Day 59

Light winds again today, but I made reasonably good progress with what I had, though it came at a price as I had to pick the boat up on every stroke, which make for some grueling hours on the oars. Crossed 47W about an hour before nightfall, which at this point comes a little before 10PM GMT.

I'll be happy to get this quarter of the trip behind me when I cross 50W in a few days' time. The let-down after hitting halfway at 40W was much more troubling than I expected, and I've since had to readjust mentally to return to the outlook that "I'm moving in the right direction, but I still have a long way to go." I'll try to wait to think about Antigua until I cross 60W, which is just about 100 miles from the finish.

OK, on to the stars. I've thought a lot about how to describe them for you, but I'm still not sure I'll be able to do them justice. As many of you know, I probably spend more time than most staring at the night sky (and have since I was a kid) so the landscape is reasonably familiar. With that said, the views I see out here feel like I'm looking at a completely different sky compared to what I've seen at home, even on the darkest nights.

Imagine walking around a familiar room with the lights off. You know your way around, can make out the general shapes of the furniture, and won't bump into things. Then one day as you're feeling your way around someone flicks on the lights and WOW! Amazing! Incredible! All of a sudden you can see the color of the couch, the books on the shelves, and the pattern on the rug. Who knew this room was full of so much stuff?

Well, if that analogy makes sense to anyone but me, that's what it's like looking at the stars out here. The stars blanket the sky completely--enough to convince me that there isn't an inch of sky that doesn't contain at least one dim star.

The constellations are dramatic and dominating. You don't have to look for Orion. He dominates the scene from the very center of the night sky, his arrow pointing West just after nightfall. The big dipper is enormous and swings a wide arc around the north star, which at this latitude is lower on the horizon than I'm used to, having lived in the 40N latitudes all of my life. I find it impossible to look at one star or one constellation without immediately being distracted and drawn to another one nearby--a process that is repeated until I have to give up trying to look at them all.

Hopefully this gives you some sense of the night sky out here. It's really one of the highlights of the trip for me, and a real treat after a long day of rowing.

Quick shout-out to the brothers of Theta Chi Fraternity at Colgate University, who are throwing a fundraiser/party on behalf of Row for Hope, complete with rowing machine races by the brothers, which will be entertaining for sure. For anyone betting on the outcome of these races, my advice is that, no matter the relative size of the competitors, always bet on the experienced rower.

Wow, longest update ever. I might have earned myself a day off with this one. Bed time!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 58

Unusual day today - here's what went down:

Started by scraping for barnacles first thing in the morning. Wind and seas were bigger than I would have liked, but it will suffice to say that there was no way Liv was going to blow away from me (I was also tied on with a 50 ft rope) with the death-grip I kept on the grab lines running the length of the hull. In mid-swim I stopped to look around for Atlantic White-tipped sharks. Thanks to my roommate Zack for the heads up. Didn't see any. If I did spot one, the plan was to go with the "barnacle-scraper-between-the-eyes" approach. Actually I probably would have screamed like a schoolgirl...then who knows what.

After scraping I got on the oars around 11AM and rowed for an hour through the first half of the heaviest squall I've seen so far. As I've made my way across the Atlantic, the squalls have become wetter and more numerous, I suppose because the clouds have more time to accumulate water as they too cross the ocean. I finally called it quits around 12:15, soaked and chilled to the bone. I decided to wait the rest of it out and made lunch and did emails early.

By 1 PM the rain had stopped (for the moment), and I hit the oars for what turned out the be a 9-hour shift - my longest to date. Surprisingly, the extra four hours didn't really seem any different from a normal 5-hour shift. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe that I've lost my mind?

The rationale for the long shift was a combination of my morning shift getting cut short and the slow progress of yesterday, which I wanted to at least avoid repeating. Though winds today were light and are forecast to stay light for the foreseeable future, I still did 27.5 nautical miles west today, which is close to what I was making during my stretch of 50-mile days. I won't get as much nighttime mileage with the wind I have now, but at least I've made the most of the day.

That's enough for now. Sorry, but I will have to postpone writing about the stars until tomorrow.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 57

Yup, I'm still out here!

Day 57 was a slow one in mileage terms, probably more like 30-35 rather than the 50 I've bee putting up for the last week or so. Not a big deal on its own, but I'm obviously hoping that I can avoid putting together a string of slow days that would put my goal of landing in less than 80 days all but out of reach.

Winds were light all day and I took the opportunity to rearrange some of my food and equipment around the boat in hopes of maintaining the optimal ballast arrangement for both stability/safety and speed. I'm not sure how I did, and hopefully today's mileage isn't an indication. I did claw back some room in the cabin so I'll have a little bit more space to lie down. At the rate I'm going I'll be comfortable (as comfortable as I can get with bedding that's constantly damp) by the time I get to Antigua.

The bad news is that my favorite iPod, an 8 gigabyte nano that I've been using for the whole expedition and all of my training leading up to it, went for a swim around lunchtime today. The battery had died mid-shift and I dropped it onto the deck after taking it out of the waterproof case so I could plug it in. That wouldn't have been a problem except that as usual the deck was awash in more than an inch of water that flows in and out of the scuppers. Luckily I have two remaining backups with the exact same stuff on them, for better or worse.

Will write about the stars tomorrow -- a preview of what I'm going to say...they're spectacular!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 56

A short update today, as a poor night's sleep last night has had me exhausted all day. The good news is that I crossed 45W just before lunch, and I'm now in the fourth time zone of the trip, only two hours ahead of the East Coast and one hour ahead of Antigua.

My mileage today was solid and the seas in the evening were mercifully on the smaller side -- a good thing, as in my current state it was possible that one soaking too many would have dislodged my last strand of precious composure.

Hoping for a better night's sleep tonight than last. I'm starting to get the message from my body that it is not pleased with what I'm doing to it. Salt sores are multiplying in general, not just in areas that I sit on all day. More are opening and I'm developing some skin irritation (in places that need not be described in detail) that keep me awake at night.

Back tomorrow with more energy,

Paul

P.S. Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Day 55

Day 55...more rowing! Much better day today with mostly clear skies, cooler air, and some scattered clouds. Winds were consistently just a little south of west, which still allowed me to pick up 3 miles back to the north, and as I write this I'm about 2 miles south of English Harbor's latitude. Happily, I also checked my distance to English Harbor as I was going back out for my evening shift and it read...

...drum roll...

....999.9 nautical miles!

I haven't been less than a thousand miles from anything in a while, so it's a good feeling to be down to triple digits. Not that 999 nm is a distance I can really get my head around, but still...at least it's a number I can count to!

