Doing it for Real

Brian Lux

'All hands on deck,' shouted the skipper down the companionway. The urgency in his voice had me wide awake in my bunk, listening to the waves smashing on the hull of our yacht, which was being thrown violently in the turbulent sea, the lee cloth preventing me being ejected from my bunk and possible injury.

We had practiced our reaction to this dire emergency command many times, never expecting it to be ever needed.

Struggling into my harness and lifejacket, with no time to put on my wet weather clothing, I grabbed anything I could to stop myself being thrown across the lurching boat while making my way up the steps to the deck and a deluge of water.

What a frightening sight greeted me. The faces of the other crew, fear showing in the toughest faces, said it all: this was an emergency. It was pitch black, and the wind a howling banshee. In seconds I was soaked.

I had joined the Clipper98 Round the World Yacht Race after major surgery and a permanent ileostomy, to prove to myself I could still hack it as an active sportsman.

Opting to sail just two Legs of the race, the first had been in the heat and humidity of the South China Sea from Hong Kong to Singapore. No fearful seas there, just light winds and an eye open for pirates.

The final Leg was from the Azores back to Plymouth. Our skipper had decided to take a route across the Bay of Biscay back to Plymouth, instead of heading directly home. This was proving successful until the notoriety of that bay hit us, in the middle of the night, with sudden winds gusting 50 knots, when all sails were up, including the gigantic Spinnaker. The yacht was in grave danger of being flung on its side, apart from expensive sails being shredded.

As the oldest member of the crew at 66, the skipper decided I was safest in the cockpit, and told me to take the wheel and hold a given course: easier said than done with the sixty foot yacht pitching violently. One lady crew member was told to keep the compass clear of the torrent of water that swept over us, our restraining lanyards taught as they held us to strong points, denying the huge seas their prey.

The wind screamed, and waves towered over us before smashing down, trying to throw everyone off the boat. I was concerned for the younger crew in the bow, fighting to get the sails down, even though they were attached to the boat with harnesses. The darkness was terrifying, with only the white tops of the gigantic waves fluorescing to relieve the gloom.

I stared at the compass, and fought the wheel, whilst my helper continuously wiped the instrument so I could see the luminous figures. Orders were shouted by the skipper, and gradually the sails were taken down, and the tired crew made their way back to the cockpit and slumped down. No one spoke, with everyone immersed in their thoughts of a near disaster.

As dawn broke, the sea and wind abated, and I stayed at the helm, heading for a new course, as the sails were taken below and stowed.

The sun broke through the clouds, and quickly the warmth of its rays thawed out tired bodies and dried soaked clothes.

'I've never been so scared,' said one tough Rugby player to me.

'Just shows, that we might think we are tough, but nature has a way of showing we are nothing compared to her power,' I replied.

'Change the Watch,' shouted the skipper, looking at his wristwatch.

I grimaced with the thought I was now officially on watch again for eight hours, having only had two hours sleep before that frightening command.

My eyes squinted at the glowing sun, and I thought about the finish at Plymouth and my waiting family, thankful for a tough boat and a skilful skipper who overcame a storm, so violent, he admitted to me it was the worst he'd ever encountered.