About days 4-7

When the weather finally eased up we emerged from our holes into the new day, to take stock. The most vibrant thing the new day brought was our piss, which had the hue of 18-year old, cask aged Iron Bru. It was about 3 days in and we’d puked plenty but barely eaten or drunk a thing. We managed to keep down some wet rations and sip at water - levelling ourselves out enough to get on the oars.

Seas were still rough and we made slow progress through the waves which came from every angle with no discernible cadence. Every ten minutes or so one would crumble over us or land in our laps. We wore oilies on top half but couldn’t row in the bottoms so we just remained wet - the sea always found it’s way through the oilies anyway. 

As darkness came the wind turned to our bow and progress slowed to crawling. I rowed hard, desperate to avoid another night locked in the washing machine with Dirk, but it was inevitable and we ended another day on the anchor.

We rose at dawn - sleep deprived but with sea sickness subsidising. We took some time to make repairs following the previous few days chaos and to eat and drink. It was a good start with winds behind us. Waves were still quite high - some we estimated at 5metres - but with the wind up our back we played surfing off the big waves and setting ‘Wamoni World Records’ for speed!

Ocean rowing boats have no engine but do have 12v batteries to power various important bits - navigation/GPS, water-maker, VHF radio, navigation lights and the 120 Watt speaker system Stef installed. The batteries are charged from three chunky solar panels. These require sun to work and without sun you get flat batteries. The more stuff you use the faster the batteries go flat. Certain things - like the autohelm and water maker - are power hungry so you need lots of sun if you’re going to use them.

Amidst the mayhem of the first few days we’d failed to notice that the grey storm clouds were actually very real and not just a figment of our private ocean apocalypse. So, just as we revved up the oars to get some speed down another big roller along came the ominous bleepybleepybleepybleepybleepyof the little screen, sending us a new type of message - “No Power”. Bollucks. We didn’t need Stef to translate this one.

Our initial concern was that we may be cast adrift without AIS - a rather important system that pings out a signal to tell oil tankers not to plough into the beautiful blue and chrome thing they can’t see. Fortunately, we learnt that ‘No Power’ actually means ‘insufficient power for greedy autohelm’. That is, there was just about enough juice for AIS, GPS and some sat phone - but everything else was turned off.

Most things on the boat have a manual backup. In the case of the autohelm we have ‘hand steering’ - two bits of string tied to the rudder. You set a compass bearing, your pal jumps on the oars and you watch a compass jiggle about and pull the bits of string to try and point the boat in the right direction. This is trickier than it sounds and infinitely more mind numbing. Sitting on deck at 2am, getting blasted by freezing wind and trying to keep some hyperactive bearings between 240-245 degrees could be a method I see working well for North Korean Truth Core. By 3.30am we would have signed anything.

The next day was brighter. We had no power but we did have a plan. 2hrs rowing, 2hrs steering, 2hrs rest. We went so far as to announce that we had ‘left Purgatory’. There was even just enough sun to keep the all important AIS alive. I prepped the crew some dehydrated Orzo Pasta Bol with cold water (not bad, thank you FirePot), we used pre-charged JBL speakers to blast some Tom Jones and - for the first time in 5 days - peeled off some clothing.

A shift of 4on/2off is not sustainable for multiple days so we agreed to all rest 1-7am. We had a decent sleep and the next day followed a similar pattern but with more sun. Insufficient to recuperate the batteries but perfectly sufficient for drying clothes - and arses.

Ever wondered what it’s like to have nappy rash? Nor me, but I do have a new empathy for nappy wearing babies (and adults, of course - if that’s what you’re into). And, a new love for Sudocrem.

Sitting in salt water soaked boxers whilst rubbing your arse on a rowing position at 22 strokes a minute for 12hrs a day might cost you a fortune in Soho but it can also be a cheap and effective way of getting nappy rash. And this, we now have in abundance.

Our hands seem not to have suffered too badly yet but we’ve had to establish some discipline with regards to the derrière. Finish shift, wet wipe the area, apply Sudocrem; apply RowersRub before shift (Vaseline like substance with soothing herbs). The sun also brought a new option to the protocol which involved standing on deck with bare bum exposed to wind and sun for the natural airing.

Stef was engaged in an advanced naturist drying session during the afternoon (who said standing straight is the only airing option?) when we spotted a plane on the horizon. Not exciting in itself, you’d think, but when all you’ve see for several days is open ocean and a few oil tankers most things are cause for excitement.

There was also something odd about this plane in that it was actually on the horizon and looked as though it was skimming across the ocean towards us. It was so low! We watched as it roared towards ahead - a large four engine prop plane, all white with no markings, somewhat like a white Hercules. It made a low pass within a few hundred metres, I waved.

Life has taught me that when you wave at a passing plane you don’t generally get a decent response. However as it tore off to the Southern horizon it appeared to bank. “Is it turning? Surely, it’s not turning. Oh shit it really is turning! Johnnie, don’t f**king wave again!”. It banked hard to the left and spun about to come back at us on the port side.

I kept my hands tight to waist, Dirk missed a few strokes and Stef stood with his balls out. She zipped passed, gave us a little left-right dip in salute and headed back to whence she’d come. Now, Stef’s bare arse certainly is a maritime sight to behold but it seems a Hell of a length to go to for a look. Maybe their interest was piqued on the first pass and they came back for the full package? We’ll never know.