best mileage was somewhere around 150 nautical miles. This says something about these Open 60’s, and probably something about their skippers too. The solo record is some 500 plus miles, which I believe is held my Alex Thomson.

Since the frenetic start (and restart for some) it’s been relatively quiet for the last two weeks. There have been seven different leaders so far.

Sebastion Josse on a well-trimmed BT

In the next few days the leading pack will be rounding the Cape of Good Hope, where they can expect their first major storm of the Southern Ocean, with winds gusting to 65 knots. I can’t wait!

You can monitor the fleet’s position and the skippers’ standings using the Vendée website’s Race Tracker, available from the ‘In the Race’ menu at the top of their homepage.

The Vendée Globe

I’ve always been fascinated by the Vendée. I was fascinated even before its first edition in 1988.

The Vendée Globe is a single-handed non-stop sailing race around the world, the only of its kind. It is the toughest sailing event there ever was – perhaps even the toughest sporting event, period.

Around all three capes. Non-stop, solo, unassisted.

There are other round-the-world sailing races, but the Vendée is the only one that is done alone, unassisted, without stopping. The Volvo, the Velux 5, the Barcelona World Race, the Global Challenge – these all have stopovers, and most are fully crewed. In 1998 Lock Ferguron actually did a faster 24-hour ocean sprint on his own that any of the crewed teams from the Volvo race. Of course, weather always plays a part, and perhaps he got lucky. Impressive nonetheless.

The Vendée Globe was actually born much earlier than 1988: 30 years earlier in fact, during the first ever non-stop round the world single handed race: the Golden Globe. Sailors everywhere (particularly single-handed sailors) had been inspired by Chichester’s famous voyage in Gypsy Moth IV, having sailed alone around the world, stopping only once in Australia.
Surely it could be done without stops? There were many who thought it possible, who thought that such an accomplishment could be theirs for the trying. A few were already preparing for the attempt when the Sunday Times came up with the idea of a race. Due to the yachtsmen being in various stages of readiness, they offered two prizes: a trophy for the first one around, and £5000 for the fastest.

From the start it seemed clear that there were two main contenders: Robin Knox Johnston, the quiet Englishman on his home-built ketch Suhaila; and the Frenchman Bernard Moitessier, on his steel ketch Joshua.

There were seven others, including ex-submarine commanders, Royal Navy officers, and Atlantic rowers. Many had no sailing experience whatsoever. And then there was Donald Crowhurst, the dark horse. In retrospect maybe the signs were already there, but at the time no one expected the tragic events that were to soon unfold in the South Atlantic.

The race started officially in June, 1968, though there was no starting gun. Entrants had to leave England any time between June and October, and the rules were simple: sail below each of the three capes eastward, to return to England. The first one back wins.

Alex Thompson's Hugo Boss

The Vendée Globe 2008
The Vendée has been going every four years since 1988, but this year offers a level of competition not seen before. Still all the same rules, but we now have an unprecedented thirty skippers from seven countries. About half the skippers have done the race before and have an idea of what’s coming. The other half must be scared shitless.

The Vendée (and most single-handed sailing events) are dominated by the French. The English have been challenging for years but just can’t seem to get it going.

The French just get out there and sail. They don’t moan about it, they don’t agonize over every decision. They just go. They sail like no-one’s business. There’s a deep complicated skill involved at this level of racing that the French have got a hold of somehow, but they’re not telling the rest of us how they do it. They are inscrutable. It’s in their blood.

The battle of the seas between England France has gone on for centuries. And so it goes still, with the French once more holding the upper hand.

Attrition
In the Golden Globe of 1968 four sailors retired before leaving the Atlantic, a fifth just after the Cape of Good Hope.

That left four:
Four: Donald Crowhurst went mad and threw himself overboard.
Three: Nigel Tetley sank only 1,000 miles from finishing. He later committed suicide.

