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Stage two was upon us, we had safely navigated through the Canary Islands and our next checkpoint was Cape Verde, 780 nautical miles (1444 kilometres) away. The Cape Verde islands were another small group of volcanic outcrops situated directly west of Dakar and 500 kilometres off the coast of Senegal and the West African shoreline. This would be a slightly bigger stage and if the weather stayed behind us and lent a friendly nudge along we should cover the distance in just under two weeks. We had a visitor drop by that morning in the form of a 7-foot-long blue marlin. He followed behind the boat for a while, every few seconds giving us a flash of his bright blue side as his fins stuck clear above the surface. It was a beautiful sight and a nice change from staring out at the endless rolling waves.
After our ordeal through the Canaries I was completely exhausted and was falling asleep within seconds of closing my eyes. My body had adapted to the sleeping schedule and I was now managing to get three blocks of ninety minutes sleep during the night in between shifts. I’d also try to squeeze in a power nap whenever I could, usually after making water and eating during my day shifts. Even though ninety minutes is not a long time, whenever I woke up after sleeping my body would be stiff, I’d be slightly dehydrated yet I’d feel alert and energised. In the initial moments after waking it felt as though I had slept for eight hours, but after two hours of rowing I would be craving the sleep again – it was the never-ending cycle of work and rest.
Day twelve was a long day. The sea had become choppy and the night turned into what I called the ‘oblique abs workout’. The small swell was coming at us from all directions and even though the conditions weren’t dangerous, the constant left and right erratic rocking was seriously tough on the body. Our backs were getting very sore and stretching breaks were needed to relieve the tension. Day twelve also started with my second toilet disaster. In our cabin I used a two-litre plastic pee bottle so that I didn’t have to venture out on deck to use the bucket at night. I was pouring it out over the side and a gust of wind caught the yellow nectar, swirled in around before my eyes and sprayed it all back into my face. If that wasn’t bad enough I found out shortly afterwards that Jake had used my pee bottle for emergency release during the night. Getting sprayed in the face with your own pee isn’t so bad, but someone else’s is just mean.
The journey south to Cape Verde came with its own set of challenges and a strong undercurrent had been pulling us west towards the traditional trade routes across the Atlantic. We were trying to pioneer a new southern route to Brazil and needed to get across those currents, which had dramatically slowed our pace. It was tough rowing throughout the day. The westerly pull finally eased off as sunset was approaching and we managed to get ourselves into a southerly current, picking up speed slightly and allowing us to settle into a comfortable night of rowing. The weather had calmed and the clouds cleared for the first time since we departed Lagos. With all the deck lights off it was pitch-black apart from the luminescent plankton in the ocean, which glowed when disturbed by our oars, and the shine of the stars.
The next day was perfect, sunny and calm, and boat maintenance was desperately needed. We had taken a battering getting through the Canary Islands and with calm seas it was time to do a thorough inspection of our floating home. Our boat had a dagger board which is a small fibreglass fin that slides down through the centre front deck and protrudes one metre into the water below. This board helps to keep us on a straight bearing while in rough seas. If the dagger board isn’t in position when we are hit side-on by a wave it would swing our nose around into dangerous positions. It had done its job well when we were being battered by big waves but in the process had broken off close to its end. It now caused a problem slowing us down and with a little effort we removed it to be repaired. Noticing our rudder was not responding as well as it should be, we believed there could be some rope from our drogue anchor wrapped around it. I volunteered to go swimming and inspect it, putting on goggles and attaching an ankle leash so I wouldn’t be swept away from the boat, I lowered myself over the side and took my first swim in the Atlantic. The water was cool and refreshing and on a closer look the rudder did have tattered rope restricting its movement. I had no problem clearing it and before climbing back on board I dove under and stared out at the endless blue water all around me. The bottomless expanse of deep ocean made me feel like a spectator to one of the greatest shows on earth.
