Wednesday 19th August- 9pm
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.
That might not sound much, but it’s long enough to get some proper sleep, including REM sleep, and two decent night off-shifts can give you around five hours in total.
Mid-ocean, there’s also very little to hit. Honestly, if we managed to collide with something out there I’d probably buy a lottery ticket afterwards — the odds are about as good!
Commercial shipping shows up on AIS, the alarms are set and you can generally get your head down.
Coastal rowing is completely different.
Last night’s passage took us past Plymouth, with commercial traffic, fishing boats, pleasure craft that aren’t necessarily transmitting AIS, buoyage, fishing pots and, rather notably, Eddystone Lighthouse to avoid.
This wasn’t a night where either of us could afford to take our eye off the ball.
So for the hours of darkness we switched to two hours on, two hours off. It wasn’t going to give us much sleep, but at least one of us could rest while the other maintained a proper lookout.
It was going pretty well.
Until…
The rain started.
And then it rained.
And rained.
And rained.
You may remember that my foul-weather gear is now only really suitable for… well… fair weather.
Without the famous homemade bin-bag bloomers underneath, waterproof it most definitely is not!
So I spent two hours slowly getting soaked through.
When my off-shift arrived, I climbed into the cabin, dried myself as best I could and changed into another precious set of dry clothes.
Then I had to put my soaking, non-waterproof foulies straight back over them.
I convinced myself the rain would stop.
It didn’t.
At least the wet outer layers might hold some warmth in?
Two hours later I’d soaked through another set of dry clothes.
It was pitch black, pouring with rain, I was exhausted, cold and thoroughly miserable, and we still had at least another four hours of rowing before reaching Salcombe.
I won’t pretend there was some inspirational moment where I suddenly found another gear and started loving life.
There wasn’t.
I absolutely hated it.
But there wasn’t really another option.
So I kept rowing.
Then, at around 8am, something appeared out of the mist and gloom.
First came a voice.
A very familiar voice.
Then the outline of a small boat emerged.
STEWART!!!
Oh my goodness.
He’d come out from Newton Ferrers aboard Ed’s boat — which, for clarity, he had asked permission to borrow and hadn’t just stolen!
I cannot explain how happy I was to see him.
Although looking back, my actual reaction was probably slightly underwhelming. I was so wet and exhausted that I think I managed little more than a tired smile!
Inside, I was absolutely ecstatic.
Both Stewart and I have more than 25 years’ experience as commercial mariners, so after the initial hello we pretty much went straight into work mode.
Situation assessed.
Plan agreed.
Tow set up.
And Penny B was going to Salcombe with a little assistance from an engine.
Almost on cue, the rain stopped.
The sun came out.
And suddenly the world looked like a much nicer place again.
Salcombe
We arrived in Salcombe this morning and initially grabbed the first available mooring simply so we could stop somewhere secure and work out what to do next.
Then we met Matt, the Harbour Master, who couldn’t have been more friendly or helpful.
He found us a fantastic mooring close to the mouth of the harbour, meaning fewer miles to cover when it was eventually time to leave and head around the next point.
Stewart then took us ashore.
There are few situations in life that can’t be improved by a full English breakfast and a decent cup of coffee.
This was definitely one of them.
Charts came out.
Weather came up.
Passage planning began.
From the planning I’d already done, I thought we’d have two realistic options.
Leave on the next favourable tide at around 8pm tonight…
Or leave at around 8am tomorrow morning.
With coffee in hand, we started properly looking at both.
Neither was particularly appealing.
Leaving tonight would mean a huge push towards Bridport, with a beam-on wind expected to build through the night. We’d probably need to row two-up for much of it, after already having had virtually no sleep last night.
It was achievable.
But it would be miserable.
Leaving tomorrow morning didn’t look much better. By then the wind was forecast to strengthen from the wrong direction and the chances of making the whole passage were looking increasingly slim.
That could leave us making a shorter hop and potentially getting weathered into an anchorage rather than somewhere we could actually go ashore.
So we went back to the question we’re going to keep asking ourselves throughout this coastal section:
What is the mission?
We’ve crossed the North Atlantic.
We’ve proved we can suffer.
We’ve proved we can keep rowing when everything hurts.
We don’t need to keep proving it.
This part of Hometown Row is about enjoying the south coast, meeting people along the way and having some fun while we make our way home to Burnham.
Neither option fitted that mission.
So…
We’re staying in Salcombe.
Penny B has been moved further into the harbour where she’s nicely sheltered, and we’ll spend a couple of days here keeping an eye on the weather, enjoying the area and waiting for the right opportunity to continue east.
And just when we thought the day couldn’t get much better, we heard another familiar voice.
A little dinghy was speeding towards us.
It was Guy Rigby!
Guy is another ocean rower who crossed the Atlantic in the same year as Paul’s first crossing.
How brilliant is this?!
Guy proceeded to take fantastic care of us for the rest of the day.
Once Penny B was safely tucked away, we headed ashore.
I had an absolutely glorious shower at the yacht club.
I bought myself a new shirt dress so I could actually look vaguely human for dinner.
Then there may have been a couple of cheeky cocktails at the rum bar…
Before Guy delivered us back to our floating home in time for sunset.
So that’s where I’m writing tonight’s blog.
I’m tucked inside my lovely warm sleeping bag aboard Penny B, watching the sun go down over Salcombe, clean, warm, fed and feeling pretty content.
And best of all…
There is no rowing alarm set for tonight.
But before I go, there’s one more thing.
And it’s quite a big one.
THE WORLD RECORDS STAND! 🌎🏆
Today we received the news we’d been hoping for.
Our North Atlantic crossing has been officially recognised.
Our ocean row was completed when we crossed the finish line at the longitude of Bishop Rock, the traditional finish used for west-to-east North Atlantic rows.
Our official time:
48 days, 7 hours, 37 minutes and 55 seconds.
Paul and I have become the first mixed pair to row this North Atlantic route from Newfoundland to the UK.
And for me personally, this was ocean row number seven.
That means I now hold the records for the most ocean rows completed by a female — seven — and the greatest total ocean-rowing distance by a female, at more than 16,000 nautical miles.
Pretty amazing news!
After how I felt in those first exhausted and emotional hours following our arrival in Newlyn, having the governing body confirm that the subsequent tow was insignificant to the completed ocean crossing has completely put that moment to bed.
The ocean was crossed.
The finish line was crossed.
The records stand.
And now?
We get to enjoy rowing the rest of the way home.
Tonight, though…
I’m going to enjoy something even better.
Sleep.
Night night from Penny B. ❤️
Dawn
“Together Paul and I are rowing home — the long way round.”
Hometown Row
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