I Rowed an Ocean

I am sitting at my desk at home, thinking about my 3 months on the Atlantic Ocean and it is starting to feel like I just dreamt it. It feels a whole world away. Life was different on the ocean, more simple but surreal. I miss the rhythm of it, eating, sleeping, rowing, over and over again. People often ask me how I feel about the row as a whole and it’s a funny thing, for me it just feels like something I did. Yes of course, rowing 3000 miles solo and unsupported doesn’t happen often, in fact there are  only under 200 people on this planet who have succeeded in rowing an ocean solo but what I have learnt is that people are capable of much more than they might think.  I’m a 57 year old man with only 1 finger on one hand and I quite literally single handedly rowed 3000 miles across the Atlantic Ocean. Yes it took training, research and a year's worth of preparation but if I can do it, I truly believe anyone can.

Many people have asked about the arrival into Antigua so I will tell you what it was like. It is amazing how when you only have a few hundred miles to go, that time really starts to slow down. It felt like the miles were ticking down slowly, even though I was covering miles faster in that last couple of weeks than at any point in the row. The nearer I got to the end, the slower it seemed to go. I was at one stage heading for Guadeloupe because I was being pushed south by strong winds and currents. I got on the satellite phone to my weather router back in the UK , who helped guide me through the weather and storms. He told me that it was fine if I ended up in Guadeloupe as the food is better because it is French! I rowed non stop through that night for 12 hours solid to get back on track to head directly for Antigua. I had just rowed 3000 miles and I wasn’t going to miss it now but without an auto helm, it was fully my responsibility to get this right and there wasn’t much time for rest. There is no engine and I could quite easily miss it and be pulled south by the winds. The days leading up to arrival, the ocean traffic got more and more busy.  Ships passed me by and I had to be on guard at all times, to make sure that I wasn’t on a collision course with them.

That last night at sea, I was desperate to get there. I saw the lights of Guadeloupe, Monsserat and Antigua. It was incredible to see the glow from human life for the first time in 11 weeks. I knew land was there, I just had to get through the next 12 hours to make sure I made it. On the evening of March 26th, I was excited, nervous and somewhat emotional. I was exhausted and ready to see my family.  For the first time I tucked into my precious Jack Daniels bottle, stowed away for this very moment but I didn’t drink too much because I knew it wasn’t over until it's over. This is where it could all go wrong. I kept thinking that it's a bit like being in a plane. You don’t worry about the flying, you want to worry about the landing. It’s the same thing, I wanted to make sure I didn’t crash into any rocks or miss Antigua entirely. That could have been rather awkward. My weather router, Simon, sent me four way points to row for.  The way you navigate into the island is by hugging the rocks, so that the land and currents pull you around without pushing you past. 

As the sun came up, the land shone so green like I have never seen before. The colours were so vibrant. The only colour I had seen for 11 weeks was blue in all its variance. As I got closer and closer, I started to smell the land. Quite literally smell it. It smelt earthy, just what you expect land to smell like. When I got within Antiguas reach, ABSAR  (Antigua and Barbuda Search and Rescue)  came to escort me in. Rather coincidently, ABSAR is run by one of my very old friends and he sent his guys out on a rescue boat to make sure I got in ok. It was probably at that moment that I knew it was going to be ok and that it was nearly over.  Just as they reached me, a dark Atlantic squall came over and it hammered it down with hard  rain.  The guys in the rescue boat all put their waterproofs on and I just stripped everything off. The only way to stay dry really is to take your clothes off. Skin is waterproof. After all, I had spent the past 3 months pretty much naked and I had come to love the rain when rowing in 40 degrees of heat for weeks.  I saw the two guys in the boat laugh. They must have thought that I was just some crazy English bloke. At this point, I knew my family were waving from the fort on the hill but with the rain and being quite far out, I couldn’t see them but I knew they were within reach. 

I rowed past English Harbour and as I turned into the cove entrance of Falmouth Harbour, I struggled to carry on rowing because the wind was against me and there was a current pushing me out. I started to get a bit cross because I had just rowed over 3000 miles but couldn’t do the last 300 metres. The ABSAR guys  shouted at me  “It’s ok, you can stop now, you’ve made it”.  They threw me a rope to pull me in. There were hundreds of boats in the cove, people started to wave and cheer.  I passed boats of all sizes including classic yachts, big catamarans, small fishing boats and some huge super yachts. On the oligarch’s super yacht, the crew were waving to me from 4 decks up. So I blew the hunting horn and the captain shouted down at me ‘wait for this’, then  he ran into the bridge and blew his horn which nearly burst my eardrums. I shouted back ‘there is always someone with a bigger horn’. 