I was wondering during my last shift -- if I were in the water scraping barnacles and a shark came (whatever kind of shark lives out here), would it actually eat me? I mean, scuba divers and snorkelers must see sharks all the time and they don't get eaten all that regularly (do they?), so I bet I'd have time to climb back in the boat (trust me, it wouldn't take long) and write a good post about it.

Other that that, another day at sea and another day closer to the finish line.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

P.S. Can someone in my Colgate/Theta Chi fantasy baseball league e-mail my roster to me at paul@rowforhope.com ? I'll get keepers to you by satellite phone. Also, please remind me how many, etc... Thanks!

Day 54

Tough day today, as heavy and shifting winds kept me fighting to keep on as westerly a course as possible while winds were blowing me almost directly south-west. The result was a good day in terms of mileage, but I expended massive amounts of effort and got regularly soaked in the process, which did anything but help to build morale.

Below is a picture taken at sunrise yesterday of a squall that passed to the south of me. Sights like this always make me get out the soap and shampoo in hopes of a fresh water shower, but I've yet to catch a one. With that said, I did take my first real "bath" of the trip yesterday, which was great. After the water maker issues that I had early in the trip (it's been fine for the last 30+ days), I had been hesitating to use much fresh water for hygiene, other than to wash "problem areas." Anyway, the shower was great, though I'm officially covered in salt again from head to toe after today's soakings. Can't wait for that first real shower in Antigua!!!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 53

A good day out here today, with reasonably strong wind and seas but both in the very narrow range that is both good for mileage and comfortable to row in. I didn't think seas and wind existed that I wouldn't be hoping were bigger/smaller/heavier/lighter, but today was pretty close.

I crossed 43W toward the end of my PM shift and am almost a third of the way through my march toward 50W. I'm not sure what happens at 50W, after all of the fanfare around crossing 40W, but every degree is one step closer to home, so it will be celebrated in one way or another. So far I also am still on or ahead of the pace I set to finish by Day 79.

Below is a picture of a big bird that I see almost every day, usually in the afternoon and evening. Maybe someone can help me identify it? Its significantly bigger than a seagull w/a wing span of 3-4 feet, I would guess. Brown everywhere but the underside, which is white. This bird is always seen swooping around really quickly, not far off of the water -- apparently hunting, among other things, flying fish.

A couple of days ago I saw this bird almost pick a flying fish out of mid-air, only to have it fall into the water, where a dorado was apparently waiting. As the big bird went to do another loop around, the flying fish took off again, this time with the dorado close behind leaping out of the water after it with a good three seconds of air time. By this time the bird had circled back around, dodged the dorado, grabbed the flying fish in mid-air, and took off victorious. Amazing!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 52

Well, it was "one of those days" out here today that really tested my sanity. Heavy winds in the 25k range and some of the biggest seas I've seen out here greeted me in the morning. First challenge after going outside and getting ready to row (while getting sprayed and splashed) is to turn the bow of the boat downwind, since without anyone steering it will inevitably try to swing sideways. Well, without foot steering getting the boat pointed in the right direction in heavy wind requires eye-popping effort to row with one oar while backing with the other. Slowly the boat will come around, at which point I just have to keep it there. If it doesn't come around after 15-20 strokes I'm forced to stop, rest, and try again, by which point any success I'd had has long since disappeared.

Today it took me at least a half dozen attempts to bring the bow around, and after each try I was rewarded with a five-gallon splash of salt water to the face that was kicked up by a wave and delivered to me by the 25 knot winds. What a way to start your day! Then during the day I took three different splashes in the cabin which means I'm in for a damp nights sleep tonight. Sweeeeet...

Anyway, I obviously got rowing and made some good mileage to the West, though I'm now a couple of miles South of English Harbor in Antigua. I'm not sure how concerned I should be about how far south I am at this point, but since I've been holding on to as much north as the wind/waves will allow over the last week or so I guess there's nothing else I can do but keep making progress as close to due West as I can. The thought did cross my mind though that my family/friends would absolutely kill me if I ended up having to land somewhere other than Antigua and they missed the finish, especially after not being able to see me off from the Canaries!

Ahhh well, tomorrow's a new day...

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 51

Busy day today as the winds and seas got going stronger and bigger than I've seen in a couple of weeks - pretty consistent winds, I'd guess in the 20-25 knot range, and seas bubbling/breaking in the 15 foot range generally, with some big ones here and there. I think there's a storm to the North of me that was sending some good sized swells my way from that direction, too, which meant I had to be on top of things more than normal all day. Not a bad thing though, as keeping focused and watching the miles tick by makes the day go by faster than normal.

I have the knotted line back out tonight from my stern, which I haven't been doing for the last couple of weeks in hopes of getting better mileage at night. I'm understanding the behavior of the boat better and better as time goes by, and I think I have a general rule of thumb for how she'll steer at night without me to keep her on track.

Without towing a line, it seems like she takes an angle of 20-40 degrees off the wind direction, and I can choose to make it either higher or lower (Northwest or Southwest if the wind is blowing due west, for example) than the wind by setting the rudder slightly to port or starboard before turning in for the night. As long as the wind direction stays constant, the boat direction should stay constant as well at the same angle off the wind, unless its knocked over to the other side by a big wave or something, in which case the boat will travel 20-40 degrees off the wind in the other direction.

With the line out and being towed from the stern, she'll take a course much closer, if not equal to the wind. This makes sense because the purpose of the line is to keep her stern into the waves, and if the wind and waves are coming from generally the same direction, this would point the bow and carry the boat downwind.

All very logical, right? Well it only took me the better part of 50 days to figure that out! Oh well, maybe it will help all of you future ocean rowers out there -- even those of you that don't yet know that you're "future ocean rowers!"

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 50

Short update today, as a slower morning meant I rowed longer than normal tonight and am now behind schedule for my nightly routine.

The champagne did not live up to the hype, as it turned out either to be really bad champagne or had suffered from too much time in a hot boat. It was pretty disgusting -- room temperature at best and tasted vaguely like fermented apples. Despite my best efforts to enjoy it, and trust me I tried my hardest, I threw it out after a few sips. Oh well, I'm sure the champagne in Antigua is better!

Your comments have been lively as usual, and everyone seems to be worried about the sores. Good news is that I don't think they've gotten worse in the last few days, thanks to a more involved de-salting regimen and a new pad that I made with cutouts for my butt bones. I'll get a picture up tomorrow hopefully -- sorry to disappoint the ladies, but it will be of the pad, not my butt!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 49: Forty West Has Been Crossed!

