As many of the skippers to the south of the Equator, Jean-Pierre Dick (Paprec-Virbac 2) has been through some slamming seas over the past few days, which have given him some tiring conditions:

"Everything is fine on board.  I'm currently sailing at 16 knots and the wind is getting up again.  It was a rather tough day yesterday with 20-25 knot winds, so the pace was very fast. I had a lot of manoeuvres to do, which is physically demanding.  I got a good sleep and got back into third place during the night, which is good news.  There was quite a lot of wind early on, so I got a move on."

 

Brian Thompson (Bahrain Team Pindar) is in eleventh place 236 miles from the leader. Currently sailing at the latitude of Espirito Santo, he offers us a lesson in astronomy, as he admires the night sky:
 "During the night it was again crystal clear, and you could see the stars, low down to the horizon. Orion and the Pleiades were very clear to the East and to the South East were the 2 cloud like dwarf galaxies called the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds, some of my favourite objects in the sky. You need a very dark and clear night to see their subtle form, like bits of the Milky Way that have broken away and are floating on their own. They are named after Ferdinand Magellan who saw them on his own Round the World voyage starting 1519, but actually it was Al Sufi, the Persian astronomer who first mentioned the Large Cloud in 964. He had to travel south to 12N to the Straits of Bab el Mandeb, to see them over the horizon, and he named the cloud Al Bakr, the White Ox. So on Bahrain Team Pindar, it’s Al Bakr from now on..."

 

As reported last night, Dee Caffari (Aviva) lost one of her mainsheet blocks yesterday, but managed to replace it.  Here in her night message she explains how she soon got over it:
"Just as I was feeling sorry for myself, wondering if I could take this pace and non-stop pressure for the rest of the course, my phone rang. I was surprised to hear Jonny's voice from Artemis. It was great to catch up and I was really pleased to speak to him. He told me about his doldrums and how yesterday he spent fixing things, I told him about my mainsail and having to hoist it again and we sympathised with each other. It was great therapy and we both agreed to stay in touch more often. I need to get a glimpse of his beard, he has yet to shave and I hope he goes the whole race without any razor action, as it will be a great sight.  Just like buses, there are either none or two come at once, and the next call was from Brian on Pindar Kingdom of Bahrain. He was sounding cool as a cucumber and I asked if he was still at supersonic speed and he told me no, just semi sonic speed. So he is human after all! We both commented on the intensity of the racing. It is impressive to say the least. It was great to feel the British spirit and we decided that we would all support each other more often, like group therapy on the iridium."

 

Message de la nuit envoyé par Armel Le Cléac’h à bord de Brit Air
 
«Brit Air went by the island of Trindade during the night. I was reading my second book, Bernard Moitessier's "The Long Route" and here's an extract:
 
"Land in sight on 29th September 1968.  Steady NE'ly wind, force 3, under sheer blue skies. Trindad is getting bigger and bigger and gradually reveals her colours, then all her details.  The island is high, with a very jagged coast, with huge cliffs which go from deep blue to mauve, according to their angle to the sun. There is some pink in there too, but not much green. A beautiful, very beautiful island. I would like to go around it, on the edge of the cliffs, sitting on the spreaders to get a good look at the shallow."  
Unfortunately for me, this island will just be a dot on the chart and so I won't be able to admire her beautiful colours. Maybe some other time?
Armel»

 

«Gosh!  In a few hours from now, one of the basic concepts we tell our children (and I was once) will crumble. Let me explain: "Tell us the story of the sun coming from behind us, Grandad.  Well, twenty years ago, as I was going down the South Atlantic trying to round the St. Helena high, (yes, once again she's on our mind), I was at the helm early in the afternoon and I couldn't see the sun, but the previous helmsman had told me to head south. I look at the compass: 180°, all is well, but still no sun ahead of me.  It is behind me!  Amazement. I check the compass; 180°.  Did they lie to me? They (in fact it was my mother, who told me this and so I thought it was the absolute truth) taught me: the sun rises in the east, is at its zenith in the south  and sets in the west. East-west.  OK. But for the south, there's a problem! Sometimes yes and sometimes no. Time for some practical work.  When did the sun suddenly move behind us? Another three days of heading south , before we turn left, so I'll have plenty of time to get used to it. No moon, but the stars are out.  The waves are coming in every direction, so impossible to go quickly.  We're leaping up and down, slamming, being shaken around.  Not nice.  Variable winds, and consequently speeds too.
Mich DESJ »

 

"Hi there, I'm pleased to be sheltering in my watertight veranda.  The neighbour appears to have left on his automatic watering system and if I want to admire the stars and the clouds, I need to put on the wet weather gear.  my veranda is gliding along nicely, or at least as well as can be hoped, leaning like the Tower of Pisa. It's one in thye morning and I've just had a night feast, gingerbread and some tea.
P.S.: If you see the neighbour tell him to turn it off!"
Arnaud Boissières (Akena Vérandas)