This voyage of adventure and self discovery is now turning into an ‘epic’ in length. We always reasoned that we might be out here for 55-65 days but now being pinned down by adverse winds it is now looking like it will be 70 days plus!
Our patience is waning and our desire/need for the trip to be over is ever greater particularly as we are so close to the finish. I have been emailing and speaking to my wife Vicky and my three teenage children for the last few weeks saying that I will see them soon. Each time I do there is hope that it will be soon, but as the trip has progressed each time we think we are making solid progress towards the finish then we are pinned down again. This is mentally really tough. Due to the delayed start I have only spent 10 days with them since 20th November last year. Fortunately due to the delay I managed to get home for 7 days before Christmas (thank God I did!), flying back again on Christmas Day (complete with airline roast chicken meal for my Christmas lunch).
I have found the absence from my family extremely hard. I was prepared for not being with them for just over 2 months if the race had gone to plan and that seemed reasonable, now with the race delays it will be more like 4 months. I have always considered myself to be a family man with his support and pleasure in life centred around them but until I started this voyage I did not know how much I needed that daily contact and how much I love them, value them and would miss them.
Vicky and the kids are coming out to meet us in Antigua and after having to rebook their flights twice they are travelling down to Gatwick tonight for tomorrows flight to Antigua (we can’t afford to rebook again!). This was planned as an exceptional family holiday and probably one of our last altogether as my oldest daughter is now 18 (and will no doubt want to holiday with friends from now on), however it now looks as if they will be spending a week or so on the island before we arrive. Luckily we have booked for 2 weeks so that at least I will hopefully get some time with them in Antigua.
As I said yesterday in my blog the hardest part of this row is not physical it is mental. I know though, that following this adventure that I will have a greater sense of how much my family mean to me and how much I value their daily contact, even if it is th he stereotypical grumpy teenager/father conversation. I miss being involved in their lives and them in mine, particularly when they are at an age when important decisions and exams are taking place that will affect their futures.
Vicky has been truly exceptional as a wife in supporting me allowing me to undertake this challenge. As the race has gone on I have relied on our once a week phone conversations and the daily emails and texts detailing what is going on at home to keep me sane and in touch. With the race and weather delays I realise that she has effectively acted as a one parent family for 4 months asd well as having to support my ups and downs here on the ocean and for that I thank her for her patience tolerance and understanding.
This is probably not the sort of blog that us men are encouraged to write as it shows our emotions, we are supposed to be tough adventurers with few feelings, however I wanted to share this with you so that you can get an idea of some of the less talked about hardships of a challenge like this. I was quite astounded how profoundly my separation from those I love has affected me. I know that in the long run I will benefit from this experience and that when we are ’soon’ reunited that I will value that time immensely.
I really do hope that the weather improves and that we get there ’soon’, whatever that means!
Chablis pale yellow, seas 6-8ft.
16.15GMT
Barometer 1015
Wind 20kts+ SSE.
The breeze is stronger today than yesterday, gusting well above 20 knots. Our much awaited break in the night, never came and so the seas have stacked up higher into wild and unruly breaking waves, streaked with rampant white horses. Like a smashed mirror, the water is so disturbed that more than half of its surface blazes with fragments of brilliant yellowy white, reflecting the heat of the sun. We continue to sit on anchor.
The ‘New Fish’ still lurks in the underworld of ‘Dream Maker,’ emerging every time we plop something into the water. The ‘New Fish’ is hungry. When I washed my spoon after breakfast, he surfaced immediately and made for the spoon! I teased him a couple of times, dipping the spoon in and out of the water and managed to take a good look at him. Approximately 2 feet in length, the ‘New Fish’ is like an eel. He is mostly light grey except for some very interesting markings that ring his head horizontally around the mouth. One of the rings is black, the other white. On top of his head is a flat patch, but we’re not sure if this is the scar of a close-encounter or a marking. The patch makes the fish look like he came too close to an orbital sander and a cross section was diced off! The patch shows a grid of bones. Before throwing the remains of one MOD ‘Mexican Bean Feast’ into the water, I carefully ripped the (biodegradable) silver foil packet wide open. The ‘New Fish’ was on it in a flash! In fact he stuck his head right inside and wriggled around with the packet over his head for a few minutes!