I really enjoyed the weather south of the Canary Islands. I didn’t want to jinx our situation by thinking it but we were having perfect conditions, with half a metre to one-metre swell and cloudless skies. The temperature had risen a comfortable 10 degrees and we were down to shorts and shirts for rowing shifts instead of the triple layer waterproofs we were wearing five days earlier. The current was giving us a nice bump along and we were making steady miles. The route we were on must be a common cruise-ship route because we saw four in a day and a half. At night they light up like Christmas trees and I was imagining the hot showers and cold beers on board. One was so close and looked so inviting we joked about faking a rescue for a few days rest on board. When I took my shirt off I could see my body shrinking even after only two weeks at sea. The rowing schedule was gruelling and I was using up so much energy my body began consuming any muscle that was not getting used. Loose skin started appearing above my knees where my quads use to be and my bum was disappearing at a rapid rate.
I had come to learn the hard way that body maintenance is so important while ocean rowing. I started to get small sores on my bum from sitting in the rowing seat for such long periods. I was too tired and shell-shocked in the first week to worry about them, but they had since turned into large salt sores and were extremely painful. I had to adhere to a strict regime to keep them under control because the last thing I needed out there was an infection, especially in an area so sensitive and crucial to the task at hand. Before every rowing shift I’d coat my backside in Sudocrem and apply Vaseline to any sensitive areas to cut down on friction. Immediately after my two-hour shift I used baby wipes to clean my entire bum and reapply Sudocrem or one of the antiseptic creams before bed. This was the only way to keep the sores stable and slowly decreased their size; one of the many joys of rowing an ocean.
I had brought along some fishing gear in the hope of catching a fresh meal for the crew and had thrown a line in using a plastic lure as bait on a few occasions with no success. It was day fifteen and I had the lure in swimming most of the day but it wasn’t receiving any attention. In the endless hours of rowing I started to calculate the amount of drag the act of fishing was accumulating. Our rowing speed dropped 0.1 knots when the line was in the water and over a twenty-four hour period of fishing this equated to 2.4 nautical miles of lost distance. In the long run, over our possible sixty-plus-day voyage the simple act of fishing could cost us two extra days at sea. After coming to this conclusion I wound the line in, making a deal with myself to only throw it in again if I could see the fish swimming in the water beside me. I would buy everyone a seafood buffet when we arrived in Recife two days ahead of schedule!
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It was the middle of the third week and my normal day at the oars looked something like this. First rowing shift 8 to 10 am, followed by breakfast of a dehydrated meal, brushing my teeth and completing morning toilet rituals. Back on for another shift from 12 to 2 pm, followed by collecting empty bottles and making water for the team. If the machine was functioning well I could have the water finished in an hour, leaving me time to eat again and have a short rest. My last day shift was from 4 to 6 pm and my favourite as the temperatures would typically be the most comfortable and it was close to sunset. We would crank some music through the boat’s speakers and enjoy all being out on deck. I’d eat again, drink plenty of water, grab a quick nap if I could before my 8 to 10 pm shift. Between 10 pm and midnight was when I’d get my first solid block of sleep, at least ninety minutes. A quick wipe down after rowing, Sudocrem to sensitive areas and it was straight to b
ed. From 12 to 2 am I was back at the oars and fighting the desire to sleep for two hours; this was always the hardest shift for me. Between 2 and 4 am was my second glorious block of sleep followed by my last shift from 4 to 6 am. I would awaken from my third sleep just before 8 am ready to start the day over again. It became the ultimate groundhog day experience and I wondered just how long I could keep it up.
Twenty days at sea and we were all adapting to life on the ocean. My body had already changed to suit the environment, dropping fat and any muscle that was just for show. My mind also began adapting to the monotonous hours at the oars, Noam Chomsky’s and Sam Harris’s podcasts were a great aid in getting me through the long nights. When I’d hear Noam speak about the never-ending conflict in today’s world, spending time with friends paddling a boat seemed like a luxury.
In the three weeks at sea we had had a few close calls with container ships and were visited by fishing boats who came out of nowhere to give us a round of applause before speeding off. Who knows what they made of these strange foreigners in their tiny boat in the middle of the Atlantic. We had all forms of marine life join us on deck, from flying fish and squid to sea birds and insects. It’s so surprising to see the abundance of life out there hundreds of miles from the coast of Africa. The weather had been on our side for a week and the sun warmed our bodies and morale. Our distance covered each day was remarkable, averaging 60–70 nautical miles every twenty-four hours. At that rate we would be at the beginning of stage three in no time, although I had an inkling that Mother Nature had only just begun to show us what she was capable of.
