Peru to Penrhyn Island: A Brief Recapitulation
It’s exactly a year since we ran our first story on Tom Robinson’s epic adventure. Since then we have published 10 updates and you can read them all HEAR. This latest piece by Tom himself is a charmingly honest account of the journey so far.
By Tom Robinson
At the time of writing this summary, I’d been on terra firma for a week, which was almost enough time to settle into my new home, catch up on sleep, ride my new bike around the village ten times, and most importantly, process the last 160 days of my life. I spent a nice portion of that time talking on the phone with friends and family, regaling them with tales from the high seas and catching up on news from home. I’ve noticed that there are a handful of questions that I’m often answering, so I thought it would do no harm to answer them here, for you.
How was it out there?
It was tough, it was really hard. There’s no denying it was both physically and mentally a serious challenge. Of course, there were times when it was truly wonderful out there, many times really, but, at least for now anyway, I think back and just shake my head. It takes a very strong mind to overcome the constant challenges I faced. Thankfully, I’m blessed with the right attitude, so never once did I lose the will to row, nor did the dream ever die for me, but I spent a good while saying to myself that I wouldn’t wish my situation on anyone.
My first 75 days at sea were fantastic, just what I really hoped it would be. I was romping along in the Humboldt Current, making good miles, catching lots of fish, reading, writing my log, rowing hard and, most of all, revelling in my unique situation; everyday appreciating that I was wholeheartedly living out my childhood dream, and that it was everything I hoped it would be.
After this amazing period, a strong sou-easter blew up. I was trying to get south and it was pushing me north. There was nothing I could do. All my rowing was to no avail. Eventually the sea state was such that it was unsafe to row beam-on. I was helpless. On day 75 I woke up and realised that reaching the Marquesas was nigh impossible. Instantly my mindset shifted. Where to next? Cyclone season was approaching and I needed to get to land and safety. On top of this I was limited in my water and food supplies, I still had enough, but landfall was imperative. There was one speck on the chart, about a thousand miles west from the Marquesas. Penrhyn Island. I checked my pilot books and found that there were two villages. This was all I needed to know. Penrhyn was inhabited. I texted my father at home and told him of my new plan. It ended with “Call if you want.” Up until then I had not had a conversation on the satellite phone, successfully abstaining from modern conveniences and living alone and pure. But as things changed I realised that I would need some information that I just didn’t have onboard.
The phone rang. We spoke. The first thing my father said was “Don’t give up on the Marquesas yet.” It was true. I still had time and if I did manage to get down to the current, it would be a quick and steep descent to landfall after a total of about 100 days at sea. And just like that my mindset shifted again and I committed to reaching French Polynesia. I told myself I had to. So, for the next month I rowed like a man possessed. Every luxury was discarded, and by luxury I mean navigating by sextant, catching fish, lengthy log entries, etc. Anything that wasn’t sleeping, eating or rowing was put aside and every effort went into trying to get south. This was physically the most intense experience of my life. You see, rowing 8 to 10 hours a day is generally fine on the body. It’s only when you start to row 10 to 14 hours that things get hard. Everything hurt. The first few strokes of every shift sent sharp pains throughout my body. I rowed during the heat of the day and well into the night, often just repeating the same mantra over and over again in my head, “Just keep rowing. Just keep rowing. Just keep rowing”. When it was rough I had a heavy three-strand line on a bight that I would place around my torso. At these times I really felt like a galley slave.
I would look at my handheld GPS and watch the numbers tick over on the latitude and longitude readout. This told me whether my westward drift had northing or southing. It had to be southing to help me reach the right latitude. Some days I would make a few miles south: Things looked good, I started to dream of Nuku Hiva again. On other days it would push me north and everything would seem futile, a ridiculous romantic dream. During this period my mood was solely dependent on the current, to the extreme. When I made good progress south, the sun would shine down on me. Then I would get a bad hit from the current and I would lose the precious miles south I worked so hard to gain, and so desperately needed. I was fighting an invisible beast and there was nothing I could do.
The sun was my constant. It was regular, beautiful, immense. I started asking for help. “Why are you testing me?” “When will you make it better for me?” “Why are you challenging me like this?” The sun would reply. “You are on a journey, Tom. Things take time. Maintain your perseverance, this is important.” Then the sun would sink below the horizon and I would say my farewell until the next day. Eventually the day came. I woke up and realised that the Marquesas were now impossible to reach from my position. That was a hard pill to swallow. Just like that my first leg went from a 100 day passage to a 160 day passage. The whole picture in my mind of the journey changed: French Polynesia, Tahiti, Tonga, it all went out the window. I soon adjusted and got excited again about Penrhyn Island. I relaxed a bit and things were good again. I still needed to get south, but this time I had another thousand miles up my sleeve.
