Dictated by Roz and transcribed by her mother, Rita Savage.

Position: -05.97063S, 154.01878E

Spectra Watermaker in its Compartment

Today’s big news is that I have got my watermaker working again.  This is a huge relief.  Although I have now had ample experience of watermaker failure, it doesn’t get any easier. Once the watermaker goes I have a constant sense of being on a time limit, needing to reach my destination before my supplies run out, or else having to set aside a couple of hours a day to pump the manual watermaker.

And it deprives me of one of my favourite bits of the day, my bucket and sponge bath.  This happens after I finish rowing in the evening, after the sun has set. It feels so good to sponge the cool fresh water over my skin rinsing away the sweat, salt and suncream of the day

So today I made it a priority to get my water supply up and running again.  It took most of the morning. I tried a couple of other things before resigning myself to the fact that the feed pump was the source of the problem, and would have to be replaced. Ian Tuller had been on the phone to Spectra to identify a troubleshooting strategy (thank you Ian!). This was the third and final option, the last resort known between Ian and me as “Oh Shit” scenario.

The new feed pump was already set up as much as it could be to make it a plug and play operation, but it is never easy working inside a small compartment on the deck of a rolling boat, with hoses, wires and a heavy pump to manoeuvre into position.

It was a surprise and not a good one to find that the mounting plates of the pump were a different size from the old one so the bolt holes were in the wrong position. Getting the bolts in place was a nearly impossible task anyway as the heads of the bolts were in the next compartment over. So for me to hold the nut and turn the bolt was nigh on impossible. In the end I gave up and resorted to cable ties. Cable ties and duct tape, where would I be without them?

It was sweet music to my ears to hear the hum of a healthy feedpump after the anxiety-inducing erratic drone of its predecessor. I ran the watermaker long enough to replenish my depleted stocks relishing the sense of everything being shipshape once again.

Alas, that was the highlight of the day. It all went downhill once I started rowing. If yesterday’s course was a staircase today’s was a zigzag. I would slowly slog a feeble zig towards the south west, only for the current to send me on a speedy zag towards the south east. I crossed the line of longitude at 154 degrees east about seven (number indistinct in the voicemail) times today. I tried heading just due south to hasten my arrival in the more helpful current at 11 degrees. A testy little wind blew up unexpectedly from that direction, blocking it off as an option.

Stymied. I might as well have been on a rowing machine. Couldn’t  get south, couldn’t get west, and I didn’t want to go north or east.  As I write I am further away from Madang than I was at this time yesterday, and I was getting further still.

Sigh. Again. This too will pass , I remind myself.

Other Stuff:  Tonight I tried out the hot chocolate from Wilderness  Family Naturals. Fantastic! No transfats, unlike most hot chocolates.  A small consolation at the end of a trying day.

Only one big shift today compared with four yesterday.

I still owe you my confession, but today I wanted to share the good news about my watermaker. It will keep until tomorrow. Please don’t be cross with me, Joan.  It was a stupid thing rather than a bad thing. All will become clear.

Sorry Doug, still no glimpse of the crescent moon.  After a clear day the sun disappeared into a big dark cloud as it set.  I’ll keep looking.

Rita: Doug I did see the moon from my window here in Yorkshire, a very slim crescent, Saturday evening, not quite near the horizon. I discovered a couple of years ago that in midwinter the moon sets where the sun sets in midsummer.  As we are quite near to midsummer now, I was quite surprised to see it near where the sun was setting. I obviously don’t know all the facts. (We would never know from the chilly weather that midsummer is not far off.)

Looking forward to hearing about that confession  . . . . .

Grateful thanks for more information about contacts in Madang from Chris Bone, Aaron Hayes and David Lambourne.

Roz’s Ebay Store:

You can bid on an autographed picture of Roz Savage on her boat (The Brocade). Roz Savage is the sixth woman who has rowed solo 3,000 miles across the Atlantic Ocean, and aims to be the first to row all the way across the Pacific. This is the 3rd auction of the 5 autographed pictures that were available. The dimension of the picture is 8 1/2 by 11 inches. The 4th auction will  happen shortly before Roz reaches her final destination. The 5th auction will happen after Roz reaches land.  You can find the auction in the Roz Savage Items section or by following this link: http://stores.ebay.com/Roz-Savage-Ocean-Rower?_rdc=1

Sale! Reduction! The price of the Roz Savage Organic T-shirts has been slashed by 31%! Now selling at $19.99 each.

Solio Charger

Solio Classic Charger – find it under the Eco-Friendly Items.

Please remember the request from Blue Frontier Campaign to vote EVERY DAY for Roz and Margo: http://pep.si/9ZMuai
Also vote for our coalition partner Project Kaisei to help remove tons of floating plastic debris in our Ocean! Vote here: http://pep.si/alxXp

"Hot, Flat and Crowded" is actually the title of the audiobook
I'm listening to at the moment (interesting view of a green economy -
recommended) – but it could equally be a description of my day. It has
been extremely, dehydratingly hot, the ocean has been flat as a pancake,
and this morning there was definitely too much company out here. I was
playing leapfrog with a small fleet of fishing boats, which meant I had
to keep putting clothes on, which was most inconvenient.

The day got off to a slightly alarming start when my watermaker wouldn't
work. Oh no, not again, I thought, and muttered a few swearwords. I
muttered a few more when I found the cause – the intake pipe (which
pulls in seawater to be turned into freshwater) had not been connected.
We had tested the watermaker a while ago, then the metal inlet had been
replaced, and silly me – I had just assumed that the pipe that leads
from inlet to watermaker would have been reconnected.

This was not ideal, and when I had a problem with my watermaker on
Day 1 of my Atlantic crossing it made me feel quite sick with anxiety
(or maybe it was the seasickness) but over the years and miles I've
realized that panic is not a constructive reaction, and that in face I'm
sometimes I'm capable of more than I think I am. The unappealing
prospect of having to paddle back into port after the magnificent
send-off yesterday was sufficiently motivating for me to try and resolve
the problem myself.

