Oceanrowing



There is so much more to life than simply existing
Jonathan Gornall	June 03 2005

I SPENT a humbling morning recently at Haberdasher’s Hall, London, as the guest speaker at the Royal Humane Society’s Annual General Court. The RHS is one of those great, typically British organisations that goes about its business quietly and without a cent of public money. For more than 200 years it has been giving awards to those who “put their own lives at risk to save, or attempt to save, others”, and by the end of this year will have made its 85,000th award. Normally the speaker at the Annual General Court is a “saviour”, but on this occasion it was felt appropriate that, for once, a “saved” should address the society’s President — Princess Alexandra — its members, various award-winners and their relatives.
	Jonathan Gornall

	I was there because, around this time last year, I was part of a four-man crew attempting to break the record for rowing across the Atlantic from west to east. For the sake of readers who had to suffer my selfpitying dispatches from the boat, I’ll spare you a repeat of the details. Suffice to say that, after 39 days at sea, disaster — in the form of the unseasonably early Hurricane Alex — struck and our boat, Pink Lady, was smashed in two like a toy. We were within 300 miles (485km) of our destination and poised to beat the 55-day record by ten days, but for a while we had concerns more immediate than disappointment. I very nearly drowned, and would have without the intervention of my team-mate Pete Bray. In short, I was saved.
Pete Bray
Now, gazing across an audience liberally sprinkled with the uniforms of the emergency services, I was deeply conscious of several things. We had deliberately gone to sea — not as fishermen, or working sailors — but as individuals who had decided that we wanted an adventure. In front of me, on the other hand, were individuals who had gone beyond the call of duty to save people whose lives were endangered through no fault of their own. I bumbled through my speech, cheered by earning at least one smile of approval from HRH, and especially relieved to see one or two of the uniforms nodding with approval here and there. Afterwards, I got talking to Tracy Fenton, an East Sussex ambulance-woman. She had been driving a patient to hospital one night with her colleague Oliver Funnell when they came across a bad car crash. One of the vehicles was on fire and Tracy and Oliver managed to pull two people out of it before it exploded. Tracy, self-effacing and, several months on, clearly still affected by the events of that terrible night, told me she thought that what we had done was amazing, and that she couldn’t imagine doing anything like it. See what I mean about feeling humble? But maybe I was being hard on myself and my companions. As I write, there are three other boats out there, attempting the journey that defeated us. A Dutch crew of four (annoyingly young and good-looking) left New York ten days ago, flying along like, well, the Flying Dutchmen. Four Britons (not so young, not so good looking) left St John’s, Newfoundland, six days later. At the back of the pack and also out of New York is a solo British rower. Hopefully, they will all make it across safely (and, call me a poor loser, but equally hopefully, none will quite break that record), but from my own experience I know that, whether they end up needing help or not, someone, somewhere, will criticise them for having unnecessarily risked their lives and those of anyone obliged to rescue them. But what, exactly, is necessary human behaviour? Is it necessary, for instance, to drive a car? To smoke? To play rugby? At what level does risk become selfish — and, come to that, at what level does risk become inspirational and life-affirming ?

John Fairfax was the first man to row solo across an ocean, crossing the Atlantic from east to west in 1969. Although the world was glued to TV coverage of the first Moon landing at the time, three men in particular did take time out of their busy schedule to salute his achievement. Fairfax landed the day before man first walked on the Moon, but awaiting him in Florida, where he had landed within miles of where Apollo 11 had taken off, was a message from Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin. It said:
	John Fairfax
“We who sail what President Kennedy called ‘The new ocean of space’ pay our respects to the man who, single-handedly, has conquered the still formidable ocean of water. Yours was the accomplishment of one resourceful individual, while ours depended upon the help of thousands. As fellow explorers, we salute you on this great occasion.”
There will always be some who see no point to life beyond living it quietly, safely and securely until it doesn’t have to be lived any more. Then there are those such as Sir Ranulph Fiennes, Ellen MacArthur, John Fairfax and Neil Armstrong, who inspire the rest of us to realise that there is so much more to life than simply existing. When Fairfax was asked why he did what he did, he replied: “Don’t think that those of us who have felt the need to climb a mountain or row an ocean have done it, or will do it, ‘because it’s there’. It’s ‘because we are here’. The quest to prove worthy of an almost inconceivable challenge is our greatest reward.” That works for me. If it works for you, visit the Ocean Rowing Society’s website (oceanrowing.com) and follow the progress of those three small boats on that big sea. Who knows? It could inspire you to live your life. Fare deal? No way ACCORDING to my recent statement, I have more than 2,300 Air Miles, which I have been collecting since the Ice Age and have never used. I think that represents a Visa spend of about £11,500. Now, to me, that sounds like a lot. It sounds, for instance, as if I ought to be able to fly to New York for, say, oh, I don’t know — £20? Or how about nothing? But no. As usual, I open the blue-sky-and-white-sand brochure with excitement, but find myself thumbing through it with mounting disappointment. I don’t want to go to Aberdeen or Zagreb, I want to go to New York, but a swift check on flights in July reveals that, far from being an Air Millionaire”, I am a pauper. I check a random date in July. Two tickets to and from New York will cost me 10,220 miles, or 4,240 plus £372, or 1,380 plus £540. Oh, and plus daylight-robbery tax and fees, naturally, which in this case is a piddling £193. Cheaper to row! Air Miles, loyalty-card points, Green Stamps (remember them?) — they’re all symbols of our self-deluding way of life — the ultimate expression of the deceitful something-for-nothing, three-for-the-price-of-two culture that fools us into buying six bottles of shampoo instead of the one we went out for, and seduces us into insobriety when the swift trip to the pub for a glass of sauvignon at the end of the working day happens to coincide with the timing of a buy-two-glasses-get-rest-of-bottle free deal. People! Ain’t no such thing as a free Air Mile. Snap judgements I NOW have five nice photographs of my car — two from the rear, three from the front — sent to me by those nice people at Transport for London. I moved recently, to a point just 20 metres (22 yards) inside the congestion charge Ring of Steal. I hardly ever drive my car in London and, when I do, I always forget to pay the £5 charge, which then quickly mutates into a £50 penalty. Meanwhile, I can no longer jog along the Embankment for the crowds of tourists enjoying what used to be my London. How about a congestion charge for them? jonathan.gornall@thetimes.co.uk Send your comments to: debate@thetimes.co.uk