Sea Trials

Before leaving for the row, I visited my longtime boxing coach. He had been battling cancer for several years, and Jim was genuinely one of the toughest blokes I’ve ever known. I had seen him fight back each wave with gritted teeth, however, the cancer had won the war of attrition. The specialists had confirmed that there was no further treatment they could give him; to operate again would be too risky as he was down to a lung and a half after the removal. It was unlikely he would have come out of the general anaesthetic. I remember telling him about his condition, and I knew then it was simply a matter of time. His condition deteriorated greatly before I left. The last time I saw him, I had a good feeling this was the last time we would see each other, and I feel like he knew this too. I hugged him at his gate and said I’d see him soon, more words wanted to come out but in a somewhat stoic manner, we looked at each other with a nod, and I got in my car and left.

With the boat in the water it was time to get our sea legs and go through the sea trails to ensure we were competent and confident, since once we actually set off our fate was in our hands.

Chris’s role was as a facilitator in this endeavour. He wasn’t there to hold our hand but to provide us with the boat, some equipment, guidance, advice, and weather updates while on the water. The operation of the boat and route selection were ultimately up to us. He had given us a list of tasks to ensure we were 100% confident before we were out of reach of help. One of the drills was deploying the parachute anchor—a large parachute attached to 50 meters of rope connected to the boat. It was deployed whenever the wind made it impossible to row, effectively halting us in the water to prevent us from getting turned around in prevailing winds. Having it out allowed us a break from the gruelling three-hours-on, three-hours-off rowing routine. However, using the para anchor added time to our trip, which I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Mitch and Connor took to the oars, with Oscar sitting above the stern cabin giving directions as they navigated out of the Marina. This being my first time on Danielle on the water, I kept out of the way and observed—a third wheel on a boat. Danielle was a lot more stable than I’d previously anticipated.

We were making our own schedule of getting out on the water and going through our drills to make sure we were confident when out of reach of the land. When not doing that, we were spending time together getting bits of kit, wandering around the local town of El Tablero. Once the boat was prepped and we were making time to get on the water when the conditions would allow it, there wasn’t much to do. However, this gave us time to spend bonding, which was something we didn’t have the opportunity to have since fifty percent of the team had not met each other prior to landing in-country. I sourced some local devil's cabbage that got utilised on a few evenings in front of the TV, sharing a hazy laugh it set up some of the banter that would last our trip.

Chris informed us that our weather window had been pushed right. This was definitely a frustration for me, each day was another away from my family and although I’d only been away for a few weeks I knew I had many more ahead of me. It was Christmas time but you wouldn’t guess it in the Gran Canaria sunshine. My wife had been keeping me updated with the goings-on at home and sending me videos. Our daughter had begun to walk, seeing her waddle about in her winter body suit in front of festive Christmas displays reminded me of what I was missing out on. The wind that was delaying our departure also hindered any further activity on gaining some hours on the boat. With tools down for a few more days, we decided to have a night out, venturing down into Playas del Ingles, the main tourist destination on the island. Garish high-rise hotels, trashy neon-lit bars, and more Irish pubs than you can count—although the area was somewhat quieter than the norm, owing to the season and we were still in the thick of Covid, so all the bizarre social restrictions were in place. Sat at a table in front of the large screen showing the Boxing, we had a few beers, then I broke out the virtual dice on my phone. “Three Man”—a drinking game that involves a nominated drinker and forfeits for not paying attention—usually turns into carnage whenever played. It didn’t disappoint; everyone got pretty juiced up, and we managed to blow off some steam which had been building with all of the delays.

The next day we all felt worse for wear, and I spent most of the day in bed, which is rare for me. But there were no regrets; the night enabled us to bond closer.

Our days in the apartment were running out, and there weren’t many cheap options available, so we opted to rent a boat in the marina. It wasn’t ideal, but we made do.

