SAILING: Damian Foxallis co-skipper with Jean-Pierre Dick on Paprec-Virbac in the two-handed, non-stop Barcelona World Race. Astern of them, the fleet has taken a hammering in the last week and three of the top boats are now out of the running.

We're alone now. Very alone. Just JP below, resting as Paprec Virbac glides steadily across the ocean closer to Antarctica than anywhere else - but that's hardly appealing, as there's a massive ice field surrounding the continent.

Grey sky, grey sea and the occasional white cap; its mesmerising sailing as I alternate between steering by hand and the autopilot when it's just too cold to continue. We're now so deep into the Southern Ocean that the deep depressions are coming at us almost like scheduled train service, but thankfully we've been given a reprieve and we can catch up on rest.

Astern of us, the fleet has taken a hammering in the last week and three of the top boats are now out of the running completely.

First to go was PRB, our constant match-racing partners up front. Then it was Delta Dore with a complete dismasting. The lads on Estrella Damm were next with two smashed rudders.

A pit stop in Cape Town resulted in repairs to their boat, but without time to test the repairs they too have pulled out of the race.

PRB being knocked out gave us a clear, 250-mile lead to the next-placed boat, Veolia Environment. But they've had problems with their engine and diverted to the Kerguelen Islands for repairs and a 12-hour time penalty. They're back in the race again but more than 800 miles behind in third place.

That little diversion cost them 500 miles.

We can't let that happen to us, and thankfully all our gear is holding up well so far.

Grey sky, grey sea, more grey. It's mind-numbing here at almost 550S - iceberg territory.

And then I see it, incredibly merged into the bland seascape, but as we draw closer there can be no mistaking it. It's a berg, about a mile wide and perhaps a few hundred metres high.

All hell breaks loose on board as JP joins me on deck. We have less than 10 miles to collision, but that assumes the berg has no accompanying growlers: chunks of broken-off ice partially submerged and easily capable of holing us.

Ten miles at almost 20 knots - that's half an hour to drop the gennaker, hoist the solent, alter course and sail around it to avoid impact.

We clear it with three miles to spare, but what if it had been dark?

It was nerve-racking, and our northeasterly course since to a slightly warmer latitude where there is less threat from the ice should position us better for the next low-pressure system coursing its merry way east.

That was how Saturday morning started. And then the first of the satellite skeds came in with the shocking news that while we were dicing with the berg, to our north Alex Thompson and Andrew Cape on Huge Boss had taken 130 miles out of our lead in just one night! We always knew these guys were fast and their menace has been growing steadily since PRB pulled out. We regained a few miles and still have more than 100 miles of a "cushion", which is effectively dead even.

It looks like the rest of our time in the Southern Ocean will be a morning routine of dashing to the nav station for the first report after the 12-hour blackout to see if Alex and Capey have pulled another 130-mile stunt or have we edged ahead.

In conversation with David Branigan

branigan@indigo.ie