Bang went the flare, and we were off. This was it. Everything we’d spent the last 18 months working our socks off for. I can picture the scene so vividly in my mind, but I hardly recall any of what I said or felt. Luckily, I recorded in my journal after my first shift:
Race start was unbelievable, so emotional, yet a weird kind of calm - a sort of “cool, we’ve just gotta get on with it” vibe. It maybe hasn’t sunk in that we’re not coming back in a few days yet!
For the first few hours, it was flat, serene, and beautiful. La Gomera disappeared fast into the mist, and we quickly lost sight of the other boats. Our game plan for the first 48 hours was shifts of 2 hours on, 40 minutes off until 8pm (12 hours), then 12 hours through the night of 2 hours on, 2 hours off, then repeat again for the next 24-hour period. I had my first branny breakfast on my second rest shift, at which point I was still feeling very good, but it soon went downhill. Viki and Ana lasted about 3 hours before their seasickness kicked in… I lasted until darkness began to fall. My first chunder of the trip quickly became a second, then a third, and then I lost count. By midnight, we were all as bad as each other. We rowed without talking, scared that if we opened our mouths nothing but vomit would come out. There was no such thing as having a break after the sickness; you chunder then you get back on the oars. You don’t even leave your rowing seat. One of us would be leaning over to one side while the other leant over the other way. If we’d had a lie down after being sick every time, we’d never have got anywhere! Going into the cabins was even worse – I had to lie down immediately and shut my eyes. The AIS alarm was going off all day as well with so many other boats around us, so I barely got a wink of sleep.
I was immensely relieved when the sun came up, thinking that might alleviate the seasickness. Alas, it did not. I couldn’t keep food down; I couldn’t even keep water down. None of us could! My mouth felt drier than the Saraha desert. The Scopaderm patch on my neck did me no good at all, and in fact gave me nothing but drowsiness and a banging headache, so I took it off. We told Angus of our woes, who was vocally impressed with our efforts despite the seasickness, and he instructed us to row only 2-up for the day in the hope we might recover. Alas, we did not.
As I was coming off a midnight shift, I saw a red light somewhere in the darkness that seemed to be getting bigger. The AIS alarm was beeping, and when I checked the chart plotter, there was a cargo ship on collision course with us. Fighting the seasickness, I jumped into action, calling them on the radio. Initially I was calm; I knew exactly what to do, and I’d called plenty of other boats before. However, my pulse began to rise as time passed without a response. I called again to no avail. I poked my head back out of the cabin to get some air and to tell the team what was going on, and was horrified when I saw how big the lights of the ship now were. Ana was ready to get a white signal flare out, but, just as she was about to light it, I finally got the radio call through to the captain. He was a vacuous Frenchman who seemed completely oblivious to my concern, informing us that he was aware of our presence and had turned out of the way. Panic over.
The rest of the second night continued much as the first. My journal read simply:
Questioning life choices. All very tired. Sick a lot. This sucks. I hope it gets better.
It didn’t get better until about 60 hours into the race, when – as if by magic – the seasickness suddenly disappeared. I anxiously ate half a ration pack and a single bite of flapjack and was hugely relieved when an hour passed without them coming back to visit.
I do not know how we got through those first 3 days. They were some of the very worst days of my life. Knowing you’ve got so many miles and days ahead of you, feeling horrendously sick and sleep deprived (death warmed up was an accurate descriptive), traumatised by the violent vomiting, having to drop down your race plan on day 2, and not knowing if or when it gets better, is merciless. Yet, we were leading the women in the race and flickering between 5th and 6th position overall. I can only put it down to our grit and commitment to the team.
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