I found my tub of spare parts for the watermaker, and after several
failed experiments found the right connector. And a few minutes later
had a good healthy water supply going to the pump.

Phew.

Other stuff:

A solid day's rowing – about 11 hours, or 11,000 oarstrokes if you're
one of the people taking part in my Pull Together challenge (see
pulltogether09.org). 10,000 steps a day is fine, but if you want to go
the extra mile (or few hundred yards actually) and match my oarstrokes,
then please do! And remember that if you do your walking as a substitute
for driving then it's good for the planet as well as good for your body.

The main issue today has been the heat. I've been glugging water all day
to stay hydrated, but it's been hard to drink enough, especially when I
have no way to chill drinks, so the water is almost as hot as I am. Yuck!

OK, feeling sleepy now. It was a short night and a long day, and all
that sunshine has made me doubly tired. I was wearing SPF50 (thanks,
Aenor!) but still seem to have a few red patches – including my face, I
suspect, but my mirror seems to have gone missing so fortunately I can't
see my rosy pink cheeks!

Currrent position: 20 50.561N, 158 10.577W
Wind: none
Sea state: flat
Intentions: maintain present course of around 210 degrees

Today I turn 41 years young. It has taken me many years to forgive my parents for giving me a birthday so close to Christmas (really – what WERE they thinking back in March 1967? No – don’t answer that one – this IS my parents we’re talking about… ) – but now I’m quite reconciled to it, especially now that, thanks to the power of the internet, it no longer matters that there is nobody around to celebrate my birthday with me because they’ve all gone home to their parents for Christmas. In the e-world that I largely inhabit, we can party online. A huge thank you to everybody who has written to wish me a happy birthday – thanks to you, it has been!

I’ve had birthday e-cards, birthday wishes on my Facebook Wall (41 at the last count – one for every year of my life – and rising…), birthday Tweets, and some wonderful gifts too. Such as:

- Marcus Eriksen of the JUNK, made a gift of the $500 manual watermaker they loaned me several hundred miles east of Hawaii after I ran out of water

- my good friend and social media guru Ellen Leanse sponsored some Kiva micro-loans in my name – as a birthday gift that keeps on giving. She wrote, “I’ve used Kiva.org to help find two start-up businesses in the Pacific Islands and fund them with micro-loans. Both of the businesses are farms; I tried to find businesses as low on the production chain as possible in keeping with your vision for the environment.”

- Podcast Sister Anna Farmery sending me some fantastic quotes about growing older, errr, more mature – which I’d like to share with you here…

The best birthdays of all are those that haven’t arrived yet.
- Robert Orben

Old age isn’t so bad when you consider the alternative.
- Maurice Chevalier

I’m at an age when my back goes out more than I do.
- Phyllis Diller

You are only young once, but you can be immature for a lifetime.
- John P. Grier

If I’d known I was going to live this long (100 years),
I’d have taken better care of myself.
- Ubie Blake

Age is a high price to pay for maturity.
- Tom Stoppard

And finally, for a big smile, major wanderlust, and some rather dodgy dancing, please check out this seriously feel-good video.

Well, folks, it’s goodbye from the birthday girl. I’m off on a Gaia retreat for the next 6 days, and laptops and mobile phones are strongly discouraged. How will I survive?! There may have to be the occasional Tweet sneaking its way out under the barricades….

But just in case – HAPPY HOLIDAYS/CHRISTMAS/WHATEVER MAKES YOU HAPPY! And I’ll be back on Dec 30th. Hasta luego….

One of the things that has really impressed me about the comments and messages I receive is just how good some people are at putting themselves in my place, identifying with my issues, and understanding my life. Considering that most people have never rowed across an ocean, or even seen an ocean rowboat, this is quite a feat of imagination and empathy. Even though I’d spoken to dozens of ocean rowers before I did the Atlantic, I’m not sure I’d formed as clear a mental picture of what it would be like as some of you have achieved..

So, to provide even more information with which you can furnish your mental image of my boat and everyday life, I’ve decided to do a short 3-part series of blogs about the Brocade, her layout, and what I keep where.

So if you can’t imagine anything more boring that the contents of my lockers, come back later!

Part 1: The Cockpit

I am no artist, but this photo is of my attempt to sketch the layout of the rowing cockpit – the middle section of my boat. Overall the cockpit is about 8 feet long and 5 feet wide. This diagram is drawn from my point of view as I’m rowing, i.e. facing backwards, so the stern cabin would be off the top of the picture.

The curvy thing that looks like the Lone Ranger’s eye mask is my rowing seat, mounted on a rectangular platform, which coasts up and down on its two runners (the long rectangles). Above it you see my two rowing shoes, which are fixed to the boat, with the compass mounted between them. The compass has a battery-operated backlight for use after dark – red, so it doesn’t impair my night vision. On the side decks to either side of the rowing position are mounted the riggers and oarlocks for the oars, and small cleats for the rudder strings.

Just beyond my feet is a grabrail screwed to the deck. This is the one I appropriated as a makeshift cleat for reeling in my sea anchor. It also bears a bracket where I mount the Seacook stove for boiling water.

Footwell: contains liferaft (lashed upright against cabin bulkhead), jerrycan for water, and all-purpose bucket. Also contains 100 lb of lead, sealed into a compartment below a false bottom. Also often contains large amounts of seawater in rough weather. I must have bailed it out about 30 times so far. I will definitely be reinstating the electric bilge pump during the Hawaii layover!

Locker 1: Grab bag (to go with me in liferaft if abandoning ship – contains spare GPS, VHF radio, water, chocolate, flashlight and all kinds of other useful things) Lifejacket Portable bilge pump

Locker 2: the galley locker Beans for sprouting Bags of dinner foods currently in use (freeze dried peas, sweetcorn, kidney beans, expedition meals – I sit on the liferaft and assemble my meal in a thermos mug while the kettle is boiling) Lighters for cooking stove Sauces, herbs, spices Spare mugs, food containers, etc.

