Rowing After the White Whale

by James Adair

  ‘’Twas not so hard a task. What I’ve done, I’ve willed; and what I’ve willed, I’ll do.’

  Herman Melville, Moby Dick

  The crossing times in 2011 show that it was a tough year, at least in comparison to 2009, which is when most of the other successful Indian Ocean rows were completed. The four-man team finished one week behind the four’s record while we were two weeks behind the pair’s record. Roz Savage, who completed the Indian solo in 155 days, was over a month behind the solo record. In completing the Indian, though, she became the first woman to have rowed all three oceans and she said that the Indian had been the toughest of the three.

  To finish at all was an achievement for us. At the time of writing, more than half of the seventeen boats which are taking part in the mid-Atlantic race have been rescued or resupplied.

  We could be proud that we finished in 116 days, especially given the failure of our watermaker, GPS and our penchant for lying around in the cabin reading Moby Dick on Sunday mornings. The main thing is that we did it. We stubbornly managed to finish, even though finishing meant swimming the last mile.

  Meeting a Legend

  ‘This young fellow’s cheek is like a sun-toasted pear in hue, and would seem as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his Indian voyage.’

  Herman Melville, Moby Dick

  Having been on dry land for a few days I chanced to meet one of the world’s most famous journalists, certainly one of the greatest. I was at the breakfast buffet, loading my plate with an unlikely array of food, when he approached me in his wheelchair.

  ‘You’ve worked up an impressive appetite. Where have you come from?’ he said.

  ‘Well, we’ve just rowed from Australia,’ I said, balancing some bacon on top of the French toast.

  ‘That’s amazing, and can I ask how?’

  At this point a striking blond woman approached him.

  She interrupted us. ‘Come on, Frank, leave him alone.’

  There ensued a brief and friendly domestic from which I extracted myself to eat my breakfast. Once breakfast was finished, he once again came over and introduced himself. It turned out he was Frank Gardner OBE, the BBC’s security correspondent. He had been in a wheelchair for the last seven years after having been shot in Saudi Arabia. In 2004 he had been ambushed by al-Qaeda fighters, who had shot his cameraman dead and him six times. But he had gone straight back to reporting and he still reports from all over the Middle East and beyond.

  Now, he explained, despite being on holiday, he was keen to do a story on us. Once a journalist, always a journalist. Not that long after breakfast we went to the bar and over a few beers he wrote the story on his Blackberry and filed it to London. Soon it was among the most-read pieces on the BBC website and messages were coming in thick and fast, many from Frank’s colleagues querying whether he was actually on holiday or not.

  In the piece, one of the BBC’s either very enterprising or incredibly lucky journalists had managed to get a quote from Simon. According to Simon, we were entitled to claim the first unsupported pair’s crossing of the Indian Ocean. Having earlier dismissed ocean rowing records as mere vanity, we discovered, on realising that we could claim one, that we were really quite vain after all. Either way our row was officially recognised by the Ocean Rowing Society and our names were added to the website I had spent so many hours looking at during the years preceding our voyage and wondering, dreaming, whether one day we might really be able to do the same.

  On the Positive Benefits of a Brush with Death

  ‘Besides, all these days I should now live would be as good as the days that Lazarus lived after his resurrection; a supplementary gain of so many months or weeks as the case may be.’

  Herman Melville, Moby Dick

  You don’t get very far mentioning death at a dinner party. It remains a taboo subject, despite being very interesting. After all, it is the only thing that unites all human beings. We will all die, and keeping this in mind seems like the best guide to getting the most out of life. Having had my first brush with death as a teenager, this second encounter came as a very timely reminder that, like Willoughby, I might be lucky but I’m certainly not immortal. All in all, the whole capsize episode was a great experience, physically exciting and spiritually enriching. I wouldn’t do it again, not for any money, but I’m glad it happened.

