The Race
I have started this blog post multiple times, then deleted my work because I just can’t come up with a one-line introduction that frames my Route du Rhum experience. I am sitting at the crew villa, trying to find words that sum up the race I have completed, but there are so many conflicting moments and pictures, it is proving troublesome to articulate.
The start, with its noise and the weight of expectations and competition sitting heavily on my shoulders, pushing me down. The hectic beat out of the English Channel, dodging rocks around Ushant to stay out of the tide and then crossing tacks with other tired solo sailors in their huge unwieldly beasts, hoping one of us will not make a mistake. I started, a nervous and under confident sailor, worried about getting the finish and banking those precious Vendée Globe qualification miles. I had felt like a minnow on the dock against all of the new big foil boats. I know I let my demons get the better of me in the build-up to the start, it’s something I continue to need to work on.
Start of Route Du Rhum destination Guadeloupe credit Mark Lloyd
The relentless upwind battle through big seas and weather fronts to try and get out of the path of numerous depressions. During this part of the race there was a stream of bad news from across the fleet; dismasting, collisions, capsize and injuries. I cried when I read Fabrice Amadeo’s account of watching his boat sink from his life raft after a fire on board. I believe it made us all sail with some caution. The balance between Vendée Globe qualification miles and actively racing is a difficult line to tread. Especially for the teams like ours who are still working on funding the project and would not be able to buy their way out of a major damage set back. I was sailing safe because that was what I needed to do but I had already started to feel strong. The relentless smashing upwind is unpleasant but it is not unfamiliar. Given the open ocean and a chance to feel my experience and the strength of my boat without the filter of land-based preconceptions brought me back to life and the smile to my face and I realised I was home.
When we finally arrived at the Azores after a week of headbanging the option to head south was there, a yellow brick road ahead. Slow going, through a ridge of high pressure, but no more pain, no more risk, finally the sun was out the waves had subsided. At this stage I was lying just inside the top 20, making ground slowly on the boats ahead but at a disappointingly low rate. I spotted an opportunity for bigger gains, a route through one more front that would take me to the North of the main pack and hopefully fast track to the trade winds. It would have been easy to follow, to accept my position in the pack and spend the next week nibbling away at the leads of the competitors ahead. I watched the route open up for two or three days and regularly checked the tracker to see if anyone else would take it. No one did.
After what seemed like hours of staring at the computer screen, writing and rewriting different scenarios around breaking free of the pack on my routing software. I said out loud, ‘what are you waiting for?’ and went on deck and tacked. At the next position report my brother sent me a text message saying ‘I see you have decided to go to Iceland’ and it felt like that. I was alone, heading north, back into bad weather while the rest of the fleet continued to the South. But I made the deal in my head. I am sure this is the right way to go. I don’t know why no one else has chosen it but from where I am now it is my best chance. I will do it and if it doesn’t work out, I will sit down at the end and understand why.
That final front was vicious and I was this time over confident. I went into it with too much sail, it was much windier than expected and the wind shift was nearly 180 degrees not the 80 I had expected. I messed up a manoeuvre under full sail, and tore a huge hole in the bottom of my mainsail as well as putting a 3m rip in my biggest Jib. The leg to the west had been a good one but in one foul swoop managed to both consolidate my move into the top 12 of the fleet and to jeopardise my chances of climbing any higher as I now had a mainsail that could not be used above 1 reef and a big jib that could not be used in more than 10 knots of wind.
The final week was brilliant sailing. I worked my way up to a giddy 10th position and had to push so very hard to stay ahead of the pack, working with a reduced sail area. Being inventive about my sail plan. Never taking my foot off the gas. It was absolutely exhausting. Mentally and physically. I had very little sleep, probably no more than three hours in each 24hr period. The heat made me less hungry and I would find myself at times, winding a sail in and feeling my arms get weaker and weaker, then remembering it was hours since my last meal. Everything was wet, either with sweat or sea water. It is impossible to get dry, the boat was lurching around and every surface above and below decks was slick with moisture. These are the times when you have to take extra care. Move around slowly, think things through. It is exhausting to even exist on the boat, nothing can be taken for granted, not even moving from one side of the cockpit to the other.
But as ever I relish this challenge and level of intensity. I thought about nothing else, my mind did not wander, I was constantly problem solving, assessing, comparing, both my own performance as a human being as well as that of my boat.
Coming in to the island of Guadeloupe I was settled in 10th place and absolutely bursting with pride. I would not have dared to imagine I could be so well placed at the beginning of this race, the first small foil boat and in the top 10. But the end of the Route du Rhum is about as sadistic an end as one could make up for an event. Sailing through the wind shadow of 30-mile-long island after racing solo across the Atlantic, is like asking a runner to race a 100-mile course, then as they turn the corner to the final straight there is a heptathlon for them to complete before the finish line.
I thought I had enough space between me and Romain Attanasio (Fortinet) to get through the wind shadow. But I sailed into a hole and so clearly demonstrated to Romain where the wind was not and half way down the island he sailed around me. I was gutted but kept on fighting. But my sails were damaged, and all the rapid sail changes and manoeuvres, with the extreme heat were eroding my strength. I made a couple of mistakes rounding our final buoy of Basse Terre, including dropping one of my big sails in the water trying to take it down. I looked up from clearing up my mess and Romain was a dot on the horizon. I battled on to the bottom of the island and was hit by a wall of wind and waves. Five more hours of head banging to the finish. Behind me loomed Seb Marsett. He had seemed a long way off but after a couple of hours he crossed ahead of me on a tack. I was now in 12th and I shed a small tear of anger and frustration at how I had managed to throw days of a comfortable 10th place away at the last hurdle.
In the end it was the battle with Seb all the way to the line that put me back on track. I clawed my way back to him. He defensively adjusted his position and yet I still reeled him in. With only 3 miles to the finish, we were metres apart and I jostled for a lane to overtake him. First upwind, then downwind sailing fast. At times I seemed so close. Right to the last minute I thought I could do it. In the end he crossed the line just over one minute ahead of me and I took 12th position over all in the race.
When I arrived, Romain came straight over to apologise and gave me a hug, I bounced off the boat to go and congratulate Sebastian. They were brilliant competitors and we had pushed each other. It felt great to receive their acknowledgement and respect of me as an equal competitor. As sailors we get to demonstrate who we are and the preconceptions around age, gender, background and everything else disappears.
This weekend, I will get back onboard Medallia and head back home, this time accompanied by two of our junior team members. It is a great opportunity to pass on some ocean experience to the up-and-coming generation of sailors. We will be taking it gently. Eyes on the weather trying hard to stay in one piece and arrive home to the dark unpredictable North in good shape.
It has been a wonderful sign off to this full-on year. Both personally as a sailor, but also as a team I feel we have grown, developed, pushed and fought our way through a year breaking new ground every step of the way. To finish such a prestigious race in this form is a proud achievement for us all. We said this year was about learning and the objective was a consolidated performance at the end of 2022 to sign off my small foil learning program. We have done that with knobs on.
Some of the team at the finish of the Route Du Rhum destination Guadeloupe
All that remains is to say thank you. Thank you to my sponsors and partners for your unerring commitment to our program and our potential. Thank you to the team for your hard work and diligence. Thank you to my long-suffering friends and family for again tolerating my absence. And thank you to you, our followers and supporters. Reading your kind words of encouragement and understanding is always a surprise and a joy to me. I never imagined my racing would engage so many people but it is an utter privilege to share it with you.