The hardest climb
Eyes closed and teeth gritted, I hung on tight, wrists clenched together and hoped
It was December 2000, 44 days into the Vendée Globe race. Ellen Macarthur was below 55˚south. She was just assimilating the news that she was lying in third position when ‘with an agonising silence and cruel lack of drama’ she lost her Code 5 sail. She struggled to drag the sail from the water, then, with the wind increasing to 30 knots, she needed to replace the halyard...
I climbed the mast on Christmas Eve, and though I had time to get ready, it was the hardest climb to date.
I had worked through the night preparing for it, making sure I had all the bits I might need, and had agonized for hours over how I should prepare the halyard so that it would stream out easily below me and not get caught.
When it got light I decided the time was right. I kitted up in my middle-layer clothes as I didn’t want to wear so much that I wouldn’t be able to move freely up there. The most dangerous thing apart from falling off is to be thrown against the mast, and though I would be wearing a helmet it would not be difficult to break bones up there.
I called Mark. It was evening in France where he was living in the mountains, and he was just about to sleep. I told him not to worry if he tried to contact me and I did not reply as I would be up the mast for the next couple of hours. Though his words were reassuring I could sense his concern.
I laid the new halyard out on deck, flaking it neatly so there were no twists. As I took the mast in my hands and began to climb I felt almost as if I was stepping on to the moon – a world over which I had no control. You can’t ease the sheets or take a reef, nor can you alter the settings for the autopilot. If something goes wrong you are not there to attend to it. You are a passive observer looking down on your boat some 90 feet below you. After climbing a couple of metres I realized how hard it was going to be, I couldn’t feel my fingers – I’d need gloves, despite the loss in dexterity. I climbed down, getting soaked as we ploughed into a wave
– the decks around my feet were awash. I unclipped my jumar from the halyard and put on a pair of sailing gloves. There would be no second climb on this one – I knew that I would not have the energy.
As I climbed, my hands were more comfortable, and initially the progress was positive. But it got harder and harder as I was not only pulling my own weight up as I climbed but also the increasingly heavy halyard – nearly 200 feet of rope by the time I made it to the top. The hardest thing is just to hang on as the mast slices erratically through the air. There would be the odd massive wave which I could feel us surf down, knowing we would pile into the wave in front. I would wrap my arms around the mast and press my face against its cold and slippery carbon surface, waiting for the shuddering slowdown. Eyes closed and teeth gritted, I hung on tight, wrists clenched together and hoped. Occasionally, on the smaller waves, I would be thrown before I could hold on tight, and my body and the tools were thrown away from the mast; I’d be hanging on by one arm, trying to stop myself from smacking into the rig.
By the third spreader I was exhausted; the halyard was heavier and the motion more violent. I held on to the spreader base and hung there, holding tight to breathe more deeply and conjure up more energy. But I realised that the halyard was tight and it had caught on something. Damn! I knew that if I went down to free it I would not have the energy to climb up once again. I tugged and tugged on the rope – the frustration was unreal. Luckily with all the pulling I managed to create enough slack to make it to the top, but now I was even more exhausted. I squinted at the grey sky above and watched the mast-head whip across the clouds. The wind whistled past us, made visible by the snow that had begun to fall. Below, the sea stretched out for ever, the size and length of the waves emphasized by this new aerial view. This is what it must look like to the albatross.
I rallied once more and left the safety of the final spreader for my last hike to the top. The motion was worse than ever.
DAME ELLEN MACARTHUR was born in 1976. She achieved second place in the 2000-2001 Vendée Globe race, aged 24. In 2004-2005 she broke the speed record for solo nonstop circumnavigation in the trimaran B&Q. She has since founded the Ellen Macarthur Cancer Trust and the Ellen Macarthur Foundation.
As the mast-head came within reach there was a short moment of relief – whatever happened now I had the whole mast to climb down. I fumbled at the top of the rig, feeding in the halyard and connecting the other end to the top of Kingfisher’s mast. The job only took half an hour – then I began my descent. This was the most dangerous part and I had my heart in my mouth.
It was almost four hours before I called Mark back and I shook with exhaustion as I spoke. We had been surfing at over 20 knots while I was up there. My limbs were bruised and my head was spinning, but I felt like a million dollars as I spoke on the phone. Santa had called on Kingfisher early and we had the best present ever – a new halyard.
‘Finally; like to wish every one of you out there a happy Christmas. It shall feel strange opening my presents alone, and as my heater’s broken there’s little chance of Santa popping down the chimney – the exhaust’s got a bung in it now anyway! Thank you all so much for your thousands of messages. I cannot thank you enough – I just hope you can feel what a difference they make to life out here. When things are tough I really feel like I’m not alone – and your energy and support shines through every time…thank you. I just hope that we can hang in here, and catch those others up before we get home! Now that would be the perfect gift for Xmas.
Take care, Merry Christmas, love Ellen.’
It was odd being so far away from the rest of the world on Christmas Day. I was lucky with the weather, the wind stayed reasonably steady, and we were able to sail all day without major sail changes. I had everything from a miniature Christmas tree to tinsel and plastic farm animals, and even a tiny lantern with a small supply of candles which I hung from the cabin roof at night. It brought tears to my eyes to see the kindness and the amount of thought each person had put into the gifts I’d stowed away on board before the start. But the best thing that happened on Christmas Day was a conference call which Mark had organised for all my friends and family to call in and have a chat. It was only after 20 minutes that I discovered Mum and Dad had been there all the time but not said anything! Although I couldn’t physically have been much further away from them all, I felt very close to everyone that day. A real Christmas.