Roz Savage's Blog, page 33

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment.

Day 10: 40 Knots
Roz and Rita Savage

22 Aug 2007, Pacific Ocean

[Comment: Little did I know what was in store. It all seemed like a jolly jape when the wind started to rise. It was blowing the right direction, so I was happy and singing the Hawaii Five-O theme song as I surfed the waves. But not for long!

I was amazed to see this video now has over 25,000 views on YouTube. For an ultra-low res video, with barely-legible captions, and even worse, featuring me singing - never a good thing - this is quite remarkable!]

 

Day 11 (Audio Log): Rough Seas
Roz

22 Aug 2007

 

Day 11a: 2nd PodCast: A Night in a Washing Machine
Roz and Rita Savage

22 Aug 2007

A couple of days ago there was a report on TV about a badger that had crawled into a washing machine – and survived a washing cycle when it was turned on. In this second Podcast Roz describes what it was like to experience the boat rolling over twice during the night. Sounds like a similar experience. However, she does have great faith her boat’s ability to self-right, having been through something similar on the Atlantic Ocean. Until the weather improves this is how she will continue to send her reports.

[Comment: sadly these audio logs have also been lost in translation from one blogging platform to another. A real shame - I would love to know what I said! If anybody wishes to do some techno-detective work and figure it out, here is the link to the blog post on x-journal. I don't know if that might offer some clues to the initiated! They say that everything that goes online lives on somewhere, somehow, so if anybody can salvage these two recordings I would be immensely grateful.

Meanwhile, the comments that were posted on this blog entry and the one before might give some indication as to the content.]

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment.

Day 9: Locked in Battle
Roz Savage

20 Aug 2007, The Brocade

 

Struggling to escape the coast

The weather and I seem to be locked in a bizarre kind of tug-of-war. I make some progress away from the coast, then the weather comes and blows me backwards. I laboriously claw back the ground I lost, then the weather comes along again and shows me who’s boss. It is now over a week since I left from Point St George, and I am still not out of sight of land.

[Comment: the map on the left was created retrospectively by my friends at Google Earth, using the coordinates noted in my ship's logbook. You can see the problems I was having making headway away from the shore. All rather wearing on the nerves, as well as the muscles.]

Today was a good day – a gentle day of long, lazy ocean swells and light winds. The cupwheels on my wind instruments spun slowly as I paddled along listening to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. So it was with a sense of indignation and incredulity that I heard the forecast for tomorrow when I rang Rick my weather guy this afternoon. Take a look at the Weather tab on this website to see what he had in store for me.

[Sadly, the weather information has been lost in the transition from one blogging platform to another, so we will now never know what Rick had to say. But we can infer from what subsequently happened that it was nothing good!]

Wilson the volleyball

But he’s usually right, and towards nightfall the wind was already starting to build. As I got ready to retire for the night I was extra-careful to make sure that I was ready for whatever may develop over the next few hours. Shutting up shop for the night is quite a time-consuming routine – stow oars in their Quickfist grips, remove pad from rowing seat and place inside cabin, stow anything that could get swept away by waves (drinks bottles etc), put sea anchor out (quite a task in itself, involving the chute, floats, various clips and carabiners, and ridiculous amounts of line), put navigation light on, bid goodnight to Wilson and clamber into the hobbit hole, securing the hatch firmly behind me.

[Remember Wilson? He was my pet volleyball, as given to me by Rich Crow, the helicopter engineer who had extensively refurbished my boat for this voyage. Just to reinforce my status as a Castaway!]

So now here I am, hunkered down in the hobbit hole, tapping away on my laptop. I’ve got a few data downloads still to do, before crawling into my sleeping bag and trying to get some sleep. If the forecast is right it could be a fairly rough night.

 

Keeping Going!
Rita Savage

21 Aug 2007

Me, as photographed from the USS Momsen

Today’s photograph was taken by Wayne aboard USS Momsen – grateful thanks to him.

Looking at Track, we can see that Roz is continuing to move south and slightly west, which is good news. With so many sending out positive vibes, good wishes and prayers, she is making progress. Most encouraging to read messages from so many parts of the globe!

(Picture: Photographer photographed.)

[Comment: Thanks, Mum, for posting this additional blog entry. The crew must have found my website and emailed it through to her. I'm ashamed, though, that my cabin hatch appears to be open. A big no-no! No matter how calm the ocean appears to be, I should NEVER leave the hatch open - as too many crews have found to their cost. One mischievous wave and you're in big trouble, with no way to self-right. Don't try this at home!]