Today was a good day on the ocean, as the big milestone was hit around 11 A.M. EST, and the champagne awaits as soon as I'm done writing. I've flipped over my big map and have the Caribbean staring me in the face, which is a great feeling! Despite the fact that I still have a long way to go, I finally feel like I've gone somewhere! Strangely enough, celebrating too much seems like a bit of a formality as I'm already focusing on the next section of the trip, and there's still an awful lot of rowing to be done.

Here's the game plan -- finish this row on or before March 19th, which is 30 days from tomorrow. With 21 degrees, 45 minutes of longitude left to cover, that's a little bit faster than my target pace of two degrees every three days, but with the trade wind becoming more consistent and a final "sprint" at the end, I think I have a good chance at achieving this goal. One of the great things about it is that thirty days is a number I can, for once, get my head around. I know what 30 days in Liv feels like. I've been there and can do it again. And with all of the incredible things that will await me in Antigua (family, friends, food, a dry bed that doesn't move, and a break from rowing all day every day), my motivation to get there will be higher than ever.

So, that's the plan and the focus from here on out. It will require westward progress of 43-44 nautical miles per day (I think), which is a lot, but more or less what I've been making for the last week or so.

Do you think I can do it?

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 48

Another day and another milestone out here; this time it's the mid-point from an east-to-west perspective from Gomera to Antigua, which I crossed at around 3PM EST today.

The other excitement today was my second time getting out the of the boat to scrape barnacles off of the hull. In the morning the boat was feeling slow despite good winds and seas. At lunch time when I reached underneath I felt what I can only describe as the bumpy beginnings of barnacles, which is far better than the jungle that was down there on Day 35 when I last scraped. Even so, it was a sunny day with waves that weren't too big (though they weren't too small, either...) so in I went, this time with less hesitation and sitting on the gunwale looking around for sharks.

This time went quicker and though I got gallons of salt water up my nose (which doesn't feel great at all) I declared a success after 10 minutes in the water. This time, according to my map, it was almost 10,000 feet deep. Yikes!

Anyway, as promised I have a picture of myself post-scraping. Unfortunately, I seem to have been caught in a moment of post-barnacle-slaughter masculinity, which I don't usually share with the general public. With that said, enjoy the gun show!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

P.S. The guns were bigger before I left...I swear!

Day 47: BEARD WATCH

Big day today as I passed the technical half-way point and am now closer to the finish line in Antigua than I am to the start way back in La Gomera! No champagne just yet, though, as I want to wait till 40W, where I'll really feel like I've turned the page and will literally turn my big map over to the side with Antigua on it. In other news, winds were good again today, and my mileage will probably end up close to yesterday's pace which was in the high 40's, I believe. I'm planning to make some bold predictions and set some personal challenges after crossing 40W, so stay tuned for that!

Below are a couple pictures for your enjoyment. The first, of me looking out of the hatch, is a good example of how I spend a lot of time when I'm not rowing -- sitting indian-style with my head near the door for fresh air, with a stove, food, and water in front of me while cooking/eating. It's always a fun game to see how little or how much I can leave the hatch open to balance my need for fresh air with the risk of a wave jumping into the cabin with me and soaking everything. With both hatches closed (the safest option) the cabin will be absolutely stifling and after ten minutes I'll be dripping with sweat. My approach is generally to leave them closed and open one for a few seconds every 4-5 minutes while listening for oncoming waves. Sometimes this works, other times I get splashed. I'm pretty sure my skills are improving though...

The second shot is a long overdue picture of my hands, which are still in great shape considering the amount of rowing I'm doing. One small painful spot on each, and that's been about normal for the trip so far. Rather than blisters, a bigger hand-related problem is that it's becoming increasingly difficult and painful to bend my fingers in the morning, despite my most creative stretching/massage regimen on my hands and forearms. Eventually I'm able to work this out and have so far always been able to grip the oars by the start of my morning shift -- on the bright side, this is better than "the claw" problem that other rowers have had, where they can't straighten their fingers...

More rowing tomorrow, and I hope to cross 40W tomorrow night some time. Oh, yeah, and the first picture above is your Day 47 installment of BEARD WATCH -- enjoy!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit http://www.rowforhope.com/.

Paul

Day 46

Spirits were high today on board Liv as I woke up to an incredible sunrise that turned half the sky a bright orangish-yellow. Progress has also been good for several days now, and I hear that the forecast is for more of the same for the next week, which is great. Made good progress today, but probably won't match the 55+ miles I put up yesterday. I did cross 38 West at the end of my evening shift, and some time tomorrow I should cross the official half-way point of the row (but not the one I'll celebrate), where I'm equidistant from La Gomera and Antigua (1,550 miles from each). This point is around 38 degrees 20 minutes West.

So, that's the good news. Here's the bad news...the pressure/salt sores on my backside are becoming a more serious issue. I'm just running out of ways to sit where I'm not directly on top of, or rolling over, a painful sore every time I take a stroke. For the first time tonight I thought of cutting my shift short by a half hour just to ease the agony of rowing on these sores. Most of the time I've been able to fidget around and eventually find a comfortable way to sit, but this is getting tougher and tougher a time goes on.

The special ibuprofen that I have helps, but doesn't last all day. I could take more, but if I do I'll run out before the end of the row. Tonight I had the following arrangement as far as seat padding goes: wheelchair pad, mini cell foam pad, gel pad, then two layers of sheepskin. Not sure what else I can do here, as my options on top of what I'm already doing seem limited, and there's little to no chance these will heal at all before Antigua.

Owwww!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 45

Had my second best day in terms of mileage yesterday, which is great, and crossed 37W this morning. Forecast is for more weather like this through Tuesday, which means that I'll probably cross 40W on Wednesday of next week -- a huge milestone!

I've already written at length about my dislike of the freeze dried food, but I'm actually starting to get over it and enjoy most meals, with the exception of "Chicken with Rice," which I refuse to eat. Anyway, here's a look at my typical diet for one day:

Breakfast:
Granola with chocolate pudding and cheesecake mix

AM shift snacks:
freeze dried strawberries
British army biscuits
Package roasted almonds
energy bar

Lunch:
Macaroni and Cheese freeze dried dinner (double serving)
freeze dried ice cream sandwich (a rare treat)

PM shift snacks:
Snickers bar (king sized)
peanuts
Yorkie chocolate bar

Dinner:
Ramen noodles
Freeze dried lasagna w/meat sauce

Gatorade drank throughout the day mixed with my water at about half strength.

