One of the incredible things about this last week of racing is how quickly the tempo of the race changes day to day. It's not just to do with the weather and the wind, though the contrast Saturday to Saturday could not be more stark. This time last week I was putting in some relaxed but fast miles south, in T shirt and shorts still in the trades. Today I am ghosting along the top of the ice limit in a southerly breeze that feels like it is coming straight off Antartica. The boat is shrouded in a wet, cold mist, my fingers needed warming up to type, we are working our way gently east, waiting for the next big blow to catch up with us.
