IT IS A VIGIL both personal and communal. For all the intensity of world-class sport, the professionalism and the commercialism, there remains the symbolism, its unexpected purity, the simple image of a boat appearing on the horizon and on it the mariners who never gave up hope.
Watchmen on the Aran Islands waiting to light the welcoming bonfires are playing their part in a global adventure. The first crew into Galway Bay (hopefully this weekend) will be hailed as leg victors, but the truth is, each of the competing teams of the Volvo Ocean Race, on completing the 2,550 nautical miles Atlantic stage, will be greeted as heroes. The high-tech streamlined sail boats are powered only by the wind, controlled by precision team work and sustained by courage, determination and belief.
Irish history knows so many stories of families waving goodbye to loved ones forced to emigrate to America. Between them and the chance of a future lay the unforgiving Atlantic Ocean. Ireland's west coast remembers too many tales of fishermen who went out to sea and never returned. The ironies and parallels will not be lost on the Irish members of the international Green Dragoncrew who within hours of waving goodbye to the happy crowds lining Boston's Fan Pier last Saturday had run foul of a razor-sharp lobster pot line in the Nova Scotia waters. It was a bad stroke of luck requiring immediate on-site repairs to the severed daggerboard, and this misfortune quickly became worse as the temperature dropped. With the cold came a dank, chilly fog.
Visibility deteriorated as the grey sky and the sea appeared to merge, forcing the crews to rely on their radar systems. By Monday morning the all-Nordic Ericsson 3had mentioned in its daily report that its skipper, veteran Swedish sailor Magnus Olsson, was complaining of the cold which had seeped into his fingers. "This is crazy," he said, and admitted to having already put on a seventh layer of clothing. The intense cold was taking everyone by surprise and these are men well used to low temperatures. But the icy wind and the persistent salty sea spray chills the body and stings the eyes. The roar of the wind takes over; the boat creaks and groans, as conditions worsen, it lurches and shudders. No one ever seems to mention that the vast ocean suddenly seems far larger, and perhaps even a bit less romantic.
Conditions became even harsher as the fleet approached Newfoundland, the menacing Labrador Current and the final scoring gate of this, the 10th Volvo Ocean Race, an ice gate off St John’s. The crews have already received ice warnings. Galway has begun to seem a lifetime away. There is also the memory of the death of the young Dutch bowman, Hans Horrevoets, who died on this same North Atlantic leg during the 2005-2006 Volvo Ocean series. His third anniversary fell on Monday, and Volvo have commemorated it by announcing that a trophy will be presented in his honour to the race’s most outstanding young sailor at St Petersburg, the last leg. Many of the competitors knew Horrevoets; the world of international sailing is a small community.
Only a couple of days earlier Olsson was walking along the Boston pier under a sunny sky speaking happily in Swedish into a mobile phone. An iconic, good-natured Viking complete with blonde hair shaped like a toddler’s mop, he is likeable, charming, somewhat absent-minded and obviously still hopelessly in love with the sea. During his career he has seen his sport evolve and acquire increasing technology, yet he also values its enduring humanity. A good crew is a great team. His 19-year-old son stood on the Boston boardwalk seeing his father off. It had seemed very pleasant, an insight into Ratty’s mantra about the joys of “messing about in boats”, but the reality of ocean racing includes extensive physical discomfort. This is a test of endurance and nerve as well as seamanship.
Although the race with its geographic and cultural range is so exciting, and the mere thought of being part of a team heading off on such a dramatic mission is inspiring, the reality of this Atlantic leg is the probability of spending up to nine days in some of the most unforgiving waters on Earth, complete with the risk of ice.
Green Dragonskipper Ian Walker, British double Olympic Silver medallist, calm and pragmatic, makes the point so well when recalling the tension that erupted on board during the long sail from Qingdao in China to Rio de Janeiro when the Irish boat was running out of food. He had to gather the rations and share them out equally while supplies lasted. Then there was nothing, except gruel. It is one thing being wet, trying to keep your balance on a surface that is being bounced by the heaving waves, snatching a couple of hours' sleep between watches and living in confined spaces with colleagues who are equally cold, tired and weary, but try doing that when your mind is full of images of meals that aren't there.
What exactly do they eat, aside from the chocolate bars, the liquorice allsorts and the gruel? Most of the meals consist of freeze-dried food which suddenly springs into life when boiling water is added. A kettle, not a stove, is the major cooking appliance. Racing teams travel light; there are no sacks of potatoes, no bags of fresh fruit and certainly no bananas – they're considered unlucky. Everything is streamlined. No excess weight can be entertained, although this time Green Dragoncrewmen have been allowed full-size toothbrushes. Space has also been made for a large wheel of award-winning St Gall Irish cheese which was carried on board while we sat below deck imagining what it would be like to be facing the Atlantic.
