Day 1 of the Clipper Race: Mother Watch

The Clipper Race Kicks Off

The big day has finally arrived: It is the start of Race 1 of Leg 1 of the Clipper Round the World Race.

It’s been an intense week in London for the hundreds of Clipper crew about to start Leg 1, considering the boats have been under construction up until the 11th hour. My schedule has been full of boat prep, guardrail installations, sail checks, deep cleaning, winch servicing, boat naming ceremonies, media interviews and desperate gear purging to make sure my belongings fit within the 20-kilo limit per crew on board Henri Lloyd. Which has left little time for visits from friends and family or spending much time with Ryan before departing for the high seas.

The last week has been so stressful, in fact, that it isn’t until London grows smaller in the distance, and we are finally motoring towards the start line, that I begin to relax for the first time in months. As we hoist our sails and wait for the cannon shot that will kick off our first 380-mile race from London, UK to Brest, France, the adrenalin kicks in and I finally start to enjoy myself.

Mother Watch: A hell of a job

When you think of yacht racing, you probably think of high-pressure moments like the ones seen on YouTube, where a boat tacks around a fixed race marker with the crew grinding on the winches or scrambling across the deck to the high side, each boat coming within what seems like inches of each other.

But, despite all the pressure of performing on deck, it’s the crew on Mother Watch – the 24-hour below-deck rotation in which two crew at a time are responsible for all the day’s meals – that bear the mother lode of high-pressure responsibility.

Just imagine, if you will, the look on my skipper’s face at 6:40 am on Race Start Day when he’d asked for the crew to be fed and on deck for work by 6:30 am at the LATEST. And yet I and, Jo, the other “mother” on duty, had to admit that the hot porridge was nowhere near ready to be served.

Lesson #267 in onboard living: When the porridge package instructions say “2-4 minutes to cook on the stove” they are NOT referring to a 20-person serving.

Having thoroughly disappointed the skipper during the morning shift of Mother Watch, Jo and I were determined not to screw up lunch and dinner. So we made sure to be below deck, cooking away in the galley at least an hour and a half before each meal serving time.

This, unfortunately, meant missing out on a lot of the first-day-of-Clipper-Racing action (I had to pop my head up on deck every half an hour to check what the status was – were we beating or losing to my husband’s boat, PSP Logistics? “Priorities, people! I’m slaving away in the galley – the least you can do is make sure we beat Ryan!”)

This also meant Jo and I were forced to spend most of the day below deck, which is a sure-fire way to kick-start seasickness. So, it was lucky that one of our Leg 8 crew members, Emma, had provided the boat with homemade meals to get us through the first two days of racing without having to do any heavy cooking. I’ve never been so happy to see a frozen catering tray full of chicken Thai curry. Reheating and serving was about all I could handle by dinner preparation time, considering the 45-degree tilt and the bouncy conditions.

The winds kicked up in the English Channel, making tacking a violent experience below deck. Bowls were flying out of the cupboards at our faces, a bottle of olive oil smashed all over the floorboards, Jo (the other Mother) was lying face-down on a sail retching into a garbage bag and I was crawling periodically to the head on my hands and knees to vomit, while emerging now and then to check that the rice wasn’t burning.

Let’s just say we were not the same ravenous crew who, the previous night, had scarfed down two entire chocolate cakes for our first Clipper Race birthday on board Henri Lloyd.

As I pulled my head from the toilet, I thought to myself that it may be a while before I see chocolate cake again. But then again, it may be a while before I want to see chocolate cake again.

Either way, there was no turning back now.


The Clipper Round the World Race

Tasha and Ryan are competing in Legs 1 and 3 of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race, which started September 1st, 2013 in London, UK. Tasha is competing on CV21 (the Henri Lloyd boat) with Skipper Eric Holden and Ryan is competing on CV28 (the PSP Logistics boat) with Skipper Chris Hollis. You can read more about the crew and the boats here at crew

Clipper Race delivery: The good, the bad and the ugly

As of September 1st, The Clipper Round the World Race has begun and, unfortunately, I’m already behind on my updates. So I’ve devised a way of recording and posting snapshots of my experiences on the race to give you, my readers, a picture of what it’s like to sail, race, maintain and live aboard the twelve 70-foot Clipper Racing Yachts that are competing against each other in 8 Legs that will take them in a full circle around the world starting in London, UK.

Since I am transmitting these updates via satellite phone, text and images must be kept to a minimum to keep the cost of transmission affordable. So I’ll be posting fairly frequent but succinct updates while I’m at sea on Legs 1 and 3 of the race.

In the meantime, here’s a little picture of what it was like to deliver Clipper Yacht CV21, Henri Lloyd, from Gosport to London for the start of the race.

The Good

After six hours of motoring through the industrial landscape that lines the Thames River, The Millennium Dome appears around a bend and marks the start of what finally feels like the beginning of the Clipper Round the World Race.

14 Henri Lloyd crew members, some of whom are round-the-world racers, and others who are doing just one or two legs, are taking pictures of each other posing on the bow with some of London’s most famous landmarks in the background like the Shard, the Gherkin and, of course, Tower Bridge.

Like me, many of the crew have been preparing for this race for more than a year, so arriving to London on our branded race boats feels like the culmination of months of stress…even though the race has yet to begin. After what seems like countless training laps sailing around the Solent, I seem to have forgotten that at some point Clipper Race Training will end and the actual race will begin. Sailing into London is a reminder that, despite how it feels, this is just the beginning.

As the Tower Bridge grows larger, looming over the bow of our black and yellow boat, cheers are heard from the crowds lining the Thames River to watch our entrance to St. Katharine’s Docks. And it dawns upon me that I am about to race 5,100 miles to Brazil via France (Leg 1) and roughly 5,000 miles from South Africa to Australia (Leg 3).

I’m feeling simultaneously grateful to have this opportunity and anxious about the unknowns of this journey.

The Bad

“We’re thinking of changing Clipper’s strap line from ‘Raced By People Like You’ to ‘Built By People Like You’” Ryan jokes as sweat mixes with the sawdust glued to his neck. He is using a hacksaw to cut through pieces of plywood on the docks.

Unlike my boat, Henri Lloyd, which has been in the water for at least six weeks, Ryan’s boat, PSP Logistics, was launched just three days ago. Which means their sails haven’t arrived yet, almost nothing on the boat is fully installed, and they only have six hours to go before the entire fleet is meant to depart for London to make their grand entrance to St. Katharine’s Docks. Hence the hasty recruitment of paying Clipper crew to finish building the new fleet of 70-foot racing yachts.

The docks are abuzz with paid workmen and paying crew installing bowsprit supports, drilling holes in the deck, filling holes with Sikaflex, installing new stanchions, servicing winches, taking inventory of sails and spare parts, and doing countless other jobs that ideally wouldn’t be done just a few hours before the scheduled departure..

Ryan looks up at me with a look of frustration and defeat, covered in sweat and streaked with Sikaflex. He rubs his temples as he nods his head towards the workmen on board PSP Logistics who are now packing up their gear at 6 pm, leaving the remaining work to be done by Ryan and his fellow crew. I could just about read his mind – if he’d known that volunteering to deliver the race boats from Gosport to London would mean he’d first have to build his boat, he would have stayed in Ibiza for another week and enjoyed a few more cocktails on the beach.

“We really should give Clipper’s business model a try one day,” I joke, thinking of our own education companies. “We could get our students to pay for their English classes AND teach themselves! That’s genius.”

The Ugly

“I’m sorry the boats weren’t ready on time for you,” says Sir Robin Knox-Johnston at crew briefing before race start. “But when your chief laminator is murdered by the assistant laminator, who was then put in prison… well, you have to make do with what you have.”

I start to laugh, thinking Robin is making some kind of weird joke, but then I look left and right and realize no one else is laughing. “Wait. Is he serious?” I ask one of the crew sitting next to me.

“I think so?”

I knew the new fleet of Clipper boats were built in China and that there were issues with their production. But production-line murders? This was the first I’d heard of it and, well, what an awkward way to exonerate Clipper from being responsible for any delays in the race start, I thought.

I had so many questions and a rising feeling of uncertainty about the readiness of these boats.

Finally! Ready to Race

By 10 pm on delivery departure day, ready or not, the fleet of Clipper yachts are shoved off the docks and pointed towards London with the understanding that work will continue when we get to St. Katharine’s Docks and start preparing our boats for the first race on September 1st.

