Skipper, boat, weather

Lia Ditton reports from mid-Atlantic on board her 35ft trimarna Shockwave in the Faraday Mill OSTAR

I  am currently sitting with the majority of my clothing around me, inside the cabin. It certainly can't be called a saloon, the sleeping quarters, the crew mess or any other name of grandeur.

Being 7ft by 4ft with a convex ceiling and concave floor, it resembles more like a tunnel. To avoid further unnecessary deliberation, we shall simply call it 'the Inside,' for this is the purpose that it serves. The reason that my clothes are hanging around me and not on me should be quite obvious. They are wet! The trampolines of a racing tri are unique in their ability to jet water up your trouser leg and down your boot. Nice! It is not simply the cool trickle down the boot nor the gradual absorption of unwelcome water by the sock which is most unpleasant, it is the self-resignation that for the duration of the
voyage, the boots will be parked beside, on top of or behind [which ever works best!] the generator during all charging times. Ultimately there arrives the realisation that despite all efforts, to stew or steam, the boot will never be dry. Trying to not to look, after 20 odd days in the North Atlantic, as if one too had been sat to stew like a prune in juice for three weeks, I can see, is going to be an art in itself. 
 
There are events which occur in our lives which from a humble age we cannot possibly have foreseen. Several weeks ago, on a Monday morning, I was up the mast with a hairdryer, attempting to set off the epoxy, which was to hold in place the roots of my third set of spreaders. [What I wouldn't give for a hairdryer right now] Now if you had asked me at 14, what I invisaged myself doing aged 25, up a mast with a hairdryer would not have been it. Ask me again and racing across the Atlantic by oneself in craft that prefers to fly rather than sail, and weighs in at a whopping 1.4 tonnes, would not have been it either. 'Are you mad?' the nurse teaching one aspect of the Ships Captain's Medical Exam in Cape Town had remarked. There is of course an element of madness in the endeavour of the man who sailed around Ireland in his wardrobe, or the other chap who sailed across the Atlantic in an 8ft pod with his food packed around him. At least comparatively I have chosen the express train.
 
Anything that hurtles at speed is bound to suffer from stress cracks. [Not to mention its pilot!] While writing the above yesterday, I was forced to abort mission by the wind picking up outside. How dare it indeed?! Over the course of yesterday the waves not only doubled in size but the wind blew to 30 knots, gusting at times to 40. By late afternoon I was trying not to prospone the inevitable: a third reef in the main. Having carefully considered the proceedure, I set about executing the task successfully until one of the track cars pulled out of the main halyard track. This has happened before - the track gate [a piece of track which unscrews in order to fit the sliders [cars] in] forms a slightly wider slot than the rest of the track. More annoyed than surprised, I scrambled below to find both a flat head screw driver [Gerber would suffice] and hex head Allen key; curses that the two screws were different heads. Of course along comes a wave and the two cars above which were being juggled in one hand, to stop them sliding
down and out of the track as well, are now flying in the breeze. About as frustrating as trying to stock a side opening deck fridge with canned drinks on a rolling megayacht. Finally I manage to wrestle [and I mean wrestle] the flailing track cars back into the blasted track. By the time the main is sheeted smartly in, all tail tales nodding in agreement, than I feel the inner call for fourth reef!

Sensing that this might not be the end of my sail-shortening for the evening, I decide to move swiftly past foiurth reef, onto fivth reef, which of course there isn't and lash the whole beastly unmanageble wet package to the boom and consider it job done. I had been reminded by the question 'Hows the rig?' [Like it was expected to fall down any minute,] by Simon, who had been watching 'Shockwave's track [www.?] on screen, that perhaps I had been going a bit gun-ho for the previous 24 hours and with 40 knot gusters on the cards, now was the time to ease off the accelerater peddle. Admittedly I had been cranking some wicked 14.4-16 knot surfs UPWIND and anyone who has had the pleasure of sailing Shockwave, would confirm that experiencing her rip along as if on rails [no matter how much water she ploughs in the meantime] is an irresistible thing. To add insult to injury, I noticed that that one of the main sheet blocks was about to split open her side. Looking at it sideways and suffering now from negative motivation and instantaneous grumblings of mock-starvation, I decided that it was not going to destroy itself just yet and that a seriously good lashing around the block would secure it until a more fortuitous occasion reared its head. Haha.