Ken Read and Puma Ocean Racinghave made no secret of their team policy – the deliberate rotation of the crew. "Do we all have our moments?" asked Read, speaking at a skippers' press conference, "living in a cave that is soaking wet and boiling hot . . . we've been consistent in that we've rotated the crew, it was part of our policy from day one."
It makes sense. Even best friends would be ready to kill each other after days of being battered by the wind, the cold, exhaustion, hunger and the sheer confinement. Read, the John McEnroe sound-alike, means business; the beautiful red boat with its large black cat motif dominating the sail is his kingdom. A black cat means good luck; it is also Puma’s trademark and, yes, the hull does look like a running shoe. Ken Read wants to win this race. They all do; they just have different ways of showing it.
Torben Grael of Brazil is skipper of Ericsson 4, five-time Olympic medallist; he was champion in 1996 in Atlanta and again in Athens in 2004. A natural philosopher, he looks like a 19th-century military commander prepared to lead his troops into battle. It was Grael who skippered his boat and crew to a record-breaking speed of just under 600 miles a day on the opening leg from Alicante to Capetown, and this, on a sailboat, powered only by the wind.
Read has the pioneering American approach: “Come on guys, let’s do it.”
The benign Olsson, competing in his sixth Volvo/Whitbread campaign, sees sailing as a passion. Recently turned 60, most of his crew are young enough to be his sons.
Ian Walker is a natural leader, a problem solver, the man who will get his crew through shark-infested waters as if it were a cross-country run. The spread of nationalities adds to the cultural diversity of the race.
By the time this odyssey finishes in St Petersburg at the end of June, it will have spanned eight months and 37,000 nautical miles, from Spain to South Africa, to India to Singapore to China, to Qingdao – host to the sailing events at last year’s Olympics – to Brazil, on to Boston, to Galway, to Sweden and a finale in Russia in the beautiful city created by Tsar Peter the Great.
Following the race is the definitive geography lesson; it is also a unique reminder, as Kerryman Damian Foxall said to me in Boston, "of exactly how small the world really is". Small it may be but the contrasts are still exciting. The Volvo Ocean Race is a variation of Claudio Magris's classic Danube.
Just as that wonderful narrative follows European cultures through the course of the historic river which was witness to those respective histories, the Volvo race circumnavigates several of the world’s most contrasting cultures.
World-class sailing is the main story, but the educational element, this geography-made-fun aspect, is invaluable. Irish children have been following Green Dragonand Padraig the Bear while absorbing extensive information about climate variation. Navigators are also skilled meteorologists.
The race plan reiterates how much of the planet is covered by the sea. To date, Rio de Janeiro, a city well experienced in hosting the Volvo Ocean Race, seems to have been the most enjoyable of stopovers. Galway, although so much smaller, is another city well used to festivals and visitors. The Volvo travelling road show with its 180 containers, 90 of which have already arrived in Galway – the other 90 are heading for Gothenburg – showcases Swedish logistical flair.
Volvo has also acknowledged the pre-Volvo history of the race which began in 1973 as the Whitbread Round the World Race. In those days the boats were all shapes and sizes, now they conform to a uniform Volvo Open 70 design with a mainsail spanning 172 square metres. Atmospheric Galway, with years of practical tourism experience to draw on, should prove an interesting new addition. Galway’s size is another advantage: everyone in the city will be conscious of the boats.
Spain, a country with a remarkable maritime history and tremendous sailors, has the highest national representation among the crews, even outnumbering the Scandinavians and Australians. Roberto Bermúdez De Castro skippers Delta Lloyd, the Dutch-built boat designed by Irishman Killian Bushe which as ABN AMROwon the 2005-2006 Volvo Ocean Race. Now sailing under its new name and having been heavily repaired, the boat demands respect. It is as if she were a champion racehorse out to take on younger, newer challengers.
Another Spanish Olympian, Fernando Echavarri, leads Telefonica Black. Competing in his fifth round-the-world ocean race, Dutchman Bouwe Bekking, whose boat sank on this leg last time, skippers Telefonica Blue. Among its crew are Spaniards Iker Martinez and Xabier Ferandez, both Olympic gold medallists.
Sailors once went to war. They sailed the seas looking for new lands to conquer. They played their part in the expansion of empires and in the era of discovery. Naturalists sailed with them. Specimens returned, as did wild animals.
Today's sailors are international sportsmen. Unlike an Olympic regatta, the Volvo Ocean Race is extreme and far more subject to the unexpected such as the oil tanker and the two low-flying jets heading for Logan Airport which added to the drama of the Boston departure. Bekking's Telefonica Bluereached the final scoring gate at St John's Newfoundland on Tuesday at 3.11am GMT. Puma Ocean Racingwas second, only a minute behind, while Ericsson 3 passed the gate 20 minutes later. Racing on the open Atlantic, and still that close together.
A lone boat sails into view, or perhaps there is a racing fleet pushing for the harbour? Galway prepares for another chapter of sailing history.
