Training - Part 1

So the good news is that I just about survived our first 2 weeks of training in one piece. I'm not quite sure where to start really, so I think I'll split it the blog up into 2 or perhaps even 3 posts - 1 for the first week (Level 1 training) and 1 for the second week (you guessed it, Level 2 training). There is so much to relay that I fear this may be a long entry - I hope it doesn't bore too much but I'm trying my best to recount some detail of what made for probably the most extraordinary 2 weeks of my life.

Having packed all my gear into what felt like a very light bag, I began to worry that I hadn't got enough kit for the 2 weeks ahead. And the weather being predicted for the south of England was bad enough to make me concerned. I double checked my sleeping bag  which claimed to be good to -12C (it couldn't get any colder than that could it?) and so threw in a few extra pairs of skiing socks and one extra waterproof jacket. And that would have to do because I didn't really own anything else worth bringing. So I arrived in London on friday the 26th Nov, which feels like about 4 years ago now, and then very sensibly before a tough 2 weeks on a boat went out drinking all night with 2 of the lads used to work with in London - perfect preparation. And the next morning, feeling excited if a little tired, we headed down south to Gosport. A little late, we went straight into our First Aid course where we met the other 13 crew who had signed up for the week's training. As expected, the people came in all shapes, ages, genders etc. I was probably 1 of about 5/6 people in their early thirties and the rest were older than that. I think there were 4 women and 11 men. Despite Clipper's claim that 40% of the crew have never been on a boat before, there was an awful lot of sailing experience in the room and I was a little worried that my limited experience would count against me in the weeks to come.

What then followed was a fairly brutal 5 hours of lectures on the various types of injuries likely to be encountered on a boat from the fairly simple windburn, rope burn, cuts and bruises all the way to badly broken and dislocated limbs, hypothermia, man overboard drills and dealing with dead bodies on board. Quotes like "you're not dead on a boat until you're warm and dead" (in case of extreme hypothermia your body may seem dead but isn't quite so needs to be heated up to see if you're actually dead or not) really hit home with some people. It was quite a reality check into the potential dangers onboard, and although the chances of serious injury remain very low, when you're mid pacific and days away from help, you really need to know at least where to start in case someone gets injured. The second part of the lecture took place on one of the boats, which was the first time that many of us had actually been onboard. I can't really describe in enough detail what the boat is like - it's nearly 20m long but feels about half that when below deck. There is a kitchen with a counter about 2m long (including hob/oven) from which you need to feed 20 people 3 times a day. Opposite the kitchen is a "couch" which seats maybe 5 people and that is the total living area below deck. There are 2 toilets, the larger of which is about the size of the toilets you'd find on an airplane - for the race itself this is also your shower room. The second toilet is basically too small for me to actually fit into. And the toilets have no doors, just bits of cloth that hang down in front of the doorway. The rest of the boat is simply a passageway with 3-high bunks along each side and bagged sails along the floor - each raceboat carries about 10 sails which can be as big as 200m2 and has no space for them except on the floor so you end up walking around on a wet and uneven surface. And then there was the "rain". Our boat "rained" constantly, indoors below deck. Because of the extreme cold outside, the lack of heating onboard and the air/water-tight nature of boats (helpful feature when at sea), massive amounts on condensation form on the ceiling and constantly fall like rain. It means everything onboard is wet at all times and it becomes bascially impossible to ever get anything dry. There'll be more on life on the boat later but this was merely our first impression upon climbing onboard. We then put into practice some of the First Aid we'd just learnt by doing things like trying to carry a body down below from on deck which proved nearly impossible - and we were moored and not in 100ft waves like you'll get on the ocean. Although there were jokes being made throughout I think it really made the whole adventure seem very real and a little scary and I'd being lying if I said I didn't ask myself if I really wanted to put myself through all of this. Over the coming days of getting to know the rest of the crew it seems to have been a thought process we all went through.

  - The Honeymoon Suite and Sparkey trying in vain to dry a towel on the rope-locker door.

 - Walking around on damp sailbags was pretty much inevitable down below.

Hell's Kitchen?

And so we ended the day back in the office and were split into 2 crews for the week. After a little wheeling and dealing I managed to get Sparkey on my boat and so we headed to the boats to meet our Skipper and First Mate and to get to know the rest of the crew. First impressions of the Skipper and first mate were very good - fun, relaxed people, and the crew, though remarkably diverse in backgrounds etc seemed a very nice bunch. After a lovely lasagne for dinner we bedded down for the night. Sparkey and I had the last bunks up the front of the boat, affectionately known as the honeymoon suite and we prepared for our first sleep onboard. I worried a little about my wet matress and non-waterproof sleeping bag but with thermals still on I got ready to sleep. What followed over the next 8 hours was the worst night of my life with less than 2 hours of sleep. I have never experienced cold like it - I quickly realised my sleeping bag was not in fact "good to -12C" as advertised. I shivered most of the night and listened to the dulcet tones of Sparkey snoring soundly all night in his luxury sailing sleeping bag - his snoring was complimented beautifully by Keith who slept behind us so that basically while one was breathing in, the other was breathing out, to ensure maximum noise. Among the many dark thoughts I had that night (including suffocating Sparkey to death to give myself even some chance of sleeping) I did keep wondering what I had got myself into. I think at that point I would only have given myself about a 25-30% chance of actually taking part in the race and the 6 days that followed would prove decisive.