The crew are feeling tired and frustrated, but as soon as we leave the Solent, I start to relax. It’s been weeks of training and months of preparing for the race, but this is the first time that I know for sure my boat will not be returning to Gosport Marina. For the first time, we are sailing the Henri Lloyd boat to a new destination.

Sure, we’re not headed to Brazil just yet. Or even Australia. But we will be. And, for the first time, I feel like we’re on our way.


The Clipper Round the World Race

Tasha and Ryan are competing in Legs 1 and 3 of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race, which started September 1st, 2013 in London, UK. Tasha is competing on CV21 (the Henri Lloyd boat) with Skipper Eric Holden and Ryan is competing on CV28 (the PSP Logistics boat) with Skipper Chris Hollis. You can read more about the crew and the boats here at crew

Escape to Ibiza or “Top 10 Tips for Living a Little”

I wake up on the floor of the airport in Ibiza, which is a surprise. And not just because I slept in the airport, but because 24 hours ago I had no idea I would even be here.

I wipe the drool off my Clipper Race jacket, which I’ve been using as a pillow, and take a good look around. I am delighted to find that a mere two-hour flight has removed me from the gray drizzle of the UK and transported me to the blinding summer sunshine of Spain.

I see a barefoot girl in a bikini standing in the airport’s corner café nonchalantly drinking a cappuccino. House music is pumping from the David Guetta nightclub located next to the baggage claim carousel. A group of European-looking lads in tight jeans turn to ogle a stream of twenty-something girls walking past in booty shorts, tank tops and ankle boots. No one is toting much more than a small carry-on bag, a clear sign that the incoming tourists all have the same plan: to step out of the airport and into one of the island’s nearest and liveliest nightclubs.


Rewind 24 hours:

I am shivering on the deck of a 70-foot Clipper yacht in the wee hours of the morning, wishing I hadn’t just done my Level 2 and 3 Clipper Race Training courses back-to-back without a break. After two straight weeks of sailing in circles around the English Solent, I am desperately seeking a view of something — anything – other than Gosport’s Spinnaker Tower. And something to eat that doesn’t include baked beans.

As soon as my boat touches the docks at 4:30 am, marking the end of my Clipper Race Training, I grab my computer and head for the marina office to snag a WiFi connection and the next EasyJet flight to anywhere. Open to any and all budget flight destinations, I soon discover that, for a mere $350, I could be enjoying tapas and a bottle of Rioja in picturesque Ibiza, Spain by nightfall. And the idea is just too tempting to resist.

By the time Ryan wakes up and asks what we should do for our week off before the boat delivery to London, I am eagerly waving two printed EasyJet tickets in his face. And just like that, with a few mouse clicks, I am plucked from a life of dragging sails up on deck, deep cleaning bilges and scrubbing floorboards and dropped into a world of sunshine, beaches, house music and nightclubs the size of small cities.

Ibiza Town Beach

“We’re not in Gosport anymore, Toto.”


Tasha’s Top Ten Travel Tips

The idea of me — an accident-prone traveler with a bad sense of direction and a phobia of guided tours — writing a list of “Top Ten Travel Tips” for anywhere is completely laughable.

But since I enjoy a little self-amusement, I thought it would be fun to write my own version of the awfully alliterated “Tasha’s Top Ten Travel Tips” based on my latest jaunt to Ibiza.

Okay, so the Huffington Post or the New York Times Travel section aren’t likely to be interested in my brand of travel, which wholly rejects the idea of turning vacation planning into a full-time occupation, which blanches the wonderful spontaneity that makes travel so rewarding in the first place. But, then again, I understand how it wouldn’t make sense for a travel site – which relies on advertising from tour companies — to publish a list of Top Ten Tips for Ignoring Itineraries and Making Shit Up.

And yet that is exactly what I’m doing here. Except rather than call it Tasha’s Top Ten Travel Tips, I’ll instead call it my Top Ten Tips for Not Planning a Vacation or, maybe, Top Ten Tips for Living a Little.

For now, let’s not worry about the title.

Tip #1: Don’t plan, just do. 

Planning is overrated. Just buy a ticket and go! You can figure out those small details — like where to sleep — later. If nothing else, park benches are free everywhere in the world. Not to mention, desperate measures always give way to serendipitous meetings and generous offers from strangers. And those moments always make for great stories.

Bonus: You get to avoid all the stress of pre-trip planning. Because, well, there is no pre-trip planning.

Tip #2: Research is overrated.

You can spend countless hours and all your lunch breaks reading everything about a destination before you arrive only to find your first impression is heavily tainted by what you’ve read. Why ruin the surprise or the chance to discover a place for yourself? Just pack a bag and go. You’ll have plenty of time to learn what a place has to offer once you get there.

Example: When Ryan and I got to Ibiza, we asked around and found out one of lbiza’s most famous DJs, Carl Cox, was playing a show at Space that night. So we bought tickets from a local tout, got gussied up and had ourselves an absolute last-minute blast.

dj carl cox space ibiza

There aren’t too many DJ’s in the world who can pack a club this size

Tip #3: Booking accommodation in advance is also overrated.

So what if ALL THE TRAVEL SITES tell you to book in advance for the high season? Don’t let those fear mongers get to you. There are just as many last-minute hotel cancellations as there are schmucks who turn up to foreign countries without hotel reservations. Trust me, I’m one of those schmucks. And I’ve not yet had to sleep on a park bench involuntarily.

When showed no available hotels in Ibiza Town, we just turned up and walked the beach until we found a hotel with a nice pool. It turns out they had an available room, but for one night only. No problem – we’d take it and find another room later.

Tip #4: One person’s lack of organization is another person’s excuse for an adventure.

Variety is the spice of life. If a last-minute reservation for a week’s stay in a hotel is unattainable because you booked too late, then take what you can get in one or two-night bookings and move around. You’ll see so much more of a place that way anyway.

After one night in Ibiza Town, Ryan and I heard Sant Antoni was where all the English tourists tended to hang out in all their holiday-making glory, and we kind of wanted to go see it…in that way that you might go to the zoo to observe the mating habits of chimpanzees. To get there, we rented a car and set out to find somewhere new to stay. Moving around is always a good excuse for a road trip anyway.

After two nights in Sant Antoni, our hotel had no more rooms available, so we hopped in our rental car and drove from town to town across the north of the island, stopping now and then for tapas and a glass of wine. On the way to San Miquel, we discovered a campsite in the little town of Es Canar, where there were available Tee-Pees and one-room bungalows. We booked two nights in our own wooden bungalow and it turned out our little mid-forest campsite full of hippies and families was our favorite accommodation in Ibiza.

Bonus: We’d never have found Camping Es Canar if we’d booked ourselves a week’s stay in a hotel in Ibiza Town.

es canar camping ibiza

Probably the most adorable camping spot I’ve ever been to

Tip #5: Dress for immediate relaxation upon arrival.

For example, wear your bathing suit under your clothes when flying out for a beach holiday.

After sleeping for 4 hours in the Ibiza airport, Ryan and I made our way to a hotel in Ibiza Town that had a lovely pool with comfortable sun loungers perfect for sleeping on. Since we’d just booked our room, the hotel offered for us to go use the pool and relax until our room was ready. And since we were already wearing our swimsuits, it took us all of five minutes to make ourselves right at home for the afternoon.

Ibiza Town Pool

I definitely deserve this ?

Tip #6: Pay little attention to Top Ten Travel Lists. 

The best travel experiences don’t come from following someone else’s itinerary. For one, the travel experience of a blogger on a PR junket means they’ve had their tours provided, their accommodation given to them for free, and they’re ultimately being paid to say everything they did was THE BEST THING EVER. In short, you should take what they recommend with a grain of salt. Not to mention, you don’t want to recreate the sterile, paid-for travel experience a blogger has written about in a Top Ten List anyway. You want to go out there yourself and have your own, unique experience.

And who can produce ten actually good things to write for one of these top ten lists anyway? And I don’t mean that list of Top Six Things I Know Plus Top Four Things I Just Made Up Because I Had to Write This List. How about I just stop at the six things I actually know. Or maybe just forget the list altogether. Excellent idea.


