22
DEE CAFFARI
DESPITE ALL THE RISKS AND DISCOMFORTS OF RACING IN THE
SOUTHERN OCEAN, SAILORS KEEP GOING BACK. DEE EXPLAINS WHY‘Sailing in the south
is an exhilarating
adventure’
W
COMMENT
hen people think of the Southern Ocean
they conjure up images of a hostile
environment, many miles from land with
huge waves, freezing weather and extreme
winds. There’s no doubt this image can be
accurate and, in no uncertain terms, the Southern Ocean
is one of the most perilous areas to sail on the planet.
Yet, it continues to lure back many sailors (myself
included) time and time again.
I write this in the wake of the death of my friend John
Fisher, ‘Fish’, who was washed overboard during Leg 7 of
the Volvo Ocean Race.
Losing a crew member at sea is a tragedy we don’t ever
want to contemplate, but it’s a risk all sailors take when
they set out on an offshore voyage. In the same way that a
Paris-Dakar racing driver knows the risks they are taking
when they pull out onto the dirt roads that are their race
track, it is the same for us.
Having sailed around the world six times now,
inevitably I have had both good and bad experiences in
the Southern Ocean.
It can provide the
most exhilarating
racing you’ll ever
encounter, and that
incredible feeling of
full throttle speed and
being on the edge of
control (and
occasionally leaning quite a way over that edge) is an
amazing experience.
The fl ip side is that it can also bring forth freezing cold,
treacherous conditions... and occasionally fear.
But all risk is relative. As professional sailors you accept
that, at times, what you do is dangerous – but to counter
that we undertake stringent training and preparation. We
cannot foresee every eventuality but we try and cover off
as many scenarios as possible.
As a solo sailor I had to be even more mindful of risk as
there was no-one to rescue me.
One of the most frightening experiences I have ever had
was on my fi rst solo voyage round the world, when I
managed to get stuck up the mast trying to release
climbing gear that had become jammed.At the time it was extremely scary as I felt completely
helpless and was unable alert anyone to my predicament.
And even if I could have done, I was in too remote a
position for anyone to be able to assist me.
After a couple of hours dangling, with my body
slamming against the mast, I fi nally managed to release
the gear. I got myself under control and descended safely
back down to the deck. Looking back I know that situation
could have had a very different outcome.
The reality is that near misses are commonplace when
you’re racing in these sorts of environments. Missed
handholds, or slips on the deck that could so easily have
ended with more than just a bump or a bruise are too
numerous to count.
Another notable event was a huge storm off Cape Horn
while I was competing in the 2008 Vendée Globe. I and
two other competitors were approaching together and a
huge depression was arriving at the same time. Winds of
85 knots were registered at Tierra del Fuego and the race
management team called and asked us to stop racing and
wait at Cape Horn for the worst of the weather to pass.
That had never happened before so we knew it was serious.
It’s rare for race direction to give such warnings with
regard to weather; the simplest rule is that a skipper is
responsible for taking their boat to sea. However, we also
knew that, should anything happen to any one of us, we
would each be the other’s closest means of rescue.
So, all that considered, the question is: why do we keep
going back?
Well, when you are in the zone and on the train ride that
is sailing in the south, it is an exhilarating, adrenalin-
fuelled adventure.
At night, I would liken it to travelling in a car with poor
suspension at 60mph over rough terrain with no lights. It
is nerve-wracking but the speeds can be amazing. It’s
diffi cult to slow down and impossible to get off, but if you
ask any of my crew on Turn the Tide on Plastic whether
they’d go back to the Southern Ocean I’m convinced each
and every one of them would say yes.
Well, they would after a cold beer and a night in a
comfortable bed. Bolstered by the luxury of hindsight, the
discomforts become fewer and the cold seems less cold,
but the sailing remains as exhilarating in your memory as
it was in real life.