I knew I would reach an inhabited island eventually, but which one? How long would I be at sea? Would I have enough food to keep rowing meaningfully? These were all questions I could not answer. It was only then that I looked out at the Pacific and the beauty was gone. It just seemed like everything was out to get me. A sucker for punishment no doubt, but this was getting a bit worrying, even for me. There are a few people who have tried rowing the Pacific and have not made it; some paid the ultimate price, others simply gave up. Only then could I really understand how it can happen, how one can throw away years of hard work and dreaming to climb up a rope ladder to the safety of a ship.
Not for me! This was real Adventure now. What coconut clad shore I would end up on I did not know, but I knew deep, deep down inside that I would get there. And then, eventually, as I knew it would, the current changed. Those low latitude numbers on my GPS started to get higher, the little crosses on my chart started to make their way south, and Penrhyn Island came within my reach. For the first time in months I was on track. What a fantastic feeling. I cannot begin to describe the sense of relief, gratitude and joy that I felt, knowing that I was back on course. Things were good again.
There was a period, some time later, less than a week all told, when I was in a state of pure bliss; it was better than this though. I was truly content. The days were like…jeez, I don’t know, but I felt an inner glow, a contentment, a bliss, nirvana, whatever you want to call it. Nothing in the world mattered but my position in it at that very moment. The sea stretched as far as the eye could see, and that was enough for me. There was no outside world, no evil, no greed, no competition, no noise. I had been through the tunnel and was soaking up the warm rays at the end. Magical stuff.
After this it was a relatively straightforward, but by no means easy run to Penrhyn Island. You see, out there the exact direction of the current is constantly changing; sometimes the current would change by 50 degrees in the space of a few minutes. As I was aiming for one speck in the Pacific, as opposed to a chain of specks, I was constantly correcting my course to overcome adverse currents. There were only a handful of days when I was actually rowing in the same direction as my destination. This, of course, slowed down my progress to the point where Penrhyn seemed to keep getting further away. Eventually, on day 160, I found myself just 6 miles from land. It was a wickedly hot and calm day, calm enough for me to stand atop the cabin, I scanned the horizon gingerly. Nothing. Eventually my eyes adjusted, and the grey/brown specks of coconut clad motus appeared right before me. “Land ho!” I cried out.
As I got closer to the island, I saw the bow of an aluminium work barge heading my way. It alternately appeared then disappeared with the undulating swell. “Salvation!” I cried. It got closer and I saw a big boat with about ten fine looking Cook Islanders. They were all speaking excitedly in Māori, taking photographs. ‘This seems like a good place to stay’, I thought to myself. I threw them a towline and we made our way through the dangerous eastern pass. As we crossed the bar I looked down to see the coral just a few feet away. The water was bright, bright blue. To port and starboard tremendous waves broke either side of the coral reef. I looked to my left and saw a bright sandy beach. It was densely wooded with coconut palms and pandanus trees. There was a dark rain cloud overhead. The afternoon sun was beaming in from the west, and everything was bathed in brilliant light. The colours were spectacular. Paradise exaggerated.
Then it hit me: I had arrived. From Peru to Paradise in 160 days.
Whether it was a solitary raindrop, or a tear, that ran down my cheek, well, I guess you’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.
Did you catch any fish?
Did I ever! For the first 100 days I had fish for dinner twice a week. I never fished for more than 15 minutes a day. The Dorados, (also known as Mahi Mahi or Dolphin fish) were constantly attracted to the boat. There was hardly a day when I didn’t see many, many large Dorados leaping about and following the boat. Often I would cast my lure out once, this would attract and excite the Dorados and bring them close. Then on the second cast I would be onto a fish just as the lure hit the water. They fought hard too. This was good sport at the beginning, but after a few months it became tiresome. To cook my fish I either fried it in some oil or boiled it in sea water. The boiling was best. Sometimes I would make a cashew nut and apricot fish curry; this would last two days. I also caught many squid. They didn’t taste very good, but I was hungry and they were plentiful. The crowning moment in my ocean rowing-fishing career was the time I hooked onto a huge marlin, a proper big one. It cruised at the surface just near the boat. I flicked my lure out, and it landed a few inches from its bill, and, just like that, I was onto the fish of my life! For a few seconds there I was a Cuban fisherman, I was Hemingway, I was on top of the world! It didn’t last long of course. My eggbeater reel was no match for such a mighty specimen, but the thrill was something I will never forget. I even got my lure back!