What a difference a day makes. I’ve gone from being cold and wet on the a boat I share with 14 other crew to lounging with Ryan by an aquamarine pool overlooking the Mediterranean, sipping cocktails, falling asleep on a sun lounger and waking up now and then only to shove tapas and pour red wine into my face.

After a week in Ibiza, Ryan and I return to Gosport with our batteries recharged, our bodies rested, our minds unwound and our enthusiasm renewed for racing across oceans, living on board with 21 other crew and facing the challenges posed by putting our mental and physical limits to the test in the upcoming Clipper Round the World Race.

That’s what travel does for me. It offers me an escape from my current routine and the opportunity to see, taste and experience things I don’t get in my everyday life. And it whisks me away from my stress and reminds me that there’s nothing worth being miserable over.

The trick is to take advantage of a good travel opportunity when it comes up and not shy away from a trip just because I think I don’t have enough time to plan. Of course, there is nothing wrong with planning a trip in order to make the experience as stress-free as possible. But when the effort of planning an escape from work becomes a job in itself, it’s good to remember that I can always just pick up and go. Things will work out in the end, and if you embrace the unknown, an adventure is guaranteed.

Sometimes you just have to let go of your plans and live a little. To me, that’s what travel is all about.

travel ibiza turf to surf

I couldn’t be more glad to have dropped in here last minute

travel ibiza old town running

Jogging around Ibiza Old Town was just what I needed after weeks on the boat


The Clipper Round the World Race

Tasha and Ryan are competing in Legs 1 and 3 of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race, which started September 1st, 2013 in London, UK. Tasha is competing on CV21 (the Henri Lloyd boat) with Skipper Eric Holden and Ryan is competing on CV28 (the PSP Logistics boat) with Skipper Chris Hollis. You can read more about the crew and the boats here at crew

Extreme living: Level 3 Clipper Race Training

“Get me off this boat,” is all I’m thinking.

As I scan the sea with a spotlight in one hand and my other hand jammed into my armpit for warmth, I hear the skipper announce, “I’m sorry to say it looks like we have to abandon the search. You’ve all worked hard and this is a disappointing way to end training, but we have no choice.”

It is 4:00 am. The eleven crew who’ve been shivering on deck for the last four hours respond with complete silence. The tension is so tangible that it seems even the rigging is creaking carefully, so as not to set off any explosions, emotional or otherwise.

My mind wanders, but I’m not thinking of the crew, the ups and downs of the last week at sea or even how we’ve let the skipper down. I am thinking about how cold and tired I am. And how I want more than anything to get off this boat and keep on walking as far as my legs will take me.


The first time I met my Clipper Race Skipper, Eric Holden, was at my Team Building event in the south of England, the weekend before Level 3 Training. He was standing in the corner quietly drinking a beer, watching some of our race crew smack-talk each other over a game of table tennis.

I watched Eric with curiosity, wondering what kind of skipper he would be.

With only four weeks to go until the race start, the Clipper Skippers’ reputations had begun to precede them. I knew my husband Ryan’s skipper, Chris, was a gregarious, laddish Aussie; the Mission Performance Ltd. Skipper, Matt, had a reputation for bullying his crew; Switzerland’s Skipper Vicky was rumored to be extremely rigid and organized; Pete, of the Jamaica boat, was already famous for having skippered in the previous Clipper Race and word on the docks was that my skipper, a reticent, even-tempered Canadian, was the favorite to win, considering his experience doing weather reporting for the Canadian Olympic sailing team.

As my teammates milled around the BBQ, chatting about their training, background and what legs they were doing, I noticed Eric avoided the noisy tables and the loud game of life-sized Jenga on the patio.

Eric was clearly a man of few words. But from the careful way he watched his crew and the intent with which people listened to him, I suspected our quiet skipper might have potential to make a loud impact.


When the wind whips up in the middle of the night, jumping from 10 to 20 knots, the boat becomes hard to handle with its over-powered sails. Our standing orders are to wake the skipper any time we plan to change course, drop sails, tack or reef, so we do exactly that, and suggest to Eric that we reef the main.

I’m at the helm, trying to maintain a port tack while my crew work on raising the boom, lowering the halyard and putting in a reef. The skipper remains below deck, presumably confident that his crew knows how to reef a mainsail.

Yet there’s a problem. I can’t see what it is from the helm, but there seems to be an issue with tangled lines. Twenty minutes into the job, we’re bobbing up and down in the waves with our mainsail thrashing and loose reefing lines whipping the boom above our heads, and the boat is getting harder to handle. It is pulling into the wind and I’m fighting against it with all my strength.

“Are you guys almost done?!” I scream at the crew clustered by the mast.

Looking up at the windex, I realize I won’t be able to keep the boat on a port tack for long. And as the boat continues to pull quickly upwind, I scream, “Heads DOWN! We’re tacking!” The boom swings across with a bang.

The skipper pops his head up on deck and I cringe with embarrassment.

But Eric doesn’t say a word. He looks up at our sloppy mainsail, our accidental heaved-to position and then at me. Then he disappears back down below.

Woefully, it takes us another hour and a half to finish the job of reefing the mainsail, during which time the next watch comes up on deck, providing an audience for our comedy of errors.

In the two hours it takes us from start to finish to reef the main, we do an accidental tack, an accidental gybe and communications grow more chaotic the longer we keep working. So I fully expect the skipper to debrief my watch with a catalog of our mistakes. But that doesn’t happen. We simply tidy up on deck, climb silently down below and fall into our bunks, exhausted.

When asked later why he didn’t interfere, Eric simply says to us,

“Was the boat in danger?” –No.

“Did anyone get hurt?” –No.

“Did you learn something from it?” –Yes?

“Then what’s the problem?” –Um.

level 3 clipper race training team eric

Trimming, reefing and changing the sails in the middle of the night is par for course in racing


The 4 am to 8 am watch is so much better than the 12 am to 4 am watch because at least we know the sun will rise on our watch.

One dull, wind-less morning, just as the sun pokes up over the horizon, we are visited by several pods of dolphins who swim alongside the boat and jump and play in our bow wake.

clipper race training dolphins sunrise

We squeal like over-excited toddlers and hang over the guard rails with our cameras flashing, pleading for the dolphins to come closer. The ruckus is loud enough to wake the entire boat, but only the skipper comes up to silently observe what’s got us riled up this time. He seems relieved to see it’s not the mainsail flapping violently. Just a few dolphins splashing about.

It’s a crap shoot, whether you get a good watch or a bad watch, I think.

clipper race training dolphins

Wouldn’t it be great if this happened every time we sailed?


The four-hour watch system takes about three days to adjust to. For those first seventy-two hours, it’s a struggle to keep myself from curling up in a corner of the cockpit and falling asleep on my midnight-to-4-am watch. And it’s equally hard to make myself fall asleep at 8 pm when it’s still light outside. Especially when I know I have to be up in 4 hours again.

Food and sleep seem to punctuate the days and dictate the rhythm of life on board the boat. And when deprived of either, emotional threads start to fray visibly, manifesting themselves in rolled eyes when the helm is reminded not to veer off course, or irritated sighs when the watch leader requests a headsail change in the middle of the night.

clipper race training level 3

Doesn’t this face just say, “God, I love night watch!”


At 4 pm on the last day of training, the two crew on “Mother Watch” (cooking duty) discover with horror that all our canned goods have been left on our previous training boat. Which means there is no chili for the chili-and-rice dinner. Dinner would have to be invented from whatever leftover ingredients we have on board.

Dinner is normally served at 6 pm, so this gives the “mothers” exactly two hours to find a creative way to feed 12 hungry people. There are a few cans of salmon, some packets of couscous and some flour, which the skipper suggests turning into fishcakes.

By 9 pm, dinner still hasn’t been served, two watches haven’t slept in over eight hours and the irritation on deck is starting to show. Communication grows increasingly sharp and abrasive. Demands to change headsails or requests to reef the mainsail are met with collective sighs and dragging feet.

Crew starting shouting down to the galley, “Is there anything we can do to help?” Which is polite speak for, “Are we ever going to get our flipping dinner?!”

We’ve only been at sea for five days. And I’m starting to imagine the horrors of life on board with 22 hungry, sleep-deprived crew after 20 days at sea.