 

Other Stuff (posted 2013):

It has been a busy week of meetings and get-togethers. On Thursday we had a meeting with the Prince of Wales’s International Sustainability Unit about their upcoming focus on the oceans. Various things to follow up on, although HRH will probably be rather preoccupied just now with impending grandfatherhood – Kate’s first baby now overdue, and everybody holding their breath!

Also a good week for meeting adventurers – on Thursday Alastair Humphreys was in town for a speaking gig, so we made the most of the opportunity to catch up and compare notes on the challenges of making a living out of being an adventurer. (If you’re looking for something fun to do this Sunday, check out Al’s ideas for #microadventures. Then on Friday night Emily Penn and Dave Cornthwaite hosted a picnic for various ocean-minded people, including Ed Scott-Clarke of Plastic Shores, and my partner, Howard Lack of Plastic Oceans. A fun, ocean-y, non-plastic-y evening was had by all!

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment.

Day 8: What Was I Thinking?
Roz Savage

19 Aug 2007, The Brocade

Still smiling – just.

Yes, it’s reached that stage of the expedition, when I’m wondering why on earth I’m here, bobbing around in a tippy little rowboat perilously close to the California coast, when I could be leading a nice, normal kind of a life somewhere in suburbia.

[Comment: I'm not sure there was ever a day when I didn't wonder what I was doing out there! I was asked the other day, at the West Cork Literary Festival (of which more later) what was my relationship with the ocean, and I had to confess to a love/hate dynamic. I love the ocean for the many things it has taught me and the many amazing experiences it has given me - as well as the vital role it plays in our human world, regulating our climate, giving us seafood, etc - but it's hard to unconditionally love something when it often seems determined to kick one's backside!]

Today has not been a pleasant day. The winds started to pick up last night as a weather front came through, and by this morning were blowing 20-25 knots – in the wrong direction, of course. I don’t mind the rough conditions too much – I coped with much worse on the Atlantic – but a helpful shove in the right direction would have been very welcome. As it was, it was better to put out the sea anchor to try and reduce my backwards drift, rather than try to row into the teeth of the headwind and 12 foot swells.

[It's a struggle to make headway into even 10 knots, so 20-25 knots was a no-no. During this time my experience on the Atlantic really paid off. Both technically and psychologically, I was much better able to cope with the challenges the ocean was throwing at me.]

So I have spent most of the day on my bunk, the least uncomfortable place to be, with only occasional forays outside to check on things. The boat has been pitching around and the deck was awash with seawater. It has rained most of the day and even now it is overcast and gloomy. Inside the cabin it is increasingly damp and I feel rather queasy from surviving on snack foods all day – it has been too rough to use the Seacook gas stove out on the deck to cook a proper meal.

[Cabin days could be strange. On the one hand, they were a good chance to let the poor old body recover and catch up on some sleep. But the cabin does get very stuffy. It is (almost) watertight, which of course makes it also airtight, so from time to time I had to open up the hatch and waft some stale air out and fresh air in. It was also rather unpleasant surviving on just snack bars and nuts. After a while you really feel like eating a proper square meal - not so much because you've been burning calories, because of course you haven't - but for general morale it's really best to eat properly rather than just snacking. But cooking inside the cabin would be much too dangerous. Likewise, going to the loo in the cabin would be likely to end in disaster, which was usually the main reason for those forays out to the deck!]

It has been frustrating to watch the hard-won miles ebb away as I drift back east, but my main concern has been whether I would run aground. This put all other concerns aside. It is still far from certain whether I will manage to get away from the coast again. And it was all looking so good a few days ago.

[This is the first real admission that I am getting worried, and a possible downturn in spirits.]

My weather guy tells me that the weather this year has been ‘goofy’ – usually we’d expect to see winds coming much more from the north. My sense of humour is wearing thin, so I wish the weather would stop goofing around and get back to normal. Now.

[Top tip: don't row oceans in goofy years. Although having said that, the weather is never "average", so will always spring surprises. It's just a matter of how often and how big.]

 

Other Stuff (posted in 2013)

“Coffee and Chat” in Bantry House at West Cork Literary Festival

I was in Bantry, Ireland, last week for the West Cork Literary Festival. An amazing event, with wonderful people organising, speaking, and attending. We were given a warm Irish welcome and my talks seemed to go over very well. Thank you so much to Denyse, Elaine, and the rest of the fantastic team, and all those who attended.

