Defragmentation complete

Somewhere with rather a lot of sea swell 3rd September. 5. PM.

Just to warn you that I am going to have to write this v e r y s l o w l y…. probably just one sentence at a time followed by a series of long, careful, restorative pauses…. That ok?

[takes a sip of water, boat rolls, horizon flits passed momentarily through the long room porthole….. }

The ‘night of the long dives’ in the teeth of a Force 9 gale did not, for me at least, prove quite as appalling as I had feared. I think most people survived it fairly well. But typing and focusing your eyes on a computer screen is not a good way of tackling sea-sickness, so I must be careful

[pause]

The views on deck as we headed out into the stormy seas last night were spectacular. Imagine the bright, regular beam of the Falmouth lighthouse flinging round through 360 degrees to port, offset by myriad moon beams breaking through the fractured clouds to starboard, spilling a majestic grey hue onto the boisterous waters below.

Wow!

[long pause]

With the wind in our faces, it was an exhilarating departure.

And then straight to bed, hatches securely fastened.

I tell you getting your boots off in a Force 9 gale on a clipper is no simple task. Bend down to untie the laces, and, as the boat lurches, your face ends up somewhere on the floor. Lift your boots to your lap, an alternative approach, and when the boat lurches you just fall of the chair…
I eventually resorted to lying on my bunk and just pulling very hard.

Sleep was intermittent. Thankfully, though, the dreaded sick-sickness was in remission. Dreams came through thick and fast, the brain flitting through all those images and sensation of the last few days, like a computer disk, de-fragmenting its newest data, to make it easier to fetch and carry for the future.

Suddenly the ship was on skis – whoah! – and still in full sail. Down the slopes we careered, then up the other side, Whooooosh… Now that was fun!

By the morning the weather was beginning to calm from the tempestuous night – well, a little. I spent two hour on deck eyes fixed on the horizon, chatting variously to the extraordinary talents here on board – the sculptor Anthony Smith, who plans to model a bust of Fitzroy, the man who captained HMS Beagle, and Wim, my room-mate, an artist who takes exquisite pictures through his microscope of microbial sea creatures.

John Francis, the American environmentalist is another. He got so fed up with arguing with people over the damage humans are doing to the environment that he spent 17 years in silence, walking across America, teaching himself how to listen and learning to live his own life along a new path.

And, as I slowly type, Sarah Darwin, great great granddaughter of Charles, enters the long room and joins me here at the large round table. She’s a biologist with the Natural History Museum in London, and submitted her PhD on the tomatoes of the Galapagos Islands the day we set sail… a project which has taken her nine years to complete.

She’s brought her two sons Leo (6) and Joss (2) for at least 4 weeks. Leo, a budding photo-journalist, is taking pictures of everyone, and sticking them into his ship’s log using an instant picture-developing Polaroid camera. He then interviews each person to find out who they are and what they do. What a brilliant experience.

Meanwhile the film crew, technicians and producers discuss tactics and plans for how to shoot episode 2 of “On the Future of Species” which traces our progress from Plymouth to Tenerife.
And last, but far from least, is the twenty strong crew of sailors under the command of Captain Richard who constantly clean the decks, assess the weather conditions and adjust the sails, ready to catch every last wisp of useful wind to propel us along.

What an extraordinary assemblage of amazing people….