Suddenly, “Mother Watch” looks like the most potentially dangerous job on board.

ryan bates mother watch clipper race training

Cooking in a tilted galley for a hungry crew of 12 is not easy


When I go to sleep at 8 pm on our last day of Level 3, it is with the knowledge that I’ll be woken up at some point in the night for a man-overboard drill.

I know this because a crew member overheard Eric discussing nighttime man-overboard drills with another skipper on the VHF.

“We recovered the buoy in 8 minutes,” the skipper on the radio brags. “It’s easy doing MOBs at night. All you have to do is find the flashing light.”

“Sure, if you haven’t turned off the light before throwing the buoy over,” Eric replies.

clipper race training man overboard drill

Man Overboard Drills are a little easier when you can see the MOB


As we approach Gosport Marina, a silent, dejected crew stands on deck with fenders and dock lines in hand. It’s been four and a half hours since we lost our “man overboard” and about half an hour since we gave up looking for the lost danbuoy.

Then, just as we turn right towards the marina, someone shouts, “Danbuoy! Holy crap! DANBUOY! STARBOARD SIDE!” from the bow. The crew perks up and shuffles to the guardrails. And there, unbelievably, is the orange, unlit danbuoy bobbing happily towards land, having drifted about 2 miles from its original position.

As we pull the lost danbuoy onboard, relief sweeps over the boat and applause ripples from bow to stern as the crew smiles for the first time since sunset. The mood on board has been tangibly lifted and there’s even some laughter.

But as our boat touches the docks at Gosport Marina, I’m still keen as ever to step off the boat and keep walking.

With the boat docked, I head for the showers without pause. And the further I walk from the boat, the more relaxed I become. Which gets me thinking back to the reasons why I signed up to do the Clipper Race in the first place.

The challenge. The sailing. Taking on oceans. These were the thoughts that came to mind.

I’m up for all that, I think. So why has this week been so hard?

The living. Oh, the living. That was the thing I hadn’t anticipated.

Unlike Level 1 and 2 Training, where we came in to port most nights for a hot shower and a pint, Level 3 showed me what it was like to live on board for a week without reprieve. There was no pub to go to in the evenings. No hot showers to wash off the salt and the frustrations. No phone reception to call home and vent.

It turns out the challenge of ocean racing is more than just sailing. A lot of it is about the living. It’s the provisioning, the cooking, the sleeping, the eating, the not showering, the dozen or so other crew, the skipper, the conflicts on board, the leaks over your bunk, the sails you’re living on top of, the lack of space, the lack of privacy.

Life on board is pretty extreme. I have prepared myself for the extreme challenge of sailing across oceans on a 70-foot racing yacht.

But the extreme challenge of living on a boat with 21 other crew for a month at a time? Now, that’s a different story.

clipper race training level 3 henri lloyd

There isn’t much space above or below deck to hide on these boats

tasha dance moves clipper race training

So sometimes you just have to do a little dance…

perfect sunset level 3 clipper race training

…Or just enjoy the view.


The Clipper Round the World Race

Tasha and Ryan are competing in Legs 1 and 3 of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race starting September 1st, 2013 from St. Katharine’s Docks in London, UK. Tasha is competing on CV21 (the Henri Lloyd boat) with Skipper Eric Holden and Ryan is competing on CV28 (the PSP Logistics boat) with Skipper Chris Hollis. You can read more about the crew and the boats here at

Clipper Race Training: Level 2

As you may have noticed from my absence, I completely underestimated how difficult it would be to write about my Clipper Race Training while on the course itself. My four hours on watch at any given time had me schlepping gear, changing sails, hoisting sails, tacking, gybing, reefing, filling in the log book and cooking, while my four hours off watch saw me pretty much fast asleep within seconds of climbing into the warm cocoon of my sleeping bag.

In short, I’ve barely had time to brush my teeth, let alone sit down and write.

So, rather than open up my computer before falling asleep each day, I found myself typing notes onto my iPhone so I could keep a diary of sorts while wrapped up in the relative comfort of my tilted berth.

And this is was the result:

Day 1

Surprise! I have the same skipper I had for my Level 1 Training! I’m taking bets now on how many push-ups Jim will make me do this week.

Out of the 11 crew on my boat, 9 of them are girls. I wonder if Jim tried to trade in his crew when he saw his roster. I can just see him with his head in his hands saying, “Please, God, let there be no crying this week.”

Skipper Jim Level 2 Clipper Race Training

I’m already familiar with Jim’s “I’m not messing around” look

Day 2

Sea Survival Training was more fun than I thought it would be. I’ve never seen a group of people so expertly sidetrack an instructor with unnecessary questions. But, really, it’s the instructor’s fault for bringing up sea water enemas as a method for hydration. And, of course, this was the perfect segue to discussion of how shoving a Mars bar up an unconscious person’s rectum could save their life. Apparently, you can do that. I felt sorry for the instructor because we could talk about nothing else for the rest of the day.

As if the discussion couldn’t get any weirder, someone asked what to do with a body if someone dies in the life raft. There were suggestions to tie the body to the outside of the life raft in case there’s a chance of bringing the person home to their family. The instructor quickly dismissed this idea, however, saying we’d all get eaten by sharks. You would think this would be an uncomfortable conversation to have. But in a world where friend-to-friend enemas and Mars bar suppositories are the norm, an open discussion about what one should and shouldn’t do with a dead person in a life raft was just par for course.

FYI, apparently it is illegal to eat human flesh unless you’re at sea. Oh, the things you learn when preparing for life on an offshore racing yacht.

clipper race sea survival training

Sea Survival Training drove home the risks of ocean racing and how to prepare

Day 3

Having Jim as my skipper for the second course in a row means I already know his motivational one-liners (“Grind like it’s Friday night!”, “Pull that halyard like someone’s got your handbag!”, “This isn’t a pleasure boat, it’s a racing boat, people!”).

I also know to expect the unexpected, like having to drop our lunch for a man-overboard drill because Jim tipped the dummy into the water while we mindlessly munched on our sandwiches.

clipper race training man overboard

Level 2 team mate, Orla, rescuing “Bob” in a man overboard drill

Day 4

These girls aren’t the Finishing School types, which I’m grateful for. They can dish it out to Jim as well as they can take it. They work hard and laugh hard. And in the pub after a hard day of sailing? I dare anyone to drink these ladies under the table.

Today we finally go out to sea with no plans to return to port for 5 days. We stock up on provisions and leave the docks at 11:30 am in 25-knot winds. My favorite place at the moment – when I’m not earning my dinner sweating up sails or working the grinder – is at the helm. What a sensation to pilot a 70-foot yacht as it hums along at a pleasant 10-12 knot clip.

level 2 clipper race training tasha helm

My favorite spot on Level 2 Training: the helm

Day 5

30-knot winds, it’s pissing down with rain and the boat is bouncing at a constant 40-degree heel.

The skipper throws the 85-kilo dummy overboard for a man-overboard drill in rough seas. I look down and realize I’m wearing the “pants of power,” the harness that means I’m the one who will be hoisted over the side as the waves crash up against the hull.

As I reach the surface of the water, in the trough of a wave, I reach out to grab the dummy floating past just as a wave crashes over my head, dousing me in icy water and threatening to yank the dummy from my grasp. I’m trying to find a strap on Bob (our dummy) that will allow me to attach a tether to him. But the force of the moving boat against the waves threatens to pull Bob away from me as I fumble for a loop to attach the tether to.

“Where the fuck do I grab him?!” I scream.

“Just hook onto anything!” Someone screams back.

I find a space in Bob’s life jacket and hold the tether in my fist while I jam my hand through Bob’s jacket and reach back to clip onto my own chest strap.

“Made!” I scream. “Get me the hell out of here!”

The halyard begins to raise and, to my relief, I’m dropped back on deck while the crew fumbles to drag Bob, soaking wet, over the guard rails.

In my mind, I’m imagining Bob is a real person. And I’m overwhelmed with the responsibility of retrieving a man overboard from what I perceive to be rough seas, though I know this is nothing compared to the seas we’ll encounter in the Southern Ocean. “What if I couldn’t hold on to him?” I think. “What if I couldn’t find a way to tether myself to him while being thrown around in the sea? How could I ever live with myself if I failed to retrieve someone in a real-life situation?”