I missed Elise constantly, with endless hours of rowing giving me time to ponder how she was feeling while I was out on this crazy adventure. Before I departed Thailand bound for London she handed me a large envelope that contained a series of smaller notes. Each note had an ‘open day’ written on the front. Day three, day ten, day sixteen and so on for the duration of the sixty days. I opened the first one on day three.
MY PRINCE, THIS IS YOUR DREAM RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. AN INTRODUCTION TO THE NEXT SEVENTY YEARS. ONE FULL OF CHALLENGES AND BREATHTAKING ADVENTURES. ONE PUSHING BOUNDARIES AND TACKLING FEARS. SO BEGIN ALL OF YOUR SUNRISES WITH GRATITUDE. TAKE EACH FIRST STROKE WITH PRIDE. AND EVERY DAY WHEN THE SUN COLLIDES WITH THE MOON I AM CERTAIN YOU WILL BE GLOWING INSIDE. ON YOUR JOURNEY WHEN YOU LOOK UP AND SEE THOUSANDS OF STARS. A SIGHT SO FEW HAVE THE CHANCE TO BEHOLD. THINK OF ME, BECAUSE I’LL BE THINKING OF YOU. WAITING, EXCITED TO HEAR YOUR BRAND NEW STORY RETOLD. I LOVE YOU BEYOND WORDS
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These notes were a huge part of my morale and determination, I would use each one as a goal to reach and when some nights got really tough I would focus on how long it was until my next note and that would give me strength.
Day fifteen.
I’M THINKING BY NOW YOU WILL HAVE FOUND YOUR GROOVE. A RHYTHM TO YOUR STROKES AND A FEW BUM SORES TO MATCH. JUST THE MERE FACT THAT YOU PUT YOUR HAND UP WITHOUT QUESTION MAKES YOU EXTRAORDINARY. THIS ADVENTURE, ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU WILL GET IT DONE, WITHOUT QUESTION IS ABOUT SO MUCH MORE THAN THE FINISH LINE. SIMPLY LOOK AROUND YOU. YOU ARE SEEING A PART OF OUR WORLD THAT MOST HUMANS HAVE NEVER AND WILL NEVER SEE. EVERY STROKE OF THIS JOURNEY FIND THE JOY. THE JOY OF THE ACTIVITY, THE SURROUNDINGS, THE NOISES, THE GIFT YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN. I LOVE YOU WITH EVERYTHING I AM.
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In reply to her beautifully written words and the fact I was unable to write well with the constant rocking of the boat, I was filming a series of videos that I titled ‘Reasons why I love you’. I was shooting the videos inside the cabin, out on the deck and whenever I was able. It was something I could do to show her that the notes she had written me were reciprocated ten-fold in my feelings towards her.
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What is valuable on land has literally no value at sea and as our voyage progressed the crew and I had developed a new form of currency in snack food. There were certain commodities we each brought on board that could be easily traded in an equal value swap. Some of my chocolate for Mel’s biscuits and nuts for example. However there was a product valued by all that required greater amounts of less desirable items to initiate the trade. Top Herd jerky was the most desired item at sea at this stage and once acquired it was near impossible to part with. This jerky with its many varieties and flavours was a little treat I looked forward to daily and its long-lasting comfort was cherished.
Stage two had been completed and on day twenty-two we had arrived at the point in between Dakar on the West Coast of Africa and Cape Verde, located 500 kilometres to its west. Unable to see either of those landmarks, we received our confirmation through our navigation system. Covering 780 nautical miles (1440 kilometres) in twelve days, we maintained a fantastic pace and we were well on target. The next stage was the biggest stage of the crossing, the 950-nautical-mile (1760-kilometre) push from Cape Verde to the equator. This stage would determine whether our new route across the Atlantic was even possible.
