The ORS Int. is the
official adjudicator of ocean rowing records for Guinness World
Records
Alex Bland and Harry
Martin-Dreyer (UK)
Alex Bland and Harry
Martin-Dreyer , both 27 at the start of their journey.
Alex, who is originally from Cound from Shrewsbury, and Harry, from
Lyneal, near Ellesmere, first met at Shrewsbury School and decided to
take on the challenge - to row across the Atlantic Ocean.
On December 12, 2013 Alex and Harry
departed from Puerto Mogan, Gran Canaria on
board ocean rowing boat Row 4 Research
and arrived to Barbados 50 days 16hrs 43min
later, on February 1, 2015
Here is a short story of their life time
adventure
Photo credit www.shropshirestar.com
It has been two months
since our safe arrival into Barbados. Our hands and bums have
for the most part recovered and having now had some time to
readjust to normal life back in England we would like to take
this opportunity to reflect on what has been an incredible year
and to say a big final thank you to everyone that has been
involved in our campaign.
Rowing 4 Research originated from a desire to do something
extraordinary, to get a different perspective on our own lives
and if possible, to make a positive difference to other people’s
lives. When we made the commitment to ourselves in December 2012
that we would attempt to row across the Atlantic a year later,
neither of us really knew whether we were up to it or how we
would go about it; we simply committed to making it happen. In
truth there were many times during the year that followed when
we both wondered whether we would get to the start line, let
alone the finish line. There were so many things to consider,
from training physically, mentally and practically, to sourcing
the necessary equipment, to raising funds for our charities and
most importantly, to finding sufficient corporate sponsorship to
fund the project. It was a steep learning curve and a difficult
period, one that notably saw Harry’s mother tragically lose her
long battle to Leukaemia. There were times that we thought we
had perhaps not given ourselves enough time, that we had taken
on too much and that, following a memorable rescue by the RNLI
during one of our later training sessions, perhaps our decision
to go unsupported had been ill-considered. Thankfully, with some
willpower and the help of a huge number people it remarkably all
came together and at 22.05 on the evening of the 12th of
December 2013 we set out unceremoniously into the darkness and
into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean.
So what was it like? To summarise such an undertaking in a few
paragraphs does not do it justice. There were however some
aspects of the trip that stand out in our memories that might
help to provide an insight into what it is and what it means to
row across an ocean.
Having driven ourselves, Alexandra (the boat) and all our
supplies the two and half thousand miles from the UK, Alex
commented upon our arrival in Gran Canaria that we would soon be
embarking on an even longer journey - this time in a small
rowing boat, across the world’s second largest ocean and at a
speed of no more than 2-3 knots. It was a daunting thought that
in that moment prompted a quiet realisation of the scale of the
challenge that awaited us.
Having been ready to set off on December 1st the additional 12
days of waiting in Puerto de Mogan for bad weather to clear was
frustrating but vindicated by our compatriots in the Talisker
Atlantic Rowing Race that left 10 days earlier from a nearby
island only to spend most of that time on their sea anchors
being battered by southerly gales and drifting backwards in the
high seas. Eventually the low pressure system did begin to move
and being desperately tired of waiting we made the unorthodox
decision to leave as soon as the winds changed. It was 10.05pm
and the moment that we had been working towards for so long had
finally arrived; we were on our way.
Photo credit www.shropshirestar.com
Alex lost the toss and
begun the first of countless 2 hour sessions on the oars. With
the wind gradually picking up behind us there would be no
turning back and as the lights of Gran Canaria became
increasingly distant we felt a strange mixture of emotions. Alex
recalled “on the one hand I was excited, excited about the
unknown and the prospect of adventure. There was also a great
sense of pride in having made it to the start line after a year
of planning, training and fundraising. On the other hand I was
nervous. Despite all the careful planning, for the first time I
could not help but feel that there was an element of insanity
about what we were doing and I had to remind myself that
multiple successful crossings had gone before us, conducted in
some cases by crews with less safety equipment and contingency
than we had”.
The first night was uneventful. Being our first taste of the 2
hour on 2 hour off routine both of us hardly slept but we made
reasonable progress and when the sun rose we found ourselves
almost completely out of sight of land except for the snow
capped peak of Tenerife’s Mount Teide volcano. It was a
promising start but as we soon found out, the open ocean can be
a volatile and scary place to be. By mid morning the North
Easterly trade winds that had been quietly urging us on
throughout the night had begun to build dramatically. The sea
state rose accordingly so much so that within 12 hours of
setting off we found ourselves in what were to be the worst
conditions of the entire crossing.
Given the difficulties associated with on-the-water training and
our lack of experience on the ocean we had been told to expect a
shock. We had mentally prepared for what we could only guess at
as the worst but this was a baptism of fire that neither of us
had expected to be so intense. Feeling increasingly seasick and
with no option but to carry on deeper into the mid-Atlantic, we
both spent much of the first week fueled on adrenaline alone. On
our second night we were washed off our seats on consecutive
occasions, in each instance fearing the boat would inevitably
capsize. On one such occasion when the boat was engulfed by the
crest of a huge wave, we registered our top speed of 17.5 knots
as we surfed seemingly in it rather than on it, white water
swirling all around. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. As
if the sea conditions didn’t pose enough of a threat, also on
our second night we were forced to let off a flare in order to
prevent a near collision with a rogue sailing yacht and on our
third night we were hit from behind by a wave with such force
that it sheered a bolt connecting our rudder with the autohelm
necessitating us to hand steer until we had sufficient day light
to make repairs.
