|
|
|
Picture Gallery, please respect copyright
|
26th November 1998 Herewith items for the Taeping Newsletter, or an attempt by a new crew member to determine what may have been happening on board during the run from Plymouth to Nassau. There is a PC aboard, and the first thing any computer hack does is to see what others may have written. A file called 25:10:98 seemed interesting. Entitled Ripping Yarns from the Taeping Times, and written by an on-board BBC correspondent in his brief moments of peace, it contained some delightful anecdotal evidence of early antics in the Round-the-Word Race. A few parts of the reports may not be entirely appropriate, but who cares let’s just run with it; without editing. A magnificent start
on Saturday 17th saw us lying last but one after fifteen minutes. Some of
this may have been due to Thermopylae wiggling her derrière suggestively,
provoking a doggie style introduction from an excited Taeping. Fortunately the
Mutt’s owner, Malcolm RTW Todd, (what
is the French for Dejavu?) former matinee film god (although fortunately he
still has his looks), remembering the rules of Tamar dog walking, tugged on his
jerk lead, pulling off the unsatisfied canine dribbler. Taeping might also have
been suffering from the extra
responsibility of carrying Lord Knox Johnson of
Slim Panatela Shire, in the run up to the off. Big Rob proved a real
party pooper by getting the vibe reduced on Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, as we
slipped magnificently out of the
Mayflower Marina. Maybe he’d overheard a quay side comment from one of the
well wishers, inquiring if the celebrity boarding Taeping was in fact Dave Lee
Travis? (Ho, how we chuckled). Our secreted Hibernian weapon, sorry weapons,
were also stunted as Knoxie suggested the Scottish trio slipped out of their
kilts and into their oilies. This was a serious blow as the Celtic fly past had
proved particularly frightening during extensive time trials in the pub during
the week. Weighty opinion in the know had suggested that the hard living
Picts had benefited from their Viagra chasers and their meat and two veg were
proving to be of the large portion
variety. Tim Richmond was sighted as being particularly big off shore and as a
driller some heavy winching was in prospect. But sadly we got the Chairman’s
kibosh on these potentially
billowing tartan spinnakers. The Plymouth seagulls would have had their bill
muscles stretched to the limit and some of the onlookers might have put their
necks out! Three hours later
and the green water off our bows was reflected by the sickly visage of the
majority of the crew. Our very own Norwegian Blue, Haakon Bjorum, who had turned
up at the last minute, having been seen off personally by his country’s King
and Queen the night before (apparently the royal ring kissing ceremony had gone
on far longer than anticipated, leaving him scarcely enough time to wipe away
the regal smorgasbord and jump on deck) was the first to succumb to the heads
christening ceremony (it’s one long party for our Haakon) and eventually had
to be carried to his bunk as the shakes had set in so badly. Sadly skipper Nick
had given him the helm to take his mind off the phlegm terrorists who were
partying hard in his small intestine. Unbeknown to us Haakon’s shakes had
taken a left hand lean, but we did enjoy our visit to Salcombe. Our
fjord thumbler spent the next two days in his bunk, which inevitably was
the top one on the windward side of the fora’'d cabin. Scaling the necessary
height proved too difficult and he
had to rely on the benevolence of his new crewmates, as he in turn chucked up in
their bunks. Such a bumpy start
(force 7) was a rude introduction to Clipper ‘98 and tumbling out of your cot
for a 3 am watch, into the murky, damp, sweaty interior, bathed in red (as white
lights are too bright at night), with a good half hour required to extricate and
pull on constantly damp oilies, whilst striving to stay upright in boat crashing
conditions, was more akin to the most dramatic
shots in ‘das Boat’ the epic U Boat film. Only 34,000 miles to go and
we’re paying for the privilege of this battering. Even Skipper Nick has gone
down with the somersaulting gut syndrome and has been seen crashed out,
exhausted in a variety of different positions and states of undress, but always
with lensed dark glasses wedged firmly on, giving his best ‘Mole’ stunt
