28th June- Past 24hrs
- dawnysmiff
- 5 days ago
- 3 min read
The last 24 hours have been a real reminder that the North Atlantic likes to keep you guessing.
For most of the day it was cold, wet and grey. Low cloud hung over us and, at times, we genuinely wondered if we were ever going to see the sun again for the rest of the crossing! Everything felt damp, from our clothes to the cabins, and with the chilly wind blowing it wasn't exactly tropical.
Then, almost as if someone had flicked a switch, the afternoon transformed.
The clouds broke apart, the sun finally made an appearance and suddenly the whole ocean looked different. The sea changed from a dull steel grey to a deep blue, and almost immediately the wildlife seemed to appear.
Our first visitors were puffins.
I've only ever seen them on land before, so watching them out here was really special. They sit surprisingly low in the water, bobbing about quite happily until, at the last possible moment, they launch themselves into the air. Their little wings beat furiously, looking far too small for their chunky bodies, as they skim just inches above the waves before disappearing into the distance. They're wonderfully comical birds and impossible not to smile at.
By sunset the moon had begun to rise while the sun was still above the horizon. For a while we had both sharing the sky together before the sun slowly slipped below the horizon, leaving the moon to take over.
With only the moon remaining, the whole horizon turned silver. The gentle swell reflected its light like molten metal stretching away in every direction. It was one of those moments where you stop rowing for just a second, look around and remind yourself just how lucky you are to experience it.
Then came the whales.
We think they were humpbacks, although they were too far away to identify with certainty. They certainly weren't close enough to concern us, but they were close enough for us to hear them. Every so often we'd hear the unmistakable roar as one surfaced to breathe, followed by a towering column of spray shooting into the air. It probably wasn't the hundred metres it looked like from our little boat, but out here it certainly felt enormous. The sound carried across the calm evening and was one of those moments that makes you feel incredibly small in the best possible way.
The clear skies stayed with us through the night, allowing the stars to put on another spectacular display. Nights like these make the tougher shifts worthwhile.
There was one slightly more tense moment when I spotted what appeared to be a vessel heading almost directly towards us. It wasn't travelling particularly fast, but it was definitely moving quicker than we were. I spent the next half an hour trying to raise it on the VHF radio while checking the AIS, but there was nothing showing. Eventually we realised it was a small fishing boat, and after what felt like an age it altered course and disappeared back into the darkness.
As I write this at 9am, the sun is shining once again and we're spotting more whale blows on the horizon.
Now if someone could just turn the thermostat up by about 20 degrees, we'd be very happy rowers!
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Dawn
“Together Paul and I are rowing home — the long way round.”
Hometown Row
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