Moitessier's Joshua

Two: Bernard Moitessier, the legendary French single-handed sailor, was happy at sea. He’d found his nirvana aboard Joshua, somehow forging an alliance with the fickle and cruel Southern ocean. He could have won the race if he had chosen to finish it. But he didn’t. Nor did he retire. He just decided, after rounding the three capes, that the race was sullying his experience at sea. So, after rounding Cape Horn, instead of heading north, Moitessier just kept sailing east, making another half circle of the globe before he eventually made port in Tahiti.
One: The Englishman Robin Knox Johnston was the only one to finish, thereby winning both the trophy for the first to finish, and the £5,000 for being the quickest. He still races to this day, and still wins.

The ultimate challange
I still want to do it. I know there is no salvation. I know the Southern ocean offers no hope. I know I don’t have the mettle. But I would still like to see it. The sea still runs through these veins.

It was Moitessier above all that sparked my passion for solo sailing. I still love it, though I’ve not done much of it lately. His book about the Golden Globe, The Long Way, is a melding of mysticism, poetry, and sound seamanship. He knew the way. He knew how to sail. He’s still revered in France. Last I heard, his boat, Joshua, was being used to teach kids the joys of sailing. I long to see her. Maybe one day I can.

Britain's Mike Golding

Vendée 2008: The Characters
I know a lot of these guys from previous Vendée Globes. There are a lot of veterans, particularly the French. We also have our own Mike Golding, Alex Thompson, Dee Cafferty, and four other Brits. There’s also an Austrian, a Swiss, a Spaniard, an American, and Canadian to boot.

There’s a distinct separation between the seasoned hacks and the new guys. The weathered sailors have a good idea what to expect, so they’ll be a little more relaxed, at least in theory. The rookies won’t know what hit them, but if history is anything to go by, they’ll get the bug, vowing to come back and do it again.

There are two women in this edition, both Brits: Dee Cafferi on Aviva and Sam Davies on Roxy. I enjoy following women in this race, for they tend to add a certain honesty and realism about their lives at sea that the men hold back. Catherine Chabaud; Anne Liardet; Isabelle Autessier – the legendary French female sailors that overcame so much and added a much-needed human element to the adventure. The men are usually so circumspect, especially the French. They will not tell you how they are feeling; to them this admits a weakness that another might capitalize on.

Dee Cafferi's Aviva

The Boats
Think of a nice comfortable family cruising yacht. Then think again. There’s very little in common between the two, except that they both float and get their power from the wind. The IMOCA Open 60’s are basically just huge surfboards. (They’re called Open 60’s to differentiate them from One Designs, the latter being built to a single specification by a single designer. The Open 60 is a 60-footer, and can be of virtually any design or construction, so long as it passes the rigorous safety tests, including self-righting ability).

My yacht, Someday, was a 37-foot cutter with loads of room below. Two could (and did) live comfortably aboard. All the mod-cons you might expect.

Vincent Riou's PRB

In contrast, the 60-foot boats used in the Vendée Globe are spartan below. Think of the inside of a race-car – all the creature comforts are removed for weight and safety. The navigation station is the main hub, with a serious amount of electronic displays. Radars, weather fax, GPS, plotters, wind data, boat instrumentation, computers galore.
There’s a small bunk nearby where you can catch a few winks – usually only 20 to 45 minutes at a time. Most boats don’t even have a working head. Just a bucket.

Their top speed is around 30 knots. In comparison, Someday’s top speed was 9.5 knots. Her only electronics were GPS and radar.

Very fast boats - and very wet

The Open 60’s are awesome machines. This time more than half the fleet are purpose built for this edition of the Vendée. This means faster, lighter, stronger: all around high-tech boats, worth millions of pounds each. And at least half of them are going to break. Keels falling off, rudders breaking, or, the most popular breakage: dismasting.

