Wednesday 17th December – 10:00 UTC
- dawnysmiff
- Dec 17, 2025
- 3 min read
(Covering the last 24 hours)
The last 24 hours have been steady, purposeful, and at times a real slog — but always moving in the right direction.
Yesterday’s conditions were mainly following, but nothing particularly punchy, which meant we had to work hard for every mile. Still, everything was going the right way, and out here that’s what matters. Every single stroke is a stroke closer.
For much of the day we had a rowing-boat pacemaker sitting somewhere behind us. Close enough to regularly set off our AIS alarms. AIS only works to the horizon, so once another boat slips over it, they simply vanish from the chart plotter — and at some point yesterday, that’s exactly what happened. One minute they were there, the next… gone.
🌊 Into the Night
As we moved into the night, the conditions picked up nicely, giving us better speeds — but also a wet night. A decent wave straight in the face is remarkably effective at keeping you awake during a long night shift.
The sky was much darker than the previous night, heavy with cloud that threatened rain but never quite delivered. Instead, each cloud seemed to bring a little more wind, pushing us on through the darkness.
🌙 Watching the Moon Rise
One of the magical things about being out here is realising how disconnected we usually are from the sky.
The moon doesn’t rise and set with nightfall. At our current position (around 26° N, 19° W), the moon has been rising at roughly 05:00–05:30 UTC. It’s currently a thin waning crescent, so when it does rise, it’s still properly dark — the moonlight is delicate rather than bright.
Paul’s second night shift runs from 04:00–07:00, which means he gets to see the moon rise. He described it as “popping up like a firecracker” — suddenly there, low on the horizon.
Hardly anyone ever watches the moon rise. Sunsets get all the attention. Out here, moonrise feels quietly special.
The previous evening, Paul nearly mistook the moonrise for a ship — which is actually a very common mistake among ocean rowers. Low lights on the horizon play tricks on tired eyes and tired minds.
👟 The “Boy Look”
We’ve had an ongoing joke since La Gomera about the “boy look” — that moment where something is definitely missing, after you’ve looked absolutely everywhere.
It started with Paul searching endlessly for his oatmeal. Then cable ties. Then dumpsters. Each time, the item was exactly where he’d already looked “a million times”.
But last night topped them all.
In bigger seas, it’s vital everything is tied down. During a changeover, Paul announced — very seriously — that he had lost a shoe overboard. After several minutes of searching, that was the only possible conclusion.
I turned around.
There it was.
Right next to his foot.
🚢 Signs of Life
This morning we’ve had a couple of ships on the horizon. Not close enough to be of any concern, but enough to remind us that there is still a world out there beyond our small bubble of boat, ocean, and sky.
For now, though, it’s back to the rhythm. Row, eat, rest, repeat.
Dawn
“Together Paul and I are rowing home — the long way round.”
Hometown Row
Leg 1 – La Gomera to Antigua
Leg 2 – Antigua to Florida
Leg 3 – Canada to the UK
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