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Eight weeks in: Lia Ditton takes 8th place in the Atlantic Rowing Race

Week eight of Lia Ditton’s Atlantic Row has seen the much improved relationship on board Dream Maker help the crew deal with the frustrations surfacing as a result of the ‘stop-go’ nature of this year’s event.

Worn out behinds, the need for sleep and longings for real food have taken their turn in the forefront of the Lia’s mind.

Currently in 8th position, 2 miles behind and 20 miles ahead of young all male crews, the pressure is on for the final 600 miles!

Extracts from the week’s blogs below.
Monday 22 February.

Wedgewood blue, seas 2-4ft.

MASTER & COMANDER

Some people, usually students, sign up for drug trials and get paid to be part of experiments in medical science. Others go off and row an ocean.

Yesterday evening when I lay in the cabin feeling hot and demoralized with sore sores, I thought ‘What can I do?’ I aligned my 3 inch block of blue foam, the memory foam pad and my sheepskin, with the creme-de-la-creme spare rubber rowing seat on top and sat down. ‘Ooo!’ I cooed feeling the pressure off the pressure sores. ‘Heaven can wait!’

During our second communication as potential rowing partners, I assured Mick that as the boat’s owner, he should continue to hold the title ‘master.’ Imagine then, my surprise when Mick yesterday (part in jest) addressed me as captain!

It has not been without its hiccups, but as a team, our ability to communicate and support each other has grown significantly…

Tuesday 23 February.

Bonne Mama Fruits of the forest jam glossy deep purple, seas 2-4ft.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

I turned my head to look in front of the boat and gasped. From the fin to the tail alone must have been 20 odd feet. Like a giant dolphin, the whale was light grey and one of the largest I had ever seen.

Just as I noticed one day that my tan lines- the etchings of bikini’s past and present, had been totally erased, yesterday I realized that I was suddenly slimmer! I have lots of female friends who probably wouldn’t mind being ’suddenly’ slimmer, but actually I felt quite alarmed by it.

When I woke up after my last rest, the first thing I thought of was fried chicken. F R-I-E-D C H I C K E N. The fried chicken called me out of the cabin and onto the oars.

Wednesday 24 February.

Translucent chilli oil red, seas 4ft.
Food fantasy of yesterday – wood stove, thin crust pepperoni pizza!

BATTLE WEARY
Day 51 was always supposed to be a mere 5-10 days from the end, or if we’d rowed really hard and were up there with the front runners, THE END. This years’ (last year’s) Woodvale Atlantic Rowing Race 2009 has turned into an epic.
Resigned to 700 miles worth of further incarceration, life as I knew it seems so far away; reality so distant. Rowing has become the daily grind.
The need for sleep has become more pressing. At a guess, I would say that both of us are not far off physical exhaustion. It’s just a matter of managing it.
So when our 15kt southerly became a 15kt+ SW’ly yesterday evening…. I thought screw it. Mick was already in the cabin and so I fed out the yellow and green fabric jellyfish and teased out her lines.

For February 24th it was game over.

Thursday 25 February.

Marmite black, seas 3-4ft.

CHAMPAGNE & ICE CREAM

The only thing missing were the champagne flutes on a silver tray, next to the bowl of freshly cut strawberries, delivered by a waiter with white gloves… that’s what I wanted to write! Unfortunately the idea of getting mildly inebriated on the half-way-celebration champagne, while munching on NASA’s finest space Neapolitan freeze-dried ice-cream didn’t appeal to Mick. I did not fancy drinking alone.

There will be plenty of time for the fizzy stuff at the end.

Sitting down is still something of a sore point and I continue to sleep on my tummy.

I simply wore out my bottom!

Friday 26 February.

Delft china blue, seas 2-4ft

Food fantasy of the day – mixed greens with soft, warm goat’s cheese, walnuts and a light vinegrette.

MINAITURE MECHANICS

What time does morning begin? Midnight? For me, the definition between one day and the next has become fuzzy. What is time anyway? The only time that really matters on board is IKEA time, the time which denotes when your watch is up!

“This morning” when my cabin time was up, I rallied to my tasks.

Next up on the to-do list was to say hi to the fishes, sorry clean the hull. There was not a mollusc in sight, nor sadly, was there a Yellow Fin tuna.

In our diversion north, they must have deserted us. ‘Well, we’re not going up North!’ Cries must have gone out among the group. ‘It’s too wet and cold!’ But ‘Dream Maker’s’ underbelly wasn’t devoid of all life….

My list is done and now there is only sleep and chocolate to be had! Let’s hope we’re on our way soon…

Saturday 27 February.

English Cox apple juice ochre, seas 1-2ft.

Food fantasy of the day – see mood colour!

THE FORWARD-MOVING-PARA-TECHNIQUE

Early evening last night, the wind dropped off completely and Mick and I looked at each other. ‘Let’s go for it!’ We agreed.

As Mick pressed the pilot controls to edge our course even further south, I gestured hand-slicing neck and made a guttural sound. Cut. Within 15 minutes we were back on the anchor and I noted the GPS position. Mick had rowed us one mile towards the finish. Hurrah!

While our anchor retrieval timing was definitely spot-on, I was so frustrated when we were forced to stop again. ‘I feel SO frustrated!’ I said out loud through gritted teeth, to Mick.

In the course of the night, we gained a further mile towards Antigua! This time, I had set us off on the other “para-tack,” so to have achieved forward motion while heading south as desired, finally proved the success of the “forward-moving para-technique.”

Sunday 28 February.

Ensign red, seas 1ft.

TAKING STOCK

The night was warm and flood lit; the galaxy blanched by the candlesence of the moon, her wattage, so brilliant that you could read the numbers on the compass, dancing in their orb.

While the breeze teased me, a healthy ripple one minute, soft unbroken undulations the next, I watched our bubble trail drift off up the silvery path of our wake, the dip of the oars creating beads on the water’s satin dress. It was easy to stay awake.
My A-B system had gone somewhat askew with Mick wanting more calories than we expected…

The upshot of all this is that in 8 days time we’re going to run out of freeze-dried deserts and have to resort to eating squashed, out-of-date McVities cakes from the snack bags, to make up the calories. But since neither of us can remember what an unsquashed, in-date McVities cake tastes like, this is no matter!

Finally the sun sank and there was some relief. The departed sun shone a last glimmer of molten apricot on the flecks of cloud and the sea shimmered brilliant crimsons. ‘This is why I am here.’ I said to myself…

Sensing perhaps, that I needed a little cheering up, the dolphins that had been prancing around for Mick earlier, returned for me. Surfacing to my left, then my right; in front, then behind, they wanted to play! ‘Dream Maker’ is slow compared to a sailing yacht, but they lolled about patiently sucking in air. Then one threw himself into the air, nose-first and squealed with delight!

Go  to their website, www.oarsomechallenge.co.uk, for the whole story and more.

By Billy Swinton-Clark | Published in: News