When the silver foil packet had sunk, another fish appeared. It turns out that the ‘New Fish’ has a friend, a rather unusual friend! The ‘Friend’ is about 1.5ft long, a consistent 1ft deep and thin like a slice. He resembles a two dimensional rectangle, with frills for fins and tail. The ‘Friend’ has pond-fish or deep reef fish colours- a dark brown body with grey dots and greenish-black gills. When the ‘Friend’ came out from underneath the boat, I jumped! Comparatively he was a monster! I fed the ‘New Fish’ and his big ‘Friend’ the remains of a soggy bag of chocolate covered nuts and raisins. Most of them sank before they realized they were edible, but the ‘New Fish’ managed to chase a few. For the rest of the morning, the ‘Friend’ unabashedly milled around several feet away from the boat.
Dead overhead, pterodactyl bird returned. I have seen these pterodactyl-looking birds only once or twice so far on this voyage. Black in colour, their wings are angular. Apart from the fine black tail feather, the bird looks like the Batman sign! They hang motionless like vultures of the sea. The one I watched had dived down like a bullet and grabbed a flying fish. I knew why Pterodactyl bird was here. He was homing in on ‘New Fish’ and his big ‘Friend,’ but I reckoned they were pretty safe in close proximity to ‘Dream Maker.’
Last night, while it was Mick’s turn for the cabin, I lay on deck in my scupper bed and looked at the stars. For the first time in 48 hours, I didn’t feel sleepy and so was thumbing through my Ipod looking for unheard music. I stumbled upon an album by ‘Depeche Mode’ and another by the ‘Eagles.’ Rocked like a baby in a crib, I fell asleep during each album in turn, but it was still nice to set aside that moment, to soak up some cosmos. When I woke up, the breeze had eased off slightly and our stern was now in-line with Ursula Major (the pan handle). The breeze had clocked WSW, but when I woke up again later, Orion (the archer) with Sirius (the dog star) yapping at his heel, was back to my right and the breeze was blowing SW/SSW once again. I wondered if we had missed our chance. In the puddle beside me, a small outbreak of Deck Critters had erupted and they were hoping about madly waiting for me to move. ‘Okay, okay.’ I said and prised myself off the deck from between the raft and the spare oars.
At least our ‘Forward-Moving Para-Technique’ (which sounds too wordy, so I’m going to re-name it ‘The Para-anchor Sailing’ technique), has us tracking south where we want to go. We are even managing to recoup our lost ground to the west! The ‘Para-anchor Sailing’ technique is a rather grand term for a simple play of rudder angle versus the tie-off location of the anchor and associated lines, but if it works, it works.
While we’ve been jossling about on para-anchor, two things have happened. There has been a strange outbreak of deck critters, a lot of whom didn’t make it through the night, their carcasses now scattered about the deck. Secondly, a new fish has joined the underworld of ‘Dream Maker.’
The deck critters, which if you drew a line between all its arms and legs -its two small forward tentacles, two forward-reaching arms (with the kink/elbow half way) and two outstretched short legs would sketch a Sterling 50 pence piece or pentagon, are water borne. They get washed in through the scuppers. Mick says that he has seen them skimming about on the water’s surface. The only thing I have seen – and we’ve seen these for weeks, are small silicon-looking beads tumbling about on top of the water. I have to say, what with all the recent media about a rubbish patch the size of Texas whirling around in a vortex in the Pacific and the awareness mission of the Rothschild ‘Plastiki’ that I couldn’t help but wonder in horror, if these were plastic particles. I had resolved to investigate this on my return. Perhaps instead they are the eggs of deck critter boat-men?
Up by THE bucket this morning, I watched two deck critters moving about. One seemed to be enclosed in a ring of line (the tail of the retrieval line for the bow-anchor strop) and was circling its enclosure in a panic. The other was hopping about merrily, leaping an inch or more at a time, springing off the side of the hull. ‘Why can’t you hop, little one?’ I thought about the first .’And you would be classed as A.D.D!’ I whispered to the second!
The new fish emerged when Mick tipped the contents of THE bucket over the side yesterday. The new fish came up and grabbed a nugget. ‘Oh noh!’ Mick made an expression of disgust. Then, ‘it’s a shark fish!’He told me about the nugget-snatching and I was able to peer over the side of the boat before the new fish completely disappeared. It wasn’t a shark, but at 2 foot long, grey in colour and with a flattish head it did look a bit like one. Mick and I then had a discussion about the possible nutrient value for marine life of our bi-products, even freeze-dried based! The new fish (naturally we have other names for it) has continued to appear and make off with our refuse the whole time we’ve been on anchor. He doesn’t seem to have a Mick/Lia preference and was most intrigued by the silver spoon when Mick lent over in the usual way, to wave it through the water for a wash.
