16 Jan 2006
Damp rather than wet - in better days!
16 Jan, 21.00
For details on progress and position see the Atlantic Rowing Race site.
Roz phoned me just after 9 this evening to say that she just cannot get the gadgetry to work for sending a dispatch. Everything in the cabin is now so wet that she suspects that that is the problem. What she thought was wet before was merely damp by present conditions.
We were shocked to hear about American Fire and Team Sun Latte both suffering capsize and the teams having to abandon their boats. Roz did suffer a knock-down today, worse than the previous one on Thursday 5th January, but came upright again. She has great confidence in her boat and its ability to self-right. The para anchor and drogue both went overboard but she struggled and got them back on again.
Roz does not expect to sleep much tonight, and is also concerned about salt-water sores due to sleeping in a wet bed.
Steve in a message to us asked if Monty was still safely aboard. Yes, he is, though probably sulking in his damp corner.
This race is proving a tough experience not only for the rowers, but for those of us looking on. Pray that they remain safe.
PS Tuesday morning 8am GMT, still dark: A rough night, the boat rolling twice, and some damage to an oar. Hatch containing the jerry cans flooded - but Roz is leaving it that way, extra ballast in a central position. Waiting for daylight before investigating out on deck. She knows that the newer alpaca skin seat cover was ripped off its bindings.
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No mere sheepskin seat covers for me - these are alpaca, one old, one sad, matted one and one nice fresh fluffy none.
15 Jan, 06 - 20:41
For GPS position, race position and miles from La Gomera, see www.atlanticrowingrace.co.uk
Mark at the Craig Hospital in Colorado asked: What is the one thing you have had to do that your pubmates would give you the hardest time over if they knew?
A: It would have to be the bottom-cleaning ritual at the end of each and every rowing shift. I suppose some of the patients at your hospital have to go through some undignified procedures, but can they be as bad as this?
Someone who has done the race before described the saltwater rash he got as the worst pain he has ever known, so bad that sitting on his sheepskin seat cover felt like sitting on wire wool. I've been paranoid about avoiding the same fate. It's not easy to row if you can't sit down...
So at the end of every shift I lie on my back on my bunk with my legs in the air like a baby on a changing table, feet braced against the low cabin ceiling. I wipe my derriere with wet wipes impregnated with tea tree oil (to be recycled later as toilet paper). Then I anoint my nether regions with tea tree oil antiseptic lotion and/or Green People's Baby Salve.
I've had a few spots, but overall the regime seems to be working, so the indignity is worth it.
And now I guess my pubmates do know..
Other stuff:
I have had a couple of weeks now of steadily improving weather conditions and exponentially improving morale, but now I am having a relapse. Big time. I am having a hissy fit, a sulk, a toy-throwing tantrum.
I am fed up with sideswiping waves filling the boat with water. I am fed up with cold repetitive dinners. I am fed up with having a sopping wet bunk. (The ventilation hatch above my head has been leaking like a sieve. I've now taped a cover over it, and just hope not to suffocate in my sleep in my now watertight but also airtight cabin.)
It's lovely getting texts from people admiring my courage, my tenacity, my determination. But don't put me on a pedestal - I'll only fall off. I'm just an ordinary person, and right now an extraordinarily grumpy one.
So I'm sending myself to bed early and hope to wake up in a better mood.
Texts:
Marina (glad you like the website, hope you're enjoying Antigua - say Very Well Done to Ben from me!), Martin Turner, John T (ah, to see ourselves as others see us...), Brian in HK, Tim (sedation would indeed be quite welcome right now), Wallace, Jeff, HHS (where DO you get these jokes from?!).
Rita Savage's PS: Roz has given me permission to write whatever I like about her in these messages. Before she left she did say that Monty (the teddy bear) would write a dispatch once a week, and any grumbling that had to be done would come from him. I see that she has jealously taken that privilege away from him. Poor Monty, he is just not getting much of a say about the whole business. I hope he closes his eyes when she treats her sit-upon as described above!
Roz' DISPATCH FOR DAY 47, received on Wed. morning 18th.
I've been asked if I'd been looking forward to being alone out here.
Very much so - it was a key reason for wanting to do this.
The last couple of years I've taken 2-4 weeks out each year to do a retreat - not an organised retreat, just my own thing. The best one was in a friend's cottage in Sligo, Ireland, (thank you, Catt!). I went there with a rucksack full of books and spent a month detoxing, getting fit, losing weight, and reading, reading, reading - restoring mind, body and spirit.
It's a real luxury and one of the key benefits of my weird and wonderful lifestyle that I can do this kind of thing. Most people would struggle to find so much me-time.
So for me this is wonderful - time out from being around people, a chance for me to think about who I am and who I want to be, what I'm doing with my life and what I want to do.
