Tuesday 18th August-9pm
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 instructor and I actually teach people how to deal with a fouled anchor. On a powerboat, the basic principle is to manoeuvre around it and try pulling from different angles to reverse whatever has caused it to become trapped.
Slight problem…
Penny B doesn’t have an engine.
We tried using the oars to change our angle and worked at it for about 15 minutes, but absolutely nothing was shifting it.
Eventually we decided there wasn’t much point exhausting ourselves at 5am.
So we did the sensible thing.
Went back to bed!
We’d get another couple of hours’ sleep and start making some phone calls once the rest of the world had woken up.
Plan A, B, C…
We had several options.
Perhaps we could find a local diver willing to come out? The anchor was sitting around eight metres down, which was a little beyond our duck-diving abilities.
Well… our abilities.
I’m using the royal “our” there because Paul is considerably better in the water than me!
Getting a diver out could also potentially be expensive, so that was firmly towards the bottom of the list.
One option we immediately ruled out was simply cutting the anchor free and carrying on towards Salcombe.
The next leg was more than 40 nautical miles.
Heading off on a passage that long without our main anchor would turn a simple solution to a future problem — drop the anchor — into a situation where we might potentially need outside assistance.
That wasn’t sensible seamanship.
So the anchor was staying attached until we had a replacement ready.
Next plan…
Call Stewart.
He was currently about two hours away in Newton Ferrers, his next road stop as he made his way home after meeting us in Newlyn.
The plan was for him to buy another anchor, drive all the way back down to us and then we’d find a friendly local with a boat on the slipway opposite and sweet-talk them into bringing it out to Penny B.
Then, and only then, could we cut the original anchor free.
Meanwhile, my great friend Angus was also rallying the troops and coming up with similar plans because his sister lives just around the corner in Falmouth.
Angus and Bella are both ocean rowers themselves and, more importantly, incredible humans.
And this is exactly what this next chapter of Hometown Row is supposed to be about.
Community.
The ocean-rowing community is a relatively small one, but when somebody needs help, it’s amazing how quickly people start making phone calls, contacting friends, finding equipment and coming up with solutions.
People who aren’t even anywhere near you suddenly know someone who knows someone who might be able to help.
And then, at around 9am, the solution simply drove past us.
A RIB appeared carrying a group of lads and their dad, all armed with fishing rods and clearly heading out to catch their dinner.
They looked at the rather unusual craft sitting in their bay.
Then did a second take.
And came over.
“Do you need anything? We can go ashore and get you a hot coffee?”
How lovely is that?
We have been completely overwhelmed by the kindness of people since reaching the UK coast.
It’s one of my favourite things about this whole expedition. Hometown Row was always supposed to be about connecting people and communities, and we’re now experiencing that kindness first-hand everywhere we go.
We politely declined the coffee and food.
To be fair, we’ve still got enough supplies aboard Penny B to row another ocean!
But…
There was one little thing they might be able to help us with.
Fancy having a go at lifting our anchor?
With an engine, they could do what we couldn’t — manoeuvre around it and pull from completely different directions.
They agreed.
A few minutes of careful positioning…
A bit of brute force…
Some expert boat manoeuvring…
POP!
Up it came.
Followed by cheers from both boats!
After all that, our anchor had managed to catch itself on what appeared to be the only rock in the entire bay.
Of course it had.
We thanked our rescuers about a million times before moving Penny B onto a mooring and sitting down to reassess the passage.
Because our original plan was now completely out of the window.
Time for Another Plan
The next leg to Salcombe is a big one.
We expect it to take somewhere around 18–20 hours.
Originally we’d planned to leave at 5am and arrive around 10pm, making the best possible use of the tide and daylight, while accepting we’d inevitably spend some of the passage rowing against the tide.
But we’d missed that window.
The next sensible tidal opportunity was around 3pm.
We could have left earlier, but that would simply have meant spending longer rowing against the tide, wasting energy and potentially making our arrival time even later.
So…
More downtime!
Paul went for a swim, we rested, ate and got ourselves ready for what was going to be a long night.
Then, at 3pm, we slipped the mooring and pointed Penny B towards Salcombe.
It’s now 9pm as I write this.
So far, things are going really well.
The wind is behind us, we’re maintaining a decent speed and, importantly, we’re able to row one-up rather than both being on the oars.
At the moment we’re working one hour on, one hour off, which gives each of us a chance to get some rest while keeping Penny B moving.
The music is playing.
The boat is moving nicely.
The sun is setting behind us.
And we’re feeling good as we head into the night shift.
Salcombe is somewhere ahead in the darkness.
I’ll check back in tomorrow evening and let you know how we got on.
Night night from Penny B. ❤️
Dawn
“Together Paul and I are rowing home — the long way round.”
Hometown Row
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