Locker 3: empty

Locker 4: freeze-dried expedition meals

Locker 5: Ropes Lifting harness Mask and snorkel

Locker 6: Bags of jerky Bags of freeze dried vegetables which I add to the freeze-dried expedition meals to boost the veg content of my diet

Locker 7: Watermaker

Locker 8: Bucket Cleaning materials Trash Items to be recycled And another 100 lb of lead under a false bottom

Above decks, the seed sprouter lives in the top right corner, in a string bag secured to the boat by a karabiner and tucked under the side deck.

Bathroom facilities (bedpan) live top left, again tucked under the side deck

The sea anchor (sponsored by Zillion TV), along with its ropes and buoy, lives in the bottom left corner.

I have two canvas cockpit bags attached to the gunwales to either side of the rowing position – one for snacks and the other for items that might be needed urgently – marine flares and an air horn to attract attention of a ship that might be about to mow me down.

And that little area, no more than a few square feet, is where I spend most of my waking hours. As I row I face the aft hatch, which takes up most of my field of vision, so my eyes wander from compass, to liferaft, to hatch – and frequently up to the red ensign flag fluttering from the cabin roof, which shows me clearly which direction the wind is coming from.

After 103 days looking at this view on my way across the Atlantic, and 73 days so far on the Pacific, I’ve got to know it pretty well!

Other stuff:

Position at 2145 5th August Pacific Time, 0445 6th August UTC: 23 32.422′N, 143 40.657.

Today has been as fine a rowing day as I could ever wish for. After a squally start the skies cleared and the wind settled into a helpful ENE direction, kicking up a good swell that has been gently propelling me Hawaii-wards. The rowing has been comfortable – no more battling across waves – and the temperature perfect. I’ve asked my weatherguy to order up more of the same.

After taking so long to cross the first few degrees of longitude, I’m now crossing off another number on my whiteboard every couple of days. It is very, very satisfying.

Thanks for all the messages. Some special mentions: Deirdre – thanks for telling me about the buttery croissants and brioche. Huh. Envious, me?! Looking forward to catching up with you on your lovely boat when I get back to California. John – thanks for the facts and figures. My weatherguy works in nautical miles, but maybe I like statute miles better – the numbers are bigger! Too bad I may not see JUNK. I was hoping to scrounge some water. Bottled?!! Steve and Sky and Nomadness – congrats on the maiden voyage! Have a great time – and I hope our courses intercept soon on dry land if not at sea. Jim – tbanks for the encouraging words about the treats in store between here and Hawaii. Hi to Michael and everybody else at Brocade. Thank you for your ongoing support. And thanks to Sandi, Chris, and all the others who are willing me on with their cries of Go Roz!

Click here to view Day 73 of the Atlantic Crossing 11 February 2006: At Sea Nobody can Hear You Scream – frustration.

(more…)

Looks like my Friday 13th luck arrived a day late. Yesterday went quite smoothly. Today did not.

The day got off to a bad start when I checked my position this morning and found that I’d lost about 6 miles overnight. Then this afternoon the watermaker wouldn’t work. When I was trying to heat my dinner this evening, the cigar-lighter plug on my electric kettle fell apart (I eventually found the missing part still inside the 12V socket). This evening westerly wind (bad) started to increase. And my new sea anchor arrangement got in a bit of a pickle on its first deployment – it has taken me two hours to get it all sorted out, and I have now retired to my cabin feeling very cold and grumpy.

So, looking on the bright side.. Err, hmmm. I’m stumped. OK, I’m still alive and still healthy. But it’s a pretty poor day when I review my achievements and the best one was that I finally got around to brushing my hair and putting it into ocean style – power pigtails (see photo).

Right, here’s another good thing. Today was so lousy, tomorrow can only be an improvement.

I hope.

Other stuff:

Hi and thank you to all who are following my progress – whether it is via this blog, Facebook, the thrice-weekly podcasts with Leo Laporte, or via SMS text messages or Twitter.

A special hello to Michael Klayko, Tom Buiocchi, Leslie Davies and all at Brocade – my title sponsors.

Some answers to questions:

Andrew Waldby was wondering whether I get to see many other ocean goers out here and whether any other ocean cruisers try to make contact? Fortunately not. I feel much safer when there’s not much shipping around. I’ve seen no vessels since I passed the Farralones on Day 2. Tonight I saw a plane flying really low over the ocean. Hope they weren’t looking for me.

Fred Plappert was asking about some of the information that I was sending back during last year’s bid – data about energy usage from solar panels, intake of carbs, protein and fats etc. I decided to simplify things this year, so am not sending back as much data – instead I’m focusing on what you could call the New Media – video, photos, and social networking (Facebook etc). But I believe that Margot Gerritsen may have written a blog about my sustainable energy capability on her Smart Energy Show (as she did last year). As for the food intake, my diet this year is rather different, inclining more towards a raw food diet including lots of homemade crackers made from sprouted seeds blended with veggie pulp – which would have been extremely difficult to analyse for carb/protein/fat content. The figures would have been so inaccurate as to be meaningless. So I’m sorry, but that data simply is not available.

Right, I’m cold. Time to snuggle into my sleeping bag and try to warm up my frozen extremities!

15 June. When Roz was talking to Leo Laporte yesterday she mentioned a very ugly fish that she had seen. Two kind followers sent references to these Sunfish, and there is now a picture in Roz’s Smugmug Gallery. If you click on the logo which is in a little black box with a green smile – up on the right of this message – you can see her pictures.
Rita Savage.

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It is eerily quiet on the ocean today. No roaring wind. No crashing waves. Just the steady creak of my oarlocks. Yes, at last, after 10 days of enforced leisure, the hostile weather conditions have abated and I am back on the rowing seat.

At the moment I’m not sure how long this opportunity will last. The winds are due to start picking up again from tomorrow evening, but the row-ability will depend on the size and steepness of the swells. So I’ll make the most of this chance while I can. It’s still not exactly ideal weather conditions – overcast skies have made for chilly conditions – but at least I can do what I came here to do, i.e. row.