Following such an unexpectedly strenous afternoon exertion, I at this point collapse into what I have begun refering to as the 'armchair'.
 
The 'Armchair', is a joke. Let's be frank. There is a great lyrical pop song by 'Baz Luhrman,' which was written as a speech for an American High School Graduation, called 'Dont forget the Sunscreen.' There is a fantastic line in the song, which goes 'Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone,' and another which lyricises 'Do one thing every day, which scares you. Floss!' While sitting in 'The Armchair,' these lyrics amuse me. Shockwave is far from kind to one's knees! But the "Armchair," is not too bad. Stand in the cockpit facing aft. Take one step backwards and sit on the companion way step, [I find a gaffa-taped length of pipe insulation prevents nasty chafe!] with your back against the chartplotter [try your best not to reset any of its functions!] and drape the cabintop dodger over your head and all the way to your knees! Now you have arrived. And so it was in the 'Armchair,' that I woke up around 9, a little disorientated [facing aft will do that for you] cold and damp. 
 
Skipper, boat, weather, I wrote on the wall, in order of priority. With the wind generator having taken care of the power issue of the day, the generator would for the next two hours be dedicated to drying out Lia [as much as possible.]. It was time to strip, yep to the socks, yep all the way to base layers and crawl inside the ONE thing and ONLY thing which I have managed to preserve in an acceptable state of dryness; my invincible Oceansleep wear sleeping bag. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou for this wonderful invention. The DRYBAG. Unlike, the Drysuit, does exactly what it says it does. Lia's furtive imagination now pictures a wearable, all-in-one piece jumpsuit version for on deck exposure, hmm attractive! I was so cold in fact, that I was prepared to seek out a treasure. Perhaps there was one labelled 'Cold & Wet, West of Ireland?' For it appeared from the outset, that I was not only embarking on a solo transatlantic crossing, but in fact a 2500 mile treasure hunt.

I was extremely lucky to have an amazing team of friends help with final preparations for the race. This meant that I did not pack it all myself. Far from it. All sorts of illicit items- a hairbrush?! [whose going to see?!] Nail varnish?! [Havne't done it for years, but good for labelling things!] found their way on board, including a series of labelled packages. Hilariously, these ask questions, 'In need of evening entertainment?' 'Cold in the North Atlantic?' or  state, 'No body else will have one of these,' or 'Every boat should have one of these,' which is the one which has gripped me most with intrigue. When I think of what every boat should have, I can list an array of relatively purposeful objects, flash lights, boat hook, bucket, warp line... etc.  An approximately 50cm long squishy-by-touch cylinder, fails to fall into any of these categories of usefulness, short of  being a very bizarre sponge, perhaps for awkward corners? I continue to suppose. In the meantime I ripped open, 'Cold in the North Altantic,' to find... no, not a small teddy bear, no not a hand-warming sachet, but a friend with a sense of humour: a thermometer. 'Tell us, Lia, how cold was it?' I am wondering what measuring tool I have been supplied with, for 'The waves were this big...!'
 
The sun is currently out and the sky has cleared. Perfect on deck weather, one might think, if you are a particular fan of cold-spray in the face! We are tracking about 217 True at around 7 knots, to get away from from the windless centre of the low. More importantly my feet are nearly dry and my appetite is gradually springing back into action, looking forward as much as it is possible to look forward to 'Chicken and herb dumplings; May contain bones.' I appreciate the warning on the packet. Always good to know that the chicken, once upon a time, came from a real chicken! More later. Lx.