Sue Gyford's Clipper blog

Thursday, August 4

I've finally emerged after 18hrs in my bunk... which might not surprise anyone who knows just how much I love to sleep, but in this case was more to do with the fact that lying down was the only time I didn't feel ill.

After those calm first two days, the wind started to pick up yesterday afternoon and we were flying along. There were minor dramas - a ripped spinnaker, a trip to the end of the spinnaker pole (which sticks out over the sea) for crew member Anton Larkin to switch some halyards over. After initially struggling a little to find my place outside the watch system, I was starting to get stuck in. I spent a couple of stints helping trim the spinnaker (keep the big billowy sail from flapping, in other words) and got stuck in with a couple of sail changes yesterday morning, testing out the bowline knot I'd painstakingly learned before setting off (the knot stayed, btw - hooray!) Then, yesterday afternoon, we got to the Bay of Biscay, where the continental shelf drops off suddenly on the seabed and the sea gets properly choppy. Which it did.

Everyone rushed round making sure everything was safely stowed so it wouldn't fly out as the boat bounced around, I pulled on my oilies (foul weather gear) and went up on deck.

I had a good couple of hours enjoying the splash and the spray and sitting tight in the cockpit, the safest place on the deck. Then it was time for a sail change and I went down below with crew members Lesley Roberts and Rich Abrahams to find the new sail. Bending down in a room smelling of diesel while the boat pitched and rolled was enough to tip me into feeling as rough as the sea outside.

After another half hour on deck I decided to try the recommended "lying down" cure, which seemed to do the trick. As long as I lay very, very still, I was fine. As soon as I got up to go to the loo, not so good.

One thing I wasn't prepared for was just how hard it is to get around the boat when it's leaning right over.

The inside of the boat looks the same, but suddenly gravity is pulling towards the wall, not the floor. Getting from one side of the boat to the other starts to become a climbing (or falling) expedition. I'm just not strong enough for it to be easy.

So I lay tight in my bed for almost 18 hours, often right on the lee-cloth, the long piece of canvas that you pull up at the side of the bunk to keep you in when it's not calm. I was, at least, relieved to know that a couple of others had taken to their bunks too so it wasn't just me.

And most of all, just delighted to know that I could make myself feel well again by lying down and wasn't doomed to be one of those who takes to their bunk with a bucket.

As I lay there overnight with the boat pitching, rolling and slamming into the waves, I could hear the crew on deck, in the dark, working as usual as the water crashed about them.

This morning I've woken up to a calmer day, a calmer stomach, and the sun up. I expected to find the crew full of tales of their night of adventure.

In fact, they all seem perfectly matter of fact about the whole thing. Any suggestion of mine that last night might have been quite a night is met with completely blank looks of incomprehension.

This is, after all, what they signed up for - and they're loving it.

Written Monday, August 1, 11.30am,

Lat: 50 degrees, 08.75' N

Long: 001 degree 37.38'W

Monday, August 1

And now here we are on our way.

Well… in fact at this moment we're pretty much stationary, north of Cherbourg, possibly even drifting backwards slightly on the tide.

After getting into first place in the race overnight, the wind has dropped. It's not great, but at least it's affecting the other boats too.

The crew have dropped into their watch system, with two teams alternating between sleep and work for between four and six hours at a time.

Since I know far less than them about sailing and have blogs to write and photographs to take, I've been exempted from the watch system along with a fellow "media person", Sam, who is filming for the official Clipper film.

The two of us actually get to sleep normal hours – a luxury I wasn't expecting, but can't quite bring myself to turn down.

Turfing yourself out of bed at 4am after 3hrs sleep to get on deck is one of the less pleasant aspects of this kind of adventure, as I discovered when I trained with the crew a month ago.

The crew spaces are still chock-full of kit to be packed and food to be eaten, and everything is gradually being sorted.

In a bid to be helpful, I watched the boiling kettle in the warm galley yesterday and had my first taste of seasickness from staying down below and getting too hot – not to the point of sickness but spent several hours with my body and mind screaming at me with nausea, demanding what on earth I thought I was doing to them. And it was barely even choppy.

I realised at that point how impossible it would be to crack open the laptop in the crew saloon in that state, so I'm secretly, disloyally, a tiny bit pleased that things are a little smoother this morning.

It's not good news for the race, though. Maybe if we can just have half an hour of calm every morning before the wind gets up, I can keep in touch…

Sunday, July 31

Start day. A day of enormously mixed emotions for all the crew - most of all the round-the-worlders. They are leaving behind children, husbands, wives and parents, some of whom they won't see until they arrive again in Southampton in a year's time. There may be port visits for some en route, but when they are at sea, they will be cut off from the outside world in a way that was once par for the course when travelling, but has now become a thing of the past - for land travellers at least. No mobile reception, no emails, no Facebook.

