Sarah Outen - Dare to Do

Contents

A Dip in the Ocean

www.nicholasbrealey.com
www.sarahouten.com

First published in Great Britain in 2016, and in the U.S.A. in 2017, by Nicholas Brealey Publishing

An imprint of John Murray Press

An Hachette UK Company

Copyright Sarah Outen 2016

Maps drawn by Jim Shannon

The right of Sarah Outen to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library and the United States Library of Congress

ISBN (UK) 978-1-85788-919-2

ISBN (US) 978-1-47364-461-8

Nicholas Brealey Publishing

Hachette Book Group

Market Place Center, 53 State Street

Boston, MA 02109, USA

Tel: (617) 523 3801

Nicholas Brealey Publishing

John Murray Press

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50 Victoria Embankment

London, EC4Y 0DZ, UK

Tel: 020 3122 6000

www.nicholasbrealey.com
www.sarahouten.com

For Roo

And for everyone in my invisible peloton

Come to the edge, he said. We cant, were afraid! they responded. Come to the edge, he said.

We cant, we will fall! they responded. Come to the edge, he said.

And so they came. And he pushed them. And they flew.

Apollinaire

The warm dry air tasted of land. I reached to climb up the ladder, aware that I was about to cross a threshold. I was leaving my tiny rowing boat, Dippers , where I had just spent four months alone rowing between Australia and Mauritius, to step ashore. A tangle of coffee-coloured arms reached down through the dark to pull me up to the quayside. My worn-out lycra shorts were rotten to see-through in places, my skin was tanned and freckled and my hair was scruffy and bleached by the sun. I couldnt stop grinning, which made up for the fact that I couldnt do more than stutter my hellos.

Pizza! You want some pizza, Sarah? Of course I did; I hadnt had cheese in months. I stepped towards the open box but toppled backwards, caught by the curious crowd who laughed at my wobbly land legs. Pizza so familiar, and yet it felt so surreal to actually be here, eating it. Life ashore was the same; I remembered what it had been like before, but what about now, after four months of solitude, on seas wilder than Id been able to imagine? Of being watched by whales as long as swimming pools. Of running out of water and going thirsty. Of being saved by a tether no wider than a belt. I already knew, without knowing it all, that my journey across the Indian Ocean had changed my perspective on many things.

For someone who had just emerged from solitary, the questions of the gathered crowd felt like something of a well-meaning bombardment. How do you go to the toilet? What happens in storms? Did you capsize? Were you all alone? Did you get scared? Could you get Facebook? What are you looking forward to? Whats next? The last question was both easy and not to answer. I had ideas but no fixed plans. Id see what happened. See how I felt and what felt right. Those two words had been on repeat ever since the quayside in Mauritius and I found myself playing with replies, depended on who was asking. To those who knew me, Im training to be an accountant made us both laugh at the absurdity of it. (The ocean had only enhanced my distaste of spreadsheets.) Im thinking about swimming to the moon was a jesting nod to my conviction that crazy things can be very possible and others assumptions that big should lead to bigger. I wanted another journey but, nudged by comments about when I was going to get a proper job and settle down, at first I thought I ought not to just yet. I am going to be a teacher was believable to both the listener and to me, at least as a holding statement. I had coached and taught youngsters in various guises before and, following the row, I had presented at lots of schools; weaving adventure stories with some science and geography, and a call to be curious and brave in forging your own path and to embrace failure. I already felt a bit like a teacher of sorts. Yet, having deferred a teacher-training place at university before I went away, maybe I already knew that I wasnt destined to a life inside the classroom full time just yet.

At sea, I had spent many days imagining new journeys. I wanted more exploration and immersion for so many reasons and yet I could wrap it up with one: I loved it. I was connected, aware and open in a way that I had never been before. At sea, my focus was (in this order) to stay alive, row as much as possible and stay as happy as possible; the simplicity was refreshing and wholesome. I had felt my most alive, even if sometimes I glimpsed my mortality a little too closely. The waves reminded me that nothing lasts forever, that even the most unpleasant things change and generally settle to something more comfortable and manageable. The ocean had shown me how to accept unchangeables, to chart progress amid stasis, and it had shown me the importance of letting go, of literally pushing puddles away from the oars to move on to clear water. It hadnt just been one of the most useful and interesting lessons in how to live, but also in life. Finite supplies and limited communications taught me frugality and rationing. Bagging my rubbish, I saw just how much we produce in four months, whereas at home it gets zipped away weekly. Drifting plastic linked me to strangers in far-off lands. As I rowed through inky seas glowing with bioluminescence under skies rioting with stars, I felt present. I appreciated tiny moments and I loved how those linked up to trace my constellation of efforts across the map. The juxtaposition of space stretching around me in all dimensions was humbling, exciting.

Three months after landing I had dinner at Windsor Castle. After my short address for the hosting charity, in front of the tuxedoed hundreds, Prince Edward popped the same question: Whats next? Knights in armour and chainmail stared through slit-eyed helmets, poised for my answer.

I might teach

No no, what about another journey? You must have another journey planned? Not one to deny royalty, I announced my tentative idea to make a global journey. Using a rowing boat, a bike and a kayak. Pressing me for a date, I felt a bit under pressure and said: 2011, 2012?

I scrunched my toes in excitement. I had had a rough idea of looping the planet using human power: rowing across the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, cycling across the continents in between and kayaking to join up the dots. But now I had said it out aloud. Suddenly it was clear to me: I was single and with no commitments, healthy and keen making now the perfect time.

The story ahead is of having a go, failing, having another go and of ultimately letting go. The years ahead became some of the most vivid, most treasured and, at times, the most difficult of my life. But setting out, all I knew is all we ever know that I knew nothing about how the story would unfold.