double impressions. But sadly there’s no Badger to lend a hand. Taeping’s gear
has also taken some big hits and to date we’re with out full navigation on the
computer, deck lights don’t work (always fun to change sails in big seas with
a torch wedged in your gob), instrumentation on the helm comes and goes with the
fickleness of the winds, the water pump has packed up, denying us even the
luxury of a weekly shower with fresh water and the heads (lavatories to all
landlubbers) have over flowed twice and the hatch on the fora'd cabin leaks,
soaking the four bunks located there, in bigger seas. However don’t let this
list give you the impression that we’re an
unhappy Taeping posse; far from it. These are simply occurrences which
have to be taken on the chin (well hopefully not the overflowing heads) and
dealt with. Surely this is what Clipper is really all about? The ability to work
together and solve problems as a group. Maybe these mishaps are all part of Sir
Robin’s cunning plan, to test us
out early on. Such a defining moment took place at 11pm on Wednesday 21st, when
the mainsail ripped, in a Force 5. In moments the scene was a cross between a
‘Mash’ Vietnam field hospital and Michelangelo’s
‘Last Supper’, as Saint Patrice of Baten, illustrated her finest
Walloon seamstress skills, by sitting on the coach roof (the deck over the
galley) and patiently repairing a brand new #30000 sail, whilst torches were
adroitly held by watch leaders Steve Robinson (little Steve) and Tim Richmond,
assisted by John Burnett wielding a hot kettle, which doubled as an iron
(crucial for applying sealant). Captain Nick was on hand to belt anything, or
anyone, with a hammer, including
Pretty Officer Barden, who insisted on delivering poor taste, misplaced gags,
about ‘this being a ripping yarn.’ The whole repair took two hours and looks
perfect, which is just as well as these sails have to take Taeping round the
world. All the more amazing is that Patrice only had a day and a half’s
training on sail repairs and this was her
first experience in the line of
fire. During most of this time we continued to sail using our No 2 Yankee and
Stay sail only, which still allowed us to make 6½
knots, thanks to a Herculean
two hour helming stint from Steve Hughes, who might look like a Gorbles
heavyweight brawler, but exhibited the touch of the most sensitive of lovers, in
keeping the boat as level as possible. Racing wasn’t compromised and the
theatre crew continued to dissect under trying conditions.
Equally, no blame was ever allocated and the whole crew pulled together
to get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible. However before you
think we’re getting too PC about it all, we know the bastard/s responsible and
they’ll be getting a large tuna’s head in
their bunk in Madeira. (The Taeping Mafia never forget). Other happy moments
have seen Gareth Venning losing a monster fish, which eventually broke his 85 lb
braking strain line. Big Steve was on hand to wrestle the monster to the cockpit
floor, whilst Little Steve was ready to gas the beast, by exhaling
200 hurriedly smoked B&H. Gareth has since loaded up with 100 lb line
and is opting for Pilchards as future bait. At 18, he’s the youngest man in
the race and with an even larger neck
size, our Redruth bull can’t wait to tell his Rugby Club mates that today he
baked bread for the first time (not just bread, but anything). No mean feat
this, as when he was last on Mother Watch (the cooking and cleaning duo, who
change daily) he couldn’t even contemplate food, never mind cook any. He was
heard to say that when he reached
Nassau he wasn’t ever going to set foot on a boat again, but thankfully seems
to be coming round to life at sea. (Well at least his stomach has). Charlotte
Winser is even younger than Gareth and has been caught wearing her Clipper
baseball cap in bed and in the heads (an unofficial sighting through the
porthole), but today in the light warm winds of the Atlantic Ocean off Portugal,
she’s revealed her long flowing locks . It was a seminal moment, Like having a
mermaid on board. It was a good job Gareth was strapped on when he spotted her
exposed barnet, otherwise he’d be Pilchard food by now. Tim Richmond is
proving this is a piece of cake trip, compared to his oil rigging experiences,
During the heaviest part of the storm, Tim was spotted in T shirt, deck shoes,
cotton trousers and revealing a fine pair of flowery boxer shorts.