If the adding I did in my head this afternoon is correct, this puts me between 4,000 and 5,000 calories a day, which is far from the 6,000 to 8,000 that I think would be ideal. Even so, 5,000 is pretty good if I can actually get there. Interestingly enough, I was in the same range back home during my training, though of course I got there with much better tasting and less salty meals!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 44

Wind and waves are definitely back today, and mileage looks like it will be good, though we'll see what I can make at night. Am starting to get worried about being blown too far south, as I'm only 18 degree-minutes or so of latitude north of the finish line in Antigua. Can't worry about it too much, though; I'll take north as I can get it, which should be more often as the trade winds straighten out to blow due west as I get closer to the Caribbean.

I've realized that I'm never going to be happy with the state of the wind/waves. When it's too little, all I want is more, and now I'm wishing for a little less so I won't get banged around as much at night.

A happy Colgate Day to all! For the Colgate crowd, I unfortunately had to throw out my Colgate gray sweats in Week Two when they got wet and refused to dry. They were my single favorite article of clothing and weren't easy to part with, but maybe someone out there has an in with the powers that be and could get me a new pair for when I get home... With that said, I did row today in my Colgate rowing shorts -- the first ones I ever owned, which were given to me freshman year of college before our first race. Black with red/white stripes down the side. Kinda gross that I still have and wear them, huh? I think they'll be ready for retirement after this row...and maybe I will be too!?

I hear Valentines Day is tomorrow. Brooklyn is upset that I didn't get her anything, but my comeback is that all my friends back home are apparently oogling her body paint pictures in the new SI swimsuit issue, so maybe they'll make it up to her.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 43

Today's update is in the form of some Q and A.

Rowing today was tough in the morning, but winds and seas picked up quite a bit in the afternoon and wind is now 15 knots plus. Still blowing a little more south than I'd like, but after three days of slow progress I'll take what I can get! Still focused on 40W, 50W, and Antigua!

> > How much sleep at night?
Hard to tell, 6-7 hours maybe? But I wake up 10 or so times a night when the boat is hit by a big wave or when cramped up from the confined sleeping space.

> > How much "downtime" each day?
If you don't count cooking/eating, it's maybe an hour in the afternoon and an hour and a half at night. A full hour is spent in the afternoon doing e-mails. An hour at night doing emails/blog. Another 20 minutes most nights watching an episode of The Office or Rob and Big

> > How much maintenance time?
Very little -- 20-30 minutes every other day.

> > How much water do you drink per day?
3 Liters or so, not including for cooking. Cooking is about 5 cups/day.

> > How do your planned calories stack up against actual expenditures?
Will count my consumption one of these days. I'm losing weight, so I am running a calorie deficit. Would guess deficit is 2000-2500 per day. The estimated hourly calorie burn while rowing is supposed to be 500-600.

> > What is the daily menu? Is any of the food cooked?
Breakfast is granola plus chocolate pudding mix and cheesecake mix (all from Mountain House), which with some water creates a delicious goopy calorie-packed breakast. Snacks are energy bars, nuts, trail mix, etc...lunch and dinner are cooked and freeze dried. Add two cups of hot water, wait 8 minutes and eat.

> > How is your food holding out?
I've got plenty of freeze dried food, going through the dinners at half the rate anticipated. I'm close to finishing my third week's worth, and have been out here for almost 6. I have 9 more bags, or at this rate 18 weeks worth, I think. Breakfasts are about as expected and should be fine. Candy bars are getting scarce, but I lost 1/2 or them or more due to water in the deck locker. Plenty of other stuff, though, not even touched. Energy bars out the wazoo.

> > How do you manage healing of cuts/blisters in the wet environment?
Everything takes forever to heal. Am able to treat some things, with special attention to backside, hands, and feet. The rest will heal in Antigua.

> > Do you fish?
Not yet. Maybe will later for fun, but usually would rather row towards home than screw around. Would throw the fish back anyway as I couldn't ever eat/use a 20+ pound Dorado.

> > How is that broken water maker working now?
It's been good for the past couple of weeks. I run it for 30 minutes every third day. Fingers still crossed. Don't trust it.

> > How about a daily weather report?
www.passageweather.com is pretty accurate.

> > What is the water temperature?
Not sure - can look it up on www.wunderground.com I think.

> > What is the air temperature?
70's?

> > Wind chill?
Not much.

> > What are you wearing (for weather)?
Shirts and hat donated by Coolibar and are UV proof (thanks Coolibar!) www.coolibar.com). Shorts are only worn between noon and 5PM for sun protection. These are regular JL Racing rowing shorts. Foul weather gear is a North Face Gore-tex shell jacket. No foul weather pants. Do have a one-piece survival suit, but it's really for emergencies only. If it's that bad out there I should be inside anyway.

> > Has it been raining?
Sprinkles are common, but nothing that would get me soaked.

> > How do you protect from sunburn (red heads have a problem with this)?
Lots of sunscreen and Coolibar clothes as described above.

> > What improvements or changes would you like to see on LIV2?
Many ideas, but no major changes. A king-sized bed would be nice!

> > How much electricity can you generate? Is it enough every day, or are you short some days?
Our solar panels are rated for 150 watt max output. Forward panel is 65w, rear is 85w. They provide plenty of power. I'm usually getting 13.0 volts or more from the batteries. I don't want to go below 12.4 or so, but have never been close, despite as much as three straight days of overcast weather.

> > How much battery capacity do you have?
2 x Lifeline brand 79 amp hour AGM marine deep cycle batteries.

> > Why wear socks?
I was getting blisters on my heels and toes early on, but socks prevent this mostly. The shoes are standard Vespoli rowng shoes and are bolted into the boat.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 42

Shorter update today, as it's been a draining day on the oars. Sleep last night was pretty terrible, even by ocean rowboat standards and I was a little dehydrated today, which took a little energy out of me. It must be a result of the warmer weather I'm getting now that I'm 600 (or more?) miles south of where I started. Anyway, nothing serious, and I should be back to normal tomorrow, I hope.

Winds weren't great today either, coming from the NW and blowing me SW, which would have been great a month ago but is frustrating now, because I pretty much just need to go West from here. The boat felt slow enough this morning that I spent a good part of the shift cursing the barnacles which must have built up underneath, meaning I should get in and scrape again. At the end of the AM shift I reached under there as far as I could and all was clear, which meant I wouldn't have to scrape, but also that the boat would stay slow for the evening shift, too. Arggg...

I saw a school of fish around the boat today, numbering at least a couple dozen. They were maybe 12 inches in length, half of them grayish with lighter spots and the other half light blue with lighter spots. Interestingly, all had fins both on top and underneath (closer to the tail) that seemed to move side to side, whereas on most fish I've seen they stay straight. Weird...

