Imagine living and working in the Tower of Pisa, 24/7
It’s been a pretty familiar rhythm here for the past 24 hours, on a long port reach that will take us as far as the Doldrums. We’re making fast headway; it’s wet and we’re heeled over at 35 degrees. Our average speed is bordering on 20 knots and the sun finally decided to show itself yesterday for the first time since leaving Hong Kong. Fortunately, on deck, the horizon is still straight, but the crew is gradually adopting a new style that’s more in keeping with the boat. The helmsman is bent over, twisted round and his head is automatically tilted over to the same degree as the heeling angle.
It’s amazing. It’s become impossible to move around on just your two legs. You have to use everything that passes under your hand and grab it to move forward; a sheet, a winch handle, a sailbag, a colleague. Everything has its use if you don’t want to end up in the leeward stanchions and you’re keen to avoid a 2-3-metre fall. Down below, it’s a different kettle of fish. To leeward you can find Pascal’s right boot, Charles’ T-shirt, Marie’s headphones and Black’s sock. Everything that’s not tied down or lashed to windward, a bunk for example, has the unfortunate tendency of sliding and it ends up in the few litres of water sloshing around the bilges. It’s as simple as that.
Every morning you have a mixture of fishing pros getting down to action and those who are still hoping that the missing item is still nice and dry under a bag or I don’t know where. Certain legends even tell of things disappearing, flying away or vanishing into thin air. I don’t need to explain to you the scene at each stopover when the boat captain sends the photo of the lost property miraculously recovered from who knows where.
Martin
