Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Muckle Flugga at the northernmost tip of the British Isles is one of those places you learn about in school, then push to the back of your mind for the occasional recollection in a pub quiz. For the past few days among the crew of Puma Logic it has been the very centre of our universe.
It’s the turning point, the corner, the pinnacle of our northerly beat through almost unrelenting winds at a time of year we ought to be sunbathing. Instead most of our sun cream is still packed away in the darkest reaches of the hold where sloshing bilge water penetrates all but the most tightly sealed container.
In all the buffeting we have taken sea water has penetrated the food bags, destroying some of our meals and forcing a stock take this afternoon. We have enough but the menu will need adjusting.
The watches have been adjusted too, playing to strengths and weaknesses. Just now, with two crew nursing injuries — although nothing broken — we are talking about more of the latter.
In the circumstances morale remains remarkably high. But the way to get through these endurance events is to take your sleep when you can, eat when you can and always save one hand for the boat.
Just now, chasing second place in our class, we are pushing the boat hard. Philippe Falle, our skipper, is quite the Captain Bligh at times, demanding ever faster sail changes and boat speeds. We trim the sails constantly through the night. Downtime? There is no downtime.
It’s like that old song, ‘three wheels on my wagon, and I’m still rollin’ along.’, except the Cherokees are in front and behind.
How long this can be sustained is anybody’s guess. The yacht itself has held together well since our steering breakage a week ago, achieving impressive speeds But can the crew hold together?
People are not machines, even when asked to work like one. We are still feeling the loss of our first mate, Sara Stanton, to salmonella — the good news is that she is out of hospital and recovering at home. I wish I was recovering at home too and would gladly swap beds. In the same way I know she would rather be here.
Isn’t life cruel? The one who would rather be sailing, and whose skills we miss so much, cannot be with us. While the one who would rather be fishing — that’s me - whose skills would hardly be missed at all, is feeling really quite well.
I’m cast as the fly in the ointment on this boat, Philippe’s very own Fletcher Christian. All the pumped-up motivational stuff leaves me cold and probably makes some believe I couldn’t care less how we finish this race. But I do care.
Before we started we spent time working on a list of team values — a set of principles that would govern our behaviour on the boat. Among them are words such as ‘respect for the sea’, ‘positivity’, ‘sensitivity’ and ‘enjoyment’. There’s also ‘harmony’.
At times I will admit that I have struggled to embrace every one of these values and I doubt if I’m alone in that. But I think that all of us keep the first one at heart. As far as we finish safely and as friends, I’ll be happy.
Wherever you may be reading these lines it might be tempting to believe they have been knocked off in a few idle moments. In fact, between sentences I’m passing up buckets of dirty bilge water on deck. My bunk is occupied by an injured crew mate and it is time to make lunch.
A word here about bunks and lunch: we ‘hot bunk’ on board, taking whatever is available; but most of us seem to have our favourite spot. Mine is a kind of ‘nest’ on the high side using a spare mattress shaped against the sail cloth. Get the nest right and sleep is assured.
Lunch today is fresh-baked bread and soup. There is the immaculate conception and there is fresh-baked bed in 20 knots of wind. We have made the bread so that, at least, is something in which we can believe.
So on to Muckle Flugga it has another, unrepeatable nickname her on board Puma. Just above on the chart, in big purple letters, it says: Area To Be Avoided. Can’t anyone read?
By Richard Donkin
15 August 2006