We were also lucky enough to share a car back to Cork with Melvyn Bragg. My American readers probably won’t be familiar with his name, but Lord Bragg was the long-time presenter of the South Bank Show on TV, and is something of a national treasure. He was there in Bantry to talk about his new book, Grace and Mary, about his mother’s slow slide into dementia. Getting to spend over an hour in a car with him was quite a privilege!

Me with Milko Van Gool in Cork, Ireland

The stars also aligned for us to meet with Milko Van Gool, who like me is a patron of the Chauncy Maples Malawi Trust. Milko is originally from the Netherlands, now lives in Malawi, and later this month is aiming to swim the North Channel between Ireland and Scotland to raise funds for the Trust. He was in Cork for a training camp and to get used to cold water. Unfortunately Ireland had been hit by a wave of unusually hot weather, so the water was too warm for that latter purpose, but at least he was getting some good miles with some top swimmers. Please support Milko in this bold venture for a fantastic cause!

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment.

Day 7: Land Looming Large Again
Roz Savage

18 Aug 2007, The Brocade

A container ship, a bit too close for comfort.

There is a distinct air of uneasiness hanging over the Brocade tonight. The wind has been pushing me east, so that I am now back to the same line of longitude that I crossed last Tuesday. I have made fair progress south, but that matters little to me right now. What does matter is that I can see land looming again, about 40 miles to the east, and this makes me anxious.

[Comment: To put it mildly! 40 miles might sound like a lot of room for manoeuvre, but if wind and/or currents are pushing you that way, land can loom large awfully fast. I've never actually shipwrecked, but believe me, when you're in an unpowered rowboat, you're definitely much happier when there's no visible land to bump into.]

All day today I have battled to make progress into a headwind, trying to increase the safety margin between me and the California coast. At times I was rowing hard just to stand still. My speed over ground (as opposed to speed through the water) varied between 1 knot at best, and negative distance at worst, i.e. even though I was rowing west, the wind and the current were more than counteracting my efforts. It has been like trying to go the wrong way on a moving walkway – a very long moving walkway.

[Comment: this situation is the bane of an ocean rower's life - rowing hard and going nowhere. No matter how slowly you run - or walk - a marathon, at least the ground doesn't start carrying you backwards!]

I’ve now put out the sea anchor, in the hope that it can prevent too much more eastwards drift overnight. I am exhausted with rowing and need a break.

Even more worrying, strong winds and large waves are forecast for tomorrow morning. The weather front is due to pass quickly – hopefully before it sweeps me ashore. Compared with this threat, even this morning’s close shave with a container ship (see photo) has paled into insignificance.

[I've just been looking at the 36 comments that were posted on that day back in 2007. What wonderful words of wisdom, understanding, sympathy and encouragement. You can view them here in x-journal, the blogging tool I was using at the time. It's hard to describe just how much strength I have drawn from my online audience over the years. Just amazing!]

Featured photo: In San Francisco before my launch, with Mike Klayko, then CEO of Brocade, my title sponsors. I saw Mike again earlier this year in San Jose, just a few weeks after he stepped down as CEO. We caught up on old times over a martini (or was it two?!).

I continue my series of re-posted blogs from the doomed Pacific attempt of 2007. This incident forms the first chapter or so of my forthcoming book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific.

Day 6: You Don’t See That Every Day
Roz Savage

17 Aug 2007, The Brocade

USS Momsen

I had visitors this afternoon. I was rowing along, minding my own business, when I noticed a rather large grey ship about half a mile away. I rather hoped they wouldn’t see me. I was well into my rowing rhythm and I didn’t want to have to interrupt my stride to go and put clothes on. But the ocean was flat calm so there was no chance to hide behind the nearest wave. It seemed they had spotted me, as they changed course to come over and investigate. I hurried to make myself decent.

I couldn’t get any reply from them on my VHF marine radio, but a loud voice hailed me from the deck. “I assume you’re OK,” the disembodied male voice said. “I’m just fine, thank you,” I yelled back. They were close enough to hear me, even over the noise of the engines. “Where are you going?” asked Disembodied. “Hawaii,” I replied. “Where are you going?”

Disembodied told me that they were the USS Momsen, bound for Seattle. And with that we had more or less exhausted our mid-ocean small talk.

“Fair winds to you,” Disembodied boomed in a friendly, genuine way (rather than a “you must be barking mad” kind of a way). And with that they turned and cruised off into the blue yonder.