In order to even get around – and that is the paramount goal (except for the French – each and every one of them is in it to win) – each skipper has to balance a number of factors:

Racing
Most will be happy just to get around. Most of the rookies and those on older boats fall into this category.
The rest of the fleet are fiercely competitive. They will do anything within their power to get ahead and stay ahead. Especially the French, though don’t count out Mike Golding from England.

Broken keel

Breakage
You want to go fast, but the faster you go the more you risk breaking something. You are alone, at times thousands of miles from any port. To break something – even a halyard – can not only mean losing places but perhaps losing your life. This is not like driving a car, where road conditions are relatively predictable. The ocean is a fickle and ferocious animal, and conditions can change very quickly. Pounding through a 15 foot swell or surfing down 50-foot waves can really take their toll on a boat. The competitors will be flying the maximum amount of sail for the conditions, and then some.

The solo racing sailor is in a constant battle between keeping the speed up and saving the boat. Those whose goal is to finish will consider the boat in the first instance; those who are out to win will constantly be making difficult decisions: we’re going very fast, we need to keep going fast, but the boat’s taking a beating; will she hold up? Maybe I should change sails or drop a reef… When the (prudent) cruising sailor finds himself asking these questions, he changes sail. The racing sailor, on the other hand, will psyche himself out, play a battle of wits, all sail up while the barometer drops and the swell grows – there’s miles ahead and boats right behind. But the cost of waiting just slightly too long to make that sail change can mean the end. The wind gusts just as the bows dive into a trough, the boat accelerating so hard that the bow slams into the wave rather than riding above it. And maybe this time the crash is little louder than usual, for the rig – all 30 metres of it – has just snapped. And now it’s survival mode. Sailboats aren’t very stable without their masts…

Are these boats designed to be sailed full speed in treacherous conditions? Yes and no. The winners of the previous Vendée’s will say yes, if you look after the boat. The skippers dismasted will still say yes, but with a caveat: I was pushing too hard.

Only experience can instruct on the balance.

The sound below can be deafening, especially when beating to weather. The hulls are very thin, with no insulation, and everything is flexing and groaning. Windward, everything is crashing, no matter how well you stowed the lockers. It’s like the whole boat (and everything in it) is lifted up and then slammed back down – again and again.
You get used to which sounds are ‘normal’ and which are warnings. You can be fast asleep but your senses will tell you something has changed. Instantly awake, a moment later knowing either exactly what it is – and so charge into action – or, less welcoming, not knowing what it is. The heart beats faster, the adrenalin starts pumping. You’re in the middle of the ocean and it’s middle of night, pitch dark, and you hear the sound of water gurgling. There’s always water splashing past the hull and over the decks, but this sound, this sound shouldn’t be there. This is where we win or lose.

The solo racing sailor isn’t just a master sailor. Nor is he just a survivalist. He must also be an engineer, quick on his feet, ready to repair, rebuild, and outthink every single system on his boat. And there are a lot of them. Hydraulics, electronics, carbon fibre repair, generators, sail making, making something out of nothing. These sailors must also be master engineers.

Physical Survival
There are thousands of miles in the southern ocean where rescue is not an option. Almost all rescues during previous editions have been by other competitors rather than any Coast Guard. The route through the Southern ocean is too far from Australia and Chile for any hope of air rescue; help must come from the sea. Most times the only people remotely close by are your rivals.
Pete Goss’s rescue of Raphael Dinelli in 1996, and Mike Golding’s rescue of Alex Thompson during 2004’s Velux are two dramatic illustrations of how remote this area of the planet realty is.

Mental Survival
For me, this is probably the most intriguing challenge of solo sailing. In 2005, I sailed Someday solo across the Atlantic, a dream I’d had for years. That dream was fuelled by the likes of the original solo sailors – particularly Bernard Moitessier. Among other things, I was curious to see how I’d handle it mentally. I think I was striving for a Moitessier-like mystical existence on the open ocean, appreciating and using the voyage as a means to a deeper spiritual understanding of myself and my place in the world. I was fully rewarded on that front, but those moments were few, relative to the time I was out there. I also experienced a lot of frustration, fear, exhaustion, and seasickness. In the end it was just a matter of getting to the other side rather than relishing the adventure. There was no serenity in the adversity.

