Wednesday 23rd July- Day 27

This is a picture of Bert! He has rowed every ocean with me! Keeping me company on parachute anchor!

As I write this, we’re back on the parachute anchor, waiting for the wind to do what the forecast promises and finally shift in our favour.

It should happen within the next couple of hours.

Fingers crossed.

If all goes to plan, this might just be the last time we deploy the parachute anchor for a while. The longer-range forecasts are finally looking much more encouraging, with predominantly westerly winds ahead.

Yesterday was one of those days that reminded me exactly why I love ocean rowing.

Around lunchtime we hauled in the anchor and got back on the oars, hoping we’d be able to hold our planned course.

To our delight…

…we could.

For the first time in what feels like well over a week, the wind was sitting just behind the beam instead of trying to stop us. Rather than fighting us every stroke of the way, it was actually helping.

What a difference it made.

The sun was shining.

The boat was lifting onto the waves.

Every now and then we’d catch one and surf down the face of it before climbing the next.

It was brilliant.

This is the side of ocean rowing that I absolutely love.

Reading the water.

Timing your strokes.

Working with the conditions instead of constantly battling against them.

It’s almost like dancing with the ocean rather than arguing with it.

Before we started rowing, I’d already set a waypoint on the chart. We couldn’t afford to go beyond it because doing so would have taken us out of the favourable current we’d worked so hard to stay inside.

Once we reached that point, we’d need to alter course much further to the south—around 110°.

Looking at the wind angle and strength, which was blowing well over 20 knots with stronger gusts, I knew there was virtually no chance we’d be able to make that course.

So I’d already accepted that another overnight stop on the parachute anchor would be the sensible option.

I’d expected we’d reach the waypoint sometime late in the evening.

Instead, thanks to the fantastic boat speeds, we arrived at around 5pm.

A nice surprise.

It also meant we had plenty of time for one of our favourite rituals.

Out came the Jetboil.

The kitchen was open.

Coffee for me.

A chat together.

A few laughs.

Sometimes those simple moments are the best part of the day.

Then it was off to bed.

Or at least…

…an attempt at bed.

The Atlantic clearly hadn’t finished with us.

The whole night felt like being inside a washing machine. We were rolled from side to side, rocked backwards and forwards and occasionally given the odd hefty thump just to keep us awake.

It certainly wasn’t one of my better nights’ sleep.

But I managed to get a few hours, and that’s enough to face another day.

At the moment it’s absolutely chucking it down with rain.

I have a sneaky suspicion the wind isn’t going to behave itself until the rain passes through.

Hopefully, by the time you read this, the sky will have cleared, the wind will have shifted…

…and we’ll be back where we belong.

On the oars.

Dawn

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

Hometown Row

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