I shudder from the cold of my wet foulies and at the thought of being responsible for whether someone lives or dies out here on the ocean.

clipper race training level 2 turf to surf

Even when it’s cold and wet, life on a race boat is still an amazing thrill

Day 6

WTF? I am screaming into the wind, trying to hold onto the Yankee headsail as it whips and lashes and tries to wrench itself violently from my grasp. “COME ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I scream at the sail in a last-ditch attempt to muster the dregs of my strength from an adrenalin rush as my left leg is wrapped around the leech of a sail that’s trying desperately to throw me over the guard rails. My whole body and mind is engaged in battle with a force I don’t have the strength to fight alone. Three other crew are fighting beside me to bring the sail down in Force 8 winds while the rest of the boat is either throwing up off the stern or lying in bed puking into galley pots.

When we finally jerk the sail down and safely onto the foredeck, I look around and see a war zone of casualties on deck. One crew member is slumped over the stern, throwing up over the rails. Two other crew try to move forward to help but find themselves slowed by nausea as they try not to spew tuna and sweetcorn all over their fellow crew.

In the moments after we wrenched the over-powered Yankee sail onto deck, I sit in the cockpit and shudder a tearful sigh of relief. I’m not sure what’s upset me so much about this incident, but I think it’s the realization that I’m only as strong as my crew and my training. No amount of weight-lifting was going to get that sail in by itself.

The Skipper makes an executive decision to return to Gosport Marina, having been at sea for less than two full days. The crew is simultaneously relieved and disappointed. As is the Skipper.

clipper race training gosport marina

Returning to our haven at Gosport Marina allowed us time to calmly regroup

Day 7

What a difference a hot shower and some food makes. After a night in port, a soaked-through, barely functioning crew is transformed into the dry, rosy-cheeked chatty people I met on our first day of training.

Deep, contented snoring reverberated through “the ghetto” (the crew’s quarters) last night, and this morning a happy, healed fully functioning crew is on deck and ready to take on the seas again. The morale is so strong it’s tangible, which proves to us all that even the lowest moments at sea are only temporary.

Jim greets us with, “This was a wake-up call for all of you. Your old level of discomfort is now your new norm. Let’s move on and do some sailing.”

level 2 clipper race training at sea

With a little time to regroup, the crew start having fun again

Day 8

The last two days have been full of sunshine, laughter and jokes about “grinding through the night.” It’s like the crew died a small death and were resurrected as a stronger, hardier team.

By the time we get back to port for the end of our Level 2 Course, we’re joking about Bee having found a new boyfriend in Bob, the man-overboard dummy, since she spent countless hours in his lap trying to stabilize herself as she threw up over the rails. We laugh as we wash the tuna and sweetcorn off the deck, the last remnants of our misery. And we tease Jim, our Skipper, as he begs us to please stop hugging each other so much. He can only take so much femininity on his watch.

We finish off the course with copious amounts of wine in Gosport Marina’s Boat House Café and move on to Tiger Tiger, a nightclub in Portsmouth that could rival anything you might find on the Jersey Shore.

And before you judge, remember it’s Friday night and we’ve been to Hell and back.

level 2 clipper race training drink up

With the sailing comes the drinking (Photo credit: Orla Reed)

Day 9

I wake up to unfamiliar faces in a berth that’s not my own, cuddling a Yankee sail. WTF? Where am I?

“Tasha. Tasha? TASHA.” A petite brunette is nudging me in the shoulder.

“Huh? WAH?! Where..what?!” I sit bolt upright, turning my head left, then right, trying to make sense of my surroundings as a pain stabs me in the temple. I see Ryan squeezed into the one-man berth beside me. Which explains why I’m hugging a sail. I must have gone to sleep on Ryan’s boat.

“Your crew is looking for you for the deep clean,” the stranger says, explaining why she’s woken me up.

“Wah? Where? What time is it?!” I say.

“Seven o’clock.”

“Shit!” I say, shaking Ryan. “I was supposed to be up for deep cleaning at 6:30! Owwww!” I clutch my head from the pain that’s just surged through my skull. How many Long Island Iced Teas did I drink last night?

As I stumble out of Ryan’s boat and onto the docks in my club clothes from the night before, I hear laughter from my boat next door. I look up to see my crew pointing, as I stagger down the dock towards my boat, which is swarming with busy crew scrubbing the deck.

“Oh God, is this the yachting equivalent of the walk of shame?!” I yelp.

“That bloke you were snogging last night seems pretty nice,” someone yells, as laughter erupts again.

My head is still pounding, but before long I’m barefoot on deck, sweating out my hangover as I scrub floorboards and piece together memories from the previous night with my Level 2 Crew.

level 2 clipper race training deep clean

Deep cleaning a boat after race training is a team effort

Let’s just say, we had our ups and our downs during Level 2 Training. But we lived through it and, in many ways, we survived it because we had each other.

Looking in from the outside, you might question why anyone would endure the hell we’ve been through and the hellish unknown that’s yet to come. But as I joke around with the extraordinary, resilient, hungover friends I’ve made this week, I realize I wouldn’t trade the bad, life-questioning moments for a million more of the good.

Because without the bad, the good just wouldn’t be quite as good.

level 2 clipper race training sunshine

Clipper Race Training forms a bond that isn’t easily forgotten


The Clipper Round the World Race

Tasha and Ryan are competing in Legs 1 and 3 of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race starting September 1st, 2013 from St. Katharine’s Docks in London, UK. Tasha is competing on CV21 with Skipper Eric Holden and Ryan is competing on CV28 with Skipper Chris Hollis. You can read more about the crew and the boats here at

Sea Survival Training for the Clipper Race

“You’re not a survivor until you’re in the pub telling your story over a pint three days later,” says John, our Sea Survival Training instructor. “Until then, there’s still a chance you could die.”

That has to be the quote of the day,” I think…until John says, “No one’s died in a Clipper Race YET. But it’s only a matter of time. I mean, statistically speaking.”

John is full of inspirational gems like this. He drives home the necessity of Sea Survival Training with terrifying stories of death and danger on the high seas, assuring us that this course will significantly decrease our chances of dying.

But all I can think about now is that one of us might very well die on this race. I mean, statistically speaking.


If you’ve ever met me, you know I have quite an extensive mental archive of disaster stories I’ve collected over the years as cautionary tales to taking on crazy adventures like, say, climbing Mt. Everest with Jon Krakauer (the Angela Lansbury of the mountaineering world – wherever he goes, someone dies) or, say, sailing across the Southern Ocean. Which no novice sailor in their right mind would do.

I often recount the tragedies I’ve cataloged in my head in great detail when I’m feeling nervous about the latest adventure on my horizon or when I’m anticipating ALL THE WAYS I could die. It’s a habit that causes my friends and family to seriously question my lifestyle choices and makes me wish I hadn’t read so many Jon Krakauer books.

But I can’t help but be attracted to disaster stories. I devour stories of freak avalanches in Outside Magazine and capsized ships in Sailing World. These stories resonate with me so acutely that, years later, I can remember the exact wording of the original article.

Travel writer Mike Sowden says, “Storytelling is SEO for human brains.” Which might explain why, when I meet women on boats who leave all the sailing to their husbands, my brain recalls the story of Luke Stimson, the British sailor who fell overboard when sailing from Japan to the UK. Luke’s pregnant, non-sailing wife stood on deck as her husband disappeared from view behind the vessel, frozen by incompetence, unable to stop or maneuver the boat. Luke was never seen again, which resulted in the manifestation of my #1 biggest sailing fear: Losing someone overboard.

And then there are the sailing-in-storms disaster stories that generate oodles of money in book deals and movie rights, like The Perfect Storm where the boat is destroyed and EVERYONE DIES. Scenes from movies like this come to mind any time I find myself caught out sailing in bad weather. It’s like the Google app in my brain automatically adds the word “tragedy” to any search for “sailing stories.” Because adventure + disaster = memorable.

Remember that great story about that happy, well-adjusted guy who sailed around the world, saw some beautiful places and never had a single thing go wrong? No? Oh, that’s right. BECAUSE THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN. And if it did, it would hardly be worth talking about.


I’m furiously taking notes during my Sea Survival Training Course, which Clipper has required us to take as part of our Level 2 Race Training. And my brain is working over-time as it archives story after story of things gone wrong during rescue missions, mistakes made by crew when deploying life rafts and, really, any tale that ends in death or injury.