The sailors in the Vendée all have their own hopes for adventure, glory, and maybe even salvation. Some are back to overcome past failures – (Golding and Thomson come to mind); others to see through the final hurdle in their professional sailing careers. And then there are those who are doing it because they have to. It’s in their blood. (Bilou, Mich Desj, and Riou come to mind).

Sponsor's logos and colours

Sponsorship
Most of the sailors that participate in the Vendée are professionals. This is how they make their living. Who pays for it? Same way most successful athletes are paid: sponsorship, speaking engagements, book deals, media.

These are very, very expensive boats, with a lot of very expensive equipment that takes huge supporting teams and prepateurs to ensure they’re ready for the starting line.
Their commitments to sponsors continue through the months and years of preparation, right up to the start day. Sponsors have guests, they have commercial (and sometimes philanthropic) ambitions, and their investments must be shown a return. So sailor must smile, even though in these final days before the start he would much rather be home with his family or making miles out at sea.

In the Golden Globe back in 1969, sponsorship was both harder to come by and much less lucrative. It wasn’t the polished money-making media machine that it is today, or at least not for sailors. And their boats were most certainly not named for the money-men. But then again, many of the boats in the Golden Globe were home-built, or at best one-off designs targeted at the cruising sailor, and so much less expensive.

A French Sponsor for Canada

As you look at the Vendée boats leaving Sable d’Olonne, you may not recognize all the logos – that is because most of them are French. The French excel at this game. It’s in their nature. But rest assured, every boat out there is named for the company who sponsors her. Some say this is progress, that this will bring greater media attention and therefore more excitement from the general public. That must be good, but I have trouble justifying the means. Whatever happened to naming your boat after something meaningful to you, to you, the solo sailor who will spend three to four months alone aboard your boat, your constant and only companion?
What happened to Suilhila, Joshua, Gypsy Moth, Spray?

Attrition
Typically there’s a lot of action in the Bay of Biscay (between France and Africa). The Atlantic storms roll on through unimpeded until Biscay, where the land below shallows quickly. Combine this with a strong current and you’re up for a challenge. Many a Vendée boat has had to retire, turn back for repairs (allowed within a 7 day window from the start), or just throw in the towel.
It’s going to be brutal. Those that make it around the Cape of Good Hope under Africa will now be heading through the Indian and then the Southern oceans. This is where we’ll see even further carnage. The Southern Ocean is the loneliest, scariest, most dangerous place on the planet. Storms rage across thousands of miles of open ocean, unimpeded by land masses, growing in strength. Wave heights of 50 or 60 feet are the norm. This is serious sailing.

Dismastings. Capsizes. Catastrophic failures. Icebergs. Daring ocean rescues. The Vendée Globe makes for an excitement-packed three months. Although the danger is real and serious, every boat is equipped with redundant communication systems, electronic beacons, life rafts, and other safety gear. But even the best technology is no match for the southern ocean. In 1992 the Canadian sailor Gerry Roufs was lost. His boat disappeared, and no signal from his automatic beacon was ever received. A year later part of the wrecked hull was found on the Chilean coast. To date he has been the only Vendée sailor to perish.

Not so for the Golden Globe of 1968. Two lost their lives.

Well, some say one, but I say two.

The most well-known story of that race is that of Donald Crowhurst, the dark horse. He lacked off-shore sailing experience, and his boat, Teignmouth Electron, built specifically for this race, wasn’t ready for such a voyage. She hadn’t been tested properly; much of the necessary equipment had been left back at the dock; and Crowhurst himself had serious reservations about the voyage. But he felt he had to go. His business, his home, his reputation all depended upon a good showing.
Turns out that instead of sailing southwards down the Atlantic and then round Africa to the Indian Ocean, Crowhurst just sailed in lazy circles in the middle of the Atlantic, sending false position reports, faking his log, slowly going crazy with the effort of his duplicity.
He eventually jumped overboard, leaving his trimaran a-drift. His body was never found.

