Volvo Ocean Race – Ripped J2 sail for Team Brunel

by Team Brunel - Robbert-Jan Metselaar on 10 Jun 2015 Volvo Ocean Race – We are sailing in the infamous Bay of Biscay. Many a boat has been lost in the waters between Northern Spain and the coast of Brittany. It couldn’t have been worse. The wind is blowing from the north-east – exactly from the direction of Lorient. This means sailing close-hauled into a 33-knot wind and gigantic waves. It’s certainly no joke.

Again the hull is lifted high by a huge wave, to dive violently several metres into a deep trough a few seconds later. The four men on deck are holding on tight. Thousands of litres of foaming water stream over the deck and into the cockpit. The wind is howling in the rigging. These are literally boat breaking conditions. Suddenly we hear the sound of a ripping sail. “ Shit, our J2 is gone!” yells Gerd-Jan Poortman from outside to the crew members who are below deck. Quickly he runs to the bow together with Adam Minoprio to check the damage. There is a rip of three meters in our sail. They furl the broken J2 straight away and hoist the smaller J3. “ We’re definitely going to miss our J2 in conditions with less breeze,” says an irritated Gerd-Jan. “There is too much wind right now to hoist the bigger J1. The J2 is our preferred sail for these conditions.”

Things are not much better below deck. You hold on tight every time you feel the hull lifted by another monster wave. When the hull slices through a wave there is no noise but when the 65-foot-long boat plunges at least a metre into the trough, you can hear the carbon crack. Sometimes the blow is so violent that you’re literally thrown from your bed.

'Can you still send media?” Navigator Andrew Cape sticks his head around the corner from his navigation station. 'I can’t receive weather information anymore,' he says, and is almost thrown from his seat as the hull crashes into another huge wave. 'No, my communications are all dead too,' I reply, surprised. We’re sailing blind. Capey rushes to the cockpit to see if the white Inmarsat communication domes at the stern of the boat might be causing the problems. Moments later, he sits down next to me again with a soaking wet head. 'The repeated impact of the hull on the water broke the media tower. The smallest dome even fell off. Jens has made an emergency repair and all systems are working again.'

And now I can feel the eyes of the ghost of seasickness piercing my back. I try to avoid an unpleasant confrontation by getting a breath of fresh salt air in the cockpit. But I can’t enjoy it for long. The men have to be fed, I have to finish this blog and the daily photos have to be sent off. The battle is lost. I can just-to-say press ‘send’ but a few seconds later the contents of my stomach disappear overboard. But there’s no time for rest and recovery. The show must go on. I have to cook for men who are toiling together to conquer the fearsome Bay of Biscay.