  In some people’s minds the only thing that separates courage from stupidity is success. I don’t think this is fair – even the misjudged is brave and chance is normally the governing factor. But if we had actually died on that last day I would have had little or no sympathy for us. We had chosen to go, we knew the risks were high and although chaos rained down heavily on the last day the capsize scenario could have happened at any time. But with risk comes reward, and our reward was to cross the Indian Ocean in a tiny boat, to turn our backs on the pettiness and distractions of 21st-century life and be alone on the wide blue sea. For me, the whole experience, even the incident when I was sitting on the bucket and got swamped by a wave, was a privilege. Having so often felt like a prisoner in my own body, during the row I felt the lightness and exhilaration of true freedom. Without the risk of death the ocean would not have been the wild, beautiful, mysterious place it was; it would simply be a controlled theme park and, as such, would probably be as crowded and quietly mundane as any other theme park.

  I also felt that in rowing the ocean I’d proved something to myself. I had done it despite my disability; I had done something that would be noteworthy for any able-bodied person. This was important because in our current culture there is a habit of seeing people as victims and understanding them through the prism of what they have suffered rather than what they have done. It’s a trap I’ve at times fallen into. But you can’t control most of the things that happen to you; they are, by and large, random. Being struck down by a rare illness is like being attacked by a shark or hit by a bus; it is unlucky and that is it. The only thing that matters is how we respond. So it is with Frank Gardner, who is important and hugely admirable not for being shot but for his subsequent courage, humour and irrepressible pursuit of travel, work and adventure. Although I can’t claim any real comparison to the man, I felt that in rowing the Indian Ocean I had in my own way done something more significant than my illness.

  The last thing I’d like to say about the rowing, though, is that it was fun. I’m not so desperate to prove a point that I’d do something completely devoid of enjoyment. It was a great adventure and it seemed like a good lesson. What is life if not a sum total of days at sea, trying to stay alive while trying to keep the boat vaguely on course? Before leaving Geraldton, Simon had advised us, ‘Stay positive, take care of each other and enjoy it!’ This seems to me a pretty good mantra for living life, although I might throw in a few extra words about avoiding bankruptcy and making sure you never run out of toilet paper.

  A Lost World

  ‘Yes, the world’s a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete.’

  Herman Melville, Moby Dick

  There was one thing, lost in the capsize, that I really grieved for in Mauritius. The camera in its waterproof case had sunk without trace, and with it the memory card that held three months’ worth of footage. All of it was gone: the swims under our barnacled hull, the glittering sunrises, ochre sunsets, leaping dorado, dancing storm petrels, the looming oil rig, wild waves, the halfway party feast, the minuscule sea spider which skated on the eerie calm, and the cavernous azure of the immense ocean. In the history of things lost, though, it pales. In 1852, naturalist Alfred Wallace lost all of the specimens he’d collected during a four-year stint in South America when the ship he was returning to England in caught fire. He subsequently spent ten days adrift in an open boat before being rescued. He managed to salvage his diaries before the ship went down and his work went on to influence Darwin’s theory of evolution. T. E. Lawrence lost his completed manuscript of the Seven Pillars of Wisdom when changing trains at Reading, while Gregory
David Roberts saw his first draft of Shantaram destroyed in front of him. But even in comparison, our loss was still deeply frustrating. I’d put so much energy into something that was now lost for ever and I couldn’t re-create it, not even by rowing the Indian Ocean all over again. But we were alive and that was the main thing.

  In the end I comforted myself by thinking that one day, in hundreds or perhaps thousands of years, the memory card will be found and the people who discover it might be transported suddenly back to another world, a world that may have been lost by then. On watching the footage they will come face to face with a pod of playful pilot whales that once cruised the vast expanses of open ocean and perhaps they will wonder what to make of the two heavily bearded, almost-naked men who, amid all the beauty and the danger, persist in arguing about Celine Dion, toilet paper and in which direction they should be going.

  The Final Swim

  ‘We are turned round and round in this world like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike.’