For the first month out here I was mostly too stressed to be in the right frame of mind, but it's coming good now. Just as well I've still got a good while left before I reach Antigua.
P.S. After I'd drafted this dispatch I suffered a dunking. I'd prepared my dinner in a thermos flask and put it in the mug-holder to rehydrate, and had just got back to the oars, when a wave caught me side-on and everything went watery for a while. When I seemed to be back in air I opened my eyes and did a quick stock take.
Self - check.
Boat - check.
Self IN boat - check.
Dinner - gone. Damn, one of my favourites too - chilli rice.
Drogues - rapidly self-deploying over the side of the boat. I grabbed the line and pulled them back in.
Para-anchor - also self-deploying. Bit trickier, this one. Compared with the drogues the para-anchor is much bigger (12 feet diameter) and has a smaller hole in the apex so it's much harder to pull back in without a tripline. I rapidly put a slipknot in the fast-unravelling line and clipped it to the boat with the first thing that came to hand - my Baltic life harness. Luckily the para-anchor hadn't got too far - about 20 feet from the boat. My dinner bobbed in the waves close to it, and I briefly considered swimming out along the line to retrieve it, but the anchor seemed a higher priority and/or I didn't fancy going for a swim in 20 foot waves.
I managed to pull the para-anchor some of the way back in. (To give you some idea of its weight, the D-ring it was shackled to is now badly bent out of shape. Impressed that the Baltic line held, as a para-anchor full of water is a heck of a lot heavier than I am.) Then, luckily, the float attached to its apex came within reach (as did dinner, but not quite close enough) and the rest was easy.
I'm not keen on these knockdowns. They remind me how vulnerable I am. Woodvale sent a text this afternoon saying 2 boats had rolled during the night, and reminding us to keep our water ballast topped up and all hatches closed. Absolutely. I'll also be wearing my custom-made Baltic life-harness from now on.
Still gutted about my chilli rice...
John: No, I am immune to flattery. What others think of me may be of interest, but only what I think of me is of importance.
Marina - your message made me laugh out loud! I'm sure a lot of girls would give their right arm for the privilege.
Keith and Issy (Chris Martin's parents), DB, Rob Hamill, Mark Reid (wheee, splat - sound of me falling off my pedestal), Kim from Denmark (promise I will take care!), Karon Philips, Karen Luscombe (made me laugh! Chin is duly up and T are O!), Mark in Northampton, Tim (photos of tea tree ritual - no way!), Victoria (looking forward to meeting you too - maybe in March?), Caroline Haines, Adamski (would love to see the painting when it's done), Steve Moore (yes, Monty is just fine), Vicki from Emsworth (how do I put sun cream on back? With great difficulty!).
Sorry to hear of problems elsewhere in the fleet, especially the Sun Latte crew. Guys, I shudder to think what you've been through. My thoughts are with you.
Wind: E, 25 knots (estimate)
Weather: cloudy, sunshine, squalls
Sea state: very rough
Hours rowing: 9
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Out with the old gloves . . .
. . . and in with the new.
14 Jan, 06 - 21:18
For GPS position, race position and miles from La Gomera, see http://www.atlanticrowingrace.co.uk
The ocean has been having some fun and games at my expense today, and the bilge pump has been busy.
The Atlantic started off in playful mood - a gust of wind blew my Fourth Element baseball hat into the water and I thought it was gone forever, but the waves kindly brought it back to me before it sank.
Then I found that Locker #7, the one with my lifejacket and emergency grab bags in it, had flooded. The Baltic lifejacket had self-inflated, as it's supposed to do when it gets wet, which was inconvenient but reassuring, I suppose.
Worse, one of my drybags hadn't lived up to its name - miraculously my handheld GPS seems to have survived its bath, but I've yet to find out if the chocolate bars have.
So still nothing too serious, but later on the mood turned nasty. Shortly after these photos were taken I was just emptying the bedpan over the side of the boat when suddenly I found myself face down in the water (at least I hope it was mostly water). The boat quickly self-righted, and I was still in it, clinging to the oar guardrail for dear life.
The deck was absolutely swamped, the footwell flooded. Luckily I've now learned my lesson, and there's nothing on deck that isn't lashed down or attached in some way. My lip salve had slipped its leash but I rescued it just before it vanished through the scuppers.
I shuddered when I thought how easily I could have gone overboard, and rowed on in chastened mood for some time before recovering my spirits.
So the sea has been in feisty mood, but mustn't complain. Conditions are good, if rough, and Antigua is getting just a little nearer. But I could do without these frequent drive-by drenchings, and as wind speeds approach 25 knots safety is paramount. If my boat and I should part company I can't count on being as fortunate as my baseball hat, and solo rowers don't get second chances.
