Towards the Caribbean, or almost Thursday, October 30th

Chapter 1: Delirium 

We know it’s coming. This big front with beautiful colors on weather forecasts is about to hit us, but we are ready. We stacked all our sails, all our bags to one side of the boat, we prepared the storm jib ready to be deployed. We already have one reef in and all the lines are ready to put the second. It rarely happens, but we were ready a bit too soon. The wind shifted south but it took some time for it to pick up at first we only had 8 kn and then 10 and 15 and slowly ramping up to 18 but it stayed there for several hours. Finally it came 20 22 25 knot - ok it’s now time to furl the J2 on and unfurl the storm jib,  tack so cross the front perpendicular and get over it as fast as possible. Here we are heading full West into the black band coming and very rapidly from 25knt, wind goes to 27 and 30 - we are definitely in it now. Sea state builds up, rain starts coming. The clouds darken. Unfortunately our auto pilot was not helming as well as we did so, we took turns, 40 minutes each alternating the helm or lie down inside the boat. We did that for about 7 hours.  

We were exhausted. Conditions at the helm were delirious, horizontal rain hitting you in the face intermittently with waves flying over the boat, the salt in your eye making you cry. And you see the boat climbing up those 5m monsters - and what comes next is just a big slam down. the noise is so scary, everything vibrates all the way through your bones and you do this over and over and over again in the rain under the dark sky. Perfect Hollywood movie set. 

And here it is, what we believed was the final front: wind picked up to 45 knt for about five minutes. It was completely horrendous. And right afterwards - it all calmed down down. we look at each other with Szabi with a big smile : we passed the front, it’s over. But no. It was just a small relief in what was gonna be a 48h long battle in that front - and as Im texting you we are still in it…

Chapter 2: Despair

After having helmed the whole day outside in storm, rain and monster sea state with little sleep, we were completely cooked. My pants were not waterproof anymore. I was literally swimming in my five day dirty clothes, wet stinky like a pig. I was cold. I was tired. I was hungry. At nightfall in the pitch black night, the sea state was no better. I had a really rough time. I got seasick, could not keep any food in me. The ride was so bumpy even going to the bathroom was a mission: should I stay inside? Should I go outside? in what bucket? on what side of the boat? How do I hold on? How do I not get wet? 

I had to thought out every move through before execution to minimize injuries, but also optimize sea sickness management. You crawl around the boat on your four, like a wild boar, you get airborne at every wave and land down thinking the boat will explode… and you just hope for it to be over soon. When I finally managed to lie down after changing to a dry pair of pants, I wasn’t sure how I would be able to survive another 10 days at sea. But as it always does, sleep brings good advice..

Chapter 3: The Wait

By some miracle, Szabi was feeling just fine so he kept the watch while I could rest a little bit. In the middle of this madness, I somehow managed to get a few hours sleep. Today the strategy is different. Let’s not kill ourselves more. We’ve done enough yesterday. Let’s slow down, let the auto pilot do its job and the humans on the boat recover. Let’s just watch and supervise this 60ft carbon machine sail itself out of this storm down the Portuguese coast. It’s a funny feeling to go from actor to spectator. Overlooking New Europe’s bravery, here we are chitchatting with Szabi about life and composites. It’s our first moment of overlap since the start of this race. I’ve managed to keep in some potato purée, stay hydrated and keep an eye at the crazy numbers still showing 30 to 40 knots of breeze. We hear the rain slamming the cockpit but we stay nice and cozy inside. While Szabi is getting a nap, I have time to rethink and give you this genuine recall of the past 48hours. Right now we should be 3 to 4 hours away from the end of the storm. The human he body has an extraordinary capability of forgetting the worst and only keeping the best in memory. Looking forward, we should have a lighter winds coming as we reached the Alizées - the Trade Winds. They should allow us to finally do this glamorous downwind champagne sailing to the Caribbean. 

Sunshine is coming out now, time to paint two more nails.

Over and Out.

Chapter 4: Rebirth

I was dreaming of doing an open ocean swim in a storm. It was hard breathing at every wave but somehow manageable and at one point, a big wave rolled me over and… boom. I wake up. It took me a second to realize that in fact, I was on Europe and that Szabi had just gone for a solo tack, which left me squeezed onto the Leeward hull. I was deep asleep when it happened so it took me a few seconds to get out of the bunk and jump on the pedestals. From bed to workout in an instant -  trim the jib, bring the board up, trim the traveler and the main sail so we get going again.

It’s only after the action that I realized it was there! What I had been waiting for in the past 48 hours: The Sunshine is back! 

And the sea was much calmer, no more short, banging wind-created waves, but rather the rest of a long smooth ocean swell accompanying us along the coast of Morocco.

With a big smile on my face, I shout to Szabi: Let’s get the last reef out! That’s it. It’s all over. Full sails out again on New Europe. The only thing reminding us of this bad dream was the little storm jib still up on the front deck.

I couldn’t believe that only 15 hours ago we were still banging and flying in this nasty storm in 35 knt of breeze.

Nature is incredible. Birds are now gliding along us on the swell. It was like we just woke up from a nightmare and that sailing was this wonderful thing again

We opened the front hatch and instantaneously got some fresh air to replace the rotten smell inside the cabin from all the wet gear and clothes.

I was so hungry. I had two meals, drank some grenadine syrup and shared more stories with Szabi. We also wanted to give New Europe her own rebirth as well. And so buckets after buckets, we washed her deck of all the gross things that had accumulated in the storm - wet chips on the floor or smashed avocado, human hair, wet paper towels, dried jellyfish, and even bunker fuel stain - heavy fuel oil - likely delivered by a wave from a nearby cargo ship.

Life is good on board. The horizon looks bright. We’re ready to take on this next chapter. Thankful. Hopeful. Excited.

Thank you life! Bring it on!