On November 10th, the world (or at least the sailing world) watched as 40 skippers set sail from Les Sables-d’Olonne for the ultimate circumnavigation. I can only imagine what those sailors might have been feeling, but it was clear on the faces of their teams and loved ones that it was a day of raw and mixed emotions. The monumental challenge ahead, and the skill and strength (in all its forms) required of those taking it on, is something only a handful of people will truly understand. And yet, there are currently over 679,100 ‘skippers’, of which I am one, taking part in the same race around the world, watching the winds, working through tactics, and pushing their IMOCA boats to their absolute limits. The difference here, is that while these 40 elite offshore skippers battle the elements, putting themselves at the mercy of the sea in a test of human ability, I am happily checking my boat’s course on my phone. While waiting for a friend at a cosy English pub, I make course corrections with a twist of a virtual dial, and sail changes at the click of a button, all before my drink is poured. It’s utterly incomparable, and yet, is there’s a small part of me that’s felt like I’m battling it out in the Atlantic? Perhaps…
Little more than a day into the race, on opening my app to check if I was in the lead yet, I was greeted with the alert – ‘run aground!’. Sure enough, zooming into the world map, I found my IMOCA had, at full speed, ploughed its way up a beach just east of Santander, as the fleet went on, laughing I presume. I imagined a group of shocked Spaniards crowding around my state of the art pink-hulled racer, looking aboard for a traumatised skipper, nowhere to be seen. A skipper who was, in fact, happily bagging a seat on the circle line in London, blissfully unaware.
On finding this national embarrassment, I could only imagine a whole host of Spanish ridicule for the English. No damage done, I simply changed the dial for course adjustment and skirted down the coast to rejoin the route just off A Coruña. ‘Nobody will ever know’, I told myself.
Over the days that followed, I’ll admit, I began likening checking on my boat to babysitting, as it should be. It’s safe to say the mishap wouldn’t have happened if I’d checked in more than once in 24hours – an issue a million miles from reality for skippers like Pip Hare, and Sam Goodchild, who I’d caught up with earlier in the month. I am getting my confidence back, particularly as we’re currently on the somewhat straightforward course south, with fewer obstacles… Rest assured, I am way behind the pack, but I’m not alone – there are other stragglers, and from the warmth of my flat in London I wonder if my presence at the fleet’s rear is giving them some light relief, as theirs is to me.
To track the progress of the much more nail biting real Vendée Globe, visit the VG tracker website.
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