The ship’s guitar wielding troubadours, little Steve and old Lee
Marvin, stand in, Cliff Allen are proving fine strummers, but not so hot at
remembering lyrics. However vivid imaginations and rampant dyslexia (I think
that’s how you spell it) are proving entertaining in the rhyming couplets
department. Yomi Ayeni, the camera
wielding BBC stowaway, has promised to donate one of his dreadlocks, to fly at
the top of the mast (which Little Steve has already been hoisted up by the way -
Well someone mentioned there was a fresh packet of cigs stashed up there) and
his culinary skills and huge laugh have been much appreciated, as have his adept
one liners. ‘You never feel better than when you’ve just been sick.’ He
should know. Nigel, blonde haired and black eye browed has had lengthy
discussions with the dyed hair posse of Gareth and Charlotte about this year’s
perfect off shore hair colours (Charlotte eventually revealed 3 or 4 different
options) and will tell the whole messy story of life aboard a cigar tube for
Maxim Magazine and BBC Radio’s 4 & 5.
The final member of the Scottish triumvirate, John Graham has more than
once displayed the ‘What the ....
am I doing here’ look, but has also shown flashes of understated brilliant
Pictish humour, particularly when getting an involuntary shower in his bunk
“And who said we weren’t getting and showers this trip?’ We were escorted by
100 happy dolphins yesterday and have spotted pilot whales, although Gareth
assures us they were...., as he’d seen them on a recent visit to the London
Aquarium. Whatever you say Big G! And oh yes, now he’s gone to bed and is
unlikely to read this, I can explain that all the references to Pilchards relate
to the fact that a tin of these had been attached to his line when he was
convinced that he had Jaws on the end of it. There is always the possibility
that something pretty large had actually snaffled the tin and attached hook, as
there’s no way the line would have snapped otherwise. So as we head through the night towards the African continent and the Island of Madeira, we can reflect on a a full and hugely varied first nine days and if the rest of this epic voyage is anything like as entertaining, it will indeed be the trip of a life time.” I have not met the author Nigel Barden, but I have now seen the video he and his camera man Yomi. Congratulations to them both. They have adroitly captured the spirit that is Clipper. They understand why some of us have chosen to do this, and why as I sit here at the navigation table tapping away only twenty-four hours after the restart from Nassau, where I started my three legs to the Seychelles, I am already hooked. The Bahamians gave us a huge welcome. Although few of them had ever heard of Clipper, they soon managed to enter the spirit themselves. “Hey Mister”, said my taxi driver, “I’ve driven many of you guys around and everyone says they’re going to win! What’s the prize?” When I told him there were no prizes and we were actually paying for this he just couldn’t believe me. From our resident poet her contribution left on the bulkhead wall.
IF (ONLY WE COULD GET THERE), by Charlotte Winser, Funchal to San Salvador If you can keep yours down whilst all about you Are spewing up and blaming it on you If you can hold your course when all crews doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too If you can beat and not be tired by beating Or running before, don’t deal in wraps Or being hounded, don’t give way to Barney, And yet don’t sail too flash, nor talk too much crap. If you can think to make the boats go faster, If you can dream and still not go insane If you can meet with every new disaster, And solve it, and come out still game. If you can bear to hear the truth the weather’s spoken Twisted by Bo* to make a trap for crews And watch the fleet sail by as Haakon Rants and raves and spits about the news. If you can make one heap of all your sails And risk it on one squall of wind and rain, And hear the rending noise as sailcloth fails And never breathe a word about your pain. If you can force your main and stay and yankee To serve your turn long after they are done, And so sail on, when there is nothing in you, Except the will to get away from endless sun. If you can talk with crews and keep your virtue Or drink with skippers nor lose the sober touch If neither squalls nor windless holes can hurt you, If all boats court with you, but none too much If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty-seconds of miles hard fought Then yours is the ocean, and everything that’s in it, And - which is more - there’ll be a beer for you in port. CHAZ (with apologies to Kipling) * Bo is the Clipper weatherman DOGGY BOWL by Steve Robinson, 16/11/98 After more than two weeks at sea, rarely seeing anything above Force 3, having just been overtaken by Mermerus, skipper Nick decided that drastic action was called for. Amid protests that the heads had already been cleaned that day, and were clean enough to eat your dinner from (more than can be said for most of the eating utensils onboard) our Nick quickly sent