With 86 nautical miles in a twenty-four hour period on day twenty-four, we had completed our biggest daily total so far. The wind, waves, current and rowing effort all came together to achieve such a massive distance. The seas were rough and I felt like I’d played back-to-back games of rugby but it’s the trade-off to getting nudged along by the swell. The girls decided to change to three hours rowing, three hours rest instead of the two and two that we were doing because they were having trouble sleeping in the two-hour rest blocks so wanted to try a longer row to get longer rest. Jake and I stayed on our same schedule. We were sleeping well and I didn’t think my bum or body could take a third straight hour of rowing on night shift – by the time my two hours were up I was begging for sleep. Jake also let me in on his secret to combat bum sores and chafing. He filled a baby wipe with petroleum jelly and would insert it in between his bum cheeks. He called it his bum tampon and swore that it helped him escape the worst of the soreness in the first few weeks. We all had a great laugh at his new patent and applauded him for his initiative.
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The halfway point of over 1800 nautical miles was reached at the end of day twenty-six; we allowed an extra 200 miles for route deviation to be certain. We could finally say we were in the second half of the voyage and team morale took a nice little boost in passing this milestone. We continued to endure rough weather and big waves as we departed Cape Verde however during the night it calmed and I woke on day twenty-seven to calm seas. It’s amazing the difference a day can make. To me this was real rowing – no assistance from waves, just our own power in the oars driving us onwards. It was starting to get really hot during the days and hydration and heat exhaustion were our biggest concerns. We received snippets of news from home and we had just heard about the latest terrorist attack and the thirty-two civilians killed in Brussels. It was another tragedy that was a weekly occurrence in our world, and if I had been at home I’d probably have been writing an in-depth blog about it. Out on the ocean however, life was very simple and all I had time to do was row, eat, sleep and then keep rowing.
I made a trade of chocolates for fruit cake with Mel and it brought back memories of my time in the Army and the fruit cakes my nanna would send me overseas. The one I was now holding wasn’t made with that kind of love and attention but the effect was similar. A shark also visited us that day, 2 metres in length but not overly huge, he swam by to say hello and disappeared into the beautiful blue water below us. With clear skies and calm seas the nights were amazing. Stars covered the sky from horizon to horizon and I’d find myself gazing up at them for hours while at the oars. It is truly an amazing world and universe we live in, between the expanse of the sea and the blanket of stars I felt very insignificant in the grand scheme.
The heat had become inescapable, beating down with ferocious intensity between 11 am and 4 pm. In between those hours rowing was literally grilling me alive and resting while lying in the tiny cabin was like being roasted in an oven. I had come to enjoy the night shifts with my shirt off and the slight bree
ze keeping me cool. We took an hour off the rowing schedule for maintenance on day twenty-nine as we had acquired a slow accumulation of barnacles and little organisms growing on the hull of the boat. As a team, with Mel staying on board for safety, we dove into the Atlantic to scrape the hull. There was actually lots of scraping to do and it took the best part of thirty minutes to have everything in shipshape condition again. Before climbing back on board and letting Mel have a swim I drifted away from the boat holding onto a rope to shoot a video and take the greatest selfie of all time. While treading water with the boat behind me in the distance and endless water all around, I managed to shoot a short video for Elise, trying not to drown in the process. As we set off rowing again the increase in speed due to the lack of hitchhiking barnacles was noticeable immediately; we may have saved ourselves another day until arrival.
Our second big storm of the trip, although not as scary as the first one, was definitely more uncomfortable. We were pushing south towards the equator and a giant weather system hit us from the south-east. The wind, rain and waves were so intense there was no possibility of rowing. We lashed down everything on deck as quickly as we could, threw the drogue anchor into the water and crawled into our cabins, sealing them behind us. The weather outside intensified as the heat inside our tiny cabin rose by the minute. Jake and I were pouring sweat as we lay there crammed together and any time we cracked the cabin door for a breath of air we were battered with wind and salt water. It took six hours for the storm to ease off enough that we could crawl on deck, unleash the oars and start to get back on track. The storm had pushed us north-west and we had lost valuable miles but we didn’t capsize and nobody was hurt. The wind was still howling as we struggled the rest of the night towards the imaginary line around the centre of the world.
One Life One Chance Page 26