That's all for now, and thanks again for the continued support! Reading your comments is still the highlight of every day.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 41

OK, here's Part Two of my thoughts on mental training. The second phase is "the day to day," phase, which started for me some time in the third week, when the initial shock had subsided and it was time to get to work on rowing across the ocean. Here's a little on how I've been doing it. You'll have to read my book for the full analysis...

The hardest part is getting out of the cabin in the morning, when I still have 10 or so hours of rowing ahead of me. Luckily, I think that years of rowing, especially the last 24 months that were done primarily by myself, have conditioned my body to at least easily get moving in the direction of the boathouse, rowing machine, gym, etc...which is the biggest challenge of all. Once I arrive at the place where I'll be training, I'm always be able to convince myself that, since I've come this far, I might as well get my rowing piece, lift, run, etc...over with so I can go home and not be a quitter. So, it's generally the same unconscious movement that pulls me out of the cabin and onto the rowing seat every morning and afternoon.

OK, I'm in the seat, gloves on, socks on, ready to go. I have to turn the boat stern to the waves or I'll get soaked in a minute or two, so no messing around. Once I've turned the boat around and pointed west (or whatever direction the wind will take me), the rowing has basically begun, whether I know it or not.

I realized early on that ocean rowing, unlike flat-water rowing, is really a defensive sport. I don't ever go out there to show the ocean who's boss; instead I take every oncoming wave individually with two goals: 1) Don't let the boat capsize or take the wave broadside and get soaked, 2) Use the power of each wave to my advantage to move to boat as far as possible. That's it. My rowing out here is more about protecting myself and not missing any opportunity to gain distance from every wave than it is about actually rowing the boat across the ocean.

Does that make sense? It might be like a boxer that blocks every one of his opponent's punches until the opponent finally falls down, rather than throwing punches in an effort to knock the opponent down directly. It's the ultimate war of attrition.

So that's the mindset, but in order to stay focused I have to see progress and hit milestones constantly. I do this by setting dozens of goals during every shift, each with its own reward of some kind. The GPS screen that I'm looking at shows my position down to .001 nautical miles, so that's an easy way to measure my performance. Any time I want to snack, change the song on my ipod, take a break to stretch, go to the bathroom, etc...I won't do it until I've reached a certain easily attainable goal that I'v set arbitrarily. Bigger rewards for bigger milestones, which means for example that I only end shifts at whole numbers of miles rowed. Things like that...by earning lots of tiny victories all the time, the days go pretty quickly and before I really know it I've rowed all day.

Hope all this makes sense! Note to self -- write shorter posts...

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 40

Today a few thoughts on the topic of the "mental training" that I did to prepare for this row, which I think is serving me pretty well now. Carter in Kentucky, thanks for the post; it got me thinking about all of this during my evening shift. One thing to note throughout - the physical and mental sides of training and rowing (among other things) are very closely linked, and of course each has a massive and constant influence on the other...

When it comes to the mental side of rowing, there are two different stages to think about, with different challenges:

The first 10-15 days - As you can probably tell from my posts, the early days of any ocean rowing expedition, mine included, are some of the hardest. I struggled with how to best prepare mentally for this stage, and what seemed to serve me best was the idea that I could anticipate and therefore take control of some of the mental hurdles I'd have to clear. The biggest one I feared was the feeling, "This isn't what I signed up for, how can I get out of this!?!?" Somehow, by acknowledging in advance that I would probably feel this way, I was able to say "Oh yeah, I knew this would happen" when the feeling came, which it did...often.

The other way I dealt with the "Get me outta here" feeling was borrowed from the British doctor/adventurer Mike Stroud, who wrote a book called "Survival of the Fittest," which was given to me shortly before I left for the Canary Islands (thanks Rick Smith!). There's a passage in the book in which Mike and a partner are on an expedition in Antarctica and are pulling heavy sleds over undulating frozen terrain in 60-degree-below-zero weather on their way to look at penguins (I think). Unsurprisingly, Mike is miserable and spends the first several days trying to think of how he can get out of the rest of the expedition while maintaining his dignity. He finally settles on collapsing in the snow and saying he had a certain type of stroke (don't remember the name) that would require him to be rescued but not have any long-term effects. He goes on for a while just waiting for the right time to put the plan into action.

Before he gets a chance to act it out, Mike confesses to his partner that he'd been planning to fake this emergency so he could be rescued. His partner is shocked, and then proceeds to confess that, while he hadn't been planning to fake an injury, he had just spent the past few days hoping something would happen to Mike so they could both go home!

Haha...love that story. The point is, by admitting they were both looking for ways out, they made it impossible to actually carry out one of these schemes. I don't remember what day it was, but when I found myself in a similar situation (i.e. miserable, seasick, hungry, scared, exhausted, and wishing I could go home), I called my sister Joy and said "Hey, so I just spent all of last night trying to figure out how to get out of this. Anyway, don't let me do it. I'm going all the way."

Problem solved! I never thought of taking the easy way out again. I never did come up with a good "out" though.

I'll have to write about the other mental feats of strength tomorrow. They'll have to be in full effect out here for the next few days, with light winds (10-15 knots) forecast until Friday.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 39

Short update today. Winds are lighter (15 knots) than the last few days, but hopefully I can keep my progress in the range of 40-plus miles per day. Daytime mileage was good, but we'll see what I get during the night.

The full moon made for some nice night-time rowing to end the day. I don't generally row much at night, because by sunset I've always rowed 10 or so hours already, but when the moon is full it seems a shame to turn in without enjoying a little bright moonlight rowing.

The highlight today after dark was when a huge dorado that must have been over three feet long leaped out of the water right by the boat, three times back to back to back, with big belly-flop-style splashes in between. After the third splash, a half-dozen flying fish took off from where the dorado had landed and crossed right in front of me, landing 30 yards or so from where they took off. Very cool, as all were silhouettes viewed in the light of the full moon.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 38

Today a little on what rowing in big seas is like. To set the stage, when rowing I'm sitting on a sliding seat facing the back of the boat with a big hatch and bulkhead immediately in front of me. I can't see the horizon immediately over it, but can see to either side and also the sky straight ahead. In the seat I'm no more than six inches off the water, so every wave that comes my way of course looks pretty big, and nearly all of them are above eye level.

So, big seas around and a 20-footer coming my way. I can see it approaching behind several smaller waves of 5 or so feet coming from the same direction. When I see a big one coming, I'll usually ignore the small waves and start rowing hard on one side or the other (remember that the toe steering is broken, so no help from the rudder as I go from one wave to the next) to angle my stern into the oncoming wave. When I'm in position, it's simply a matter of rowing up the front side of the wave, where you can usually get a stroke or two in, and taking one hard stroke right before the top, to "pick up" the boat, which will help me get a bigger speed boost as I'm carried down the back side. If I don't get my stern around in time, I'm usually rewarded with either a soaking splash or buckets and buckets of water being deposited in the cockpit.

