Emails from the Edge

Mark Chisnell looks back at perhaps the most remarkable communication sent out from Kingfisher in the past three months

Right from the start, Ellen MacArthur has been determined to share her Vendee adventure with the world. The stream of emails, audio recordings and images coming from Kingfisher has been one of the most remarkable elements of her race - particularly when you consider the conditions under which some of them were sent.

But if we had to choose, this one would be the stand-out for us at madforsailing, whether she now thinks this is her worst moment or not doesn't really matter, it typifies both her courage and her ability to communicate the experience. Ladies and gentlemen, we give you ...

Ellen on Sunday morning, 17th December 2000

Position 47° 50.1S 077° 19.3E
Heading/speed 158 degrees and 12.87 knots
Wind 295 degrees at 19.3 knots
Pressure 1002 millibars
Air temperature 4 degrees Celsius
Sea temperature 3.1 degrees Celsius

As I sit here now I feel worse than I have ever felt in my life before ... physically I am totally exhausted, and mentally - not so far off. My whole body aches, and I feel drained. My mind feels like it's been frozen, and is trying to wake. Yesterday was the hardest challenge of my life, though funnily this morning feels ten times worse.

It started when the tack of the staysail blew off. The sail had been set to windward, as the wind was well over 40 knots. The day had been fantastic - surfing at over 30 knots, and really feeling we were catching the others, and then our stupid course to the north. I am learning so much - sailing the boat is one of those things - and only yesterday did we seem to have got it right in strong downwind conditions.

As the sail flew into the air I bore away quickly to hide it behind the mainsail. I dropped the halyard immediately and went on to the foredeck to sort out the mess, not easy in 45 knots, but we were slower without the sail - I just had to hold my breath as the waves ploughed over the bow. It was then that she started to go - to gybe, and before I could make it back to the cockpit her deck was vertical, and we were lying helplessly on our side.

In itself this is a fairly bad situation to be in - but what was to come was far worse. As she lay on her side the mainsail lay crookedly on the runners - I fought to get the other runner on to release her from this agonising position - but it was difficult climbing up the deck. We did it - then gybed over - but had to go back as the runners were caught around the top battens. By this stage one of the battens had broken - in fact the car it travels on too - and although annoyed I know this does happen - and is not so bad to fix ... or so I thought.
On further inspection, and about 20 minutes to sort out the mess I realised that I couldn't get the mainsail down to fix the problem. In fact the batten was pushing forward over the second spreader - and neither love, money nor the best will in the world was going to let me lower that sail with out going up there to remove the batten. Going up the rig is generally the solo sailors worst nightmare - but going up in 40 knots plus - just doesn't bare thinking about.

I knew I had to do it. I knew that if the wind rose further I would be unable to get down the sail. In my mind I had no option - I just went into autopilot - put on my harness, rigged up a taut halyard and climbed.

It was bitterly cold, the biting wind cutting into the bare skin on my hands and face, the first part to the first spreader was OK - not too much movement, and I still had energy - but the second part to the second spreader was ten times harder with each inch I climbed. I was beginning to get tired - as each wave we surfed on (which were about ten meters high) was trying to throw me off the mast. As I got to the second spreader I had just two feet to go, but it felt those were the hardest two feet of my life.

I struggled to inch my way up, and hung there a while banging away at the mast trying to recover. I found the energy from I don't know where - and made it onto the spreader. The batten was in front of me, and if I timed it on the surfs I could pull it out. Relieved it would come I dropped it to the deck.

I was now quite cold, and shaking with the effort, you'd think getting down is the easy bit - but in fact it took me further to the edge than I wished to go.

I had to take each jumar [climbing equipment] in turn and lower it - taking the weight of the working one to put it on the lazy one. Each few inches I descended I had to take my weight with my hands - or legs - which proved exhausting still.

I arrived at one point with a slack jumar and an unattached one - with all my weight on my right wrist in one of the webbing loops on the sail. I hung there - banging into the mast - trying desperately, and unsuccessfully to get my foot through the gap between the sail and the mast. I started to hurt badly - still no joy. Goodness knows how I managed to get that other jumar on - but I think that hospital kids had a fair lot to do with it, and the want to get back home again.

It took over an hour to get down - just 15 meters... a painful hour. Once on the deck I was shaking but overjoyed - and set about fixing the issues. The batten I changed - another I tightened and sewed a part of a spreader patch on.

I barely had the energy to put the sail back up again, then collapsed in the cockpit. As I dashed about the deck working my vision went funny - I was seeing stars permanently, as if I was about to black out. Bizarre - I didn't but wonder if it's something to do with adrenaline or having been closed to the edge, or then again maybe I was just frozen.

I was so glad to have made the repair, but till this morning really didn't realise how much it had taken out of me.

This morning was worse. I saw a rip in the genoa, along the foot. I tried to sleep last night - but was worried about it - so at first light tried to fix it. It was impossible - even with the sail sheeted hard behind the main it flapped and flicked in my face, and ripped the stitching out that I was trying to put in [the sail is permanently up, to take it down is very very difficult right now, so she is forced to try to repair with it in place]. Hence this morning is one of the worst. I cannot sail at full potential, the sail I need is out of action. SO frustrating. And now - to top it all - after putting up the gennaker in 17 knots of wind - it's now blowing 28 and on the limit.

After trying to fix that sail I was at my lowest point in the race. I cried out loud to the heavens, just sometimes you have those moments - and that was one of them. After almost killing myself yesterday to keep going and fix the problems whilst hanging in with the fleet, today I am losing miles, because of a stupid tear in a sail. So frustrating, I can't sleep, or switch off.

Something else I guess I have to learn ...

The good news is though the sun has come out. Maybe I'll get a chance to dry out that sail.

Thanks so much for following me everyone. The support emails are fantastic. They really change my days, and give me more than just a reason to be out here. Sharing this challenge is one of the most important things for me. Second to - though I have to say - making it back home to France!

till tomorrow...

ellen

ps. I have an admission to make. I've broken into the next ten day box of food three days ahead of schedule ... to raid the chocolate. I just needed some instant energy, stole the Maltesers, Snickers and dried pears. This must be looking up.