The Extreme 40 catamarans each carry four crew, and one lucky ‘fifth man’. BBC Sport Online’s journalist Rob Hodgetts got a chance to experience the ultimate VIP sailing trip.

Imagine the bounciest bouncy castle, a bucking bronco that rears 20ft high and the wettest, wildest log flume in the world. Welcome to Extreme 40 catamaran sailing. What a rush.

I’m racing with Australian Nick Moloney, who is skippering the Extreme 40 BT this season, and is a three–time round-the-world veteran. “You alright with the ‘f’ word?” he asks me in his Aussie drawl as we slip the dock.

Crewmen Charles Darbyshire, Dave “Freddie” Carr and Alec Fraser ready the boat, while I keep out of the way. There’s a calm but businesslike air on board.
“Looking forward to coming second?” I shout across to Dame Ellen MacArthur, who is skippering another of the Extreme 40s for the day. “Not a chance,” she fires back.

“Ten minutes to our gun,” says Charlie. The tension mounts. “Five minutes,” warns Charlie. We turn for the line and make a late run. “Full knacker here guys,” shouts Nick from his perch at the stern. We accelerate smoothly, deceptively and the windward hull lifts, leaving the five of us perched high in the air. “Ellen’s leading,” says Charlie. “Can’t have that,” fires back Nick.


Man overboard!
The boat hums and creaks and the crew keep up a constant dialogue — where’s the best wind, when to tack, where is the opposition? The communication, teamwork, leadership and camaraderie are inspiring.

“We’ve got good pace here boys. We’re dropping Basilica like third grade French,” says Alec. We seem to be gaining on the leaders until we make a hash of a tack and are hit by three waves in succession. There’s a mound of bodies, and when we disentangle ourselves, Charlie is missing.

Nick cries the dreaded “Man overboard!” and we all lunge over the side to grab a piece of Charlie as he clings on desperately. He’s spluttering but, miraculously, his glasses are still on. But we’re going too fast to haul him in so we let him go, to be picked up by the RIB (rigid inflatable boat) which is trailing us. The RIB later delivers the dripping Charlie back to us. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I flew into the air and when I came back down the boat had gone.”

We hoist the gennaker and accelerate down the swells. The sensation of speed as the ocean rushes between the hulls is awesome. But with it comes the waterworks - it’s like sitting in front of a giant fire hose. Our speed nudges 26 knots - plenty fast enough to water ski behind - and even the pros are having fun.

But the whoops and hollers are silenced by a volley of “nautical” language from Nick. He can’t control the steering. And without that, at these speeds and with so much sail up, we’re in big trouble. “Freddie, help me here, I can’t hold it,” he screams.

Surfing down the steep waves, the danger is that the leeward hull will dig into the wave in front and stick, causing us to “pitch-pole”, the same as going over the handlebars on your bike. Soon, Nick’s shouting again. One of the two rudders has lifted and two crew dive onto the tiller bar to help steer. The fourth time it happens, something breaks and we have to raise the rudder altogether.

The leading Extreme 40s are too far gone to catch but we press on to cross the line. Even for pro skipper Nick, that was clearly quite a big day on the water. “There were times when I was wondering where the limit was,” he says afterwards, “and sorry we couldn’t give you any quotes without swearing.”

No flaming worries, mate. You’ve given me the flipping ride of my life.