[Comment: Long-time followers might remember the first time I had an encounter with a ship at sea - the HMS Southampton as I was crossing the Atlantic in 2006. They showed up on Valentine's Day, on a rough and windy day. Despite a superstructure bristling with antennae and radar dishes, I still spotted them before they spotted me, emphasising just how invisible I am on the ocean. They were kind enough to launch a small RIB and four men came over to say hi and give me a Valentine's card. No chocolates, alas, as that would have disqualified me from the race. But despite its chocolatelessness, it was still an amazing Valentine's Day to remember!

See featured photo for an image of HMS Southampton.]

Other stuff (posted in 2007):

Progress has been slow today. I’ve been trying to go almost due south, to Aim Point 7 down at 40′N, 126′W, but by late afternoon my pace had slowed to a dispiriting 0.5 knots. It was strange – a beautiful, calm, sunny afternoon, but with a fierce current taking me rapidly the wrong way. If I wanted to go east, I’d be laughing – I can go east at 2 knots without even rowing. Many good things lie to the east, but not Hawaii.

[Comment: I've been following the progress (or occasionally the lack of it) of Sarah Outen, attempting to row solo across the North Pacific. She's been having a tough time with contrary winds and currents - makes my trials and tribulations on the mid-Pacific look mild by comparison! Please go to her website and post a supportive comment. It's an enormous challenge she's taken on, but if anyone can do it, Sarah can. Go, girl!]

My first batch of sprouted seeds was finally ready to be harvested, after one and a half days of waiting. The Beanie mix, donated by Sproutpeople of San Francisco, had sprouted beautifully and I was eagerly looking forward to my first fresh vegetables since eating the last of my avocados (yes, I know they’re actually fruits) a couple of days ago. But at a crucial stage of the harvesting process, just as I was rinsing the sprouts in a sieve while holding it over the side of the boat, the Brocade lurched and I lost two-thirds of my harvest to the deep. Rude words were uttered. But the remaining third was good, and at least I’m back in the swing of my onboard gardening.

Other stuff (posted in 2013):

Callum Roberts

I’m off to Ireland today for the West Cork Literary Festival. Tonight I’m introducing distinguished academic, author, and ocean advocate Callum Roberts, who I first met at TED Mission Blue in 2010. Tomorrow I’m speaking at 3.30pm at the Maritime Hotel in Bantry, and on Thursday at 10am in the Bantry House Tearoom. I’ll be catching up with longtime Rozling Stan Miller, usually of Washington State, who happens to be visiting Ireland at the moment. Feel free to come and say hi! Or if you can’t be there, check out Callum Roberts’s fantastic talk on the state of our oceans. Although the content of the talk is often bleak, he has a positive and cheery way of delivering bad news that I’m sure you’ll enjoy!

Continuing my series of revisits to my Pacific blogs of 2007, the attempt that ultimately ended in humiliation and failure… why am I doing this to myself?! Here we are on Day 5, just 6 days away from disaster.


Day 5: Sid the Sea Anchor Makes His Debut

Roz Savage

16 Aug 2007, The Brocade

I tried to take a photo of my back, but it was too difficult, so here is a photo of something much nicer – tonight’s sunset

Ever since I set out I have been rowing against the wind – and ocean rowboats are not designed to do this. They are bulky and present a lot of wind resistance. But luckily the winds have been light so I have been able to make headway. But today the conditions started to get slightly more challenging. The wind was coming straight out of the south – the direction I am trying to go in order to get into the helpful tradewinds.

[Comment: of course I plan my routes to work WITH the prevailing wind, but "prevailing" only means that they are being helpful about 90% of the time. The rest of the time they could be blowing me sideways, or even backwards. And that's when motivation gets a bit more challenging.]

As well as the wind getting stronger, the swells were also getting larger, making it difficult to get both oars in the water at the same time. It’s tougher – both mentally and physically – rowing across these lumps and bumps than on smooth water. I don’t mind rough conditions when they are carrying me in the right direction, but when they are against me I find it harder to maintain my zen calm and towards the end of the day was getting distinctly grumpy.

Eventually I’d had enough and decided to debut my new sea anchor, Sid the Second, made by Para Anchors of Australia. (Sid the First had to be given his liberty just 2 days from Antigua on my last row – see Part 3 of my Atlantic video). A sea anchor is a large parachute on a long rope that is attached to the bows of my boat, and stops me from being blown too far backwards. I’ve put Sid out to preserve those hard-won miles while I get some rest.

[The loss of Sid the Sea Anchor Mark 1 still fills me with shame. I had no choice - without the tripline I couldn't collapse the anchor and it was dragging me away from Antigua, but I absolutely hate to think of Sid rolling around the oceans, possibly entangling wildlife and other pieces of flotsam and jetsam. Mea culpa!]

