Ten Weeks at Sea

I have now been at sea for nearly ten weeks, the wind has finally changed in my favour and I am en route to Antigua. I’m nearly 500 miles from the finish line so the countdown is on. It feels a little bit like waiting to break up from school for the holidays or what I imagine it feels like waiting to be released from prison. There is still a long way to go but not when I think about how far I have come. It is now in my grasp and I am determined to get there as fast as I can. 

I want to tell you about the wildlife out here. It has been one of my favourite aspects of this journey. I hadn’t seen dolphins for about 1000 miles and then a week or so ago, I noticed the blow clouds of 2 pilot whales about 100 yards away. They followed me for a bit, then circled around the back of me and cruised along with me for a while, before disappearing again. Then that night, it was pitch black and I heard the blowing at the end of my oars. I can tell you whales have the most horrendous smelling breath! Apart from the smell, it was a fantastic experience I will never forget. 

I have a family of dorado fish (or Mahi Mahi as they are also known) that have followed me for weeks, living underneath the boat. They don’t like it when I stop, I think they get bored. They come to the surface and look up at me and it’s as if they are saying ‘What are you doing? Why have you stopped? Keep going.’ The dorado linger about waiting to catch the flying fish that attack the boat. When I first heard the flying fish, it scared the life out of me because it sounded like hundreds of pebbles hitting the boat. They can be three inches to one foot long. I wonder whether my dorado will come the whole way with me. That would be amazing, maybe they are coming with me to make sure I get there safe and sound. 

The flying fish are like exocet missiles flying at night when there is no wind. I remember reading that one man who was rowing last year, lost his i-pod to a flying fish, which had flown straight towards him and tossed the i-pod right out of his hand. The next thing he knew, his i-pod was sinking 3 miles to the bottom of the ocean, resulting in no music for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t imagine doing this without any music or podcasts. 

I have three main birds who are with me too. I have a shearwater which is incredibly fast and elegant. It skims along the waves, it’s amazing to watch.  I also have a storm petrel which I see everyday. Then every night, the same bird comes to me at dusk and dive bombs the boat. It has a long wandlike tail which I think is a tern. So in this sense, I am not alone out here, I have my birds, whales and dorado fish for company. Bioluminescence has been another highlight.  When I put my hand into the ocean, the water lights up around me like fireworks. It is absolutely incredible. The best thing I can compare it to is a Coldplay concert. For anyone who has been to a Coldplay concert, they will know what I mean.

A few weeks ago, I experienced my second capsize. It was night time and I was in the cabin when I heard a larger than normal wave coming.  The oncoming wave sounded like a train arriving fast into a station and I just knew it was going to be a larger one than usual so braced myself. I felt the boat roll 180 degrees and the next thing I knew I was on the roof of the cabin. I don’t know why but it made me laugh. I knew I was safe as the boat rolled back over and righted itself, like it should have done. When packing the boat, you have to pack it in a way that the weight is distributed evenly, to allow the boat to roll straight back over. If you don’t, it won’t and you would be reaching for the life raft fairly sharpish. I have become very well accustomed to listening to the waves and knowing when I need to brace myself. 

The heat is a constant battle. I know everyone thinks it must be lovely in the sunshine and of course, having sunny days is great especially for charging equipment off the solar panels, but when the only shelter you have got is a plastic box, there is no escape. Some days it is 40 degrees plus and it becomes unbearably hot inside and outside the cabin. I have one little fan in the cabin to try and get some air circulation.  Most of the time, I row naked plus my hat. A lovely image for you! I also pour buckets of sea water over me or when it is calm and still I get in the water to cool down and I also now row more at night when it’s cooler. 

The auto helm is still broken, but I have given up on that now and manage to steer well with my feet. I either lock the steering off, which isn’t ideal because when I come down a wave, I tend to go too much to port or starboard. Or I try to keep to a bearing using my feet. On the footplate, one of my feet is attached to the steering line on a pulley system, so if I move my foot left or right, the boat moves port or starboard. I also keep my eye on the compass and use the oars to keep course. It isn’t perfect but it’s better than nothing. 

The North Atlantic weather, I am told by my weather router, has been unpredictable and untrustworthy this year. Storm after storm has rolled across the North Atlantic and pushed the ridge further South than usual, so I have often been pushed the wrong way by headwinds. I have sat in a pocket of no wind for so long where the solid trade winds should be, meaning that these past few weeks have been a slog. When the winds are moving eastwards instead of westwards, I have to go on para-anchor which is purgatory. I have now been on para-achor 3 times.  It’s like someone saying to you; park your car here, you can’t go anywhere and  sit here for 4 days and stare at the same thing. Nevertheless, the parachute anchor works well and does its job. I drift slightly but not much. In the past, I have heard it being called the para prison. How right that is. You bob around like a cork being bashed about the cabin and there is nothing you can do about it. At least when you are rowing, you know you are making progress but knowing you aren’t crossing off miles is fairly demoralising.

However, Neptune is now back on my side, which is a huge relief and I can get some decent miles under my belt. It's quite all or nothing out here. So much wind, too little wind, no current, too much current in the wrong direction, but that is what the ocean is like. It’s unpredictable but equally it is magnificent and shouldn’t be underestimated. There is no point trying to fight it because I will never win, it just does it’s thing. I am not going to exhaust myself flogging it when there is just no point. I always go by the saying ‘there is nothing you can do about the weather’. The ocean will let me move on when she is ready. I just have to roll with the punches, accept what is thrown at me and remember that it will change. And when it does, just get back on the oars and take it stroke by stroke, mile by mile. Every day that goes by, I know I am edging closer to Antigua, edging closer to my family, edging closer to real food, a fresh coffee and an Antiguan rum punch. I don’t even like rum punch, but I want one! 

I still haven’t seen any sign of humankind for about 40 days since I met up with Linda, so I am looking forward to that soon. The nearest human to me is most likely to be in the International Space Station, that’s something I find hard to get my head around.

James Cracknell who rowed the Atlantic back in 2005, told me over email that this would be more of a mental battle than a physical one and he is certainly right. Like anything, there are good things and bad things about being out here, but what I do know is that this is true privilege. I am going to try and soak up every last second of it, because this really is an adventure of a lifetime. With all her ferocity, unpredictability and mystery, the Atlantic really is a majestic place to be and for that I am truly grateful. I just have to keep going, keep rowing, one stroke at a time. I will get there, come hell or high water.