And the watermaker worked too. Happy days!

As an aside: after spending most of the day listening to Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency (by Douglas Adams) I was flicking around Leo’s iPod when I stumbled across The Experts’ Guide to 100 Things Everybody Should Know How To Do. After telling me how to get a good night’s sleep (in a cool, quiet bedroom, with a comfortable mattress- yeah, right) and how to make a bed (make sure those hospital corners are neat), the book moved on to personal grooming. “Knowing your hair looks good can give you the confidence to face the day’s challenges”, the book solemnly informed me, before going on to describe exactly how one should wash and condition one’s hair. I thought about my own locks, untouched and untended for 19 days now, and generally crammed under a hat. So now at least I know that when I am struggling with this challenge, it’s not because rowing an ocean is hard, it’s just that I haven’t paid enough attention to my coiffure.

Now, to respond to some comments and questions that have come up recently..

Paul and all at South End Rowing Club – great to hear from you. Would be fantastic if you and Melissa can make it to Hawaii. In the meantime, erg hard and enjoy a pint for me!

Rachel Smith, Nevada Bev, cousin Russell – thanks for the words of encouragement. Rachel – see above for hair update!

John – I’m not really listening to music much. Only when doing chores. More into books at the moment. Am storming through them at a rapid rate!

Ed Davies and John H – I shall leave the two of you to work out the relative cost/greenness of recharging phones in a car vs recharging at home. Glad to have at least got the debate going!

How do I compare the Pacific with the Atlantic? Too early to say. But so far, remarkably similar – both cold, windy and rough for most of the first month. The big difference is that on the Atlantic, the winds were behind me as soon as I set out from the Canaries – very much NOT the case on the Pacific!

Paul P: How do I stay warm? Yes, I wear more clothes, and at the end of the day curl up into my Ocean Sleepwear sleeping bag (not sponsored, alas) – an excellent sleeping bag specially designed for ocean-going folk. It’s got a thick pile fleecy bag inside a waterproof shell. Absolutely perfect! But even in there it sometimes takes hours for my feet to warm up due to my lousy circulation – probably damaged by too much water exposure on the Atlantic.

Hi George Riley! Great to hear from you again. Would love to find out more about MFISH and your work in the South Pacific. Would be great if you could get in touch again when I am back on terra firma.

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Happy World Oceans Day!

As well as my row being a project of the US-based nonprofit Blue Frontier Campaign, I am also a Blue Ambassador for the UK-based charity The BLUE Project – so all in all I am about as blue as blue can be. (“I was walking in Memphis..”. Oh, no, sorry – different kind of blues.)

The BLUE Project was set up by renowned sailor Conrad Humphreys, and its key message is “Be Blue, Be Cool” – in other words, it’s COOL to care about the environment, and COOL people take action to make a difference to the world’s climate and oceans.

To mark World Oceans Day today, the BLUE Project is asking you to make a BLUE Pledge, a bit like Margo’s pledge that I wrote about a couple of days ago. Make a simple promise online to change just one thing that will make a difference for the better. See their website for more details.

I’ve been trying to think what I can do. I already do these things:

– Use a re-useable grocery bag. Tip: I find it hard to remember to take my re-useable bags with me, so I always carry a Chico bag in my handbag. It scrunches up super-small into its own carry-pocket, so I always have it handy for those impromptu purchases. We’ll also be having some VERY nice re-useable grocery bags for sale via this website within the next couple of months – and they are made from recycled plastic, and can themselves be recycled when they get too old and tatty – so they’re really super-green! Or blue. Keep an eye open for them here. – Carry a re-usable drinks mug, so I don’t have to use a disposable cup when I give in to the urge for a caffe latte – Recycle any domestic plastic waste – Choose products with less packaging when there is a choice – Use a Brita water filter jug to refill my Nalgene water bottles so I don’t need to buy bottled water

So, given that I’m already living a true BLUE lifestyle, and I’m rather limited how much bluer I can be in my present circumstances, I’ve decided as my pledge that I’m going to create an online petition to encourage others to do the same – ideally through lobbying the legislature at some level to create incentives to be blue.

I’ve already enlisted the help of David Helvarg from the Blue Frontier Campaign, and hopefully we’ll have something drafted by the end of this month. I’ll be putting the petition on gopetition.com, with links from this site and also from my Facebook page.

In the meantime, you can buy a copy of David Helvarg’s book, 50 Ways To Save The Ocean, which will give you lots of ideas of what you can do to help.

When our petition goes live, I hope you’ll sign it, and get all your friends to sign it too. I’ll make sure we launch it with a splash (so to speak) so you will definitely be aware it’s happening.

If we pull together, we can make a world of difference!

[photo: The BLUE Project slogan on my boat: Be Blue, Be Cool. Photo taken about a week ago, when conditions were a lot calmer than they are today]

Other stuff:

Five days since I was able to row. Probably another four before I can row again. Ho hum. My dear old Dad (God rest his soul) used to say that only boring people get bored. But there again, he never spent over a week confined to a cabin just six foot by three foot by three. Options for entertainment are limited. Unfortunately the deck is just too dangerous and unpleasant a place to be, so I while away the time in my little rabbit hutch, looking out the hatch at the waves, and looking forward to more favourable conditions.

After several days of being swept southeast, I am now managing to make some progress west. This is good news.

My watermaker refused to work today. This is NOT good news.

You win some, you lose some..

(more…)

Every day I fill out a quick questionnaire to record my psychological state, and email it to my mother for her to pass on to Dr Neil Weston at the University of Portsmouth. He has been studying various adventurers spending significant amounts of time alone at sea, to evaluate how the solitude affects them and the survival strategies that they develop to cope with it, and is now doing a case study about me.

There is a special question at the end of my questionnaire, that I specifically requested should be put there. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how accepting are you of the conditions?”