  Herman Melville, Moby Dick

  A few months after our return to England I went up to visit Ben in north London. We decided to go for a swim in the Hampstead ponds. As we strolled there we chatted about life back on land. We got changed outdoors and compared our fading tans. Soon they would be gone. Shivering in the autumnal chill, we dived in together, emerging in the fragrant, muddy waters. As we started swimming out to a small buoy, Ben turned to me, grinning, and said, ‘Well, this is slightly different from the last time I found myself swimming with you.’

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my publishers, Polygon, and in particular Peter Burns, not only for taking this book on but also for his relentless enthusiasm and openness in the process. Thank you also to my editors, Emma Baker and Julie Fergusson.

  I should point out that I am heavily indebted in the chapters on the natural history of squid and the battle of Grand Port to the excellent books mentioned below by Wendy Williams and Stephen Taylor respectively.

  I need to say a huge thank you to everyone who was involved in the row. There are too many to name here, but everyone who contributed, enthused and encouraged – you have our eternal gratitude. Huge thanks also to our Mauritian rescuers, who either saved us from death or a very uncomfortable night; we were relieved to not find out which.

  My thanks to those friends and family who encouraged me to write and gave their time to read this book and share their ideas.

  Most importantly, this book would not have been possible without the support of Ben, who generously and bravely let me go ahead and tell things as they were and not in the way that would make us both look best.

  Finally, my thanks and love go to Tory: my beautiful wife, lover, best friend, confidante, editor, ally, henchwoman and co-dreamer. I know this book doesn’t have any of the boy wizards, teenage vampires or warrior mice that you might have liked, but thank you for supporting me while I wrote it. It’s all for you.

  Bibliography

  Callahan, S., Adrift (London, Penguin Books, 2003)

  Coleridge, S. T., The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (New York, Dover Publications, 1992)

  Dawkins, R., The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution (London, Black Swan, 2010)

  Hoare, P., Leviathan or the Whale (London, Fourth Estate, 2009)

  King, W., and Richey, M., The Wheeling Stars: Guide for Lone Sailors (London, Faber and Faber, 1989)

  Melville, H., Moby Dick (London, Penguin Classics, 2010)

  Moitessier, B., The Long Way (New York, Sheridan House, 1995)

  Moitessier, B., Sailing to the Reefs (New York, Sheridan House, 2001)

  Pepperell, J., Fishes of the Open Ocean: A Natural History and Illustrated Guide (Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 2010)

  Philbrick, N., In the Heart of the Sea: The Epic True Story that Inspired Moby Dick (London, Harper Perennial, 2005)

  Raban, J., Passage to Juneau: A Sea and its Meaning (London, Picador, 2000)

  Robertson, D., Survive the Savage Sea (London, Elek (Paul) (Scientific Books) Ltd, 1973)

  Taylor, S., Storm and Conquest: The Battle for the Indian Ocean (London, Faber and Faber, 2008)

  Williams, W., Kraken: The Curious, Exciting, and Slightly Disturbing Science of Squid (New York, Abrams, 2011

  www.oceanrowing.com

  Endnotes

  1. The UN Environment Programme estimates that there are up to 13,000 pieces of plastic litter, including ‘micro-plastics’ smaller than 5mm, in every square kilometre of sea. The problem is worse in the North Pacific Gyre.

  2. The ‘proportional’ theory first put forward in 1877 by Paul Janet states that as you get older each year constitutes a smaller fraction of your life as a whole and therefore is perceived to be shorter. So a child of ten feels a year as one-tenth of his whole life, while to a man of fifty the same is merely one-fiftieth of his whole life. If you start counting from the age of three, when most people’s earliest memories start, then by the proportional theory if you live to eighty you have lived half your life by the age of fourteen. This is a purely mathematical theory and doesn’t take into account other psychological factors, which we associate with time passing slower when we are young, such as the higher proportion of new experiences and higher level of learning. These factors are, of course, unquantifiable.