I justify my obsessive note-taking, telling myself it will help me remember how to survive in an emergency if I ever need to abandon ship. But the truth is my brain just switches to auto-archive mode any time the subject of “death” or “dismemberment” comes up.

As a result, following my Sea Survival Training, the “newly archived” section of my brain now reads like this:

  • 1979 Fastnet Race: 303 yachts started the race; 86 yachts finished. Force 11 storm. 24 yachts abandoned. 5 ships sank. 18 died (15 yachtsmen, 3 rescuers).
  • Maurice and Maralyn Bailey: Survived for 117 days on a rubber raft before being rescued in the Pacific Ocean. Maurice wrote about the experience in his book 117 Days Adrift. Note to self: Don’t read this while at sea.
  • 1998 Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race: 115 yachts started the race; 44 yachts finished. 55 sailors had to be air-lifted from their yachts by helicopter. 6 sailors died. Because of this disaster, all offshore race crew are now required to have Sea Survival Training.

When John, our Sea Survival instructor, explains there is still a chance you could die from something called “secondary drowning,” even after you have been rescued and are firmly planted on dry land, I open a new mental file containing stories illustrating all the indirect ways I could die at sea.

And here are some of the things I learned in Sea Survival Training that are now permanently burned into my brain, for better or for worse:

  • Secondary Drowning: For three days after any ocean rescue, you are still at risk of dying because of the trauma your body has endured. It’s crucial to remain mentally aware of your fragile state and fight any urge to relax. The difference between survival and death after rescue comes down to mental tenacity.
  • Stay with your boat as long as possible: I’ve heard the saying, “always step up into the life raft,” (because if the boat hasn’t sunk, you’re safer on board) but it was the stories and statistics told during training that really drove home this concept. The fact that so many abandoned ships are found intact, floating into ports weeks and months later shows that boats really are stronger than the people who sail them.
sea survival training life raft clipper

My group, learning to deploy a life raft correctly

  • Don’t eat or drink for the first 24 hours: Apparently you can kick your body into survival mode and help it conserve energy by refraining from eating or drinking for the first 24 hours of being in a life raft. This helps you save your rations AND lets your body know this shit’s for real.
  • Your life raft pump can be turned into an enema: I know, right?! So, drinking sea water will kill you. But apparently you can absorb salt water by enema if you’ve run out of fresh drinking water. Who knew? Sure, you may never be able to look your crew in the eye again, but hey, at least you’ll live to keep that secret FOREVER.
  • Conserving energy and body heat in the water is a team effort: We learned how to form human “lily pads” and “chains” in the water to increase our collective chances of survival. By pulling your knees up to your chest, and staying with your crew, you will keep your core warm in the water for longer until you can get to your life raft.
sea survival training human lily pad

Forming a “human lily pad” can help conserve heat and keep an unconscious victim close by (I’m the “unconscious victim” in the middle)

  • Don’t get into the life raft when it is upside down: You need to be in the water to turn the life raft right side up. You can’t flip the raft over once you’re inside it. This is important to know because our instructor told a story about a yacht crew who got into their raft when it was upside down and decided to cut a hole in the top of the raft (which was really the bottom) rather than get back in the water to right it. The raft sank and they all died. The end.
sea survival training upside down life raft

Me, learning to right an upside down life raft

So, what did I take away from all this talk of dying at sea while floating around in a life raft in a heated swimming pool?

Well, for one, I actually know what a life raft looks like now and what it does. I’m guessing many of the cruisers who have life rafts strapped to their foredecks have never actually seen a raft in action and therefore may not know what to do with it in an emergency.

So, was this a useful class to take, even if I wasn’t planning to go ocean racing? Absolutely. I’ve learned the right and wrong way to deploy a life raft and I learned how to save someone’s life with an enema (which is hands-down my favorite “life hack” of the year).

Will I actually remember anything I learned if I find myself in need of being rescued on the ocean? Most likely.

Why? Because of the crazy disaster stories. SEO FOR HUMAN BRAINS, PEOPLE. I’m telling you, it works. That’s why the world loves a good disaster story. Because tragedies are memorable. And, if we’re lucky, we can learn from them.

sea survival training clipper race

My Level 2 Clipper Race crew at Sea Survival Training


The Clipper Round the World Race

Tasha and Ryan are competing in Legs 1 and 3 of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race starting September 1st, 2013 from St. Katharine’s Docks in London, UK. Tasha is competing on CV21 with Skipper Eric Holden and Ryan is competing on CV28 with Skipper Chris Hollis. You can read more about the crew and the boats here at

A Round-the-World Challenge

1)    When I think about my upcoming adventures, all I can think of is how I’m going to end up lying in a pool of my own blood.

2)   When I think about my upcoming adventures, I start to think I might die in the Southern Ocean.

3)    When I think about my upcoming adventures, I’m filled with serenity — I’m so relaxed that I feel like I’m being soothed to sleep in a warm bubble bath.

One of these sentences is a lie. Can you guess which one?

I used to play this game – two truths and a lie – with my English language students at the start of class to get them conversing and practicing their English in a relaxed environment. We call these little games “warmers,” since they help students warm up to speaking a foreign language using phrases they know already before challenging them to try out more difficult language constructions.

I’m not sure what made me think of this, but I suppose I’m feeling like I could use a “warmer,” an activity that eases me into the intense experience I’ve just jumped into. The experience that’s about to take me on a seven-month rollercoaster ride as I circumnavigate the world by planes, trains, yachts, cars, buses, tuk-tuks, motorcycles and god-knows-what-else.

around the world travel hideaway

Hideaway waits for us in the D.R. as we travel around the world.

Ryan and I have just completed a 10-month sailing journey from New York to the Caribbean. And now, our boat Hideaway is resting peacefully on dry land in Luperon, Dominican Republic, awaiting our return next year.

Which means a new adventure is now officially underway. We’ve challenged ourselves to take on a full round-the-world trip using as many modes of transport as possible along the way. It all started a week ago in New York, where we flew with our two cats, Charlie and Celia, and handed them over to my parents, who will spoil them rotten with fresh fish and solid ground until we return.

When I say this trip is already underway, I mean before we even boarded our flight to London for our Clipper Round the World Race training, we’d already hitched a ride with friends to Albany (✔car), rode Amtrak to New York City (✔train), stayed with friends on their sailboat (✔dinghy) and toured the Big Apple doing business and visiting friends (✔subway). So, I’d say we’re off to a healthy start.

port washington travel around the world

We’re lucky we can stay with friends on their boats when visiting New York

This is our ambitious itinerary for the next seven months as we travel around the world:

  • Complete our Level 2 and 3 Training for the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race without injury. (If you followed along for Level 1, you know about me lying in a pool of my own blood.)
  • Race 70-foot yachts from London, UK to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
  • Fly to Cape Town, South Africa. Swim with some sharks.
  • Anxiously await the arrival of the Clipper Race yachts’ from Rio.
  • Take on Leg 3 of Clipper Round the World, which means racing from Cape Town to Western Australia across the angry Southern Ocean.
  • Travel around Australia. See some kangaroos. Cuddle some koalas.
  • Fly to Southeast Asia for some more traveling. Hit Thailand for a full-moon party.
  • Work our way back to New York via the western U.S. states.
  • Spoil our cats with love and cuddles before taking them on a plane with us back to the Dominican Republic.

I’m not going to lie: this travel outline has me pretty excited. And also pretty stressed. I mean, what we’re about to do is no joke.

So, while I’m practically skipping from city to city (and by skipping, I mean schlepping heavy ocean racing gear), I’m also suffering sleepless nights as my brain wanders to places I can’t even fathom. Like the Southern Ocean.

If you’re a landlubber, you’ve probably never even heard of the Southern Ocean, since it’s not one of the seven seas taught in grade-school geography. But if you’ve ever sailed, you know this beast by name.

Dare to look it up on Wikipedia, and you’ll get charming tidbits like this:

Cyclonic storms travel eastward around the continent and frequently become intense because of the temperature   contrast between ice and open ocean.

Sailors know latitudes from 40 to 70 degrees south as the “Roaring Forties”, “Furious Fifties” and “Shrieking Sixties” due to high winds and large waves that form as winds blow around the entire globe unimpeded by any land-mass.

Ice and open ocean. Large waves. That’s the stuff legends are made of.

