“It is eerily quiet on the boat as I write. It is never silent at sea, there is always the wind, the waves lapping and the buzz of the autopilot, but now, when the pilot stops for a few seconds or if you stand at the front where you are too far away to hear it there is only deafening silence..........there is not even any swell to slat the sails back and forth. The sea is like glass, and the sun is so bright you can't look to the horizon because of the glare. These conditions are not condusive to happy sailing, particularly if you are racing, but if you take the time to look a whole other world opens up. The water is the most indescribable blue with the sun directly overhead, and it illuminates the top few metres very well. If you look over the side you can see millions of small creatures, mainly simple animals, worms and creatures like free swimming (or drifting!) coral polyps, with bodies about an inch long and then inch long tentacles. They pass by in their millions, and at night when the stars are out in all their glory as we near the equator, they put on their own lightshow to match. If the boat is stopped, they just flash all around you, and if you are moving, they flash furiously as they are churned up by the wake.

When it is as flat as it is now, you also become aware of all the jellyfish that are around - hundreds of them, mainly small Portuguese Man-O-War, but other kinds with small sails too, which puts me off swimming I can tell you! Today though I had a treat, as we trundled along at about two knots, I looked up and saw something floating which I first thought was a wooden box, then I thought it was a dead animal, but it turned out to be a turtle! It was very near the boat, about as big as a dustbin lid, with a beard of red slimy looking weed around its shell. The top of its shell was clear of weed however, and brown but whitened with salt as it basked in the sun, raising its flippers out of the water to warm them too. It raised it's head to look at us as we went by, and then was gone. Magic! When I looked over the back of the boat earlier when we were actually moving, I saw what I thought was some fishing line around one of the rudders, and not wanting it to leave it there to finish up killing some poor creature I grabbed the boathook and fished it off to put it in the bin, but it wouldn't come free - it was very strong. When it did come and I dragged it aboard it turned out not to be fishing line, but the tentacle of a Portuguese Man-O-War, about five feet long! I threw it back and hurriedly washed my hands!”
Steve White (Toe in the Water) in his daily message
 

“After yesterday's visit by a Chilean naval patrol aircraft, about an hour ago, we were buzzed by a fighter plane, likely Royal Air Force from Falklands. Blue sky, moderate seas, many albatross early on, now fewer. I was struck by how cold it was last night, with the same northwest wind as we had in the pacific on the approach to Cape Horn. But there, the air was coming from the mid-latitudes of the Pacific, here it is coming down from the Andes, so same wind, vastly different temperature. Have contemplated wiring together the two wind wands at the top of the mast. One has windspeed, but no direction, the other, I thought, had direction but no windspeed. By cross wiring data feeds, we could get both. Before tackling, decided to check to make sure we actually had wind angle on the secondary, and, it turns out, no, so whole plan is off. Means I have to continue to look at windex at top of mast to get angle of apparent wind, cannot have the pilot steer by anything except compass. I have a spare wand, but problem is, don't know it perhaps the problem is the cable, so if I tried to get all the way to the top of the mast, and install a new wand, ti might not make any difference, for that risk. Contemplated stopping in lee of Falklands. We'll see, but frankly I doubt it for tonight/tomorrow. We've been without since last east Pacific ice gate, and it definitely makes the sailing harder and slower and less efficient, and harder to sleep, but we've made it this far, so maybe we have to go the rest of the way this way. Have some serious computer glitches that are only solved by frequent rebooting. How did we ever get a worm virus into the computer via the satellite system, what a pain, and hope that I don't have to go to the backup laptop.”
Rich Wilson (Great American III) in his daily message
 

“A hot day, and a hot, muggy night...I can tell we are getting closer to the doldrums as the humidity is increasing and the wind is becoming more and more unstable. When I lay down to have a sleep, Roxy was doing 16-18 knots with 18 knots of wind, and that produces top quality sleep! I didn't need my alarm, however, as the slowing down woke me up immediately as the next squally cloud approached. The previous squall produced 26 knot gusts, but this latest one a pathetic 10 knots.... lots of trimming required!
Energy in the form of oatcakes and honey, although the trouble is that even the thick honey has a mind of it's own in this heat and it is impossible to keep it on the biscuit, especially in the dark.... sticky fingers and sticky cockpit floor as a result!”
Sam Davies (Roxy) in her daily message
 