A big swell will start to pick up the boat and I'll reach the top about five seconds later, at which point the wave will either be breaking, splashing, and frothing its way past me (hopefully without leaving too much water on me and in the boat), or it will pass by without breaking, which is a dryer experience. In general, one wave in four or five will break, but it all depends on the wind, and on any given day all or none of them could be expected to get me wet.

The best thing about bigger waves of course is that I get a bigger speed boost from them. I also get more speed when one breaks around me (or on me!), though of course I'll usually pay for it with a soaking. I've made up to 10.1 knots "surfing" down the back side of a big wave, compared to the 2-3 knots I'd make in flat water.

I hope this is interesting and makes sense!

Finally, a big shout-out to Susan T of my Greenwich Associates family. Susan was one of Row for Hope's biggest supporters at the office and, in addition to tirelessly reminding our colleagues to donate to the cause, on her own initiative Susan organized a great bus trip that took 25 or so coworkers of ours to Mohegan Sun for a day in November, raising more than $1,000 for Row for Hope in the process. Susan, please keep in touch (paul@rowforhope.com after I return) and thank you again for your generous support!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 37

A good day yesterday (53.3 miles), and hopefully another good one today, at least in the mid-30's, I would hope. The wind, at least until this afternoon, has been in the 20-knot range, with the larger swells being 20 feet or so. Winds are less now, but shifting more to due west after being a little more south-west yesterday and this morning. Tomorrow I'll write about what it's like to row a small boat in 20+ foot seas...it's pretty wild.

Looking ahead, here are my thoughts on this stage of the row. I crossed 30W on Monday (I should cross 33W tonight or tomorrow morning), putting me in the 2nd quarter of the row, the way I'm thinking about it. Technically, I'm well into the 2nd quarter (as my dad pointed out when I passed the 33% mark a few days ago). Anyway, I'm expecting the quarter between 30W and 40W (this one) to be the most difficult mentally, as it's still very far from the finish line and also pretty void of milestones and such to get excited about. So, the mentality is to just get over it ASAP with no drama.

After I reach 40W (the half-way mark that I'm going to celebrate), things will start to happen more quickly. The actual half-way mark from and east to west perspective is 39 deg 26 mins West, so by the time I cross 40W I'll be over half-way any way you look at it. You might wonder why I wouldn't celebrate the actual half-way point? Well, I don't really know, other than that I'm a "delayed-gratification" sort of guy - this might be obvious!

Starting at 40W, the milestones I can think of off hand are:
- My halfway point (champagne)
- Flip over my big map to the side with Antigua (and other familiar places) on it
- A new time zone (45W)
- Under 1,000 nautical miles to Antigua
- Under 1,000 statute miles to Antigua
- The final quarter of the row (50W)
- The beginning of the end (60W)
- Another new time zone (60W)
- See land for the first time in months
- Last night at sea (more champagne!)
- Antigua!!! (61 deg 45 mins West)

Those last few might not be in order, but you get the idea.

Dan P in Norwich -- Yes, I was in the scouts when I was younger and wish I stayed active longer than I did. I was in Cub Scouts as a kid and Boy Scouts in middle school and enjoyed it. One of my good friends from college, Casey, was an eagle scout and I have tons of respect for his achievement. It took him from the Air Force Academy, to Colgate University (go 'gate!), and now to medical school. I'd love to talk to your troop if we can get the logistics to work. I'll post something with more detail on how to arrange this when I'm closer to land.

Marlene -- Yes, the petrel is still here, and the seagull stops by once or twice every day. Neither are big talkers, though... yet.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 36: A Special One

Today is not just another day on the ocean. Eight years ago today, early in the morning of February 5th, 2001, my mom, Kathie Ridley, passed away from malignant melanoma after a brutally short four-month battle with the disease. Despite chemotherapy and consultations with expert oncologists at a major New York City cancer hospital, the treatments available to her were not enough to save her life or even buy her much time.

I was 17 years old in February of 2001, and I witnessed her struggle unfold at a particularly formative point in my life when, as a senior in high school, I was beginning to realize that the decisions I made in the next several years would go a long way toward determining who I'd be as an adult. The impact my mom's death had on me was profound, and is single-handedly responsible for where I am at this very moment -- 31 degrees 35 minutes West, 18 degrees 20 minutes North -- in a 19-foot boat 359 nautical miles from the nearest land (Cape Verde) and 1,736 nautical miles from the end of my journey.

Every year I treat this day as an opportunity to reflect on the progress in my life over the last 12 months, and particularly my most meaningful successes and failures. This year, as you can imagine, much of my focus has been on Row for Hope. Here the jury is still out because, despite the fact that the expedition is going well, there is a lot of progress still to be made on the fund raising front. Unlike other expeditions, the success or failure of Row for Hope will be decided not by miles rowed, but by dollars raised.

Through this row I'm hoping to make a statement in as bold a way as I know how -- that cancer research matters and the pace of life-saving progress must be accelerated with additional funding.

Row for Hope has been lucky to be supported by so many passionate donors and volunteers. We've benefited from bake sales and bus trips, jeans days, Superbowl pool winnings, donors young and old, classrooms, companies, big checks, loose change, and heart-felt encouragement nearly everywhere we go. For this support I am personally very grateful.

If you enjoy following Row for Hope and my expedition, or know someone who has been affected by cancer, today would be a great day to make a donation by visiting www.rowforhope.com. If you've already donated and would consider donating again, please do. Keep an eye out for a post from Peter Lamothe of Yale Cancer Center with more detail on how your donation will be put to work to accelerate the remarkable progress that takes place there every day.

Thanks,

Paul

A difficult anniversary, and the reason why we're here

This is Joy, with a personal note from our family. It's been 8 years today since Paul and I lost our mom and since our family lost its center. As the emotional member of the Row for Hope team I've been nominated to mark the occasion. I could write all day about the person she was, and the loss we won't ever recover from, but I know she'd prefer that Paul and I turn our grief into something bigger and better. That is what we've tried to do in creating Row for Hope, and that is the reason why Paul is pulling the oars every day.

As a reminder of why we're all here, we asked Yale Cancer Center to write today's blog and to describe the critical work that they do. Every additional dollar Row for Hope is able to contribute to their programs is one step closer to a cure for the cancer that changed our family and too many others. Thanks to the countless people who have supported us in this incredible journey. Thanks to Dr. Sznol and Yale Cancer Center for the life-saving work they do every day. And thanks Mom, for giving us life, and for making it good. We love you!