The second casualty of the 1968 Golden Globe was Nigel Tetley. He had sailed under the three capes and was within 1,000 miles of home when his ailing Trimaran finally sank. He was in the lead at the time. He was rescued, but the experience preyed on his mind. A year later he hung himself.

In past Vendée Globe races the attrition rate was about 50%, so this time, out of the 30 boats starting we can expect to see 15 making it home.

What is it really like?
I’ve not sailed an Open 60, nor have I sailed the Southern Ocean, so I can only extrapolate based on my own experience and my close interest in the event.
Solo sailing is richly rewarding, especially offshore at night, the wind 15 to 20, the sky dazzling with stars, the water swooshing past the hull, the boat happy, well-heeled, moving.
There’s a rich feeling of connection. All there is is boat, water, and sky. They all come together, and for a while you know them like nothing you’ve ever known before.
That’s the pleasant part.
But the wind picks up, and the seas build, and there’s nothing anywhere to stop the swell. The waves get higher and more fierce. At this point I heave-to – essentially putting the brakes on and calming the boat’s motion.
The Vendée sailors will not heave-to unless in a survival situation. There will be no rest. Their voyage will be both physically and mentally exhausting, every day, for 3 to 4 months. Even just sitting below on a heaving yacht takes energy; moving about to even more so. You are constantly battling the boat’s movements though the waves.
I went offshore for the pleasure and the challenge; these crazy fuckers are racing. I was never too tired to take in a reef – I am a very conservative sailor – but I was often too tired to shake one out. This dialog cannot happen for the Vendée skippers. Everything is about making the boat go as fast as possible within the boundaries you have set for yourself.

The Sailors
There are too many sailors to go into here, but I will mention a few that I will be following in the coming months.

Michel Desjoyeaux / Foncia
This is “Mich Desj”’s 2nd Vendée Globe. The “Proffessor” won the Vendée in 2000 (barely beating Dame Ellen Macarther), and is basically the most successful and highly regarded single-handed sailor in the world.
“In a single-handed race I consider that the boat makes one third of the result, two thirds is from the man”

Vincent Riou / PRB
Very cool and collected – very wise about ‘not asking too many questions’.
Winner 2004.

Roland (Bilou) Jourdain / Véolia Environment
3rd time(3rd in 2000, retired in 2004), A Favourite. A mentor and friend to many of the other skippers.

Mike Golding / Ecover
One of the 7 Brits, Golding finished 3rd 2004, after somehow completing the last 500 miles without a keel. I’ve been following him for awhile – I hope he does well.

Jean-Pierre Dick / Paprec Virbac 2
This is Jean-Pierre’s 2nd time around, finishing 6th in 2004. He is another favourite to win.

Jean Le Cam / VM Materieaux
Finished 2nd in 2004, only six hours behind Vincent Riou. You can bet he’s out to win this time.

Sam Davies/Roxy
One of the two female contenestants, her ability to fix things explains her nick name: Ms. MacGyver. This is her first time around.

Brian Thompson/ Bahrain Team Pindar
The most extreme boat. It is heavier than the others, with a taller mast and heavier sails. The idea is a more stable boat, with fewer sail changes, while still remaining competitive. It will be very interesting to see how she performs.
Also interesting is the fact that Pindar is sponsored by the Kingdom of Bahrain.

Derek Hatfield / Algimouss Spirit of Canada
The only Canadian on the 1st Candian-built Open 60. I think he’s sailing more for the adventure rather than to win. He’s also working closely with Earth Rangers, an environmental charity.

Rich Wilson / Great American III
A successful mathemetician, oldest sailor in the fleet. Not a favourite to win, but I hope he finishes.