The old body is bearing up pretty well so far, with no evidence yet of the shoulder problems that plagued me on the Atlantic. The only physical damage so far is a nasty case of sunburn. I have been religiously applying my Green People sun cream every day – although despite my best contortions I have not managed to find a way to reach that awkward bit in the middle of my back – the one big downside to being a solo rower.

[Funny - I was raving about Green People sun cream just the other day, in conversation with Nick Rees. He and his crewmate Ed will be rowing the Atlantic this December in aid of Breakthrough Breast Cancer, Nick's wife being a survivor. I highly recommended they use Green People's sun lotion, as they'll be absorbing gallons of the stuff (and/or washing it off into the ocean) and we don't need any more non-organic lotions on our bodies or in our oceans.]

There was just one day that I left it late to apply the sun cream, and that was Day One – I was fooled by the fog cover that day into underestimating the strength of the sun. I know for sure that it happened then because that was the only day that I wore clothing, and the outline of a Y-back sports bra now indelibly imprinted on my back is a telltale clue. Everywhere but the Y, my poor red English skin is now erupting into very unattractive bubbles, that will shortly even more unattractively peel off in huge swaths. I look some kind of hideous warty monster. I hope to look more like a human, and less like the creature from the black lagoon, by the time I reach Hawaii.

[Attractive! :-]

P.S. Some good news – I have now officially crossed the Line of Death, aka the Line of Rainbows and Happiness (depending on your point of view or liking for dramatic hyperbole) and am now very unlikely to be swept ashore by winds or currents. I am past the point of no (involuntary) return.

[How wrong I was!]

Featured photo: TV presenter Phil Keoghan tries out the Brocade on San Francisco Bay before my 2007 departure.
Other Stuff:

End of a day at Henley Royal Regatta

Yesterday I went to Henley Royal Regatta to watch the rowing. Well, okay, to be strictly truthful I would have to say that I went to drink Pimm’s, natter with old friends, and occasionally glance over at the rowing. I had to miss far too many Henleys while I was mucking around on oceans, so I really appreciated being there. Even better, the sun shone!

Henley remains one of my favourite events in the English summer calendar – quintessentially English, done the way it has been done for over 150 years, and mobile phones banned from the Stewards’ Enclosure – how civilised! A big hello to all the friends we bumped into yesterday – thanks for making it such a memorable day, and good luck to all the crews who are still hoping to make it through to the finals on Sunday.

Tomorrow night I’m off to a rather different English summer event – the Summer Stampede at Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. The wildly popular and awesome Mumford & Sons are being incredibly kind in supporting my partner’s charity, the Plastic Oceans Foundation, so we’ve been granted concert tickets, backstage passes, and invitations to the after-concert party. Woohoo! #perkofthejob!

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment. Here we go, with my first ever videocast…..

Day 3: This is my Boat
Roz Savage

14 Aug 2007, Pacific Ocean

Video blog – possibly the first ever to be sent from a rowing boat at sea. [Or it was then.... things have moved on a bit in the last 6 years!] It began as a video clip was sent out into space by satellite phone; picked up by a passing satellite and beamed down to a computer somewhere in England; uploaded to YouTube; embedded in this blog. Of necessity it has to be brief. Enjoy!

Sweating away in the cabin to deliver a video blog

Comment: Oh my word, if only you knew what I went through to post these videos from the ocean….!! From (most) places on dry land it’s so easy – decent bandwidth, dependable connection, comfortable working conditions.

From the ocean, first of all you have to create the video. Take Sanyo Xacti video camera out of waterproof case (they hadn’t brought out the waterproof version in 2007) and set up on camera mount. Set video rolling and jump back onto rowing seat to record action – I’d have to edit that bit out later.

Record other segments of rowing seat, watermaker, cabin, etc.

Splice these segments together on the camcorder – I found this easier and less battery-intensive (electrical power being at a premium) than editing on the laptop – and working on the laptop also made me seriously queasy on a tippy, seasicky boat. But editing on the camera was still fiddly and time-consuming.

Upload from camera to laptop via USB cable. 

All this while the boat is pitching and rolling, and temperatures in the cabin vary up to 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit).

Then, the hard part. Uploading. Take out satphone and connect to laptop via a USB cable. Open up Skyfile app. Try to connect. Try again. And again. Eventually achieve connection. Start uploading. Go out to row for a couple of hours, in vague hope that upload is continuing. Come back in to find connection dropped about 3 seconds after you left it alone. Basically, nothing has uploaded. Start all over again. 