So, when travel writer Mike Sowden (the talent behind the blog Fevered Mutterings) wrote in an email, “I’m totally jealous of your itinerary. But I’m hiding it really well. *stabs self in thigh with pen a number of times* I’M TOTALLY FINE DAMMIT.”

I felt compelled to reply with this warning:

Keep in mind, I COULD DIE. IN THE SOUTHERN OCEAN. I’m sort of kidding, but then again I’m not.

Most people don’t sail the Southern Ocean because, well, they know better. But my husband? My husband says, “I totally want to sail the Southern Ocean because there’s no way in hell I would ever do that on my own boat.” And here I naively thought he’d signed us up for the two MOST FUN legs of the race. London to Rio! Yay! Cape Town to Perth! What?! What do you mean two boats were dis-masted, a Skipper broke his leg, and they had a man overboard in the last race?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!

So, you may be jealous, but do remember that it is very stressful to be me. I’m always getting myself into stuff that sounds like a terrible idea to everyone else, but makes me want to do it even more. And then sometimes I break myself and people worry about me, and still I come out of it feeling like it was totally worth it. And I just keep chasing that feeling all over the world. Doing that to yourself all the time is REALLY stressful. And fun. You still want my itinerary?

Before I left New York, I spent a day with my parents, who seem utterly baffled by me and the challenges I pursue. “What makes you want to do this?” my dad asked.

I didn’t really know how to answer at the time, so instead I described the exhilarating experience of learning to race a yacht in harsh elements with a crew of strangers who I depend on for safety and support. I could tell from the pained looks on my parents’ faces that what I was describing with a grin sounded to them like the kind of hell that saner people would go to great lengths to avoid. And, despite myself, I understood what they were feeling.

As I lie awake at night, thinking about the Southern Ocean and the vast unknown that I will inevitably face, I feel a seed of panic rise in my gut. It’s an intense and familiar feeling, and one that I’ve learned to acknowledge and face like a worthy challenger. Because, ultimately, I have faith in my experiences, which have shown me both the terror and joy of ski racing, mountain climbing, learning a new language, playing roller derby, falling in love, running marathons, starting a business, riding a motorcycle, traveling alone, sailing to the Caribbean and countless life-changing occurrences.

And, time and again, those experiences have taught me that on the other side of fear lies freedom. Which is exactly what makes me want to do this.


Follow us here on the Clipper Round the World Race as we update from our satellite phone. Also, check out the Turf to Surf Facebook Page for updates as we travel around the world.

The Dominican Republic: An Indie Travel Paradise

Independent travel in the Dominican Republic couldn’t be easier. Which is why I’m confused by the droves of tourists who come to the D.R. to stay at the many fenced-in all-inclusive resorts, the sterile havens that offer all-you-can-eat buffets, watered-down cocktails and organized family activities in a “secure environment.” Which is tourism-speak for  “complete isolation from real Dominican life.”

Is that really what people want these days? Or has the tourism industry managed to convince everyone that travel is dangerous outside an organized tour?

These last three months in the Dominican Republic, our goal has been to get off the boat, recharge our batteries and get in serious shape for the next chapter of our adventures: the Clipper Round the World Race. And though I’m packing up my life and getting ready to leave the D.R., I’m already thinking of all the things I want to do and see when I return. Because, even after three months, I can’t get enough of this island.

And every time I spot a group of pale, sunburnt tourists wearing matching wristbands, I think “They have no idea what they’re missing.”

Driving along the coast on a motorbike, eating cheap fish dinners by the roadside, jumping off cliffs to go swimming, playing in the streets with Haitians kids, befriending the local banana vendor, playing soccer with Dominicans, learning to make morir soñandos from fresh mangos, hitchhiking, laughing with Dominicans as 20 people squeeze into a guagua for 6 passengers and finding an unnamed bar where locals dance Bachata until sunrise. These are the experiences I will remember of my travels on the north Dominican coast.

And when we return from our fun, stressful adventures racing yachts to Brazil and Australia, I have no doubt we’ll be ready to explore what the south coast of the Dominican Republic has to offer.

I just wish I could convince the rest of the traveling world that the Dominican Republic is a safe, friendly country to explore independently. Made even friendlier for those not tethered to a sun-blistered herd of vacationers with newly braided corn-rows.

But to get to know the real Dominican Republic, you have to get away from the all-inclusive resorts and step out into the unknown. Speak some bad Spanish, get lost, eat four-dollar meals, take the wrong bus, dance with old ladies and drink too much rum with a guy named Felix who tells gruesome stories about Trujillo’s reign of terror.

You might regret the hangover. But, trust me, you’ll never regret the experience.


Photographic evidence of how great travel in the Dominican Republic is:

luperon travel in the dominican republic

From the minute we stepped off the boat, we felt welcomed in the D.R.

travel in the dominican republic imber

Right away, we made friends to explore the countryside with

pork travel in the dominican republic

We ate some strange and delicious things…

lovebirds travel in the dominican republic

Met some interesting animals…

brugal travel in the dominican republic

Drank some Brugal…

kiteboarding cabarete travel in the dominican republic

And headed for Cabarete to check out the kiteboarding scene.

cabarete travel in the dominican republic

We fell in love with Cabarete and decided to make it our home base for 3 months.

crossfit travel in the dominican republic

Where I trained every day at a local gym for surfers…

cross-fit dominican republic

And worked my body into shape for the upcoming Clipper Race.

millennium hotel travel in the dominican republic

But independent travel has its luxuries too – like this one at $5/day.

paddleboard travel in the dominican republic

Or you can book your own private tour without the throng of tourists.

motorbike travel in the dominican republic

Or, better yet, just take off on the open road when you choose…

playa caleton travel in the dominican republic

…to find serene places like this.

dudu travel in the dominican republic

Or thrilling experiences like this.

boat travel in the dominican republic

But you have to get off the boat. And away from the all-inclusive resorts.

To see more photos of Turf to Surf’s travels in the Dominican Republic, visit our Facebook Photo Albums.

Inspirational Nomads: Sam Rossiter, Fitness Trainer

Welcome to Inspirational Nomads, a Turf to Surf series where I interview travelers around the world about working abroad and living their dreams.

I’ve met dynamic characters all over the world doing every kind of job imaginable and I’ve been inspired by their stories about where they’ve traveled, what they’ve done for work and the amazing adventures they’ve had. Read on to learn more about the people who travel and work and how they got their start.




“What doesn’t challenge you won’t change you!” is a regularly shouted mantra from Fitness Trainer Sam Rossiter while his students are drowning in sweat and their faces are contorted with pain and exhaustion during his classes at Rogue Fitness in Cabarete, Dominican Republic.

Rogue Fitness is a beach-loving athlete’s dream. With an open-air gym, yoga loft overlooking the beach, skate ramp, circus trapeze and a bar and restaurant serving healthy, protein-packed smoothies and meals, it is the most comprehensive fitness complex in the Dominican Republic, and probably the whole of the Caribbean. It’s also where I train four times a week in an effort to keep up with Cabarete’s hard-bodied surfers, kiteboarders, gymnasts, mountain climbers and extreme athletes who are attracted to this town for the same reasons I am: the sports and the beach lifestyle.

Sam is a hard-core athlete and personal trainer who has worked at Rogue Fitness for over two years, punishing his students with just the kind of intense, nauseating workouts they expect. “I used to say if you puked in my class, the class was free,” Sam tells me. “But so many people puked, I wasn’t making any money. So I had to stop that.”

In every class Sam teaches, it’s evident that (1) he could beat anyone in a beer-can-crushing competition, (2) he loves his job, and (3) he loves to torture people (which goes well with #2). When Sam isn’t telling me to “man-up” and peel my wimpy self off the floor, sometimes we chat about Cabarete and traveling the world. And how he landed his dream job abroad.

Where did you grow up?

I grew up in Oxford, England in the countryside. We had a farm with no animals, but plenty of land to tear up on dirt bikes. Our neighbors hated us.

How did you get into fitness?

After I left school, I became a qualified sports coach and through my studies of exercise physiology, I became obsessed with gymnastics and free-running. I tried to apply what I knew about human movement to a discipline to try and be the best I could be.

I love being able to do what normal people can’t. But mainly because back flips are super awesome — everybody knows that.


Sam, teaching the Body Sculpt class I attend.

Did you always want to travel?