the mother watch back to head cleaning duties and set about preparing the mother of all chillis. For several hours no one dared approach the galley, as dark mutterings issued forth, interspersed with the odd can and empty peanut packets flying up through the companionway. “I’ll show that bastard Barney and his crew of Freddie Mercury lookalikes ...” seemed to be a regular theme, as was “I’ll show them what to do with a can of corned beef” and a horrible cackling sound in which the words “generate some wind” could be distinctly heard. Finally satisfied with the concoction, Nick started serving. “You all have to be quick, or the bowls will melt”, he advised, handing out the generous portions. Immediately a queue formed outside the heads, presumably most of the crew wanted to cut out the middleman in a desperate dash. Most made some effort to swallow the scorching mixture, a noble few managed to empty their bowls, and the rather strange excuse of “It’s just the peanuts”, was even heard as a bowl was emptied over the side. That night Taeping certainly had more than her share of wind, most of it foul rather than fair, as the efforts of the watch to keep the kite full from the cockpit were thwarted by inadvertent rumblings from the sleeping crew below. All in all it was a gallant effort on behalf of the skipper to get the boat moving and improve crew morale. Generate wind it certainly did, unfortunately, Mermerus continued to increase her lead. What the hell did they eat for dinner that night? METEOR STORM by Cliff Allen, 23/11/98 Each year, around mid-November, the Earth crosses the orbit of a comet called Tempel-Tuttle and passes through debris the comet has shed. Every 32 or 33 year we hit a particularly dense part of it. As the last major shower was in 1966 we were due for a display last week, and were not disappointed. The number of meteors (shooting stars) gradually built up from the 10th November to reach a peak on the night of 16th/17th when we were seeing them every 10-15 seconds, with occassional brilliant colourful ones which lit up the sky and left a trail which in one case lasted for 20 minutes. The meteors themselves are mostly no bigger than a grain of sand but travel at hundreds of miles per second. They burn up at 60 to 100 miles above the Earth. As they are all travellingin much the same direction, when they hit the atmosphere, from the ground they all appear to radiate from the same part of the sky - in this case Leo, and hence their name, Leonids. As an amateur astronomer this was a special treat for me and stimulated a great deal of interest in stars generally amongst the crew. Was there any threat to us? Apparently not, except that they can knock out communication satellites, which could jeopardise our GPS navigation. CREW PROFILE - STEVE ROBINSON Corporal features: Legs - 2, arms - 2, head - 1, despite best efforts of the boom Age: Undetermined (late 30’s?) Normal life occupation: Is there such a thing? Crew specialty: Going up mast and achieving nothing. Favourite on watch activity: Trying to dent boom with my head. Favourite off watch activity: Waking off watch one hour early, playing with my sextant. Most likely thing to say: Damn I’ve missed my noon sight again. Least likely thing to say: Stopover most looking forward to: All of them, as long as there’s a bar + tobacconist. Miss most: My nice secure 9-5 office job!?! Most looking forward to: Returning home so I can go sailing in more familiar cold, wet conditions (sod all this shorts and t-shirt stuff.) Ideal food to cook on mother watch: What is mother watch? (Joys of being a watch leader.) Otherwise, a nice spicy balti. Thoughts on squalls: How refreshing, perhaps we’ll get some decent breeze at last. Quick, gte the kite up everyone. Favourite rope: Spinnaker sheet, because they need a lot of fiddling around with. CREW PROFILE - PATRICE BATEN Corporal features: Sound body, healthy mind!? Age: 31, 14/10/67 Normal life occupation: Orthoptist (eye therapist) Crew specialty: Sailmaker, important job as the boat is less efficient without all the sails in top shape. It’s a pain if big repairs are needed, but satisfying to see the sail flying again. Favourite on watch activity: Helming, nice to glide over the waves. Favourite off watch activity: Dolce far niente. Most likely thing to say: Grind. Least likely thing to say: Oh excellent, another rip in the spinnaker, can’t wait to get my hands on it. Stopover most looking forward to: Galapagos, curious about its exclusive, reclusive beauty and splendour. Miss most: Telephone conversations with friends, going to the movies. Miss least: Going to work. Ideal food to cook on mother watch: Tuna pasta, because it’s easy, tasty, appreciated, and I get to chop up the plum tomatoes with scissors. (Sounds scary!) Thoughts on squalls: They are a pain in the ass from a racing aspect but they form a dramatic and sudden spectacle, plus you get a free shower. Favourite rope: Jib sheet, it needs some attention but only now and then. |
|
Send mail to
global_sailor@yahoo.com with questions
or comments about this web site.
|