Quote from Dr. Mario Sznol, Co-Director, Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program

Everyone at Yale Cancer Center's Melanoma Program joins me in thanking Paul and Joy for choosing to help others who will face melanoma in their lifetime. It is a wonderful testament to their character and conviction that they travel this incredible journey to benefit patients and families they may never know. Row for Hope's impact will be both immediate and far reaching. By helping to fund today's research, our understanding of the disease and the treatments we provide our patients in the future will improve considerably.

Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program

The Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program is a multidisciplinary team of physicians and scientists dedicated to state-of-the-art clinical care and research to improve the outcome of patients with melanoma. Melanoma can be a devastating disease, and although current treatments can cure or delay progression of the disease in a small number of patients, most patients do not benefit from available therapies. Therefore, there is critical need for research to develop more effective and less toxic treatments.
The Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Programis uniquely positioned to take advantage of existing opportunities to rapidly advance the treatment of metastatic melanoma. It was developed over 25 years ago to discover new treatments and provide state-of-the-art treatment for patients with melanoma. In order to achieve its objectives, the Melanoma Program brings together scientists, experts in clinical research, specialists in melanoma surgery, medical oncologists devoted to melanoma treatment, community oncologists, dermatologists, pathologists, dermatopathologists, and radiologists.

Program Co-Directors

The Melanoma Program is co-directed by Dr. Stephan Ariyan and Dr. Mario Sznol. Dr. Ariyan is a nationally recognized plastic surgeon and former Chief of Plastic Surgery at Yale-New Haven Hospital, with 30 years of experience in the care of melanoma patients, and a distinguished record in research of surgical approaches and management of patients with melanoma. Dr. Sznol is the current Vice Chief of Medical Oncology and brings to Yale nationally recognized expertise in drug development and development of immunotherapy treatments for melanoma.

Basic Science Research

The basic foundations of the Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program are basic research, clinical research, and skilled multi-disciplinary care of patients. The basic research is headed by Dr. Ruth Halaban, a molecular biologist who has made fundamental contributions to the understanding of melanoma biology. Dr. Halaban is Director of the recently awarded Skin SPORE grant, one of only 4 in the country, which supports multiple research projects in melanoma that translate basic science into clinical application. Other members of the Melanoma Program have combined clinical and laboratory programs. For example, Dr. Kluger, has a laboratory program focused on tissue microarrays, which provide a means to discover biomarkers for prognosis and response to treatment, and potential targets for drug treatment. Dr. Kluger's program is closely allied with Dr. David Rimm, who leads the Yale Tissue Microarray Program and Yale's efforts to discover prognostic markers for early melanoma lesions.

Clinical Research

Clinical research initiatives are led by Dr. Sznol. The goal of the clinical research program is to introduce and investigate novel treatments for patients with melanoma. Currently, 6 clinical trials are available for patients with metastatic disease, including novel chemotherapy regimens, anti-angiogenesis agents (drugs that destroy or inhibit the formation of blood vessels that feed tumor), and new agents that stimulate the body's immune system to attack the melanoma tumors. In addition, patients with metastatic melanoma who are no longer eligible for melanoma-specific studies may be offered novel cancer treatments through the Yale Cancer Center Phase I Clinical Trial Program.

Clinical Care

Clinical care of melanoma patients is a coordinated effort of the YCC Melanoma Program surgeons, medical oncologists, dermatologists, radiologists, surgical and dermatologic pathologists, and radiologists. Dr. Ariyan directs the weekly conference in which care and management of patients is discussed among the Program members. Clinical history, physical exam findings, surgical procedures, x-ray studies, and pathology slides are reviewed at the conference, and optimal approaches to treatment are proposed and discussed at length. The Program emphasizes communication with all physicians active in the care of patients. Joining Dr. Sznol in the medical treatment of patients with melanoma is Dr. Harriet Kluger, Associate Professor of Medical Oncology. In addition to caring for melanoma patients, Dr. Kluger is involved in conducting studies on patients' tumors and blood samples and incorporating these findings into the clinical trials of the Melanoma Program, further facilitating bench-to-bedside advances.

Private Support

There are two established research areas within the Melanoma Program that benefit directly from new funding like Row for Hope. The first is non-clinical translational research, intended to develop and test drugs (or combinations of drugs) against specific targets in melanoma cells (identified from basic research), and to develop and test drugs that activate the body's immune system to destroy the melanoma. The second is clinical research, intended to test the best drugs and drug combinations in patients and determine their safety and ability to effectively treat melanoma.

Day 35: Swimming with the Fishes

After much less deliberation than expected, I went in the water tonight around 7PM and scraped the bottom of the boat. I couldn't see the bottom, but from my map my best guess is that it was between 8,774 feet and 8,869 feet deep (2,675 to 2,704 meters)! I actually didn't plan to go in the water today, as the seas aren't all that calm (10-15 feet, maybe?) and by the time I started thinking about it, it was already getting late in the day.

Here's how it went down... Rowing along in the middle of the PM shift, and the boat's feeling slower than ever. I still haven't scraped barnacles and it has probably been long enough for there to be some growth under there. Maybe I'll see if I can feel anything under the waterline? So I reach under as far as I can and to my surprise the hull is like a shag carpet of barnacles! Bad news...

So I think, OK, well, I hear there are supposed to be light winds next Tuesday; I'll go under then. Then, well, winds are supposed to be good until Monday night; do I really want to waste five days of good winds by not scraping the bottom? Nope.

So I dig out my mask, snorkel, and barnacle scraper (a plastic cement spreader), tie a rope around my waist (other end to the boat, obviously), and I'm ready to go...technically. Then I climb over the grab rail and proceed to sit on the gunwale for at least 5 mins, thinking... "what time of day do sharks typically feed?"...and "don't freak out if you go under and see a Dorado. It's not the same as a shark"...and "it's OK, you can put this off till tomorrow"...

Then finally I'm in the water...first thought is "oh, crap I'm in the water!" Second thought is "scrape like hell'...so I do. All the way around the boat, and barnacle carnage everywhere. Small fish with black and white vertical stripes stuck around to feast on the now-homeless barnacles, but they were the only fish I saw. I even put my head under the water to scope out the hull to be sure I got every last one, bow to stern. At one point I even looked down and saw nothing but bright blue, which was actually slightly reassuring.