Bernard Stamm / Cheminées Poujoulat
A highly regarded sailor with many records to his name, Bernard has been around twice. 3rd time lucky?

Dominque Wavre / Temenos II
3rd time around. A swiss to watch.

Raphael Dinelli / Foundation Ocean Vital
Had to be rescued in 1996. 4th attempt. Another one to watch.

Alex Thompson / Hugo Boss
Alex is the one I’m rooting for. Some tremendous bad luck the last two times, and just two weeks ago was struck by a fishing boat off of Sables. The boat has been repaired, so hopefully he can still remain competitive. Most important will be Alex to get his head back into the right place.

Dee Cafferi / Aviva
Sailed the “wrong way” around, the first woman to do so. If she completes this race she’ll be the first woman to sail non-stop around the world in both directions. Aviva is purpose-built for this Vendée, and is a sister ship to Mike Golding’s Ecover.

.

The race had already started!
See the Vendéeglobe website for full coverage, including an RSS feed.
Most (if not all) competitors also have their own websites with feeds or email lists.

Recommended reading:
A Voyage for Madmen, by Peter Nichols
A well-written account of the Golden Globe of 1968.
The Long Way, by Bernard Moitessier
The master’s account of the same race.

So long, Someday

It gives me great pleasure (and more than a tinge of sadness) to announce that

SOMEDAY HAS BEEN SOLD!

She was my constant companion for six wonderful years, but the time had come to hand her over to someone who could give her more quality time.

I bought her in Charleston, South Carolina, in 2000. That was the very reason I was there: to find a good boat, live aboard her, get some sea miles under my keel, then sail the Atlantic single-handed.

Which is precisely what I proceeded to do, although things took a little longer than I thought. Five years, instead of the three I was originally thinking.

Not that this was five years of hardship. Not by a long stretch. South Carolina has a very agreeable climate, and during my time there I met a very special and beautiful woman (who I ended up marrying). Morning on the beach, tanning, swimming, maybe a beer. Afternoons we’d often head out for sail in the harbour, definitely a beer. Once back to the dock, I’d congratulate myself on my docking, then get the BBQ going as Sharon would marinate the shrimp. Drinks and dinner in the cockpit, watching the river and the goings on at the marina. Then to the stateroom, about which I’ll say no more.

We had a pretty good life there when Sharon was visiting.

When she was back in Scotland or Peru or wherever else, I’d work on the boat, go for solo sails, and drink too much at the local bar.

I did work hard on this boat – she certainly needed it when I got her. But finally, in July 2005 she was ready, and so was I. I set off solo from Charleston, South Carolina, and seven weeks later, arrived in Troon, Scotland. It was an incredible trip, with lots of ups and downs. Storms, equipment failure, sea-sickness. Excitement, exhilaration, serenity, satisfaction.

The weather here is certainly a large factor in my decision to sell her. I’ll drive a motorcycle in any weather, but I prefer sailing in tropical conditions. But I also have less time: since arriving here two years ago I’ve gotten married, bought a house, and sired a son. I’m not complaining, mind you. Our house has a view of the harbour, my wife is lovely and generous (and my best friend), and my little boy is a joy. I guess I’m just no longer interested in maintaining a 37-foot blue-water yacht.

She’ll need work and money to bring her back to pre-Atlantic condition, but that’s what boats are for. To work at and to sink money into. Many sailors I’ve met spend many more hours cleaning and working on their boats than actually sailing them.

The proud new owners are a nice couple from Hartlepool. They certainly know their stuff, and seem to have a passion for strong classic boats. Many thanks to Western Horizon Yachts who did an excellent job on both her on-line presentation and on getting the word around to the boating community.

I’ll miss Someday. She’s a beautiful, strong boat, full of character. She carried me safely through many thousands of treacherous miles. Someday we’ll get another.

(also see related post Coming Soon).