I was planning on grumbling about how unfair it is that only we seem to be stuck with SW’lies, while our nearest, albeit slightly more southern, competitors seem to be wrestling through. But that is the nature of racing and my desire to grumble was thus short-lived. While my father has been waiting for us in Antigua since Friday (March 5th), a little para-anchor time is good for me. The conditions which lead up to para-anchor time, always seem to path the way to a NEED for para-anchor time. Is it no wonder, since 12 hours of exercise over 62 days is 744 hours of exercise, which if you do an hour of exercise per day, is two years worth of exercise crammed into 2 months?
Right now, I am tired, with that sense of fatigue you feel when you’ve been ill and spent all day in bed – heavy and lethargic. There is a general all-over ache and stiffness. For half an hour or an hour, I feel hungry and alert, then the food sinks in and I’m sleepy all over again. My years of sailing have taught me that when there’s down time, take it, so that when it’s time to move again, it is possible to fire on all cylinders. If the sun didn’t beat down mercilessly on the deck, I would still be in full foulies with waterproof socks, wedged between the liferaft and the spare oars! In case of rain, I would probably have the flap on my Musto MPX Ocean Smock velcro’d shut too. Apparently it rained again on me last night. I didn’t notice. The wonderful thing about sleeping in the scupper is that Mick never tells me that my time is up and that its time to evacuate! I am also not in the way if Mick needs to emerge from the cabin for a pee! I think after we arrive that I am going to sleep and sleep and sleep, somewhere cool and soft. But there are miles to go before I sleep, miles to go before I sleep.
Mood colour of the day (8th March) – Cobalt blue, seas 6-8ft.
18.30 GMT
Barometer 1011
Wind SSW 20kts
Time is a strange thing, when you need to get things done there seems to be very little of it, however when you have nothing to do it stretches on forever. We have now spent a lot of time on the ocean as we enter our tenth week much of the time we are struggling to fit everything in even compromising sleep to get things done. The experience of being on a very small boat sitting stationary in the ocean on para-anchor is quite the reverse.
Admittedly when you first stop rowing the rest is welcome but once each of us has had a decent sleep and we’ve done the odd jobs around the boat it is a question of killing time. Due to the tight space in the cabin we have continued to do shifts inside and outside which works well enough. Both of us have also mastered the art of sleeping albeit rather uncomfortably on deck, me crunched up in the foot well and Lia on the deck towards the front of there boat, wedged between the life raft and the spare oars.
There is only so much sleeping that can be done and the art of whiling away the time whilst awake is getting to be key to staying sane. The problem with being stopped by the weather is you don’t know when it will change, and even though we have access to weather forecasts they are never that accurate or reliable. We had only thought we would be on anchor for 24 hours this time but now it is looking 48 hrs and then the NE winds we were forecast now seemed to have faded away. If any of you have been stuck in a casualty dept waiting room for 4 or 5 hours you will get a feeling for what we are going through however we are considerably more restricted in space and cannot leave and come back another day.
I was discussing with Lia yesterday that the physical challenge of this row is tough but is nothing compared to the mental challenge. The constant ups and downs in the weather where some days you make excellent progress and others you go backwards are the thing that I find difficulty dealing with and am having to learn to cope with. After 9 weeks in this very small space floating in an enormous ocean I need to know that the end is soon, each time we think we are within a week or 10 days of finishing the wind changes the anchor comes out and the time increases.
The mental challenge to me is becoming the real battle out here and that is what makes this rowing race such a ‘hard core’ event. I constantly remind myself that the reason I entered the race was to test myself and to achieve something extraordinary. At the end of the race (whenever it finally comes) I will be in no doubt that this has been the most difficult thing I have attempted in my life and that this really is one of the most extreme sports. The reason I say this is that there is no real option of dropping out of the race unless you have a medical emergency. There is no option to say that’s it I’ve had enough, even climbers on Everest have the option to stop and climb down where in ocean rowing you just have to wait it out and then keep going with the oars. I am writing this blog to try and give you an appreciation of what the mental challenges are, although I am not sure I have done it justice. Also I want to look back at this blog in a few weeks, months or years to be reminded of just how tough it really was and how much we really achieved ( and also to remind me not to do it again!)
Thank goodness I brought with me a very big book (thanks Mark for the loan of it) I am 600 pages plus into it with 700 more to go, I intend to finish it however, lying beside the pool in Antigua. Finally reflecting on time again it took me 800 days (2 years preparation and 64 days on the water so far) to get this far another week or 10 days should be easy, right!.
