The Next Plan Takes Shape Another really nice day in Salcombe today. After the emotional rollercoaster of the last week, having a couple of days where life has slowed down slightly has actually been very welcome. Most of this morning was spent doing what seems to have become one of my specialist subjects on this expedition… Planning! Charts, weather, tides and logistics were all back out as we worked through the options for the next stage of Penny B’s journey home. And I want

What an Emotional Rollercoaster ride!! After a really good night’s sleep aboard Penny B, I woke up ridiculously early this morning. I think my body is still firmly programmed into shift-pattern mode and has absolutely no idea what’s going on anymore! There was no alarm demanding that I get dressed and row. No tide we needed to catch. No passage plan that needed checking. So I put the Jetboil on, made myself a coffee and just sat there. Hatch wide open. Sleeping bag wrapped ar

From Soaked and Miserable to World Records! Well… last night turned out to be pretty miserable! One of the biggest differences between ocean rowing and what we’re doing now is actually the amount of sleep you can get. Mid-ocean we were working three hours on, three hours off. With some very well-practised drills, you can finish a shift, get out of wet kit, get into your sleeping bag and actually squeeze in a good two and a half hours of sleep before the alarm goes off again.

Well… That Wasn’t in the Passage Plan! This morning started exactly as planned. The alarm went off at 4.30am, we dragged ourselves out of our sleeping bags and started preparing to leave Portscatho. First job: get the anchor up. We had 30 metres of rope, followed by 10 metres of chain. The rope came aboard without any problems, then the chain started appearing. One metre. Two metres. And… Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. The anchor was well and truly stuck. Now, I’m an RYA instruc

The Coastal Adventure Begins: What a difference a couple of days can make. Yesterday afternoon (Sunday) at 3pm, after a good breakfast, a day of final preparations and a LOT of passage planning, we pushed Penny B away from Newlyn Harbour and started the next chapter of Hometown Row. This part of the adventure is going to be very different. For the last 2,100 nautical miles, the objective was simple: cross an ocean. Now we’re coastal rowing. That means charts, weather forecast

Eight Miles Will Not Define 2,500!!! What a difference a good meal, a glass of wine and, most importantly, a proper night’s sleep can make. Some of you will have seen the post I wrote yesterday morning after we were brought into Newlyn by the RNLI. I was devastated. But I also wrote that post having had virtually no sleep for more than 24 hours, after pushing myself physically to the point where I was shaking with exhaustion. I was tired, emotional, sore and trying to process

LAND!!! What a last 24 hours! Yesterday started cloudy, foggy and damp, but for once it was actually really warm, so even the greyness couldn’t dampen our spirits. Then the cloud began to break and the sun came through, giving us an absolutely glorious day on the water. The wind we’d been promised never really arrived. We had little more than a very light breeze, but importantly it was behind us, so despite fighting the tide we were still able to make slow but steady progress

My eclipse attire! There’s been a definite change in the job on board Penny B over the last few days. For weeks, our biggest concern was simply the weather, the current and keeping the boat moving east. Now navigation and keeping a good lookout are taking up much more of our attention. Last night was particularly busy, with fishing and trawling boats working around us throughout the night. It means there’s much less opportunity to disappear into the music and just row. We’re

Signs of Civilisation It really feels like we’re starting to come back into human civilisation now. After weeks where another vessel was an event in itself, suddenly there seems to be something going on around us all the time. Yesterday we even watched part of the RORC Round Britain and Ireland Race fleet pass to the north of us. RORC is the Royal Ocean Racing Club, and these boats are taking part in an 1,805 nautical mile non-stop race around Britain and Ireland, having left

Just 26 nautical miles in the past 24 hours. It is an absolute slog. I’m trying to think of the best way to explain what rowing in these conditions actually feels like. Imagine putting two heavy bags of concrete on the ground in front of you. Drag them forward two paces. Now take those two paces yourself. Stop. Drag the bags another two paces. Move forward. Then do it again. And again. And again… …for three hours. Then rest for three hours before getting up and doing exactly

