The first sign of trouble in last weekend’s 2026 Swiftsure race may have been when I barfed all over the cabin top in front of the crew. Or maybe it was an hour later when I was bent over, hugging the head like a fortuneteller looking for tea leaves in the bottom of a (very nasty) cup.
We weren’t 4 hours into the race and it was pretty obvious that my race was already over. The skipper gently handed me my new best friend for the next 12 hours: the Tactical Race Bucket (TRB).
The two of us hit it off right away. Curled up in our sea berth together. Bucket understood me. Bucket was there for me in my time of need. Bucket was my spoon as I curled up around it and tried not to die.
Over the next few hours we got to know each other, Bucket and I. I told Bucket things. Things I’ve never told anyone else. Whispered things, “Oh God…Oh God” And Bucket understood me. Bucket saw me (or my tonsils anyhow).
It’s hard to keep a relationship like that a secret on a sailboat. It’s not the kind of thing you want the rest of the crew to know about. So when someone came down below off watch, I’d clutch bucket a little tighter. What we had was special. My last friend in my waning, dying moments.
Then to my dawning horror, there came a moment when I realized I just might NOT die. I think it was around the halfway point of the race. And then I truly despaired: only 8 more hours of this ghastly misery. Bucket and I cried together. We laughed hysterically. We hurled (again).
Now I’ve slept with my wife, my dog, and my bucket. Only Bucket truly understood me. I mean, Bucket has truly seen (everything) deep inside me. But, alas no great relationship lasts forever. The seas calmed. The winds abated. And my health returned as if by magic.
Parting is such sweet sorrow. I’ve never been accused of being a fickle lover, but my time with Bucket was at an end. We will always have Swiftsure. Until next year, my friend.
Blur Racing 
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