Racing the North Pacific: Lessons from Clipper 23/24

Into the Heart of the Pacific

I stumbled toward the bow, past the mast, waves crashing over the deck - a deafening roar of icy terror. The ocean spray the North Pacific cut into my face as water flooded into my boots, soaking through layers of "waterproof" gear. It didn’t matter; there was no time to hesitate. The Yankee sail had to come down before the squall hit, and it had to come down now.

Moments earlier, I had locked eyes with Dmitri, my fellow sailor. The fear between us was tangible. I’ve truly never felt such a pure, primal fear as I did while waiting and watching the squall on the horizon - would it us or would we need to face the bow and get the sail down before disaster hit. It was oddly quiet as we waited, the tension thick, watching the dark cloud moving toward us, waiting for Max, the skipper, to make the call.

We were already short-handed. Lorraine had been taken out two days before, slammed by a rogue wave and thrown across the bow. Cracked ribs? Broken? We didn’t know, but she was out of action. Now it was just us, short-handed and huddled in silence, waiting.

Would it hit us? Or would it veer away? The Pacific had been “kind” for weeks, or so the veterans claimed. But three days ago, the beginning of a three-day storm had shattered that illusion, wreaking havoc on both boat and crew. We watched the horizon, hoping, praying.

Max gave the call. The Yankee sail had to come down before we were overpowered.

Max, Dmitri, and I braced ourselves, pulling on every ounce of courage as we staggered forward, men consigned to our grim fate of destruction. The waves crashed over us with relentless force. The icy wind pierced through our soaked gear, making every step a battle to get to the edge of the bow, prepared to pull in the sail by hand.

How did I end up here? I wasn’t a sailor. I was a 33-year-old with barely a few months of training, now racing across the Northern Pacific in a 70-foot yacht. A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined this life. Yet here I was, standing at the edge of the world, three months into the most intense few months of my life—facing the ocean’s wrath and discovering what I was truly made of.

The Journey to the Pacific: From Tropics to the Unknown

My journey began in Australia. I joined the Clipper Round the World Race on the beautiful coast of Airlie Beach, setting sail into a world I knew little about, driven by an appetite for adventure and the promise of unknown glory.

The first leg of the journey took us north, threading the Solomon Islands (and pirate infested seas), rounding Papua New Guinea, Indonesia, and the Philippines. The relentless tropical heat bore down on us, suffocating misery as we fought through the doldrums—days of stifling, windless suffering—pierced by sudden squalls of tangential downpours, and nights of restless sweat-soaked night terrors. The days were pierced by sudden squalls of tangential downpours. Our reflexes, training and sanity all being tested.

It was a battle of endurance, a constant push against exhaustion, dehydration, and the unpredictable temperament of the sea and the surroundings. By the time we reached Vietnam, I thought I’d seen it all.

I hadn’t.

The South China Sea: Zhuhai to Qingdao

The next leg, from Zhuhai to Qingdao, was different. We weren’t just surviving - we were truly competing. The stretch through the South China Sea was brutal, with the change from tropical heat to icy winds sweeping across the deck, currents, and fishing boats that demanded precise navigation. Yet, as a crew, we found our rhythm. Every maneuver, every adjustment, felt sharp, deliberate, and perfectly executed.

We raced through the cold, threading our way past fishing boats and navigating complex weather patterns. Each shift brought challenges, but it also brought something else: momentum. The closer we got to Qingdao, the stronger our belief that we could win. And we did! Crossing the finish line first was a euphoric moment - proof of how far we’d come, and the work that we each put in as individuals, and as a team.

Victory in Qingdao

Winning was a natural high, the glorious vindication of every grueling shift, every bruise and injury, and every sleepless night.

But I was also exhausted.

As we celebrated in Qingdao, there was a part of me that considred stopping there. I could leave the race on a high note, stepping away with a victory on my belt. The exhaustion I’d been pushing aside for months had finally caught up to me in to the point of almost giving in.

But the call of the Pacific was louder. It was, after all, the race I’d joined for - the most dangerous and isolated ocean tol in the world. So I decided to press on, to finish what I started. I wasn’t ready to step off the boat -not yet.

Pushing Past My Limits

And so the Great Pacific Race began. Frigid winds cut through every layer of gear, and waves as tall as buildings tested the strength of both the boat and the crew.

Helming a 70-foot yacht over massive waves, spotting whales in the open ocean, or sharing stories with the crew after days of hardship - these experiences reminded me why I stayed.

The Pacific leg broke pushed me in ways I couldn’t have imagined, but it also gave me unmatched clarity. Growth doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from pushing beyond what you think you can endure.

The Beauty in Chaos

Amid the chaos, there were moments of profound peace. Night watches under a sky covered with stars, the boat slicing through the waves, the camaraderie of a crew bound by shared struggle - it all felt raw and real in a way I’ve never experienced in modern life.

The Pacific strips you down to your core. It forces you to let go of everything that doesn’t matter. And when you do, you find freedom. The less you have, the more you truly live.

Ocean Racing Lessons

Ocean racing wasn’t just an adventure - it was a transformation. The Clipper Race showed me that discomfort is where growth begins, that resilience is our greatest strength, and that most challenges pale in comparison to the unrelenting power of the sea.

I know now that anything is possible - that I can achieve and accomplish whatever I set my mind to. The Clipper Race showed me that life’s greatest rewards come when you step into the unknown, embrace the struggle, and dare to dream big.

It wasn’t just a race. It was a reminder of what it means to truly live.