I wanted this there to remind me that things will not always be as I want them to be, but in most cases (and certainly where weather is concerned) there is no point expending valuable mental and emotional energy in wishing that things were other than as they are. I learned this on the Atlantic by doing it the wrong way – I got myself into a fine old state of indignation and frustration by constantly thinking that things OUGHT to be different. “This isn’t what I expected!”

Today the weather has once again been too rough, and the waves coming at me from the wrong direction, making it impossible to row. And it is likely to stay that way for at least the next five days. This is obviously far from ideal. If I was not being accepting of the conditions, I could be running around on this track in my mind:

– I came here to row, not sit around in the cabin – I’ll be losing all my fitness – I am getting swept east, losing the valuable miles I’d made to the west – This is boring

But, given that I can’t do anything about it, it’s really best to accept it and try to make the best of a bad situation. So I’m reminding myself of these unexpected benefits:

– this is giving my (now very swollen) finger a chance to recover – and that strained pec muscle from last week – at least I’m making some headway south, which is useful – hmm, I’m providing a useful illustration of the track that a piece of garbage might take on its way to the North Pacific Garbage Patch… – wow, it’s been years since I had this much time to lie around and just think.

So that’s how I am, and that’s how the weather is, and that’s just how life has got to be for the next few days. Ho hum.

Other stuff:

The watermaker continues on its slow path to recovery. I ran it again today, and it seemed to be doing ok. I shall persevere with the WD40/Bag Balm therapy and hope that the patient continues to improve.

I did venture out on deck to cook myself a hot dinner. But in the 20 minutes it took me to get out the Seacook stove and heat the water and boil-in-the-bag meal and then put the stove away again, I got 5 complete drenchings as huge waves swept across the deck. It is now 4 hours later and I am still trying to get my feet properly warmed through. They still have that damp, chilly feeling. So it is debatable that the warming effects of the hot food were more than cancelled out by the cold soakings. I may have to rethink my strategy.

I recorded another podcast with Leo Laporte this morning. If you haven’t done so already, do check them out. You can find them under the “Media” option in the menu bar above – but hopefully soon they will have their own feature box on the right of this Blog page. You can also listen to them live at twit.tv, or on iTunes. Sorry to be a bit vague on details, but I don’t have internet access from here – only email.

You may have noticed that there is sometimes a long interval (up to 16 hours in some cases) between updates to my position. Please do not be alarmed. This does not necessarily mean anything drastic has happened. In these rough conditions, with the boat tipping around in all directions, the Marinetrack unit is not always able to locate the satellites overhead for long enough to transmit its hourly position report. This can result in a number of updates being missed. Marinetrack have been very good at monitoring this situation – they email me if they are getting concerned so I can check the power supply to the tracking unit.

So no need to worry – just be patient. It’s not like I’m moving so fast that you might miss something!

[photo: pic from my cabin: the control panel of instruments, including chartplotter (not currently working), VHF radio, Sea-Me radar enhancer, stereo and switch panel]

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Why do I do what I do? Why, having had a life of relative ease, comfort and affluence, have I now chosen to put grey hairs on the head of my poor long-suffering mother by rowing alone across oceans?

It’s a good question, so I’ll try to give a good answer.

By 2004 I had figured out that money wasn’t everything, that maybe who I was mattered more than what I owned.

So I had already quit the office job and was looking around for something more fulfilling – and for me, “fulfilling” had to involve making a contribution to the greater good. I was doing a lot of reading about philosophy and religion, and was especially influenced by the prophecies of the Hopi tribe, which foretold dramatic consequences if ever humans lost touch with their spiritual life, and started to overexploit the resources of the planet rather than living in harmony with nature. This made intuitive sense to me, and I resolved to live my own life in a more spiritual, less environmentally damaging way.

When I started to live this way, it felt good. I thought maybe I should spread the word – not in a preachy way, but just by making my life an example, showing that there was a viable and enjoyable alternative to the materialistic kind of life that I had been living before.

I toyed with several ideas – setting up an organic coffee shop, riding a motorbike around the American Southwest to write a book about the native culture, converting a tugboat to a liveaboard home using only sustainable energies. But none had seemed quite right, or required more money than I had.

I hadn’t been particularly looking for a big adventure – but when the idea of rowing across oceans came to me in a flash of inspiration one day, I just knew, with a scary certainty, that it was the Perfect Project.

Believe me, I tried to talk myself out of it. I thought it was too big, too ambitious, that people like me just didn’t do things like that. But the idea refused to go away, until I really had no choice but to do it, or spend the rest of my life thinking “if only”.

So here I am, aged 40, homeless and usually penniless, bobbing around in a tiny rowboat about to be hit by a Force 10 gale. Hmmm, interesting choice.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Other stuff:

This morning I recorded another podcast with renowned TV/radio journalist and podcaster Leo Laporte. Do check them out if you haven’t already. I can’t see my website from the ocean (I have email but no internet browsing) so I can’t tell you exactly where to find the podcasts, but hopefully they are fairly evident.

Today I squirted the watermaker liberally with WD40, according to a suggestion from Spectra, the manufacturers. It ran OK for about half an hour and then stopped again. The pressure seemed rather low and the tone of the pump sounded rather feeble. It’s still a major cause for concern, although now at least the Bag Balm seems to be stopping the compartment from flooding again.

The weather was quite pleasant for most of today – sunny, although the wind was still too strong to row against. But in the last couple of hours there has been a marked deterioration. The skies are now heavy and grey, and the waves are getting larger. Is this The Big One? I am bracing myself…

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Last night I felt afraid. I was reading the weather forecast from Rick Shema, my weatherguy:

“Wind and sea conditions likely to increase to gale force (Force late on Jun 4th or early June 5th. Winds to 40kts and seas steadily building to Force 10 conditions (for seas) on Jun 7th.”

The prospect sounded terrifying. My insides knotted and Fear started running around inside my head like a madman, waving his arms wildly and wailing, “We’re all doomed!” in a high-pitched cry.

The Voice of Reason stood off to one side, waiting for Fear to quieten down enough so he could make himself heard. Eventually Fear got tired of doing laps of the inside of my head and started to wind down like a clockwork toy. Reason managed to get a word in.