“Well I was very disappointed when I heard a rustling and flapping this morning as I trimmed for the 15 - 20 knots established trade winds I have finally found myself in. The repair to the mainsail needs attention again and I felt deflated. My hard work did not stand up to the test. Still there is nothing I can do about it now so I concentrated on sailing Aviva towards the doldrums as fast as I could. It was a wet and uncomfortable ride and there was lots of creaking and groaning coming from areas of the boat. The waves felt bigger and we certainly dropped off some big ones. As the afternoon progressed, the wind has lifted us, allowing us to crack sheets a little for a more comfortable ride and also to make a good heading rather than one heading for Brazil. The equator beckons and my toll to Neptune must be paid. With Michel Desjoyeaux looking to finish this weekend, I will be looking to making it into the same hemisphere as him and the same North Atlantic Ocean by the time he finishes. That will be my aim.”
Dee Caffari (Aviva) in her daily message
 

Based on the latest analysis from Météo France using the positions from 9h this morning and the weather charts from 0h today, here are the ETAs in GMT for the first three boats:

Foncia :
ETA between 12h on the 31st January and 18h on 1st February

Veolia Environnement :
ETA between 12h on 2nd February and 12h on 4th February

Brit Air:
ETA between12h on 4th February and 0h on 7th February

“Our rounding of the Horn was done rather appropriately in forty to fifty knots of breeze and large steep seas which were very close together. I gybed and completely rounded up, the first one of the entire race, as I came on to the shelf. The wind had increased and the seas were very short, crossed and now breaking, and I wouldn't have wanted to go around in too much more wind than that I can tell you - there was quite a bit of current too, nearly a couple of knots at times to add to the entertainment by further worsening the sea state. I finished up going around with three reefs and staysail because it was easier on the pilot, and there was less strain on deck gear from the staysail as it collapsed and filled as the boat was slewed around by the waves. I remember being on deck and watching the bow trying to force it's way through the wave in front, and a wave behind just curling and trying to break into the cockpit behind, that's how short some of them were! The island of Cape Horn actually became a lee shore as I got closer, so I had to gybe out and finished up so far offshore that I thought I was not going to see it as the visibility was so bad. Cape Horn was just a mark of the course to me up until that point, but when I was actually there I felt it did represent a lot more than that for us - it was the culmination of ten years of hard work to get here, the end of the Southern Ocean which had spared us, and the start of the last leg home. In many ways to have gone around in less wind would have left me feeling cheated, it was a proper rounding and I had my moneys worth. As soon as I was around I had dolphins, black and white ones of a kind that I don't remember seeing before, which really was the crowning glory of a fairly emotional moment and a time for a huge sigh of relief.

After the Horn it was straight on to Staten Island, which rises up almost vertically out of the sea giving one of the most spectacular coastlines that I have ever seen. All of the points, bays and other landmarks were obviously named for the most part by the sailors of many different nationalities who first went there. I was called up by the Argentinian Navy who popped out from behind the island. They were desperate to do something, anything to help! They spoke very good English and French, and were really polite, and the first voices I had heard over the VHF since passing Madeira on the way down. I didn't have the heart to tell them that if they helped me I would be disqualified!
We were quickly flushed onwards around to the Falklands by the current. Partly out of curiosity, and partly because there was so much wind I thought I'd be safe, I finished up too close to Stanley and the weather changed suddenly, left me in the lee of the island and pretty well parked up for hours in a large swell that meant I couldn't keep the sails in shape. It did give me chance, however, to have a look at a place which has fascinated me since it was in the news when I was small, and it was really strange to ponder then whys and where-fors of what had happened there whilst actually looking at the place for real. I suddenly heard a deafening noise; two fighters went overhead at full bore seemingly a hundred feet above the mast. I thought the end of the world had come and gone! It was the first man made sound I had heard since the ninth of November, and having been used only to the noise of wind and water it was a real shock!”
Steve White (Toe in the Water) in his daily message