Harry's mother and her partner were staying in Pasito Blanco, having rented a villa to see Harry off. However, with him not being released from the Marines, they had opted to come regardless and treat it as a holiday. A couple of the lads took them out for a small trip on the boat to thank them for all of their support. I hadn’t been able to get onto the boat prior to the trip, and in our schedule was a night row, which we fitted in. I was a little apprehensive but grew in confidence with each hour we spent rowing up and down the coast. Once at ease with it, we headed back to the marina. I slept better that evening knowing that my first night of rowing wouldn’t be my virgin one.

Harry’s mum and partner, Thirza and Phil, were very hospitable and offered to put us up for a night while we transitioned from the apartment to the boat on the marina. They cooked for us, and we shared a nice meal together, engaged in discussions about adventure, with Phil recounting his motorcycle tours of Europe. During the evening, I received a call from one of Jim’s daughters informing me that he had passed away that day. They were worried I might set off before hearing the news, so they made an effort to let me know. I shed a tear for him as I spoke on the phone, composed myself, and then joined the others at the table.

The following day, we moved our kit onto our rented boat. There was still a lot of running around—fixing and grabbing kit and any last treats for the voyage. Our GPS repeater, which was on deck to provide us with our bearing so we could navigate ourselves, was broken. We tried to replace it, but unfortunately, at this late stage, it was impossible. So we decided to use our compass, which was attached to the deck between the legs of the steering position. When rowing, you’d have to stop and look down to see if we were on track via the bearing given by the GPS within the aft cabin. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Sailors throughout the centuries have done more with less, and we still had GPS to plan the route.

Brucey and Nutty, two extroverts who had joined us over this period, had previously rowed the same route a year before. This was the first time I was meeting them. That evening, they planned to drive across the island to see the owner of the hostel where they had spent a number of weeks the year before while waiting for their boat to arrive. They invited us as well, but there was only room for three, so Mitch opted to stay behind and ended up having dinner with Thirza and Phil before they departed the next day.

We set off to the other side of the island, arriving long after we had gone through all of our beer supplies. Once there, we met the hostel owner and talked for a while before walking around the corner to the local speakeasy—a tiny bar with a courtyard outside, where random plastic chairs and stools were scattered about, with people sitting on them and the low-lying walls. It felt how I imagined parts of South America to feel. We squeezed whatever last bits of knowledge out of Bruce and Nutty, listening to their stories and experiences on the ocean, how they managed as a team, and the elation as they landed in Barbados. We returned to the hostel for a nightcap, then Oscar and I shared a bunk bed in a room with a loud-snoring Russian. We returned the following day, admiring the beautiful mountain views that we missed the previous evening in the car, and stopped for some food. Arriving back at the Marina, it was the final bits of organization—dealing with passport stamps, posting any belongings home. We had one more evening on the Airbnb boat. Then, the last night before setting off, we were homeless again, not wanting to spend more money on accommodation. We opted to split the group, and two slept on Danielle, and Connor and I slept on Bruce and Nutty’s Airbnb boat, which was also in the marina. That evening, we went for food at the nice restaurant on the Marina as a last supper. I remained there for a little while after the others had left, making a number of phone calls to friends and family, then finally went to bed.

The morning of departure, I had the familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had on the flight out to Gran Canaria. I pre-recorded a few videos and sent them to Marina so she could show the kids at different intervals while at sea. I spoke to Marina, and after doing so, began to switch my mindset. I was feeling low knowing I’d be at sea for a few weeks without the normal channels of communication with my family. However, I was about to embark on a challenge very few people in the world would even consider attempting. I was at the start line, which was a challenge in itself; my wife and friends were more than supportive. There was nothing to think about when on the water other than the task at hand—an opportunity to tap into a flow state and truly live in the now, completing a challenge that would truly test us.

We did all final checks before leaving and when both Atlantic Dagger and Cockleshell Endeavour teams were ready, we set off. Chris, Bruce, Nutty, and others who had taken an interest in us within the marina of Pasito Blanco stood on the jetty and waved us farewell and wished us luck.

This was it…