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Concerns over the congestion in Auckland Harbour were brought home to roost when at the start, The Card’s mizzen became entangled with the mast of one of the thousands of spectator boats and snapped. Skipper Roger Nilson decided to dump it over the side and sail on as a sloop, but issued instructions that it be recovered and shipped to the Chatham Islands where they would stop and restep. Good idea in theory, but the mizzen was so badly damaged, it could not be mended in time so eventually had to be sent to Punta. Amazingly, her new-style rigging responded well in the light airs off Cape Colville and she careered through the waters and into the lead.

Not for long. The Kiwi maxis hit their stride before the sunhats had been replaced by balaclavas and quickly took the lead as the Southern Ocean beckoned. Rucanor Sport, Bruno Dubois’ Belgian boat, had to give up and return to Auckland after she collided with a whale and suffered damage to her rudder, while things below deck on Maiden started to resemble a casualty department. First Mikaela von Kuskull was knocked unconscious by Maiden’s boom then Michelle Paret was hurled into the wheel by a massive wave. Claire Russell, the doctor, strapped Paret into a bunk and kept her there for four days, eschewing all offers of help from other boats.

As Steinlager 2 and F&P rounded Cape Horn just five nm apart, Brad Butterworth, the watch captain, revealed to Dalton over the radio that they were carrying an extra crewmember, “After a period of stunned silence on F&P, Brad told them who our ‘extra’ was. While in Auckland, Peter was approached by a family of an old Cape Horner, Frederick Thomas Chapman who had recently passed away. Chapman sailed around the Horn on the barquentine Garthneill in 1924 and his family thought it fitting that we scatter his ashes as we rounded the Horn. Soon enough he came to be known as Dusty Chapman and was considered by all of us to be a member of the crew. We were sure he enjoyed his last voyage to Cape Horn.”

The rivalry between the two Kiwi boats proved endlessly entertaining as they banged and crashed their way through the Strait de la Maire between the Atlantic and Southern Oceans.

“With 1400 nm to the finish, we were clearly going to have our hands full to keep Fishpie at bay. Our first night in the Atlantic saw the breeze crump up yet again and Dalts pull up to be almost even with us. Mike (Quilter) was in the nav station and called them up on the VHF, telling them ‘You guys really piss me off!’ This was answered over the airwaves with a chorus of giggles from the F&P nav station.” (Big Red)

But things became a lot more serious when a few days later, all the boats heard the dreaded message. It came from a radio operator on Martela, who with a discernible sense of panic relayed the following words, “Mayday. Mayday. Our keel is falling off.”

This was followed by a latitude report then silence, a clear sign that they were in trouble. In fact, the operator got out of the hatch just moments before Martela capsized, leaving the crew on the upturned hull. Merit and Charles Jourdain immediately went to their rescue, but for a few hours, fears for the crews’ safety gripped the fleet and it wasn’t until the Martela crew had been picked up did normal service resume with everyone thanking the gods that the accident occurred in the Atlantic and not in the Southern Ocean.

Blake donned his lucky red ski socks in preparation for another ding-dong with Fishpie and the race to Punta was on, the last 100 nm offering 55 knots of wind to hasten their arrival. Once more it was Steinlager 2 who for the fourth time in four legs, tipped over the line first, this time by a mere 21 minutes over the despairing Dalton.

The incapacity of Paret on Maiden cost the all-female crew the lead and by the time they arrived in Punta in third place, L’Esprit de Liberte had posted a 17 hour advantage. Edwards, however, remained convinced they could still win the race.