Repeat ad nauseam. 

But strangely, it was absolutely worth it. I had the feeling that a lot of people were vicariously enjoying my adventure, wishing they could be out there on the ocean, suffering the setbacks, celebrating the triumphs, living the dream. And so I persevered with errant technology and dodgy satellite connections, for the people who cared, who were willing me on, who were coming into the office each morning and sneaking a peak at my progress before they got down to work for the day. 

For them (you) I would willingly run up a $10,000 satphone bill in 3 months.

 

Other Stuff (posted in real time, i.e. today)

Good luck to Ray Zahab! Fantastic guy, amazing adventure, great website! (And anyone with an R and a Z in their name has to be onto something good!

Also a big hurrah for Plastic Oceans (of which I am a patron) – congratulations on an amazing mini-premiere at UNESCO’s 27th meeting of the Intergovernmental Oceanographic Commission. It was wonderful to be there and to see the delegates of 150(ish) countries sit up and take notice of the damage that uncontrolled plastic pollution is doing to our seas – and human health. Keep up the great work, @PlasticOceans!!

 

 

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment.

I seem to have got a bit confused on my chronology around this point – Day 3 and Day 4 both have entries on 15th August, 2007. So I include them both here – let’s just count it as a bonus in a time warp!

Day 4: Take It As It Comes
Roz Savage

15 Aug 2007, The Brocade

Admiring a beautiful sky this evening while I boil up water to rehydrate my supper

I knew even before I finished rowing the Atlantic that I wanted to do the Pacific. I just wasn’t sure why. Every time I thought about being confined to a tiny rowboat in the middle of the ocean I would get a huge feeling of dread and trepidation in the middle of my chest – a feeling I hadn’t experienced since I worked as a management consultant, 7 years and a lifetime ago, and had to give client presentations. It was a mystery to me (and to my long-suffering mother) just why I needed to repeat what had been the most uncomfortable experience of my life.

As time has gone on, I have managed to come up with some plausible reasons for rowing another ocean. I needed to find out that I had truly learned the lessons that I had figured out by the end of the Atlantic crossing, about how to tackle a major challenge. I needed to redress the balance – the Atlantic had well and truly whipped me, and I wanted to, as the Americans say, “find closure”. And horrible though it had been, the ocean still seemed more appealing than the office.

So here I am again, and so far it seems that my trepidation was mostly unfounded. (Isn’t it always?) The Pacific has been living up to its name – the seas have been calm, the weather has been benign, and any minor pangs of seasickness have passed.

[Comment: Oh no! Hubris! This serenity was not going to last long - not long at all!]

But if I learned anything from the Atlantic, it is that weather and oceans can be fickle things, so I am not allowing myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Nor am I allowing myself to extrapolate from current status in order to guess at the future. As the turkey found out, life was great until Christmas came around..Next week could be totally different. So I’m just taking each day as it comes.

[Comment: Better. Maybe I had learned something after all. Isn't it an interesting thing, though, how humans generally have short memories? We tend to assume that trends will continue. But nature is cyclical, not linear. What goes up has to come down, and vice versa. One of the most important things I learned on the Atlantic is that everything changes. It's just a matter of time.]

Featured image: Brocade publicity shot from 2007

Day 3: Over The Edge: Dolphin Encounter
Roz Savage

15 Aug 2007, The Brocade

Today I rowed out over the edge of the continental shelf, and into the deep ocean. This is an area especially rich in marine life, and I was delighted to see about a dozen whales at various times – surfacing to spout sprays of water from their blowholes.

But even better, at one point I found myself totally surrounded by dolphins, arcing and leaping through the waves. Some were even jumping clean out of the water, as if jumping for joy on this glorious sunny day.

My camerawork is a bit wobbly a) because my boat is very tippy, even on a calm day, and b) because I was rather over-excited!

Enjoy!

 

Other Stuff (posted in 2013):

Thanks to Trekity for listing me amongst their Kick-Ass Collection of the World’s 125 Most Inspiring Women Travelers. There are some legendary names on there – from astronauts to advocates to authors to explorers. Check them out. And yes, I kick ass and I’m not sorry!

You’ll see the first woman on the list is Amy Lehman, founder of the Lake Tanganyika Floating Clinic, which provides me with a useful segue into my next piece of news – I’m now a patron of the Chauncy Maples Malawi Trust, which is renovating an old hospital ship (the Chauncy Maples) to provide health services to the people who live around Lake Malawi, one of the poorest regions in the world. My mother was born and raised in South Africa, so I feel an affinity with the continent.

