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We are back under way. I have just done 4 hours on the oars. The weather still looks a bit menacing with pretty big squalls. You can see the clouds from miles away and they roll towards you like in the cartoons. Before the para-anchor was out we had been going well but out of no-where a wave just smashed over the side and pushed James out of his seat. Because my adapted seat has me attached by Velcro I held firm and could just enjoy James’s misfortune. The wave flooded the deck and sea water was spilling out of the drainage flaps. The weather seemed to be changing minute by minute. 3 days on the para-anchor allowed us few pleasures. It would be nice to dry out some kit and make some miles up over the next few days. So far it has been all spray and no sun.


Sitting around did allow us to discover lots of fresh fish. Some of them committed suicide by jumping on deck but none of the fabled flying fish have been sighted so far. We have seen loads of wildlife, including 7 whales bobbing around the boat. One was only an oar and a half away and it surfaced right by us – amazing. We have also been lucky to see lots of dolphins. We have even some human life, a yacht on the horizon, but could not make contact. Hamish (the bird) is still following us, but of course we are still getting over the situation with Larry.


It’s a relief to be off the para- anchor. The whole routine is compromised when you are on it. On-board everything is wet and sticky. Even the cabin is wet.  The cabin is also too small for my liking.  Scott is quite comfortable to snuggle up against me whilst the rowing was on hold but I would rather pass on that. I had chosen slept on the deck in full foul weather gear, wedging myself up against the bulkhead. Thank God we are rowing again, it means we can rotate the cabin time and as a result things have improved rapidly. Not rowing is not more restful, except for Scott who somehow managed to sleep 23 of the last 24 hours.

Changeovers are now getting slick and easy. I am really happy getting around the boat, in and out of cabin and managing all the basics like personal hygiene and eating. My body is in good physical condition. We are taking it in turns to cook meals by the stern cabin. Scott ad I do dinner on alternate days. James and Jenks do breakfast and lunch. To pass the time I had also attempted some fishing but the rod that we bought in Spain snapped before I could even cast off. It’s a little hard to return it to the shop now.

The isolation is quite in your face. You sit out there in the middle of nowhere, pitch black, no moon. Not another human being is anywhere you can see. You are in charge of your own destiny which is cool, but hearing about other crews withdrawing keeps you focused.

Our thoughts as other crews have withdrawn

We were gutted to hear about Hamish and the Atlantic Trio. But even more so, Atlantic Splash’s helicopter-rescue reminds you that this is serious stuff. The helicopter is an option that you won’t have through most of the race, only whilst close to land.  James and I are very lucky, having sailed quite a bit before you can take that experience for granted. Even within the crew you see how a little nautical knowledge goes a long way. It must be very tough for some of the crews who have never really spent any time at sea.

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After a frustrating last 24 hours or so we began today with slow conditions and not much visibility. It was quite squally, with little rain showers coming and going, but things cleared quite abruptly around 8am and suddenly we could see land. After being hidden in the mist it appeared out of nowhere and it seemed really close! This last stretch was totally different to the first half of the race. For so much of this crossing the weather has been horrific, I have never experienced anything like this. Yesterday morning at 8 am marked the first time in the entire race that we had a full 24 hours out of full foul weather gear and today is also the first day that an equipment failure would not be a cause for emotional devastation. I always thought that we would make it, but equipment failures could have slowed us down a lot. The thought of breakages always kept us on edge. But now we can finally enjoy the realisation that WE HAVE DONE IT!!!!!!!!

Read More | posted on Jan 21, 2014


It feels great to count down the hours and the miles. It is a big morale boost to know that we are almost there. For most of the crossing I had felt confident that we would make it but we did have a few scares. When the auto-helm broke I did worry that we would be down to one rower for the whole crossing. One rowing and one hand-steering would have been a horrible routine. Luckily we managed to fix it. But the most important bit of equipment is my leg - it has never let me down.

Read More | posted on Jan 20, 2014


Hard as it is to believe, this is my final blog! It has been a moment to reflect on an extraordinary 7 weeks at sea and an even more extraordinary group of people. By that I mean not just the guys in the boat, but the many wounded persons that they represent. I have been thinking a lot about what this team has achieved and what we hope others can achieve. This project has been about setting a huge challenge, committing wholeheartedly to it and then facing every challenge head on in pursuit of our goal. There have been no excuses only a choice to live this experience to its fullest and to take a positive attitude to all things. I hope that we have demonstrated that it is not what people see in you but what you go on to do that counts. I want to thank to all those who have personally supported me – you know who you are. There were a few people who said it could not be done. Oh dear… you will have to kiss my nappy-rash!

Read More | posted on Jan 19, 2014