For my 33rd birthday I got...

On Saturday I spent my 33rd birthday just off the Oregon coast on a 68ft racing yacht... Not the usual state of affairs, and to celebrate, I got to go out on the spinnaker pole not once, but twice; the first time under the guise of having a go when the weather was calm, although Tom then sneakily gave me the emergency guy to attach as well, followed ten minutes later by a call to peel from the medium weight to the light weight kite. As I still had the climbing harness on from earlier endeavours, that was me again, spiking the old kite so that it could be dropped and attaching the new one for a hoist. All actually not too scary, you get hoisted up on a halyard so there's no real climbing involved, just hanging on to the downhaul so that you don't get swung around too much.

In more traditional birthday spirit, there was chocolate cake as well, and pressies including honorary membership to the 'Piss and Moan about Anything and Everything' club from Jenn, my mother watch partner on the pacific leg, whose coffee and brownie whinging sessions made all 31 horrendous days seem just that little bit better. Plus an exra hour and a half in bed during one of the night watches which may not seem like much but when you're snatching sleep in two hour intervals is worth an indescrible amount.

Other than that? Loads of wildlife; a couple of orcas (killer whales) surfacing next to the boat yesterday, and before that a giant pod of dolphins, probably a couple of hundred, making the sea look as if it were boiling over with them. We're still languishing in sixth place, partly due to having had a giant clump of seaweed wrapped round our keel for a few days. But, best news of all, should be back to shorts and tshirt weather in the next 48 hours. Hurray.

The end is nigh

Blue sky and sunshine outside, but otherwise at first glance it's the same old same old – icy cold, upwind in 30 knots, the boat at the perfect angle to make life as difficult as possible, and the staysail back in the saloon, being mended after developing a new rip. However...the radar screen is showing that we're heading towards Victoria at 11 knots (that's good) and mother of all miracles, we've broken the 1,000 nm barrier. Yep, only 832nm to go, which means our little ETA counter is currently showing 84 hours. After 27 days that’s got to be worth a smile.

In the expectation that when we do arrive, I'm going to spend the next ten days either working on the boat, sleeping or shopping, it's probably now or never to reflect on the race – after all, for £4,000 you want to take something away from the experience. So what have I learnt? Firstly, that the leg has been much harder than I think any of us expected. And not necessarily in a sailing sense, though the first couple of weeks saw a run of storms that pushed us physically. Tiredness has been pervasive, particularly since we were short crewed to start with and have been even thinner on the ground, particularly on deck, after a couple of injuries. It seems to go in cycles, for a few days you feel fine, then that lacklustre, not quite motivated feeling kicks in, and finally it moves onto the need to sleep whenever you see somewhere to rest your head. For the female section of the crew you can add random crying into that last phase as well, which leads to more tears just from the sheer frustration of being so pathetic about it all.

Secondly, that adversity does not bring out the best in people (myself definitely included). Whilst the odd emergency may lead to some inner strength shining through, the long term hardship of living in miserable conditions doesn't. When you spend four weeks in cold wet clothes sleeping intermittently in a soaking wet bunk with condensation dripping on you, eating meals that consist of stewed tomatoes and rice, very few people discover hidden reserves of humour and kindness. Instead, we become fixated on the minutiae of life, the things that in any other context wouldn't matter. Which watch works the hardest. Which watch were two minutes late on deck. Why have we run out of sugar. Why do people that in any other circumstances you'd like disappoint you when they don't meet the levels of effort that you think they should put in. And no matter how much you know that life would be a lot easier all round if you pulled together, you just somehow can't stop the odd flickers of sarcasm and resentment.

So, conclusions?

• I'm never sailing across the Pacific again – the moments of this leg that have been fun could probably be condensed into a couple of hours at most. In an ideal world I’d probably quit in Victoria and use the next couple of months to meet up with friends at the original stopovers planned before the keels fell off, then decide what I want to do next. In the real world I suspect I’ll be back on the boat on 17th May and heading towards Panama, as sometimes admitting you’ve had enough takes more gumption than staying with the status quo. Something to ponder over the next couple of days.


• In normal London life, you never really know how you or your friends will react in difficult circumstances. Ignorance is bliss...


• Snickers bars will bring a smile to the most glum of faces. Rice and peas will not.

Hopefully after a bit of R&R in Victoria, normal service will resume, contemplation will cease, and we’ll be back to stories of too much beer and helming in bikinis...

Today I will be wearing.....

Wicking thermal knickers, thermal leggings, a thermal long sleeved top, a t-shirt, a Buffalo fleece, another thick fleece, fleece lined salopettes, oilskin salopettes, an oilskin jacket, sealskin socks, scarf, balaclava and a fleece hat. And none of the above have been changed for the last 6 days. I've said it before, international ocean racing is a glamorous life..

Day 22 and still 1,949 miles to go. This leg is seeming endless, with Victoria still at least 10 days away. The restart to Panama has already been delayed by 3 days to hopefully give us a chance to have a day or two off for the first time since getting back to Subic over a month ago.

Plus, I have to say, relentless upwind sailing is not how it was advertised; for the first 3,000 miles we hit one weather system after another, bringing with it 30-40 knots of wind and biting cold. We're running a split watch system so that we only have two people on deck at a time for a maximum of half an hour, though given that you can still see your breath in the saloon, it's not exactly a case of staying warm and toasty down below. The boat is freezing and every surface is dripping with condensation, including bags, bunks and the outside of sleeping bags. Kit in general hasn't fared well - oilskins aren't proving waterproof, drysuits aren't dry, and will someone please make a glove that doesn't absorb every drop of water within a 20 metre radius. Other than that, morale varies between poor to mediocre; not helped by the prospect of being on food rations next week. I'd like to report that I've lost weight but it's difficult to tell when you have enough clothing on to rival the Michelin man - there's been times when I've struggled to fit out of the hatch to get on deck....

But, life can only get better after this. We've spent copious amounts of time discussing and planning food intake when we finally arrive, Victoria looks great, and after the first two weeks of the next race we should be back in warmer climes. And I need never sail across the Pacific again....