Looking back it was a scary time that had both of us deeply
questioning our sanity. It is impossible to know how one is
going to react when thrown into such a situation but we were
thankful to have each other and as Harry says, “we dealt with it
calmly and quietly in the knowledge that we only had ourselves
to blame for being there and that to quit, whilst tempting,
simply was never an option.” Fortunately things did get better
and as we settled in to life at sea, we soon came to view the
wind as our ally rather than our enemy. The reality was that
whilst it had been a dangerously rough start, we had survived
the worst and had made excellent progress. Indeed for much of
the remainder of the crossing we enjoyed ‘fast’ rowing
conditions, characterised by consistently strong trade winds
that ultimately played a large part in enabling us to achieve a
very respectable 50 day crossing. It was often uncomfortable,
there was rarely a dry moment but we were always glad to be
getting closer to our final destination.
To that extent we were fortunate because despite the obvious
physical hardships, the real challenge of rowing an ocean is
characterised by the difficult and utterly unremitting nature of
life on board an ocean rowing boat. Come rain or shine (we had
our fair share of both) the routine was sacrosanct which meant
that with each of us spending 12 hours a day at the oars, the
remaining 12 hours were spent either sleeping in a space that
resembled an oversized coffin or carrying out other necessary
tasks in a completely exposed outside space that amounted to
little more than 1 meter squared. It was very cramped and all
the while the boat would be pitching and rolling, sometimes
violently, making any movement or task a constant struggle. In
some respects sleeping would offer the only true respite but
taken in 2 hour intervals and with the cabin increasingly
resembling a sauna during the heat of the day, opportunities to
escape the onslaught of the elements were limited. As a result
we were constantly tired, the continuous physical exertion and
the effects of the sun and sea took their toll on our bodies but
by far the biggest battle that we faced was always in our minds.
There were undoubtedly some bleak periods but as one would hope
these were interspersed with some amazing sights and moments
that we both feel privileged to have experienced. As one of the
world’s great wildernesses the Atlantic Ocean is an environment
that can be both terrifying but utterly magical in equal
measure. It demands respect but in return it offers some truly
breathtaking spectacles, which in our tiny rowing boat, could
scarcely have been experienced more vividly. Alex relives one
scene, “I recall rowing down the side of a mountainous wave, a
great piece of music playing in my ears, dolphins leaping all
around, against the back drop of an exquisite sunset. Rarely
have I felt more alive”.
In addition to dolphins we were met along the way by whales,
countless birds and even a shark, all seemingly curious as to
our reason for trespassing through their world. The nights could
be long and miserable but they too could be mesmerising, often
characterised by a staggering display of the solar system,
shimmering phosphorescence or the flashes of a distant
electrical storm. These were moments when the daily hardships
and relentless routine could be forgotten and at the time they
certainly made it all seem worthwhile.
Arguably the most memorable moment of all however was when we
sighted land for the first time. We were both on deck enjoying
what would be the final sunset of the trip when, as the sun
dipped below the horizon the light refracted against the
curvature of the earth to reveal the faint but unmistakable
silhouette of Barbados. It was a sight that we had longed for
since our first day at sea and with it came the euphoric
realisation that we were merely hours away from seeing our
long-suffering girlfriends, our families and friends and most
importantly from finishing what had been a painful but epic
journey. This time the lights were getting closer not further
away; it was a great final night and the day that followed was
more momentous than we had ever imagined during the preceding 50
days. It was 9.59am local time on the 1st of February and as we
rounded the harbour wall to Port St Charles we received an
unbelievable welcome.
Photo credit http://cureleukaemia.co.uk
The sounding of fog horns from resident super yachts, steel
drums, the cheers from a large crowd made up of family, friends
and many people neither of us had ever met and not to mention
Harry’s imminent proposal to Lucy all compounded to create a
very memorable and emotional arrival dominated by overriding
senses of excitement, achievement and relief. Excited to be
reunited, proud to have achieved what so few have even attempted
to achieve and relieved; relieved because the ordeal was over
but also because many of the things that could have gone wrong
for the most part didn’t and we had survived to tell the tale.
We had survived to tell the tale but had it been worth it? In
some respects it is easier to look back in retrospect in order
to fully appreciate why we do these things. Why row across an
ocean when you can much more easily and more safely sail or even
fly across. A large part of the reason stems from the fact that
it is possible, but only just. It is the fact that it is only
just possible that makes it the unique type of challenge that it
is; one that not only encourages but requires a new perspective
on life; one that takes an individual far beyond their comfort
zone and one that ultimately necessitates a much greater
understanding of one’s self and purpose. For this reason alone
it was worth it but of course there was another very important
and worthwhile reason.
From the very beginning we set out with the intention of raising
awareness and money for two personally motivated but widely
known causes. Cure Leukaemia and JDRF are both phenomenal
medical research charities and during the course of the year we
were able to see first hand the amazing work that they are doing
in their respective fields of Leukaemia and Type 1 Diabetes. We
set ourselves an ambitious fundraising target but neither of us
imagined for a second that we would come to the end of it all
having raised over £150,000. It is a fantastic result that now
represents some very thick icing on the cake for the entire
project and we are pleased to be able to say with confidence
that it will be money very well spent. Harry commented, “for me
the success of our charitable fundraising is yet another example
of how much of a team effort this was. One of the pillars of our
success is this number and so everyone that contributed has been
a part of what we did.”
Looking back our success can be attributed to a number of
factors; luck, determination, certainly careful planning and
preparation. These were all important but significantly it was
the incredible enthusiasm and generosity shown by our sponsors
(particularly Hotel Rafayel) and supporters that really made it
happen and that ultimately made it possible. To all those that
have donated, sponsored, encouraged, advised and helped in so
many ways, thank you. Thank you for believing in us, for seeing
the value in what we were trying to achieve and for playing an
important part in something that we hope you will agree has been
very special.