I ask Mick occasionally why he’s out here. I tease him and ask if he was having some kind of mid-life crisis. ‘If I wasn’t having one before, I’m having one now!’ He sometimes jokes. In the same vein, I didn’t sign on for this experience on a soul searching mission. Twelve hours per day, nine or ten of which are spent in solitude however, is a long time in which to think. By that calculation over the past 2 months, I’ve had 620 hours of thinking time! Who has such a luxury? Over half way, Mick and I began listening to our Ipods and then latterly to audio books. It fills the void! So what have I learned during all that time at the open university? Good question.
In 2001 I did a ten day Buddhist meditation course in a village just outside of Bangkok, near the river Kwai. The meditation type was Vipashna, which originates in India. We were woken by bells at 4 am and then spent ten hours in one hour chunks, learning to meditate. No communication or eye contact was allowed. Some people cried, others packed up and left. The meditation was about learning to obliterate randomn thought by concentrating on trying to feel the body, at first by trying to feel the breath coming out of the nostrils! I had never tried to think-feel my arms and I probably won’t be signing up for 10 days of think-feeling again. However, the experience did leave its mark. I became more in tune with my body, but most importantly the Vipashna mantra stuck. ‘Patience and Persistence and you are BOUND to be successful.’ The translated voice would say before signing off to leave you in silence for the remaining 47 minutes of each meditative hour.
Rattling off a saying and actually putting it into practice are two different things, but 60 odd days trying to row across the Atlantic I think could definitely be classed as a good test. If we thought we were graduates of life, we became pupils once again, at the ocean academy. ‘Patience and persistence and you are…’ There have been days with good, strong breezes propelling us down waves. Those runs were fast and we grew complacent that the path ahead was mapped out in similar milage steps. When there was no wind at all, we cursed, casseroled and hauled the boat like a dead weight. When the wind became adverse, each in our own world, we set about amusing ourselves.
It has really only been in the last week or so, where the pair of us have learned to take each day as it comes with an even temperment. At the same time, I suppose, we have learned to treat each other with an even temperment, as we’ve neared the ocean academy’s final exam: the finish. What changed our atitudes, I can’t precisely say. My version would be that the experience switched from ‘infinite’ to ‘finite’ in Mick’s mind and he no longer became a prisoner of his own challenge. I like to think that really I had nothing to do with it! What I do know, is that after the third argument, I changed mode, from ‘trying to please’ to ‘resigned to endure.’ Perhaps in that process, Mick and I found a compatible wavelength that opened the doors of communication or at least, ease of communication. Caring, sharing, considerate – these are relatively new words to our relationship, but they’re establishing themselves. It’s never too late. ‘Patience and persistence…’ What I find really interesting is that it is possible to break through, to get along with someone, a stranger, someone whom through circumstances of age, profession and life-style, you might not necessarily choose to spend time with and to make that connection, to become friends. On an ocean stage, Mick has grown a beard and also, hopefully, a dear friendship. Now it’s just time to wrap up the act and finish crossing the page.
Mood colour of the day (7th March) – pencil lead grey, seas 3-4ft.
22.30 GMT
Barometer 1011
Wind S 20kts.
We rowed hard all nght against the strong southerly winds. With the rudder locked hard over and lots of left oar we crawled along through out the night. We were slowly making our way West and ever so slightly South. I took over this morning for the 6-9am (GMT) shift and after an hour and a half of hard slog and with strengthening winds found we were finally drifting North rather than South.
With heavy heart I woke Lia and told her the news ‘it’s time to go onto the para-anchor’. At approx. 08.30 the anchor went out and we settled down to the now well worn routine of occupying ourselves for the day. After 10 hours on the anchor we have not drifted North and have lost about 3 miles West so it was the right call. The wind strengthened and has remained at around 20 knots all day so we would have to have stopped rowing sooner or later.
For a few hours I settled down with my book whilst Lia finished her sleep and then we changed over. After a couple of hours I was woken by the sound of Lia scrubbing the decks and went out to assist. The boat hasn’t looked so good since it was at home ready to be shipped to La Gomera.
This afternoon we entered the water and Lia cleaned what little growth was on the bottom of the boat. With no cleaning to do I decided that I would go for a swim and take some photos of the boat from the water, besides this is also the only way to get a thorough wash when followed with a fresh water wash on deck. I managed to get some excellent photos of the boat despite the choppy seas .
