Vendée Globe

It is dark outside. The road is poorly lit. There are no lights, not even the stars.  When I say road, perhaps I should have said farm track.  The best way of looking at it is to say that this is like racing straight across some ploughed up fields.

The speed is fast, very fast.  The revs are high. The car hits each furrow sending the earth flying.  Earth is splattered all over the windscreen. Flying through the air, the car falls back to earth making a hell of a racket. You grip the wheel to avoid getting thrown out. What’s more this rally is quite special: there is no limit. It just goes on and on for days and nights.
There is no point looking for a short cut or secret path as, quite simply, there are none.  The only consolation is that it is the same for everyone. Behind, as out at the front, they are subjected to the same rodeo regime.
Of course, in the Vendée Globe, there are a few differences.  The furrows are liquid, uneven, and metres high. Neptune's big plough has not been working well. So, to sail upwind in this chaos of foam, the job is even more complicated.  The whole boat suffers. The most violent movements are concentrated on particular points on the shrouds and keel. They are known as alternating strains, and like a piece of wire you keep bending, one day it will snap.
But you never give up. Just keep up the pace despite the permanent fear that a vital part will break and that all your hard work will be reduced to nothing in a fraction of a second.

No choice
You have to keep going south whatever happens. So you turn the power on full, trimming the sails to slam your way through these confused waves.
Try to forget the long surf in the sleigh ride through the Forties, with the boat on an even keel.  Saint Helena, who is in charge of the high, is demanding penitence this year: five days of upwind sailing, heeling over to starboard. Only later will it be possible to enjoy the delights of downwind sailing.
St. Helena demands you live by the laws of physics.  To sail upwind, the sails need to be sheeted in.  So you are heeled over to 30°, living on a slope like those mythical mountain creatures, the Dahus.
In the cabin, the skippers are contrite, making their penitence to St Helena. You are alone. It is just getting dark. The seas are getting rougher. Each time the boat takes off from a wave, you wonder if the eight-tonne hull will withstand the impact. Instinctively, you prepare yourself for the shock and can only wait. The impact is violent and the braking effect immediate.
Leaning over to compensate for the heel, you have to hold on tight to avoid being thrown forward. Standing up straight, which is a basic reflex that you learnt in your childhood, now becomes a difficult task, which requires so much effort that it monopolises your brain and muscles. This exercise alone can consume almost 1000 calories a day and so is very tiring.
Next, you have to move around. Just a few metres across the cabin resembles a mountain climb. Imagine you are in a room with a ceiling tilted by 30°. What’s more, it is vibrating all over the place, rising up, sinking down, leaping forward, stopping, leaning backwards, levelling out. Yet, there is no alternative. You just have to get through.
Walking is a simple act and something so ordinary we do not usually have to think about it, but here progress on your feet is slow and each tiny movement is considered beforehand. Before doing anything, however simple, you have to check that you have a good hold to avoid being thrown around.  Caution, concentration, anticipation. Every step requires the same routine: find the right place to hold on to, take advantage of the boat’s movement to lurch towards it and seize it with the tips of your fingers, plan your the next step, then wait for the right moment to start again and move forward, step by step making sure you do not slip on the sloping surface.
Standing up is by definition the most unstable position and, together with the instability of the boat, the risks of falling are high. It is sometimes advisable to drop to your knees and move by crawling around this empty cabin, where there are few things to hold on to. Kneeling in front of St. Helena is something she may appreciate.

Waterborne acrobatics
But when there is an emergency, you simply do not have time to hang around.  So it all ends up with a spectacular slide across the cabin, or you lose your balance and tumble backwards. The skippers can really hurt themselves.
In the cockpit, under the spray and tons of water that come crashing off the coach roof, caution is even more important, as your hands are busy during manoeuvres.  It is not easy to wedge yourself in place and find your footing so you can use your muscles to stay upright. It quickly becomes an acrobatic routine unlike virtually any other.
In a few days, it will be better. Until then, you just have to hang in there under the watchful gaze of St. Helena. And remember that you should always, always hold on — "one hand for you and one for the boat", as ancient mariners used to say.

Dr Jean-Yves Chauve
 

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