Sunday 16th August.

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 what had happened while running on completely empty.

Today, after some sleep and a little time to reflect, the world looks very different.

And I want to explain what actually happened, but more importantly, put it into perspective.

The Final Battle

Thursday night had already been exhausting.

We spent the entire night crossing the Traffic Separation Scheme, constantly monitoring shipping and AIS, meaning neither of us got any meaningful sleep.

Then on Friday morning we started our approach towards the coast.

From around 9am, we were both on the oars, trying to make progress against an increasingly strong tide.

Eventually the tidal stream was running at more than 3 knots against us.

For a rowing boat, that’s enormous.

We reached the point where, no matter how hard we pulled, we simply couldn’t move forward.

So we kept rowing anyway.

Not to make progress, but simply to try to slow down how quickly we were being pushed backwards.

At one stage we began drifting towards a reef, requiring another huge effort to get ourselves clear. We then encountered overfalls created by the fast-moving tide—steep, confused water that presented a genuine risk of knocking the boat over.

Eventually, despite everything we’d put into it, we found ourselves further back than where we’d started.

Still we kept going.

We weren’t eating proper meals. Water breaks were short. We were simply trying to hang on until the tide turned and gave us another opportunity.

When it finally did, we went for it.

We rowed as hard as we possibly could, trying to beat the next change of tide and reach somewhere shallow enough to drop our normal anchor.

We got to within about two miles of that safe anchoring spot.

Two miles.

Then the tide took over again.

Despite everything we put through the oars, Penny B started going backwards.

Again.

We considered every option we could think of.

Could we repeat the whole process for another 12 hours?

Could we continue further along the coast?

Could we go around the north side?

Could we anchor?

Could we deploy the parachute anchor?

Every option presented another problem. We couldn’t physically reach water shallow enough to use our normal anchor. Using the parachute anchor so close to land and amongst other traffic brought its own risks, including being unable to manoeuvre quickly if another vessel approached.

And the only realistic remaining option was to spend another tide rowing simply to slow our backwards movement, before trying the whole approach again.

That was the moment I had to be truthful with myself.

I physically couldn’t do it.

I’d had virtually no sleep for more than 24 hours. We’d been rowing two-up for around 12 hours. I was in pain, exhausted and starting to shake.

There is a point where determination stops being resilience and starts becoming poor decision-making.

So I made the call.

We asked for help.

The RNLI were absolutely incredible. They came out to us, took Penny B under tow and safely brought us into Newlyn Harbour at around 2.30am.

Yesterday morning, that tow was all I could see.

Today, I can see the 2,500 nautical miles that came before it.

Perspective Changes Everything

We have just rowed across the North Atlantic.

We crossed an ocean in some of the most gruelling conditions I’ve ever experienced.

We dealt with week after week of headwinds.

Counter currents.

Days on parachute anchor.

Cold.

Fog.

Rain.

Exhaustion.

A knockdown.

Broken oars.

And countless three-hour shifts where we climbed out of a warm sleeping bag, pulled wet kit back on and went outside to do it all again.

Yet through almost all of it, we found something positive every single day.

We laughed.

We made ridiculous videos.

We watched whales and dolphins.

We rowed beneath the Milky Way.

We saw spectacular sunrises and sunsets.

We ate pineapple on Fridays.

We invented Gordon Ramsay’s Dangerous Kitchen.

And when the Atlantic put another obstacle in front of us, we worked out how to deal with it.

That is what I should be thinking about.

Not the final eight miles.

We had already crossed the longitude of the furthest point west of the UK. We had crossed the Atlantic Ocean under our own power. How we eventually reached the harbour doesn’t erase everything that happened before it.

I’m also now in discussions with the official Guinness World Records adjudicators, and there is still a possibility that what we’ve achieved may be eligible for recognition.

We’ll see.

But somebody said something to me yesterday that really stuck:

Who actually cares?

It’s a certificate.

Of course, records are lovely. I’m proud of the ones I’ve achieved and I’d be delighted to add another.

But this one would simply be another cherry on an already extremely decorated cake.

It isn’t why we’re here.

The Mission Is Still On

This expedition was never called “Get a Guinness World Record.”

It’s Hometown Row.

And our mission is to row home.

So we are absolutely not allowing an eight-mile tow to ruin a 2,500-nautical-mile mission.

This afternoon, Penny B goes back in the water.

We’ll row approximately 12 nautical miles to an anchorage, drop the anchor and get some rest while we wait for the right tide.

Then we’ll get up…

And start rowing again.

The journey to Burnham-on-Crouch continues.

If anything, reaching the UK has simply started a completely new chapter. We now have tides, headlands, anchorages, harbours and coastal weather to work with.

And after what the North Atlantic has thrown at us…

I think we can handle that.

Finally, I need to say a massive thank you.

Thank you to every single person who sent a message yesterday. There were so many that I simply couldn’t reply to everyone, but I read them and they genuinely helped me put everything back into perspective.

Thank you to everyone who has helped us here in Newlyn.

And an enormous thank you to the RNLI crew who came out to us in the early hours of the morning. They were absolutely brilliant—professional, reassuring and exactly the people you want to see when you’ve reached the point where you need some help.

Yesterday morning I felt like I’d failed.

Today I look at Penny B and think:

We just rowed that tiny boat across the North Atlantic.

That’s what I’m choosing to remember.

We’re safe.

We’re rested.

We’re fed.

We’re smiling again.

And this afternoon…

We’re going rowing.

Burnham-on-Crouch, we’re still coming.

29th August.

See you there.

Dawn

“Together Paul and I are rowing home — the long way round.”

Hometown Row

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