Forecast is for the winds to change hopefully in the early hours of Monday to North Easterlies when we need to row hard to get the 44 miles South that we need to be level with the bottom of Antigua. We need to actually go further than that as SE winds are forecast latrer in the week that would push us up again.
Trying to look on the bright side only 300 miles to go. My wife Vicky and the children are flying out on Wednesday, so rowing to them will be extra incentive, although looks like they will have a few days holidaying on their own whatever. Hopefully by this time next week we might be nearly there!
Today the IKEA deck/watch clock lost thirty minutes. It didn’t loose a few minutes each day over a period of days, as diminishing batteries might. It lost a clean thirty minutes while I was off-watch and sleeping, so that I ended up oversleeping. We referenced the digital clock in the cabin and Mick’s watch and then moved the hands of the IKEA watch clock ahead to make up for the missing 30 minutes. I reckon that during those thirty minutes, Mick was missing. I think aliens took him (he did ask to be teleported in his blog.) I reckon they took him for a ride that he was made to forget and then put him back in the rowing seat. Aliens too, afterall must have teenagers!
The most likely explanation is that while I was taking the foot well bilge pump to bits, one of my Croc shoes was leaning on the clock face and so stopped the hands. The clock face, if you remember, has at various times been smashed in by stray oar handles.
Thankfully, Mick had had a quality Johnson pump installed and so while I suspected that its motor was on the way out, it transpired that the duct was nothing more than blocked. I unhooked the motor and rotor drive unit from its cassette and sure enough, the rotor was choked with hair, fruit pastel wrapper and food particles welded together in that strange and disgusting slightly pink cockpit slime. I cleaned it out with tissue and a cotton bud and a handsome spray of our hardcore alcohol-based ‘Neutral PH Multi-purpose cleaner’ that I picked up in Spain. I cleaned the cabin lockers with it and if you spend too much time looking for something in one of them, it can make you high.
It was clearly ‘mechanical failure day,’ since replacing the burner of the Jet boil was next. This was a straight swop, since Mick had bought two. The metal screw thread to the gas canister and the valve were brass plated, but the annodization was thin and after 61 days at sea, the salt air had rusted the metal beyond definition. Next up was the perspex arm between the Andy-Pilot and its Morse/steering cable. Initially I thought that the hole for the central pivot had elongated, but as it happened the two bolts locking it on the pivot had simply come loose. The motor sound of the Andy-Pilot was making a strained noise when it drove. We wondered dejectedly, if it was on the way out. The ram was now pushing to max extension, so some kind of internal stopper had gone and the result was that on occasion when the rudder needed to be hard over, the pilot would shudder hard against it’s restraints – the perspex arm throe reducer and the block of wood into which the pilot’s stand was mounted. Thank goodness the wood was teak. It could take it.
For the past 24-36 hours we’ve been rowing the boat hard into a beam sea and slightly into wind. If the prevailing NE’ly wind had kicked in as it should do in the trade wind belt, we would be nearly home and dry, scooting our way at pace towards the finish. Being slightly north of Antigua, in order to make an ENE approach would then have been beneficial and those further south would have been at risk of being locked out. As it happens, this year, the sky has fallen in, the weather is on its head and these latitudes, famous for their consistent E-NE’lies have dished up everything but. The consequence is that basically we’re stuffed. The ‘beefcakes’ on ‘HCL Workforce 1′ and probably the boys on ‘Red Arrow’ also, have got us.While we’re sitting on anchor once again (we threw it out at 08.30 GMT this morning), if the latest GRIB weather file is anything to go by, our competition are probably able to battle on with slightly more favourable Southerlies or SE’lies, rather than the SW’lies we have. Mick and I always take the decision together, but when our bodies become beat up (my oar got caught in a wave last night and came down so hard on my thigh-bone that I thought it was going to karate-chop my leg!), we begin to loose ground to the north and barely make headway, the decision becomes obvious.
Mood colour of the day (6th March) – Fleshy peach, seas 4ft.
11.30 GMT
Barometer 1013
Wind SSW 20kts.
In the 2 year run up to doing this row there have been many people who have helped me along the way. In getting to the start line there were as many ups and downs as we have had on the voyage, they were just spread out over a longer period. It is these people that when times were difficult, that had faith in me and my dream and indulged me with their time and energies, that allowed me/us to be here today.
