Volvo Ocean Race - A stray dog's life

by Team Brunel - Robbert-Jan Metselaar on 20 May 2015 Volvo Ocean Race - The stopovers are like bringing a stray dog home, pampering it, spoiling it, fattening it up for a week and then taking it out again and leaving it tied to a tree. No, that’s not nice! But after ten days of being spoilt in Newport, this floating self-chastisement is no party either, at least in the beginning.

“It’s always hard to get back into the rhythm every time,” says Louis Balcaen. And he’s hit the nail on the head. We’re one day out of Newport – where the food tasted deliciously un-American, the beer flowed freely and the pubs were warm and inviting. And where the bed-linen smelled fresh! And where the warm hands of our singing physio Mark Haak smoothed the creases out of our battered bodies. The bodies that were pampered for ten days now have to work hard again.

Everything that could float sailed out of Newport with the racing boats to boost our spirits for this next leg. In time, the following boats broke off and returned home one by one. A few fanatical sailors kept on doggedly and sailed with us for a few hours more, still sounding their horns. “When the last boat turns back, you know that you’re on your own from that point onwards,” continues Balcaen.

And that’s also the point when the “heartbeat of the boat” slows down – from chaos to serene peace and quiet. Jens Dolmer tries to sort out the spaghetti of ropes in the cockpit. Below deck, Louis and Timo start their first freeze-dried lasagne. Skipper Bouwe Bekking takes a sip of his first cup of coffee. He’s certainly going to need it on this first night.

He and navigator Andrew Cape often give the first meal a miss. All the watches are synchronised. The time is put forward three hours, which means that in terms of time zones we are somewhere between Newport and Lisbon and will have fewer problems with “boat lag”. Four men climb into their berths; four remain on deck. The watch system has started.

For the first 24 hours, the dog that’s tied to the tree doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He has to get used to walking at an angle again and making do with a few hours’ sleep.

And going to bed wet. And the musty smell on board. And the banging and pounding. And the growling generator. Sometimes a body literally revolts against it all and ejects food as soon as it’s been eaten. There is little conversation and even less laughter. Neither has the shift in time started to work in favour of your rhythm. In the days to come, it’s still light at midnight.

But suddenly the dog realises where he is again. This outdoor life is in his roots. It’s what he was meant to do. Not for him to be pampered like a poodle. And it doesn’t take long for him to free himself from the rope. He runs for hours over the moors with a lolling tongue, chases rabbits, jumps into fast-flowing streams, rolls on his back in the high grass and thinks to himself, ‘a dog’s life can be really great!’