What did you miss?
Not much to be truthful. It sounds bad, I know, but really I was very content out there. Of course there were certain people - family, friends, etc – who I thought about often, but I can’t say I missed them. I thought I would miss food, but not once did I long for a different meal. Sometimes I would reminisce about roast dinner with the family on Sunday, but it was the same feeling as looking back on one’s childhood – nice memories, but that was a previous life. I thought I would miss music, which I did a little at the start, but it didn’t take long for me to get completely comfortable singing along merrily all day. The only thing I missed was access to information – books and the internet. Sometimes it was frustrating having a new thought and not being able to take it further than my current knowledge allowed.
Did you have any rough weather?
Only a little. A few days out from Lima it blew up over 30 knots. At this stage the boat was very, very heavy and wasn’t riding to the seas as I would have liked. Some nights were sleepless as waves constantly broke over the boat. It was quite intense being wedged in my bunk, with the boat constantly being thrown about, wondering if the next wave was going to turn my whole world upside down, literally. One morning I awoke to find a very strange and large fish in the cockpit, it was definitely some sort of deep-sea creature that only comes to the surface at night. What a shock it must have got as the wave it was swimming in broke over Maiwar’s cockpit.
The other rough weather was about day 70. It really didn’t blow much more than 25 knots, quite comfortable really, but I was hit, beam-on, with something of a rogue wave. Its size and shape was unlike anything I had seen before. I turned to my right just in time to see it coming. I let go the oars to grab for the weather side coaming. ‘Hold on for dear life or start swimming hard’ was my only thought as I was engulfed by a wall of water. Maiwar was pushed over on her beam-ends, almost capsizing. The cockpit was completely full of water. The main hatch had been left ajar, which was enough to let water into the cabin. Quite unnerving.
Did you see any ships?
I did. As for ships that I saw during the daytime, there were about eight: Half were container ships the other were fishing boats. How many saw me? I believe three. Some time around day 20, I went on deck first thing in the morning and saw a container vessel very close. They seemed to be standing off. I tried to raise them on the radio, but no luck. I got on the oars a few minutes later, which seemed to please them enough to increase their speed. On day 49 I saw an Ecuadorian tuna fishing ship quite close. They got closer and closer until I saw a tender approach. I thought they might be pirates, but thankfully they were just concerned for my wellbeing. At that stage I needed nothing, but I rubbed my belly to signify my want for food. I knew they’d get a kick out of helping me, and I was interested to see what I’d get. They gave me an assortment of treats, some dry biscuits, etc. Most notable was 6 bottles of Powerade, two packets of potato chips and three packets of cigarettes! I howled with laughter as they disappeared over the horizon. It’s a good thing I wasn’t really in need.
What entertainment did you have?
Not much. I had a handful of books, most of which I read a few times over. I deliberately abstained from audio books, music, videos, etc, for this was about pure and simple solitude not clouded by modern conveniences. Most of the time while rowing I would talk to myself or sing. In this fashion I kept up a perpetual chatter onboard. To the outsider it would have looked completely barmy, but it kept me happy.
Did you swim?
I did. Even though Maiwar had many coats of antifouling, out there the barnacles were very promiscuous, multiplying daily. So there was nothing I could do but go for a swim once a week with my four-inch scraper in hand. At the beginning of the journey this task was my least favourite by far, as the water was quite cold and it was always overcast. Once I was further west and the sun was shining it wasn’t a bad job. I always tried to do it on the calm days, but sometimes it was choppy. This made the job much harder, especially down aft where the rudder would continuously rise and fall like a dagger. Once it came down hard on my thigh, which caused a fair bit of pain. For the last month or so the job became a real chore. I was seeing sharks very often. Sometimes large ones would appear out of nowhere and rub themselves alongside the boat. These times when I went over the side, scraper in hand, I did it as quickly as possible and was constantly looking over my shoulder for a shark.
Did you read the Bible?
I sure did. I’d never read it before; to be truthful, I didn't even know what to expect. So, when I had just about exhausted my ‘easy reading’ pile, I turned to the Bible. Wow. I was blown away. What a fantastic book. Everyone should read it, I decided. Even if religion does not at all interest you, purely from a historical perspective, surely there is no book more important. I found too, when things were tough, it was a real companion. Every state of being that I experienced, from the highest highs to the lowest lows, was described in the Bible. Everyone needs an all encompassing book they can turn to, no matter how they are feeling. I am very grateful I had one.