“Look,” he said in his calm, strong voice, “this weather isn’t even happening yet, and you’re already in a tizz about it. Let’s look at this objectively.

“OK, so we’ve never been in a Force 10 before, but we’ve been in some pretty bad weather and we know this boat is seaworthy. If we just stay in the cabin most of the time, and clip on to the boat when we have to go outside to go to the bathroom, we’ve got a good chance of coming through this in one piece.

“And besides, we have no choice. We’re out here now. There’s nowhere we can go, and no way we can avoid this weather. We’re just going to have to tough it out. But we can do it if we keep our head and stay calm. Just DON’T PANIC!!!”

So this is where I am now. I’m not looking forward to the next 3 days, but that’s just the way it is.

Fear comes from our sense of self-preservation: when we get into a situation we’ve never been in before, Fear starts freaking out – NOT doing this thing has kept us alive so far, so why change now?

But just because you’ve never been in a situation before doesn’t mean it’s going to kill you. And just because you HAVE been there before, doesn’t mean it WON’T kill you. So although fear can be a useful indicator saying, “don’t go there”, it can also be excessively cautious, warning us against anything at all that is unfamiliar. So it has to be balanced against reason and, of course, the spirit of adventure.

Meanwhile, the daily practicality of dealing with this situation is very mundane. Unlike sailors, who have to run around on deck attending to halyards and sheets and suchlike, there is really nothing at all I can do on deck at the moment, and my best survival strategy happily coincides with my natural instinct – to curl up into the foetal position, strap myself to my bunk, and ride out the storm.

So I spend most of my time inside my very small cabin, wriggling around in my red sleeping bag like a big red grub in a chrysalis, waiting for the time when I can emerge back into the outside world. I doze, nibble on snacks, listen to audio books and write my blogs. And try to keep the Fear under control.

Other stuff:

I am worried about the watermaker after finding its compartment flooded yesterday. This morning I ran the watermaker for a few minutes and it seemed fine. But this afternoon it suddenly stopped after about half an hour, and wouldn’t restart.

I’ve spoken to Darren at Spectra Watermakers and he has suggested a couple of possible solutions, but I can’t do either of them while there are waves crashing over the deck every few minutes. I will have to wait for the weather to calm down.

Meanwhile, I have done what I can to prevent swamping the watermaker again. The water must have come in around the edges of the hatch lid, which is partly submerged when the footwell fills up with water, as tends to happen in these wet and wild conditions. I’ve got some proper marine sealant, but it needs a dry surface, and in any case would possibly glue the hatch shut if I can’t leave the hatch open while it dries. So for now I’ve taken my panacea for all ills – Bag Balm – and daubed it generously around the o-ring and the edges of the hatch. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do for now.

[photo: view from inside the cabin as a wave crashes across the deck]

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Someone has written in to ask whether I get lonely at sea. Strange though it may seem – no, I don’t. Not in the slightest.

I’d like to think I’m as sociable as the next person in normal life. I certainly enjoy being around people, and always seem to find myself among the last few diehards left at parties, having somehow forgotten my earlier resolutions to “just drop in and get an early night”.

But when I’m on the ocean life is very different. Socializing simply isn’t an option, so I don’t even think about it.

Maybe one reason for my self-reliance is that when I was growing up my parents moved around a lot. They were both preachers in the Methodist church, and tended to move every five years or so. My younger sister and I were always the new kids at school, so I always felt a bit “different” – my accent would be different from the other children’s, and my parents didn’t have a “normal” job.

My response to this situation was to be fairly quiet and introverted throughout my schooldays. It wasn’t until I went to university that I started to come out of my shell and enjoy social situations.

So I can be either – extrovert or introvert, sociable or unsociable, gregarious or solitary. It’s useful to choose which to be, as the occasion demands. For now, I am very happy to be on my own. But you can be sure that (if all goes according to plan) when I arrive in Hawaii, I will be up for a VERY big party!

Other stuff:

Panic today. I opened up the hatch to the watermaker (see photo above) so I could replenish my stocks of drinking water – and found that the hatch was full of water. The watermaker was almost completely submerged. It is a complicated piece of electrical equipment, and does not take kindly to being swamped. I bailed it out as fast I could, and it seemed to run just fine today – but if water has got into the pump, it could be just a matter of time before rust sets in and it grinds to a halt.

If that happens, I do have a backup manual watermaker, but it takes an awful lot of pumping to make enough water for a day. For now I am keeping everything crossed and hoping that the watermaker survives. Having got this far, I am very reluctant to return to dry land to make pre-emptive repairs.

The wind seems to be in favour of the return-to-land option, though. I was able to row for about 7 hours today before the wind picked up again, and I am now sitting out another gale. The sea anchor is out and I am hunkered down in the cabin while steep grey waves crash and seethe around my little boat. And all the time, the wind is driving me back towards the coast. I just hope I have made enough progress west to avoid being pushed all the way back to California.

And one final thing: to clarify my comment yesterday about the external video camera not working. This is not a major issue, as I do still have the internal video camera, as well as a small handheld camcorder – so I am capturing lots of footage for our environmental documentary based around my Pacific row. I have at least two of almost every item on board – just in case – and cameras are no exception.

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31 December 2005

Who can tell what she is drinking?

31 Dec, 05 – 19:33

For GPS position, race position and miles from La Gomera, see http://www.atlanticrowingrace.co.uk

New Years Eve, and an traditional time to take stock and make resolutions for the future. This time on the ocean is a perfect opportunity for reflection, but I’m still busy reflecting so I’m not ready to go public with my resolutions just yet.

In the meantime, here are some easy-to-keep resolutions for the time between now and the end of the race:
Lots of fresh air and exercise
No drinking alcohol
No smoking
No staying out late
No spending money on things I can do without
No dating unsuitable men

If only I had some choice in the matter… But I may as well give myself a big pat on the back anyway for being so virtuous. In fact, I went out tonight to look at the stars but was blinded by the light pollution from my brightly
shining halo.