Everyone is wearing sunglasses as they say their goodbyes, not to keep the sun off, but to hide their puffy eyes. But despite the sadness, race start also marks the realisation of a long-held ambition for them all. Many first applied to join the race more than 18 months ago, others have wanted to take part in an expedition like this for their whole lives. They have all spent many months training and looking forward to this day.

There was one more unexpected visitor to welcome before we set off – the Olympic torch. Mid-morning, two escorts arrived bearing a long case, and the torch – a gleaming gold-coloured spear of metal – was brought out. The crew rushed forward to touch it, and it was borne to the bow where we all posed for pictures as it was held aloft.

Next up was the leaving ceremony – crews, each in their team kit (Geraldtown in Australia have hats with corks, we have kilts…) take to the stage in turn. There are thousands of people in the audience and our team song – Proud – is played to huge cheers as we pose for a team photograph. Then it's off, back to the boat and ready for the start.

Proud plays again as we slip away from the pontoon, I haul in one of the fenders from the side of the boat as the others work the ropes, and we're heading away from the marina, waving to the cheering crowds on the waterfront.

The size of flotilla that has come out to see the Clipper fleet's departure gradually dawns on us. Before long, the water around us is frothing as if at a boil because there are so many yachts and motor boats around us. Then the vast HMS Illustrious appears, crew on deck, dwarfing everything in its path and bidding us safe passage.

We motor down to Cowes and the race start line, the sails go up, and we sit on the high side of the boat with our legs over the side so our weight will help position the boat in the best possible alignment.

Before we knew it, the start claxon has gone. Everyone is still agog at the sight of hundreds of boats around us, crew members waving, smiling, and in several cases musing "I've waited 20 months for this moment…"

Saturday, July 30

IT'S been a long and emotional weekend for everyone on board Edinburgh Inspiring Capital. There's been a huge amount of work done to get the boat ready, joyful celebrations to mark the race start, and emotional farewells to family and friends.

Edinburgh Inspiring Capital's crew is made up of 52 sailors. Only 18 of those are sailing on this leg, but many others have come down for the start weekend to support their crewmates – some of them wishing they'd signed up for an earlier leg, as they'll now have months to wait before they can go to sea themselves.

After the official crew party on Friday night at Southampton's Guildhall, Edinburgh Inspiring Capital was officially named at its berth in the town's Ocean Village.

Ours wasn't the only boat to have an official naming ceremony, but I think it's fair to say ours turned the most heads. The crew were all wearing our matching City of Edinburgh tartan kilts (thank you, Kinloch Anderson), logo'd T-shirts and hats, and everyone lined up alongside the boat as a piper arrived at the pontoons, drawing the crowds who had been milling around, enjoying the atmosphere.

There were speeches singing the praises of Edinburgh and wishing the crew good luck before city leader Jenny Dawe splashed a wee dram of whisky over the bow. The piper reappeared, this time heralding the arrival of a vast haggis, which was given the traditional Burns address by skipper Gordon Reid, before being served to guests with glasses of celebratory champagne, only adding to the high spirits of the afternoon.

Thursday, July 28

Latitude: 55 degrees, 57 minutes North

Longitude: 3 degrees, 10 minutes West

It still hasn't sunk in really - in three days' time I'll be on a yacht sailing to Madeira.

As I sit in the Evening News offices in Holyrood Road it all seems like a very abstract idea, despite the piles of kit in my spare room waiting to be packed.

The bed is covered with quick-dry clothes, thermals and sunhats, wellies and flip flops. I've had advice from all possible quarters - strangers on internet forums have advised me on finding sunscreen that also protects from windburn and sea salt, and round the world cyclist Mark Beaumont suggested when I interviewed him recently that make-up removing wipes are better than wet wipes for getting clean in the absence of showers. He should know, so they have been duly purchased, along with so many travel-sickness tablets that the assistant in Boots had to check with the pharmacist that she was allowed to sell them to me.

Tonight it'll all be jammed into a kit bag and tomorrow I set off for Southampton - where there's not a spare hotel bed to be had: The town is in the grip of Clipper fever.

The town's Ocean Village is hosting a festival to see the boats off and on Saturday Edinburgh Inspiring Capital will be officially named, in the company of a crew sporting their official Edinburgh kilts (I've already picked mine up from Kinloch Anderson in Leith: very fetching).

On Sunday, supporters will climb aboard a huge flotilla of boats to escort us out, and I'll be on board with Edinburgh Inspiring Capital's first-leg crew as we cross the start line and head for the horizon.

Check in and see how we're doing on this blog.

I'll be reporting back regularly - allowing for seasickness, sleep deprivation and the potential for technical hiccups when sending copy from a 68ft yacht on the high seas to a newsroom in Edinburgh.

What could possibly go wrong?