Mark in Colorado - will answer your question tomorrow.
Message to my sister Tanya as she sets off on a one year trip around the world: Have a marvellous time. I hope your travels bring you all you wish for, and a few nice surprises too. Rx
Texts: thanks to Magnus Burbanks, Pauline, Andy & Emer (thanks for navigation tip!), HSS, Tim (row for pleasure? who knows?), John T (yes), Guy (thx for text hug), Jeff (stickers still looking good. Salty kisses? - no comment!), Candy (go for it! Good luck), Jan Meek, Steve Moore (have YOU ever tried peeing over the side on 20 foot waves? As a girl?), Bruce D (no, only chilly at night), Ian Nelson, Sal and Dick (what next? watch this space!), Jo Allen.
SPONSORED MILE: Coming up soon I think, Cliff Butters at number 1106.
Distance rowed according to Woodvale is now on Saturday evening very nearly 1100. (Rita Savage.)
Wind: E
Weather: sunshine and cloud
Sea state: very rough
Hours rowing: 11
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Alone but not lonely.
Splinted (and splintered) oars
12 Jan, 06 - 20:21
For GPS position, race position and miles from La Gomera, see http://www.atlanticrowingrace.co.uk
Question: You;ve stopped telling us how you're feeling. Are you lonely? Or has it kicked into being wonderful yet? And when you get a text, do you stop rowing to read it immediately (desperate for contact) or do you wait until your next break?
A: Before answering the question I had to think hard about what loneliness means. If it is a yearning for the company of a kindred spirit, then I have occasionally felt more lonely in a crowded room than I have done out here. Loneliness has not been one of my demons.
I speak to my mother for about 15 minutes most days - usually quite businesslike, about sponsors, website, messages etc - and I get my texts, which I pick up 2 or 3 times a day. This seems to be enough human contact for me. I look forward to these times, but I'm not desperate for them. I'm quite content with my own thoughts for company.
No, the demons that plagued my first month on the ocean were feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt, frustration. How could I not have realised this was going to be so hard? What had made me think I was up to it? Why was I not going faster? Why could I not settle into a satisfactory routine?
Those feelings have now started to dissipate. There have been a number of contributing factors.
First, a couple of days ago I was thinking about an after-dinner speech I'm due to give in New York in April, and planning what I could say I'd learned from this experience. That exercise helped me reconnect with the reasons I undertook this challenge in the first place. I realised I'm achieving those objectives. That cheered me up a lot.
Second, I've finally adapted to my new lifestyle. I no longer ask myself at the start of every rowing shift whether I want to do it. I just get on and do it.
Third, I've started being kinder to myself. I've overcome some of my perceived weaknesses, and accepted others, and I've started to be more appreciative of my achievements.
The last few days have been increasingly enjoyable, and already that ghastly, miserable first month seems like a fast-fading nightmare. But it's still a fragile joy - I'm not yet taking it for granted, and I'm nurturing it carefully. There's still a long way to go, and possibly there are more trials in store for me. But I feel much better equipped to deal with them now than I did a month ago.
P.S. After I'd written this I spoke to my mother and found out more about the misadventures happening elsewhere in the fleet. It made my psycho-worries seem very trivial and self-indulgent.
It also made me rather nervous, and I looked at the ocean with a renewed sense of respect and even a glimmer of fear.News of Chris Martin's capsize, in particular, had scared me. As an outlet for my nerves I spent half an hour setting up the sea drogue just in case things get too lively and I need to slow the boat down. It gave me some slight sense of security. I'd been advised not to use it if I want a fast time. I think I've blown the fast time anyway, and I'd rather get there slowly than not get there at all.
Texts:
A special thank you to Diana Hoff - I think about you often, and am proud to be following in your footsteps/ rowing in your wake. (Note: to date Diana is the only British woman to have succesfully rowed solo across the Atlantic.)
Kim from Denmark and Clarkie Sargent: well spotted. Three out of my four oars are now damaged. But I dismembered my telescopic boathook into 2 sections to make splints for the 2 least damaged oars (see photo). I'm rowing with the one good oar and one splinted. The other splinted oar and the bendy oar are on guardrail duty. So no need to summon extra oars, and my unsupported status remains intact for now.
Thanks also to Guy, John (answer re desert island discs under consideration), Lizann, Mike C, Mark and the patients at Craig Hospital in Colorado, Philip Goodier, Caroline Haines (thanks for the generous donation, and for the congrats on my 2 achievements today - 1000 miles and overtaking Move Ahead).
Wind: NE to ENE
Weather: sunshine and cloud, occasional shower
Sea state: rough
Hours rowing: 13
With thanks to Roxy Music for today's headline.
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