How did Maiwar hold up?
Admirably. Almost nothing broke. The only issues were with my navigation light. It didn’t last very long, but I was able to make a replacement which lasted much longer than the original – almost the whole trip. She proved to be a fine sea boat, and the many, many hours of thought and deliberation that went into her design and construction well and truly paid off. She was, and still is, good for another few thousand miles. The first few days were very interesting for me, it was Maiwar’s first time offshore, and although quietly confident, I was eager to see how she would perform. I was therefore delighted to discover that she was very manageable and well behaved.
Relying on two oars and one man to control and propel a boat weighing about 1 tonne, in a wide range of sea-states, is no easy task. The boat must be small, nimble, well balanced and slippery if she is to be propelled and managed properly at sea. For this reason my foremost desire with Maiwar’s design was to make her as small as practicable. I knew this would inhibit comfort and livability, but that pales in significance to seaworthiness and manoeuvrability, which must take precedence above all else. Amazingly, I never once felt cramped in such a confined space as Maiwar’s cabin; there was enough headroom for me to sit on my bunk, and I could lie at 45 degrees to the keel, with the lee cloth as a backrest, my legs outstretched over the galley. My bunk, which was just over six feet long, was quite cramped for the first half of the journey, as I took so much food that some of it had to be stored in my sleeping quarters, but I got used to it very quickly, and by the end, wow, that little bunk of mine was sheer luxury. Never once did I long for a bigger boat.
One of Maiwar’s features I was keen to test was her centreboard. This was something of an afterthought that was added while I was waiting for Maiwar to be shipped. I incorporated it, thinking to myself “There’s a good chance you’ll never use this, but there may come a time, when it means the difference between making landfall and not.” And that's exactly what happened. If I hadn’t been blown off course, I would have never used it, but as soon as I had to start rowing with the breeze forward of the beam, trying to overcome the conditions, I was so grateful to have that little centreboard, it really did do wonders.
There is very little to go wrong on a boat like Maiwar, I was not reliant on electricity, so there was no anxiety related to my simple electrical system. The only moving parts were the rudder, sliding seat, and the rowlocks. A breathtakingly simple way to traverse an ocean. Thankfully, all held up very well. The rudder never gave me an ounce of doubt, the sliding seat remained virtually frictionless as long as I replaced the bearings every so often. The gate pins (rowlocks), occasionally bent out of shape with a big sea, but I had a spare, and the bilge pump handle could be used very effectively to bend them straight. I really only appreciated the tremendous force of a large wave when my 1/2 inch stainless gate pin bent 20 degrees out of true for the first time.
The oars too held up very well. Maiwar, being smaller than just about every other ocean rowing boat, gave less resistance when being hit by a large wave, greatly reducing the risk of snapping an oar. The only thing Maiwar lacked was a toerail aft. She had them forward, which was very nice to have, but I didn’t expect to be climbing out on the aft deck much, so I left it off. Alas, there was often a shark, manta-ray or turtle following astern, and trying to capture it with the underwater camera was made somewhat tricky! But really, there is nothing I would change. Everything is a compromise, and I think I made the right decisions as to what was important and what was not.
How long will you be on land, and where to next?
I’ll be here for the next few months until the end of cyclone season in April. From here I’ll hopefully get to Samoa. From there, ideally, I’ll row to Fiji then New Caledonia, then Australia. Of course, this is an adventure, and I can’t predict the future, so who knows where I’ll end up. But I can rest assured that there’ll be plenty of islands to stop at and explore between here and home.
What you have just read is, really, just the tip of the iceberg. For over five months I lived wholeheartedly, passionately, brutally and in solitude. Every day at sea was endlessly interesting, fascinating and challenging. There will come a time to really dig deep into what was an experience, both inward and outward, that few will ever have, but for now I will just let it settle within me. From now on, any notions of pride, achievement or glory have been surpassed by the truly humbling experience I have just undertaken. Nevertheless, the successful completion of this first leg marks a notable feat in the sphere of offshore voyaging. This was made possible by the many, many people who have contributed, in every way, to this Grand Adventure of mine. So, my sincerest thanks go out to you, for your goodwill, faith and shared passion. Dreams really do come true, and what’s more, they are even better than you could ever imagine…