We made the most of the last 24 hours, knowing it was probably our final chance of enjoying a following breeze until the end of the week. So we dug deep. We rowed hard and covered a solid 51 nautical miles, which is a decent chunk taken out of the remaining distance. Every mile feels more significant now. As I write this, we have 126 nautical miles to Land’s End and 433 nautical miles to Burnham-on-Crouch. Reaching shallow water will be a huge milestone for us, and not just b

Another painful 24 hours. If you looked only at our photos and videos, with the sun shining, blue skies and calm seas, you’d probably think we were on some wonderful rowing holiday. The reality couldn’t be more different. For around 12 hours we were barely making half a knot. It’s absolutely soul-destroying. Imagine giving absolutely everything you’ve got—every stroke, every ounce of energy—for a full three-hour shift, only to look at the chart afterwards and realise you’ve b

Yesterday’s pineapple Friday… The last 24 hours have been… Brutal. We’ve been battling headwinds and counter currents which, apart from slowing us right down, have also been pushing us further north than we’d like. It’s been one of those days where every stroke feels like hard work. You look at the chart after three hours on the oars hoping to see a satisfying jump towards home… …and instead wonder where all that effort has gone. Right now it’s hard. Very hard. The good news

It’s Pineapple Friday again! And, with just over 200 nautical miles to go until we reach the UK shoreline, this could well be our last Pineapple Friday in open ocean. Now that’s a milestone I never thought I’d be quite so excited about! The last 24 hours have been absolutely beautiful. Sunshine. Warmth. And finally… A chance to freshen up properly. I washed my hair for the first time in 43 days. I can’t tell you how good that felt! The sea was also so calm and inviting that P

It’s been a pleasant, although fairly slow, 24 hours. There’s very little wind now, so every mile has to be earned the hard way. It’s back to being a proper slog on the oars, but at least we’re making steady progress. Yesterday was beautifully sunny, which meant the final bits of kit that got soaked during the knockdown have finally dried out. It’s amazing how much of a difference dry clothes make to your mood. The dolphins seem to have become regular visitors now. They’re th

One of the broken oats from yesterday sponsored by Dave Lawrence. Apparently he still wants to keep it, The conditions remained pretty gnarly throughout the day, but with daylight everything felt much less daunting. After the excitement of the previous night’s knockdown, the strategy completely changed. It wasn’t about rowing as hard as possible. It was all about keeping the boat pointing in the right direction and preventing her from becoming weathercocked—where the wind cat

A Night to Remember Yesterday started quietly enough. The wind was barely a breath for much of the day, and we continued plugging away, making slow but steady progress. By the evening… …it was blowing an absolute hoolie. The sea transformed completely. Huge waves were rolling in, not only from the direction of the wind but also from the side, making the boat lurch unpredictably as we tried to keep her on course. Then, in the middle of the night, while Paul was on the oars, ev

The last of my chocolate stash! 🫣 The last 24 hours were spent mainly on the parachute anchor… …and it rained. A lot. In fact, I think even if the wind had been blowing in exactly the right direction, we’d probably still have chosen to stay tucked up in our nice warm cabins! We’re not racing, and we’re certainly not trying to prove how miserable we can make ourselves. Sometimes the sensible decision is simply to sit it out. So that’s exactly what we did. I watched a couple o

Yesterday morning started off tough. We had a light headwind and were making slow but definite progress. It certainly wasn’t fast, but every stroke was taking us a little closer to home. By midday, though, things had changed. No matter how hard we rowed, we simply couldn’t stop ourselves being pushed backwards. The forecast showed the wind continuing to build throughout the afternoon, so we made the sensible decision. Out came the parachute anchor. As we opened the locker, Pa

Last nights full moon I honestly can’t believe we’ve been at sea for so long. The days seem to merge into one another, yet somehow another month has arrived. It also means we’re another month closer to home. One of the nicest signs that we’re making progress is the change in birdlife. For weeks we’ve mainly seen the occasional ocean-going seabird, but now we’re starting to spot species that tell us land is slowly getting closer. Yesterday we saw our first gannets, unmistakabl