As I turned around the big super yacht, I saw my family for the first time on the quayside. I then saw an old friend who I hadn’t seen for 30 years. Was I seeing things I thought?  With all the excitement of arriving, I thought maybe I was hallucinating but it really was Eggy and he just happened to be in English Harbour the very moment my daughters were running back around to Falmouth Harbour to meet me. Eggy and I used to sail competitively together in the North Sea in our late teens and early twenties, so there was something quite special and surreal about him being there. It was as if life had come back around at that moment. It was a strange thing as part of me didn’t want to get off the boat. Of course I wanted to finish but part of me couldn't believe it was done. Is that it? Have I actually made it? My life for 78 days had been on the water and now it was ending just like that. 

My girls said my eyes were so wired and open that it was quite piercing to look me in the eyes. Seeing my grandsons on the dock with their t-shirts did make me feel proud. I had really made it. The first few days back on dry land were surreal. I couldn’t shut up and stop talking. Everyone was very loud and I wasn't used to listening to people talk.  Everyone was telling me that I had to be careful with what I drank and ate but as if I was going to listen to that.  After 78 days of eating cardboard, all I wanted to do was  to indulge in real food and I can report that the pina coladas in Antigua are delicious! 

Many people have asked me whether I would do it again. If you would have asked me this question in the days straight after arriving, I would have said absolutely not, not in a million years, it’s done now. But now after 2 months,I can see why people can get addicted to adventures and challenges. I am told  it’s a bit  like childbirth. Obviously I have never given birth, however I have been there for three of them. I think it is called the halo effect and  I am sure any mother reading this will have a thing or two to say about this, but the rush of oxytocin, happiness and love you have for your child, makes you not forget, but clouds the memory of the pain of pregnancy, labour and the birth itself. The joy of finishing and knowing that there was hundreds of thousands of pounds raised through the row, far outweighs the pain, struggle and mental effort it took to get  across the Atlantic. So maybe I will do something else, I am just not sure what yet. The Pacific? I think my family might have a thing or two to say about that so I will be staying fully on terra ferma….. for now.  

There is a saying that eternity begins and ends with the ocean's tides. My greatest lesson learnt from rowing the ocean is that the ocean is bigger than us all. We are insignificant. I even realised that land is insignificant. If the sea levels rise by 10 metres, in the middle of the Atlantic, with its 4 million square miles, it doesn't make a difference to it, the ocean will keep pounding on wave after wave, getting more ferocious, more powerful, more epic. Whatever the weather wants to do, it will do. Whatever the ocean wants to do, it will do.  The weather and the ocean  will carry on doing their thing. But the ocean isn’t a threat to our land, we are a threat to our land and if we don’t do something about it, it won’t be here for our grandchildren's children to enjoy. We need to do everything we can to nurture nature and all its wonders, including our beautiful oceans which provide more oxygen than the earth forests. David Attenborough is right that the earth is a blue planet. The oceans and seas represent 72% of the earth's surfaces and there is no wonder why it is called the blue heart of the earth. The ocean is a place of so much energy, peacefulness, serenity, fear and has a wealth of  incredible creatures that kept me company. There is something about staring out to sea and off into the horizon that is calming. There is no place better on earth that is as good for the soul. 

There is no way I could have crossed that vast ocean without your unwavering support. As much as I felt physically alone out there, I knew that there was so much support back home on dry land. This spurred me on each day to pick up the oars and keep chipping away at the miles.  A huge huge thank you goes to my sponsors for enabling me to do the row. A massive thank you over 1000 people who donated to Amy’s fund and helped raise nearly £200,000.  Thank you to my family, friends and everyone who wrote me messages of support whilst I was out there. Thank you to Simon, my weather router, for keeping me on track and guiding me across the Atlantic. And thank you to all the people who have helped me along the way. Everyone has been incredibly supportive and generous and I can't thank you enough. The mission now, is to make sure that the money raised is used in the best way possible, to save as many young lives as we can, to stop this happening to other families. I have now started doing talks about my time on the ocean, speaking at companies headquarters and dinners, spreading the word about Sudden Arrhythmia Death Syndrome and hopefully inspiring people to take the step into the unknown. 

The row is a time in my life that I will never forget and 3 months that I am truly grateful for. It was just me, my boat and the ocean. So peaceful, yet so gruelling. I now honestly believe that if you set your mind to something, then you really can do it. With determination, dedication and a bit of grit then anything is achievable. You just have to start and take it one day at a time, one stroke at a time and eventually you will reach your destination. If I can do it, anyone can. 

And most importantly above all else, Amy’s legacy lives on through the The Amy Osborne fund. She would have loved all this. It was all for her.