Dark menacing clouds roll ominously across the white topped peaks. The wind howling and gusting 40 knots drives rain hard into every crack in our armour. We are wet, cold and miserable. If we are honest we are also frightened and missing home.
Dark mountains of silver and slate roll endlessly to the horizon. Their contours sharp and menacing one minute, then sleek, muscular and powerful the next. 43 tonnes of steel and sail a toy in the hands of a petulant child.
One minute our friend pushing us toward home. A racing yacht in its element Elegant lines over at 45 degrees we move with grace and purpose Mountains and valleys, insignificant in the race for the line.
Bored now our child slams the boat down and turns the water to foam Wind from this side, waves from the other we struggle to stay afloat. Water pours over the deck. Squalls sting our faces. Our hands blocks of ice. We huddle behind what little protection a ledge or waiting sail may promote
The boom slams into the water. The boat judders, twists, rights and repeats the same. Torturous writhing through the water, the struggle of the non-swimmer fighting to stay alive, desperate to reach the side.
Gone now the finesse, the smooth strokes, the arrogance and confidence. Gone too the pre-race banter, the playful jibes. Gybes now the difference between life and death in this, the most dangerous playground on earth.
GMP
14.10.02
H's picture of the the Yacht
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