The Trust is organising The Big Row, a rowing/fundraising event in September this year to raise the final £1 million they need to complete the refurbishment and fitting out of the boat. They are looking for teams of 10-20 rowers to row 10,000 miles in an hour to raise funds. The main Big Row event is in Spitalfields in London, but if you can help raise the funds, you can take part wherever you are. Or even consider making a straightforward donation. All for a good cause! And spread the word – find them on Facebook, Twitter, or at their website.

Have a great weekend!

 

 

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I am revisiting some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now” comment. Here is the second day’s blog from my doomed attempt of 2007….

Pigtails in Hawaii

Day 2: The Power of Pigtails
Roz Savage

13 Aug 2007, The Brocade

It was one of my big hopes for this Pacific row that I wouldn’t fall into so many of the psychological traps as I did on the Atlantic. I really struggled out there, and a lot of the trouble was of my own making. [Comment: so true!! As John Milton said, "The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven". My mind definitely gave me hell on the Atlantic.] Three examples:

1. Instead of looking at the challenge one bit at a time, breaking it down into manageable pieces, I looked at the whole 3,000 miles that lay ahead of me and felt utterly overwhelmed. It took me a while to realize that it would be much better just to take it one day, one stroke at a time.

[I still think this is one of the most important life lessons I have ever learned, and is applicable to all kinds of things. I know of people who have applied it to everything from a marathon to chemotherapy. I still regularly remind myself, when overwhelm threatens, to just take it one oarstroke at a time.]

2. I allowed myself to get distracted by other people’s objectives. My one cash sponsor had offered me a bonus if I broke the women’s record for the fastest crossing, and I put myself under a lot of pressure before I remembered what MY objectives were, which were nothing to do with speed.

[I've been thinking about this a lot recently, in connection with the transition I made in my mid-thirties from management consultant to ocean rower. I'd gone into management consultancy in 1989 because at that time I thought "success" meant a glamorous job and a big salary. Belatedly I discovered that while I'd been climbing the ladder of success, I'd leaned it against the wrong building. I'd been pursuing other people's definition of success, not my own. Money and prestige weren't fulfilling objectives for me. So what were? - making a contribution and challenging myself to overcome my limitations.]

3. I wasted a lot of emotional energy asking myself: “CAN I do this?” To which the answer was usually No. Better, I realized, just to get on and DO it, instead of asking myself whether I can.

[Haha, this is one of life's little paradoxes. You don't know until you've done something whether you can do it. And when that thing takes a long time (like rowing the Atlantic) that gives you plenty of time for questioning and self-doubt. Rather than ask yourself if you CAN do it, so much better to tell yourself "I've got no conclusive evidence that I CAN'T do this".

If you like these three self-help ideas, here are some other things I learned on the Atlantic.]

This time around it helps that I already have that previous experience. I’ve decided to call it my Pigtail Power. I only ever put my hair in pigtails when I am on the ocean – it is practical and stops my hair getting too tangled. So like Samson with his long hair, I am stronger when I’m in pigtail mode.

[Hmmm, haven't been in pigtails since 2011. Maybe I should try it again. Or is that just plain inappropriate for a 45-year-old?!]

Other: Weather clearer today after yesterday’s fog. I can still see the land, but am slowly moving further from it. There is a bit of swell, and I have to row across it, which is uncomfortable. It is also making cabin life more uncomfortable. I thought I’d got away without being seasick this time, but I may have been too hopeful, too soon.

Boat with bimini, aka “the g-string”

[photo: I was glad of my bimini (not, not bikini) today, as it's been seriously sunny. Picture taken during a sea trial in Hayward, California.]

 

Other stuff (posted in 2013, not 2007)

Commiserations to my friend, Dave Cornthwaite. Injury forced him to abandon his latest Expedition1000 endeavour – to ride around Europe on an Elliptigo elliptical trainer. (Is there no form of transport Dave WON’T try?!) He managed 1970 miles before a back injury forced him to retire early, thus amply meeting his minimum mileage requirement of 1000 miles. Well done, Dave, and wishing you a swift recovery so you’ll soon be back on the road (or water, or wing) on some other crazy form of conveyance!

 

To herald the publication of my next book, Stop Drifting, Start Rowing: One Woman’s Search for Happiness and Meaning Alone on the Pacific, I thought it would be fun to revisit some of my blogs from the Pacific crossing, adding a postscript either with additional details or a kind of “if I’d known then what I know now….” comment.

