Dear Marge,

DATE: 2002-11-07
POSITION:31deg39N 129deg59W
WEATHER: Misty rain, cold, F6 wind, choppy swell

Well it's for real now. We are some 300 miles out in the middle of the North Pacific. I have spent the last 2 days being pretty sea-sick. I was worried this might happen. It's a very different motion from what I'm used to in a little boat like Wilfa. This thing pitches and tosses and rolls and clangs and is just long enough to be caught between two waves with one end going up, whilst the other is going up as well, and then the whole boat drops, sending us into free-fall. Fred said it is like a zero-G ride. Bart was even more ill than me, so I don't feel too stupid.

We set off yesterday in moderate conditions (but I could already feel my stomach turn) and did the hand over 3 miles offshore. Then it was real. California started to slip over the horizon and we went into our watch-keeping routine. I can't sail this boat! It is full of high-tech stuff I've never used before, and everything is huge. The main-sail moves between two lines called running back-stays. These have to be adjusted as the sail changes otherwise the sail might be ripped, or worse the mast will be torn down. Everything has massive winches that are loaded under tonnes of pressure, and the danger of having your hand whipped off is all too likely.

As it got dark last night the skipper, mate and engineer started to really rub each other the wrong way. Fred and I keep out of it, but 3 cooks are definitely too much round the broth. In the end all three were up during my watch, and I had to send David to bed, as I could see that he was getting tired, and Bart was looking very ill. I am fine on deck, though it's cold, and the nose of the boat is punching 20ft waves, showering the boat in ocean spray. I caught a few peaceful moments to myself, watching the crescent moon rise, and looking at Orion's belt. It is very cloudy and I am glad we have radar. We were caught in a US military exercise last night, with helicopters buzzing round and warships talking to each other on the radio.

Phil is a handful and his bad-tempered ways are winding everyone up. No-one can do anything right, the job is snatched away from the most competent person, and they are shouted at. I am glad that I am humble enough not to be offended, though I was upset at the radio check being taken away from me, just because I misheard the guy once.

David is very British. He is ex-navy and extremely uptight. He makes no attempt to hide his disapproval of Phil. We have had no safety brief, no explanation of how anything works (I particularly don't understand the auto-pilot, its very eerie watching the boat steer itself. I started to imagine a person was out there, late last night), and we had a very contentious MOB drill. Still for all their barracking, they are both highly skilled and experienced, and I have to trust them both. It's because I have no choice, it's either blind-faith or constant fretting!

Brad turns out to be highly knowledgeable and I felt a lot of respect for him as I watched him tune another two knots of speed out of the boat yesterday. He has a dry sense of humour that I like, and is unusual in an American.

Fred remains very quiet, standing out the way and never volunteering to do anything. I am beginning to understand this policy, with 3 large egos on the boat, best to put your own away. It's rewarding to get a smile out of him occasionally.

There is a huge storm north of us, and we are caught in the tail end of it, hence the bad weather and sea-sickness. We are trying to outrun it and have the engine on. We are making good progress, doing 7kn plus, although not always in the direction we want to go. Currently we have chosen a direction that minimises the effect of the waves, though the seas are pretty confused. It's weird to sit in the cockpit, watching the landscape twist and shear and turn. Sometimes this huge boat is lifted right up and I am looking down its length into the maelstrom below.

I have thought about little else other than not throwing up for the last two days, and have been asleep at all possibilities. You don't really sleep, you just drift in and out as each smacking wave thumps the boat, and the rigging shakes and crashes. Last night I awoke to a screaming broach, as the autopilot had gone off and the boat had whipped into the wind, causing a sudden tack. Luckily the stays hadn't caught, otherwise we would have lost the sail or the mast. There was a lot of shouting and tension over that one.

By the way, I am not allowed to say anything about the boat, or the crew especially on the Internet, I'll let you edit this as you see fit, but you can understand that it's not nice for the crew if I am slagging them off on a web page, and they don't want the owner to know his expensive yacht is in anything less than good hands, and in perfect functioning condition.

I feel like a Luddite, I don't trust this equipment. In the pitch black last night we steered on GPS past a reef. I could hear the crashing waves, and there should be a whistle on the reef, but we weren't close enough to hear it. I just thought, I hope this GPS is right. Of course it was, but I felt uneasy all the same. Yet ironically it's the technological skills I can offer that are most useful - fixing the laptop and tuning into weather reports through the static.

Tell my Dad that if he can find a radio-ham we can communicate. We are talking to some radio-hams in the US, our friends are hams and they could pick us up from here. I'm sure someone could pick us up in the UK if they knew what they were doing, Single-Side Band radio is the only way to communicate this far away from land, though it is weird listening to the rising and falling tones of the ionosphere and the sun's activity.

Ahhh, sun! I wish! Everything is damp on board. I'm looking forward to crossing the equator. We are at 31 degrees north which is about in the Med I think, yet in this grey pacific mist you wouldn't know it. We should cross the Equator in 5-6 days. The first stop is Tonga. But that will be 30 more days. It adds 1000 miles to our journey, but we have to avoid American water.

Must sign off now. I have had no time or strength to think about work, and these are going to be testing conditions to work in. I am sitting at the galley table and starting to feel queasy again.

My smelly feet have upset everyone, so I have to have a shower now. I hope I am not sick during it.

Looking forward to downloading your messages.

Over and out!

Ben