  3. Even Melville has something to say on this in Moby Dick: ‘No man can ever feel his own identity aright except his eyes be closed; as if darkness were indeed the proper element of our essences, though light be more congenial to our clayey part.’

  4. Subsequent research has shown it was likely a sea-skater (Halobates micans), the only insect known to live out to sea away from coastal areas. They are essentially pelagic pond-skaters, spending their entire lives on the surface, feeding on fish eggs and larvae while they are preyed on by fish and birds. They lay their eggs on passing debris which, previously limited to occasional flotsam and jetsam, is now increasing as humans litter the oceans with plastic waste.

  5. Back in London the doctors deemed him unfit for naval service. With more than a little of the Ahab about him Willoughby decided he would not be held back by his broken body and so went to Russia where in 1812 he talked his way into commanding one of their cavalry regiments against Napoleon. He was then captured by the French and imprisoned for nine months but predictably managed to escape. Seeing the error of their ways the Navy re-instated him and he rose to the rank of Rear-Admiral of the White. He died in 1849 and the Annual Register recorded that: ‘He was eleven times wounded with balls, three times with splinters, and cut in every part of his body with sabres and tomahawks: his face was disfigured by explosions of gunpowder, and he lost an eye and had part of his neck and jaw shot away . . . and at Leipzig had his right arm shattered by cannon shot.’

  List of Illustrations

  1. On inspecting the boat at Gallions Reach we took the seller’s word that she floated. Still my head swum with questions, foremost of which was, ‘Will Ben really insist on bringing the mustard coloured cords?’

  2. Fixing up the boat. What we lacked in knowledge (and we lacked a lot) we made up for in enthusiasm, although we spent a fair amount of time surreptitiously gluing things to each other.

  3. We put the names of everyone who sponsored us on the boat and whilst at sea spent many hours telling stories which illustrated what we liked about each person.

  4. At the check-out at Heathrow we were naive and clean shaven, both of which were soon to change.

  5. Preparing to launch the boat at Geraldton with no time to make any more changes. Fully laden she weighed over a tonne.

  6. Leaving Geraldton at dawn on Day 1 it took us quite a while to navigate out of the marina, so onlookers could easily have been forgiven for wondering if we’d ever find our way across the Indian Ocean.

  7. On our way, Paddington lashed to the prow like some latter-day Odysseus, Ben is feeding the watermaker having just put his socks to dry on the radio antennae – better known as the SDP
s or Sock Drying Poles.

  8. We only rowed together on a few rare occasions when we tried to counter the countercurrents.

  9. Rowing west we had the rising sun on our face and the setting sun on our backs every day.

  10. No one day ever looked the same during the voyage.

  11. Rowing as a pair, you spend most of your time alone with your thoughts as the other person sleeps.

  12. Sometimes our chats in between shifts lasted longer than they should as we took to arguing about films, Celine Dion and navigation.

  13. Surf’s Up! Hand-steering the boat as she surfed the waves we started to wonder if we could do the whole voyage like this. Sadly it turned out we had to row.

  14. Ben displays one of our biggest catches of the trip: a tiny flying fish who threw himself into the boat.

  15. Part of our philosophy was that, while not always knowing what we were doing, we should at least try to look the part. Ben had his own unique interpretation of this philosophy.

  16. Most evenings we would collect and steel ourselves with some grog and a cigarette before going into the night shifts.

  17. One of the eerie calms we encountered in which nothing broke the surface of the sea except our oars... and sometimes not even those.

  18. Each day the sun appeared and disappeared and we saw it every time.

  19. Ben getting ready to document the first swim, which took place on Day 17 in water 5,000 metres deep.

  20. In one of the weirder episodes of the trip, Timothy the moth lands and stays the night with us, over 700 nautical miles from land.

  21. Some of our constant companions: the pilot fish and one of the dorados.