I clamber out of the boat wet and cold, but mission accomplished! In hindsight, and based on my terrible mileage numbers for the past week, it seems that I started to slow down around Day 25, which means I need to scrape the bottom about every three weeks. That means I'll have at least a couple more reasons to go for a dip before Antigua.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 34

After the big entertainment yesterday, a shorter update today. Everyone's curious about "the swim." Haven't gone for a dip yet, but I'm planning on it next time the wind and waves die down. I actually don't really like swimming where I can't touch the bottom. A little ironic, isn't it? Not to mention the fact that I'm not a particularly good long distance swimmer. Maybe because my leg muscles are bigger than they should be from rowing and my arms are tiny in proportion? If you're curious, my map says that the ocean where I am is 2704 meters (I think) deep!

Biggest excitement of the day was when during my lunch break I was putting some food away (transferring from a week's worth that was in a garbage bag in the forward compartment to the cabin, where I keep food inside my balled-up survival suit, borrowed from Norwalk River Rowing Assn -- thanks Charles!), when I took the biggest splash yet in the rear hatch and directly into the cabin, soaking everything in sight. The biggest concern was the satellite phone, which took a glancing blow, but seems to be OK. If the sat phone where to go down it would be a big, big, problem -- no blogs, no calls to home/media/friends. Note to self: stop being stupid and leaving the hatch cracked open!

I'm headed out shortly to try a short night shift. Hopefully I can work an extra hour or two into the routine after dinner, to help get my mileage up. Seems like the wind's been weak for a while now. What happened to my days of clocking 40 plus good miles? Arggg...

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 33 - Liv Meets the Nordic Cosmos

Around noon today I'm rowing along in a relatively calm sea, rowing, rowing, rowing...in the middle of contemplating life with some David Gray on the iPod. As I'm rowing along, I think to myself..."was that a beep?"...then again..."Yeah, that sorta sounds like a beep..."

Then I take a glance to my immediate left and..."OH #%@#!"

I'm staring straight at the enormous bow and reddish brown hull of a huge freighter headed right at me and maybe a quarter mile away. Close enough that I can clearly see waves being thrown up from its bow cutting through the water, and I know it's moving fast. Quick, turn on the VHF, channel 16:

"LARGE CARGO SHIP, LARGE CARGO SHIP, THIS IS OCEAN ROWBOAT LIV, OCEAN ROWBOAT LIV, I AM 500 METERS OFF OF YOUR BOW DEAD AHEAD. COME IN CARGO SHIP"

Nothing....

"LARGE CARGO SHIP, THIS IS OCEAN ROWBOAT LIV, I AM DEAD AHEAD AND REQUESTING AN IMMEDIATE TURN TO STARBOARD!"

A few seconds pass...and I see cloud of black smoke coming from the ship's half-dozen smoke-stacks. The captain is gunning the engines to make a turn, and I gradually begin to see more and more of the ship's port side come into view...this is good!

By this time I've poked my head in the cabin to check my chart plotter. I notice that the AIS alarm (which had been beeping) was reading "Closest Point of Approach - 0.00nm". Wow. That's close!

Then from the VHF...

"This is Nordic Cosmos, sorry Liv I didn't see you on the radar and wasn't looking at the AIS. I see you now. Turning to starboard."

My reply, "Thanks! Sorry for the scare, I should have seen you coming. Good to hear from you though, I'm 33 days out of the Canary Islands bound for Antigua and you're my first sign of life in two weeks."

"Wow. Is everything ok? Is there anything you need?"

"No, I'm fine. Where are you coming from?"

"OK. Coming from the United States."

"Do you see me on your AIS?"

"Yes, sorry. I see you now on AIS but didn't see you on radar."

"OK, good to know I'm still transmitting. Well, good to talk to you. Have a good trip."

"OK, Liv. Standby channel 16..."

So, how's that for some excitement? In hindsight I don't know why he didn't have his own AIS alarm set. Who knows how close we would have ended up, but the answer is at least "pretty close" and much too close for comfort. At the closest it got (after making its turn), the boat looked something like a 4-iron's distance away...so 200 yards or so? Yikes!

Well, lessons learned today include:
1) iPod headphones in one ear only
2) If I hear a beep, or think I hear a beep, at least take a look around!
3) Don't get so caught up in contemplating life that I forget my surroundings, even if I haven't seen anything but ocean in weeks.

After the excitement was over I got out the camera and took some pictures. These are not zoomed in, and will serve as the most recent installment of BEARD WATCH, marking just under two months of growth:

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit http://www.rowforhope.com/.

Paul

Day 32

Shorter update today, since it's getting late and I just spent the half hour I usually use to write playing with my AIS transponder. As I was eating dinner while sitting in front of the main hatch, enjoying the fresh air and the view of the moonlit ocean, a wave hit my starboard side at just the right angle to send a splash of water into the cabin. As I was toweling things off I must have knocked loose the connection from the VHF antenna to the AIS unit, because shortly thereafter it was blinking wrong color lights, which indicates a problem.

AIS (Automatic Identification System) is like a next-generation radar that sends data through VHF radio signals (think walkie-talkies) to other ships up to 25 miles or so away. Where radar would just show me a blip on the screen where there's something to reflect a radar wave, AIS actively sends and receives lots of information that's useful to ships at sea, including the ship's name, call sign, ID number, position, heading (direction it's pointed), speed, rate of turn, etc... With this information, I can tell where a ship is and how close it's going to get to me. When I plug the AIS information into my chart plotter (GPS mapping gadget), it shows other ships on the screen, and sets off an alarm if any are going to come within a certain range of me and Liv. Since I'm paranoid and want to know about every ship out there, my alarm goes off if there's a ship within 25 miles.

AIS also lets other ships know I'm here, and they get the same information about Liv that I get about them. I show up on their screens as "LIV - OCEAN ROWBOAT"... at which point I'm sure they think, "You've got to be kidding me." So far none have come over to take a closer look.

Anyway, I reinstalled the plug that connects the VHF cable and the AIS unit, which I had first installed back in Gomera. As I write this the unit is blinking away all green lights and everything's back to normal.

In other news, lighter winds forecast for tomorrow and Tuesday before picking up again from Wednesday on. Maybe I'll go for a swim to scrape the bottom of the boat in the next couple of days? Will be sure to check for sharks and giant squid before I go in!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit http://www.rowforhope.com/.

Paul

Day 31: Update from Home

Here's Paul's position at the end of his first month at sea (click to enlarge). He's almost exactly 1,000 miles from La Gomera, with 2,100 miles to go.

And here's some evidence of the "Row for Hope mania" that's sweeping the country! (And, no, it's not my Blazer....)

Thanks for every sign of support!

Mark Ridley and the Row for Hope Team