Firstly I would like to thank my (now ex – he started a job in Los Angeles in Jan) colleague from work Nick Sampson. Nick has had the dubious privilege of sitting at the desk opposite me for the last 2 1/2 years. He has therefore seen the project grow from my initial inane ramblings to finding partners and acquiring a boat. Nick has discussed with me every aspect of the row and as the start drew nearer became more and more involved in helping me. Nick an engineer by profession designed and manufactured a system to link our tiller pilot (auto steering) to the steering system on the boat. Nick also assisted in the design and acquisition of the manual foot steering system. He also acquired navigation software, assisting in setting this up on our computer as well as looking at weather routing and other information to name but a few. (Nick, I am sure you will be reading this. I will give you a call/email shortly after we get to Antigua)
Secondly I would also like to thank another colleague, Jim dougal. Jim has also worked with me for the last 2 years and his mentoring and counsel has been invaluable to me in that time. He was also the first individual to put his hand in his pocket to sponsor the row. Jim thanks for your guidance,wisdom and above all patience.
Next I would like to thank a group of people who worked extremely hard at short notice to get the boat prepared and ready to go. I have already mentioned them on our previous blog site (go to www.blogger.com and oarsome challenge) but they deserve another mention. They are :
Siimon Wilcock -Simon is a marine electrician and spent 3 solid weekends at my house working on the boat. This included moving the batteries into the cabin, wiring ccompass and deck lights. Installing the new GPS and AIS systems as well as upgrading and checking the rest of the electrics, and rewiring the water maker and bilge pump.
Pete Dixon – for advice and assistance with replacing the foot well, finding people with skills to work on the boat. Pete helped in so many different ways that it would have been impossible for us to get the boat ready without him. Thanks Pete I owe you a lot.
Pete Douglas – As a carpenter Pete was resposible for installing the new foot steering system, a great blend of the old and the new, with carbon fibre mouldings being attached to lumps of solid oak. Pete also created housings for the marine stereo speakers both inside and outside and did the carpentry for the replacement of the cockpit floor.
Chris Woodford – Chris is not only a sponsor through his company Woodford and Co.Property Consultants but as a friend through rugby has encouraged me to follow my dream. Chris your encouragement and faith in me over the last 2 years has been invaluable.
Billy Swinton-Clark – Where do I start? Firstly for doing what most blokes hate, shopping. Your help and assistance in coming out to La Gomera I have no doubt has made our life out here far easier. Your attention to detail and practical solutions to a myriad of last minute problems really made a difference. Thanks for your time and effort at a time when for me it was much needed.
I am making these thank you’s now as I know as we get into the last week and towards the finish I am likely to not have time to do so. Please keep following our progress and keep up your messages of support over the next week or so. We are not at the finish yet and need all the positive help we can get. Thanks Mick
For over 24 hours, the ensign has fluttered 90 degrees to the hull, lifted by the breeze pumping 15-20kts on our beam. We are reaching, without mast, sails or a keel and our leeway is terrific. Last night we had a moment of despair. The rowing was a romp, the sea lush to oar, but we were loosing ground to the north and fast. Out of desperation, I moved the liferaft a foot to port, in the hope that shifting the weight to windward would cock the bow more into the wind. It seemed to work when Mick had sat there! Then I trimmed the course right up to the wind. Our boat speed dropped, but we began to hang on tenaciously to our latitude.
Throughout the day, the rowing has been tough, mean, brutal. We continue to plough through the troughs, stuffing oars and getting toppled by the rise and fall of the chop. Every hour Mick rows, I row. Every stroke he pulls, I match. But when it comes to grinding our way close to the wind, it seems to cripple me more. My body aches. Sometimes it yells and I force it to keep rowing! Fortunately, the Dittons are made of strong stuff! My Grannie says that the Dittons are all Chiefs and no Indians! I remind myself of this and chuckle. If we can make our 40 mile minimum daily targets, we’re facing 8.5 days. How painful can that be, Chief?!
My suggestion of doing one act of kindness per day for each other, didn’t really take off. Today I came up with another silly idea! Whoever is not rowing must be positive and encourage the other rowing. Both Mick and I have had our downcast moments and I was concerned that we might sink each other. With the latitude slowly ticking down and the miles crawling by, we seem to have our situation back in control- just. We’ll still hold out for that ‘fantasy’ forecast of E’lies, ESE’lies or even (low and behold) the prevailing NE’lies.
Sleep is like pressing the reset button and waking up to it all over again. I’m off to press the button… X
Mood colour of the day (5th March) – Snow white, seas 4-6ft.
01.10 GMT (6th March)
Barometer 1016
Wind SSE 15-20kts.