Other stuff:
My mother gave me an update today on how some of the other crews are getting on. Chris Martin has suffered a broken-down watermaker (still inoperable, as far as I know) and 2 broken oars. I can match him on the oars, but I’d take a busted camping stove over a kaput watermaker any day. Good luck, Chris, hope you manage to get it sorted.

And finally, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!! from Monty and me. Have fun celebrating, enjoy a drink for me, and I’ll see you in 2006!

Rita Savage’s PS: Roz did offer to give a prize to the person who guessed the number of miles she would achieve by New Year’s Eve (663 so far). Nobody had it right; Iona Pearey was the nearest at 611. the next nearest was 850. Roz will choose something suitable when she sets foot on dry land again. Meanwhile, congratulations to Iona. Others whose guesses were way out have the weather to blame! Best wishes for the dawning year from me too.

Wind: 12-15 kts, E
Weather: sunny and hot
Sea state: moderate
Hours rowing: 12
Song of the Day: Bridge Over Troubled Water(by Simon and Garfunkel) – for a time this afternoon when I was indeed weary, feeling small

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15 December 2005

Squelch!

15 Dec, 05 – 20:11

Latitude: 25? 38′ N
Longitude: 23? 51′ W
Miles from La Gomera: see http://www.atlanticrowingrace.com
Miles to Antigua: 2120
Miles in last 24 hours: 29

Rowing conditions have been horrendous. Driving rain, gusting winds and enormous waves.

Fortunately I’ve been elsewhere. I’ve spent most of today walking the streets of New York. Not literally, of course, as I’m in a small boat somewhere in the eastern Atlantic, but in my imagination – what Ranulph Fiennes calls ‘mind-travelling’, which he does on his polar treks to keep his mind off whatever agonies he’s currently putting himself through.

It’s a technique I’d discussed with my old friend Briony Nicholls, who was number seven to my stroke seat when we rowed for the Oxford Lightweights in 1989. Bri is now training to be a sports psychologist, and we had a number of useful conversations about how I would deal with stressful or unpleasant situations during the row.

So today I took to visiting one of my ‘happy places’ – my old Manhattan haunts from when I lived in Greenwich Village for 15 months in 2000-2001 with my then husband. I adored the place, and have spent much of today meandering around galleries, stores, coffee shops, cocktail bars, blues clubs, restaurants and nightclubs, conjuring up the tastes and textures of sour cream apple pie, margaritas, sushi and BLT’s, doing some imaginary Christmas shopping (surely the best kind), ice skating in Central Park, and generally enjoying festive New York.

When not in New York, I’ve been practising another psychological technique – giving myself a pat on the back, and some words of encouragement. A bit of self-adulation has a marvellously restorative effect on the spirits. I’ve been praising myself to the skies for being tenacious, determined, disciplined etc, for carrying on rowing when any sensible person might have retreated to the cabin for the day. The best thing about this technique is that the worse the conditions get, the more I can praise myself for my tenacity.

So all in all, feeling rather smug and self-satisfied this evening. Having said that, I wouldn’t mind needing to be a bit less tenacious tomorrow, i.e. it would be nice if the weather improves. My hard-earned calluses are peeling off, and I’m more likely to suffer from trench foot than sunburn… I also need some solar power pronto so I can run the watermaker before the water situation becomes critical.

Wind: 15 kts
Weather: dark clouds, rain and wind
Sea state: rough
Hours rowing: 11
Thought for the day: In each of us there are heroes – speak to them and they will come forth.
(thanks to Rachel Smith for these words)

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05 December 2005 | 2713.961N,1953.360W,

Little boat, big ocean

5 Dec, 05 – 21:17
2713.961N,1953.360W,
Latitude: 27? 14′ N
Longitude: 19? 52′ W
Miles from La Gomera: 159
Miles to Antigua: 2397
Miles since last dispatch: 21

It has been a sticky day, like rowing through treacle. It’s been calm and almost windless so instead of only seeing as far as the next wave I can see as far as the horizon – which makes the ocean seem like a very big place.

Make water while the sun shines…

..and shines directly onto my solar panels – which unfortunately seems to be only for a couple of hours in the morning. Note to self to have panels on both cabins next time around.Electricity continues to be an issue on board the good ship Sedna. The watermaker is hugely power-hungry compared with anything else, and runs my two 52Ah batteries flat in no time. I can manage to make enough water, but have to be very frugal with my electricity.

Fortunately I’ve discovered the joys of silence, so am saving myself some iPod power. There are times of day when it’s good to have music to row to, but much of the time I’m happy with peace and quiet, preferring to use the electricity for my Simrad navigation instruments, which tell me which way I’m going and how fast (or slow). I find this more motivating even than music.

Heavens above

Charles Bairsto said, ‘Make the stars your friends’ – and then looked faintly surprised and embarrassed at his own words. The young squaddie of Atlantic Warrior was talking in the marina in San Sebastian just before the start of the race.

To save electricity I’ve been steering by the stars at night, and I keep thinking of Charlie’s phrase and smiling. Before you get all impressed by notions of me standing on deck with sextant in hand, let me admit it’s been nothing that sophisticated. I check my bearings, see which stars line up with the comms masts on Sedna’s ‘roll bar’ and then make sure I keep them in line, adjusting every hour to account for the movement of the stars. Gives me a great sense of elemental satisfaction.

Comfortably numb

My right shoulder waa giving me some serious gyp this afternoon. Normally I wouldn’t even take an aspirin, but this isn’t normality. I took a Co-Proxamol but it had no effect, so I stepped up to a Tramadol… Then remembered too late we’d been warned they can absolutely knock you flat. Have been feeling rather spaced out and sleepy ever since, trying to use chocolate as an antidote.

I wouldn’t mind the side-effects so much if there were any effects from the drug… But my shoulder is still as exquisitely and excrutiatingly painful as before. But this too will pass.

