Getting up and down, down and up – Singapore to Qingdao

Old Bloodhound is back, pounding over wave after wave that heads our way from the north. We’ve spent all race in this, probably my least favourite point of sail. Heading into the waves and wind, we’re living life at a ridiculous angle yet again. My estimate is 35 degrees in which to survive. We have this all the way to China. Bonus is temperatures will slowly drop, as we head north past Taiwan into the Yellow Sea, down to freezing. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; we just have the tropical temperatures of the lower climes to deal with right now. I sleep next to the generator. Heat and noise from time to time. Sleep deprivation is de rigeur. Imagine living on the side of a steep hill in a permanent low level earthquake, oh and add in being saddled to a bucking bronco for good measure. Just getting dressed requires new levels of dexterity and balance. Getting on deck and moving around is positively perilous. I’ll save you the detail of going to the heads, an active imagination can probably get there. The Witterer fell out of there this morning but thankfully for anyone in eyeshot she was making her way in and was not mid-task.

Back to sweaty bunks

But you’ve read about all this before; nothing new but the distance and time we need to endure it: 2,300 miles. The violence we expect to take on around Taiwan where wind, wave and tide fight against each other, tossing us about like sticks, will be the test. 200 miles of that to contend with. Still, it’s not all insanity. Helming out in this is a mix of surfing and riding a roller coaster. Pure joy. Picking your spot between waves to steer Old Bloodhound down and around without dumping her off the top of a wave and giving the rest of the crew whiplash. Snaking around the sea in a smooth climb and dip while maintaining speed and direction, that’s the ticket.

Position-wise, we are in the pack that converged in the northeast corner of Malaysia. Some have been within sight since we started out. Half took a dog leg north then east and the rest, led by ourselves, went east then north. An enormous game of chess played on hundreds of square miles of sea. We have tacked and covered Henri Lloyd most of the way, edging out in front of them soon after race start. This morning they must have had enough and went to overtake by putting up larger sail. In the process they lost and retrieved a man overboard. Now they are off the scent. Seven of the leaders are within fifteen miles, the convergence of lines and tactics so close.

The mood on the boat is polite and professional. After the debacle of the last race its light relief. The Sealion was to be cast to his fates back in China but ADHD took pity on him as he apparently lost his job. He has been helpful and muted. Sadly, though, we lost Wiseman in Singapore. Not in any back street drink hole but he could not take various disappointments any more. He kept his own counsel well so it was hard to see how badly he felt about things but I did have an inkling things were badly up with him during the last race. He’ll be sorely missed. It’s probably a good deal why the mood has altered in its new direction; a silver lining perhaps to his exodus.

Obviously, I race on. I was checked out by MRI and X-ray in Singapore. I have torn ligaments in my wrist and a chipped bone. It will need work when I return to London but good enough for now the doc said to continue. The work will take three months so that would have been race over.

So back on with Old Bloodhound and let her chase that scent of hot and sour down to the north. Maybe, just maybe this time…