Chris Museler finds something special in a trying voyage.

Monday Evening. “I hate this boat. We’re not going anywhere. We're not moving!” So exclaimed the frustrated Sam. His father, Jim, responded with the Johnny Cash song:

“Son, this world is rough, and if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough. It’s the name that helped to make you strong. And I said ‘My name is Sue. How do you do?’”

So went the commentary on our fourth park-up in this Bermuda Race, Monday afternoon.  Jim says he's now been a part of the windiest Bermuda Race (1972 with a tropical depression) and the windliest Bermuda Race. And of course I spoke too soon when I said we saw the light at the end of the tunnel earlier today, when we had a few hours of fast three- sail reaching.

This is the other side of ocean racing. Even if we have two more of these schizophrenic days (Lord, I hope it doesn't come to that!), there’s a lot to learn from Jim's punchy response. We have to accept it all when we do ocean races. So far Sam is the only one to crack. He even said he'd take 50 knots, like in 1972, or some other “craziness” over this.

For now we have no choice but to make the best of what we have. It’s a good lesson we re-learn every time we go to sea, where we endure tests of our patience and have some people to share our misery with. Sam may have had a bad attitude, if only for a moment. His coping mechanism turned him right around, and he soon took a dip in the Big Blue. That’s something I might not do, but it’s a morale builder none the less.

Tuesday Morning.  AIS is a wonderful navigation tool. You can see on your chart plotter who's around you, how fast they’re going, what their course is, etc. But when we spotted the Baltic 50 Crazy Horse on the horizon this morning—well, that was the day's first downer. They have sailed up to us three times in so many days, yet we took off from them yesterday when we got our first bit of real downwind sailing.

Today, after a fifth calm (we even had two dragonflies on deck, one of them dead), all our frustrations have been channeled onto Crazy Horse. “Sorry guys, I'm sure you are wonderful people, but. . . .” And so it goes in the roller coaster world of ocean racing. We used to think it'd be nice to know where we are in the fleet. But even though there is a chance that we and Crazy Horse are 1-2 in the standings, our minds are telling us, “Were next to a slower rated boat and 100 miles from Bermuda. This can’t be good.”

All that, and still we had a very enjoyable 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. watch, with father and son joining in on an equal playing field in a sometimes very adult conversation:  girls, business, compromising moments of youth, and more.

The Bermuda Race has a lower key that allows levity in trying circumstances.  Last week I was finishing a race to Barcelona from New York, and only in the last hour did my co-skippers allow for the free-wheeling banter we have experienced each watch aboard Grundoom. (The one thing that all sailors agree upon is that no wind is more trying psychologically than a big breeze.)

For now we are eking out every knot of boat speed to put that pesky Crazy Horse back over the horizon. We're just looking for small victories.  Not the kind, yet, that would allow us to break out that cigar taped to the bulkhead “in case of victory.”