Wind: almost none
Weather: sunshine
Sea state: flat
Hours rowing: 14
Hours sleeping: 6
Song for the day: Heroes by David Bowie

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26 49.74′N:20 16.43′W

05 December 2005

My usual view

6 Dec, 05 – 20:46

Latitude: 26? 49′ N
Longitude: 20? 16′ W
Miles from La Gomera: have given up trying to work this one out – see atlanticrowingrace.com for official figure
Miles to Antigua: my GPS makes it 2320

One week into the race, and it’s been a real emotional rollercoaster. From seasickness and doubt in the first 24 hours, to quiet contentment as I established a disciplined routine for life on board; from consternation over the watermaker and lack of electric power, to a sense of satisfaction as I resolved the technical problems; from endorphin-induced euphoria as I rowed powerfully through the night, to glum depression this afternoon as grinding pain in my right shoulder blade led to early abandonment of my rowing shift.

I knew the first week would be the hardest, and I can only hope that the worst is indeed over. At times it’s been only my utter conviction that I can and will do this thing that has kept me going.

Grrr, I hate sounding negative. Other people have done much tougher things than this. But I haven’t, and there have been many moments when I’ve wondered if I am up to it. But I’m still here, still hanging in there, and not only that, but I’m not far off the pace. Chris Martin, the only solo male, and I have been swapping places at the back of the pack for the last few days, and we’re not far behind the hindmost of the pairs. This is encouraging.

Nature Watch

People have been asking what wildlife I’ve been seeing. The answer, until today, was diddly-squat. I’d seen no whales, the dolphins were a no-show, and even birds were few and far between. The only visible wildlife was a small pink homo sapiens of the Savage variety.

But today… I was just having my midday sleep (I only sleep for 4 hours at night so have a quick kip just after lunch) when suddenly there was a loud impact on my boat. My first thought was that I’d run into Chris Martin. I jumped out of the hatch and looked around. Nothing. The sound came again. I looked down and there was a big green turtle gazing lugubriously at me.

He hung around for a few minutes, but defied all attempts to take a photograph of him. If he comes back I’ll try again. Maybe he’s the same turtle who hung around Debra Veal’s boat – maybe he just hangs out in the Atlantic on the lookout for slow-moving solo female ocean rowers ha can make a move on…

Wind: 11 kts
Weather: sunshine and cloud
Sea state: feisty and getting feistier
Hours rowing: 10
Hours sleeping: 6
Song for the day: Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd

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03 December 2005 | 2728.410N,1848.222W,0M

Trying to get the oars in the water.

3 Dec, 05 – 21:02

Latitude: 27? 28′ N
Longitude: 18? 48′ W
Miles from La Gomera: 94
Miles to Antigua: 2455
Miles since last dispatch: 30
Position in race: not known

Mum was giving me an update on the race progress. ‘You’re past the small island.’

Yes, I had noticed. It had started to seem like El Hierro, the westernmost of the Canary Islands, was never going to disappear from sight. I had started to suspect it was following me. But now it’s just a distant shadow on the horizon. Next stop Antigua.

Watermaker worries

This watermaker is going to be the death of me – not literally, I hope. It caused me a seriously nervous moment this afternoon when it stopped working in mid-flow. The switch was still on but the switch light had gone off, so I thought the fuse must have gone. There ensued an increasingly frantic search for a 15A fuse. I knew I had one somewhere, but could only find 5s and 10s.

I optimistically put a 10 in, and was just wondering where I could find a watermaker expert on a Saturday to ask for help, when it occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t the fuse at all.

I put the original fuse back in, switched the watermaker over to my other battery, and bingo, back in business. The battery had been flat. Too much iPod and not enough sun. ‘Don’t dooooo that to me,’ I begged the watermaker and got back to the oars.

Ropey old rowing

The rowing technique has taken a turn for the worse today. I’ve got relatively big waves coming at me side-on, so it’s a constant challenge to get both oars in the water at the same time. I’ve given up and adopted a syncopated rhythm instead. Ugly, but it seems to result in surprisingly steady progress.

Wind direction: 70?
Wind speed: 11 kts
Weather: cloud and sunshine
Sea state: choppy
Hours rowing: 10
Hours sleeping: 6
Thought for the day: remember there is peace in silence

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01 December 2005 | 2733.821N,1738.883W,0M

As close as I ever hope to get to a ferry

My Atlantic Rowing Race has got off to an interesting start. One hour in I thought it was going to be the shortest-lived ocean rowing bid ever, when I couldn’t get my watermaker working. I’d changed the filter just before the race, and had to wait until the race had started and I was out of the harbour and into cleaner waters before I could run it. It whirred loudly for 5 seconds and then stopped. Argh.
My worst nightmare – DIY horror – was it coming true?

I got on the VHF to ask for advice, and George from the Atlantic 4 crew came to the rescue. The pump needed priming, that was all. It wasn’t pleasant trying to sort it out, bum in the air and head down a hatch when I was feeling queasy, but 10 minutes later and we were in watermaking business again. A small but notable personal victory.

Last night: have had better. Seasickness makes me feel like a wrung-out dishcloth – grotty and floppy and grey. So the overwhelming temptation was to lie in my cabin and sleep until I felt better. But I couldn’t lax enough to sleep. While I’m near land I’m in danger, and I kept imagining I was about to be run down by a ferry or shipwrecked on a reef.

Eventually dawn came, and life started to seem more tolerable. The seasickness abated, and I was feeling cheerful and positive again by the time the support yacht Aurora came by shortly after sunrise.

Radio Solent rang for a satphone interview at 8am. They passed on a message from the woman who is sailing solo around the world the wrong way. ‘Keep going’, she said. Seems like good advice.

6.30pm: had another low moment this evening. Couldn’t get the camping stove working and let the situation get on top of me. ‘This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done’, Mick Dawson of Woodvale Events had said to me yesterday. I was starting to believe him. I briefly considered advertising for a crewmate because I felt just too lonely. But then I thought about all the people at home who believe I can do this. How could I ever face them again if I don’t see this through?

Stubborn pride may not be a noble emotion, but it works.

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