I will start this series of blog posts with the 2007 attempt on the Pacific, which ended in a dramatic airlift after just 10 days at sea. As some indication as to how painful that experience was, I chose not to transfer across those blogs when I moved onto WordPress, so I’ve had to delve back into X-Journal to find them. It’s as if I wanted to excise that episode from my history. But 6 years later on and I feel able to write about it calmly and without Valium. You can be assured that the 2007 “learning opportunity” (I don’t like the word “failure”) is covered in its entirety in the book.

Roz is on her way.
Rita Savage

12 Aug 2007

Paddling out from the dock in Crescent City

At 3.45pm BST (GMT + 1 hour) today, Sunday August 12th, I received a position report from Marinetrack showing that Roz is now at sea. She is thus beginning the first part of her voyage across the Pacific Ocean. Now begins the time of watching and waiting . . .

My comment: poor Mum! I dread to think what I’ve put her through over all these years. She must have been dreading the day that I would set out to sea once again. Better than anybody, she knew how much I had struggled on the Atlantic. Every day until my satellite phone broke 24 days before the end of the voyage, I would speak to Mum. She saw me go through all the highs and lows, the hopes and fears, the triumphs and tribulations of that crossing. I am eternally grateful to her for never once saying, “Well, Rosalind, I could have told you it wasn’t a very good idea”! I find it tremendously humbling to be on the receiving end of a mother’s love that will support me no matter what I choose to do with my life – even if rowing across oceans was the last thing any parent would want for their daughter. 

 

A whale (I think) alongside my boat.

Day 1: So Far So Good
Roz Savage

12 Aug 2007, The Brocade

This morning at 6:49 Brocade and I left the guest dock in the harbour of Crescent City, and set out for Hawaii. A small crowd had gathered to see me off, and there was a smattering of applause as I took my first strokes.

I rounded the corner, trying hard to look good. And promptly ran aground on a sand bank lurking just under the surface of the water. The hazard of leaving at low tide. So ten minutes into my big adventure I was standing in shallow water with my leggings rolled up above my knees, trying to heave the Brocade off the sand bank. After a bit of a struggle I succeeded and we were on our way again.

It was perfect conditions for the start. The wind rarely blows offshore here, so the best I could realistically hope for was minimal wind – and that is what I got. All day the wind has been slight. I quickly lost sight of land in the fog that closed in around me.

The silence was broken only by the noises of a few marine visitors – all morning sea lions were surfacing around my boat, popping up from the water like gophers. They would arrive in posses of 4 or 5, snuffling and blowing and generally larking around. There were whales too – large dark finned lumps breaking the calm waters fifty or so yards away from my boat.

This afternoon I listened to an audio book of Robinson Crusoe, which seemed appropriate in the circumstances. It helped to listen to a story where everything happens at snails’s pace – it takes him about month just to make a table – as it helped me lapse into the slower pace of ocean life.

Progress has been slow too. Although the wind isn’t against me, it isn’t helping me either. I’ve rowed for 10 hours already, and need to do several more if I am going to reach my target of 20 miles today.

Better go and get on with it.

Aground!

My comment: Doh! I really thought I’d got away with my embarrassing mishap, but the following day this photograph appeared in the Daily Telegraph in the UK, under the embarrassing headline “Roz Savage runs aground minutes into journey“. They say that all publicity is good publicity, but I am not so sure! You can always count on a photographer to be where they aren’t wanted.

You might notice “Wilson” – the volleyball with spiky green hair mounted on the top of my cabin. My heroic boatbuilder (actually he was a helicopter guy, but generally pretty handy) Rich Crow, had given me Wilson, signed by many people who had helped support my preparations. Wilson would eventually come to a sorry end, but more of that later…

I remember I got quite sunburned that day. The fog deceived me as to the strength of the sun, and I wasn’t as diligent as I should have been with my sun lotion. I peeled really badly and spent the next week or so sloughing off layers of skin in my sleeping bag – yuck! 

I am surprised that I mention having a target mileage of 20 miles. I should have known better, after the experience of the Atlantic, and only ever set myself a target number of hours to row, not a mileage. There are too many variables like winds and currents that affect mileage, so you can drive yourself crazy by setting a specific goal. No point aiming for 20 miles if conditions are such that you’d have to row more than 24 hours a day to achieve it, as can happen. Even if I was keen to put as many miles between myself and the coast as quickly as I could, it still seems an invitation to disappointment to set myself this ultimatum. 

Check in again soon for the next instalment.