Doesn’t everybody? The thing is, most people want to, but few have the huevos to pack up their things and book a ticket. They’re afraid of leaving what they have behind. Scared of losing what they think they own, when clearly it is their possessions that own them.

I couldn’t wait to get out of England. It’s cold and it always rains. And if the rest of the world knew what a ‘chav’ was, you wouldn’t want to go there either. I couldn’t have asked for a better childhood though, or better parents. I always had this dream of sandy beaches and clear waters for when I retired. Now I have no idea what I’m going do when I retire since I’m 24 and live on the beach.

What was it like when you first got to Cabarete?

When I first got here, I was overwhelmed by how many people I met; people were always coming and going. Over 2 years later, I now know that’s just another thing that never changes about this town. You get used to it, and it’s awesome.

Everybody’s here for the same reason: to enjoy life. The language barrier was a challenge at first, but after a while you learn a little and your confidence goes right up.

How did you end up working at Rogue Fitness?

When I first moved here I didn’t have a job and I only knew one person, Susi Mai. She grew up here and introduced me to some awesome people who were so willing to help me out in finding my feet.

After a while here, you learn that that’s just how this town is. Everyone’s so chilled and all the locals know each other. But if I wanted to stay here, I had to find work. So I posted fliers all around town advertising personal training and massage services. My company is called FreeRUNFitness. It took a while before the work started coming in. Now I get lots of business just from word of mouth.

Susi introduced me to Zach who, at the time, was working in MiGym (which is now Rogue Fitness). When he left for the winter, I took over for him and ran the gym for the next year. A year later, Zach created Rogue Fitness at the Extreme Hotel and we continued working together. Here we run all our own personal training sessions, sports massage therapy, fitness camps, Cross-Fit and Body Sculpt classes.

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The poster boys for Rogue Fitness Cabarete – not too shabby.

What do you like about living abroad? About living in Cabarete?

It’s my dream land. It’s paradise. Imagine waking up every single morning to the sunlight in your eyes and the warmth on your face with palm tree leaves waving in the wind. That’s the view from my window, and my day starts when the sun rises. Much better than an alarm clock, don’t you think?

I ride a motorbike up and down a 5-minute stretch of coast to the gym, and then another 2 minutes to get to the center of town. I live at the main surf spot here, Encuentro. It’s a small town, so nothing’s too far away.

I love Cabarete. It has so much to offer and I’m totally happy here. There’s a saying that goes, “Freedom is doing whatever you want, whereas happiness is loving whatever you do.”


Sam, doing a super awesome back flip on Kite Beach.

What advice would you give someone who wants to travel and work as a fitness trainer?

I had no idea what life would be like out here; I was apprehensive and wasn’t sure how long I could live abroad.

And it turned out to be the best decision I ever made. Everybody else who lives here has the same basic story of how they ended up here, so I can only urge you to travel! Pack your things, book a ticket, send out applications, go online and contact people. Learn a language, learn to surf, fall in love. Do something with your life that means something to you. But you’ve got to be willing to take the risk and go out into the unknown.

A lot of people say they go traveling to ‘find themselves’. I thought that once too, but then I went traveling and I found that life wasn’t about finding yourself, it’s about creating yourself. And it’s so simple! Just be yourself! After all, everybody else is taken.

Sam is a USN sponsored athlete – check out his video “Challenge Yourself”:

Follow Rogue Fitness Cabarete on their Facebook Page. And if you want to see how hard-core Rogue Fitness athletes are, check out this video made by allidoistravel:

Sometimes a crisis creates a community

When the fire gets within 200 meters of our back yard, I begin thinking about what to pack. Cats, computer, Clipper Race gear, running shoes, camera…oh yeah, passports and documents… is that too much? Can I throw in my iPad?

“What? No clothes, but you want your running shoes?” Ryan asks, as I run around the house, flustered by the smell of smoke and the sound of wood crackling in our backyard. A sound I really only want to hear at a beach bonfire party. Far away from my house.

We were only gone for an hour or two, at our gym on Kite Beach in Cabarete, but by the time we returned to our neighborhood, the sky behind our house was a crimson haze of blazing heat and smoke. And Dominicans were standing in the street, staring towards our housing complex, Bali Hai, saying, “The lagoon’s on fire. This is bad.”

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The sky was a color like we’d never seen before

As we got closer to Bali Hai, the crackling and snapping of burning branches grew closer, so we followed the noise until we found ourselves parked in front of a neighboring hostel. There was a confused looking backpacker standing in the driveway with all her belongings, so we stopped to ask if she was okay. She said the hostel was evacuating, but she didn’t know where to go. We pointed her towards the Surf Camp up the road and asked if she knew how the fire started.

“Some fishermen tried to clear a path through the brush to the Lagoon, but I guess it got out of control,” she said.

Out of control was right. The fire was so close to the hostel that the trees were bathed in red and orange, which would have been beautiful if it were a sunset in Sri Lanka. But the heat we felt coming off the lagoon behind the hostel had me seriously worried. Do we pack up and get out of here now, or do we get a second opinion?

It was like that classroom exercise I used to do with my ESL students to get them chatting in English. “If your house were on fire and you could only take five things, what five things would you take?”

“Your running shoes?” Ryan asks again, as we go over my packing list.

“If the fire’s moving fast, I want to be able to run.” I say. “I mean I only get five things and, well, what about my passport? That’s taking up one of my five things. I don’t have room for clothes.”

“Why is it only five things?” Ryan asks.

“It’s a classroom exercise. You know the one.”

“This is a REAL fire,” Ryan says. “We aren’t really restricted to five things. Wait, why are the cats on your list but not me?”

“Should we go see if Germán needs help?” I say, changing the subject.

Germán is our landlord at Bali Hai and being that he owns the complex of eight houses near the lagoon that is now on fire, he is visibly stressed. Moments before, he rushed past us in the road, damp with sweat, carrying a machete in one hand and a small bucket in the other. I suggest to Ryan that we keep a close eye on him, as I’m not sure how one fights a two-story fire with a bucket and a machete.

But the biggest concern seems to be our neighbor’s house across the way, which is located right on the lagoon, with a few thatched-roof huts practically touching the water. So we head in their direction. And since the fire is now blazing its way up the lagoon, charging straight for our neighbor’s backyard, everyone from Bali Hai is in the yard keeping a lookout for signs of trouble and any indication that we should clear out.

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We worried this hut in our neighbor’s yard would be swallowed by the fire

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Not to mention this grass hut, sitting on the water

“Where’s the fire department?” I ask, as the flames start licking the reeds under the wooden balcony I’m standing on. Laughter erupts from all directions, which doesn’t answer my question, but at least tells me not to wait around for a rescue. My watch says it’s 10 pm and the fire’s been blazing for five hours now. And still no signs of a fire truck.

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Ryan on our neighbor’s balcony with the fire ablaze behind him

Around 10:30 pm, Ryan and I go back to Bali Hai to see if our neighbors are clearing out yet. Which is when we see Germán and his brother run past us towards a wooded field behind Bali Hai, again carrying a machete and a bucket. We run after them to see if we can be of any assistance. But as I watch Germán attack hanging tree branches over the lagoon with his machete while throwing what might as well be thimbles full of water at the towering inferno, I’m at a loss as to how to be useful in this situation.

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German and his brother silhoutted against the fire they’re trying to kill with a machete

In the end, what saved Bali Hai and our neighborhood was not the fire department, or a machete and a bucket, but a small, man-made canal that had been dug along the length of the lagoon two years ago, separating the thick vegetation that was ablaze on the water and the trees near the houses that ran along the perimeter. When the fire got close to land, it died out slowly, unable to cross the canal to the houses on the other side. And as we watched the fire abate, we heard two fire trucks pull up behind us, having arrived on the scene about six hours too late.

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Oh, hello! Have you heard about the fire?

After two months of living in Cabarete, we’ve not met any of our neighbors outside of the Bali Hai complex. But on this evening, everyone was gathered together — Italians, Spaniards, Americans, Brits, Germans and more — chatting in English about life in the Dominican Republic and expressing concern for our neighbors and their property.

It was one of those moments when I realized that you could live in a community for years and never really be a part of it. But bring on a crisis, and somehow our lives become woven together. And a community emerges.

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Neighbors gathered together in solidarity

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Bali Hai, safe and sound for now