Heroes

Life on an ocean rowing boat is incredibly simple, a 2,700 mile or so microcosm of life itself. It is a life away from traffic, away from the influence of coworkers and friends, away from the pleasures of anything clean, away from the luxury of uninterrupted sleep, away from the distractions of media and politics and deadlines and agendas and jealousy and pride and the millions of things that detract us from how simple life can be. All of the extraneous matters in life are stripped away and the bare necessities of life – water and energy – are all that we really need at the end of the day. Anything above and beyond those two precious entities on an ocean rowing boat are luxuries. When life is stripped down to that simplicity, the human mind does several things. With the newfound lack of distractions, it becomes free to explore ideas that before were tucked safely away for such occasions. Childhood memories are recalled, forgotten goals are reintroduced, the people in one’s life are studied in detail, values are examined, past failures and successes are brought to the forefront, and one can really evaluate their past, present, and future. These thoughts generally got us through silent night shifts and peaceful hours slipped by without saying a word as we got to figure out who we were and who we wanted to be. At other times, our minds drifted to the other side of the spectrum and went kind of crazy, harboring on one insignificant thought for a full three hours, or maybe focusing our entire attention on a pink cloud as it changed colors in the morning light, or dreaming of a cheeseburger until the shift change, or obsessing about the murderer that we were sure was going to jump out at us from the bow, or hallucinating about green rabbits, or worst of all, thinking about nothing at all and watching the minutes slowly, excruciatingly tick by on the indiglo of our digital watches. For better or worse, these long silent shifts weren’t the norm for at least the Yankees onboard the mighty UFB. It was not an uncommon occurance for us to get scolded by the bear in the stern cabin for singing or laughing or talking too loudly while she was trying to hibernate. Most of the time, Kohl and I kept each other pretty entertained, but sometimes we rowed along together in a peaceful silence, each of us deep within our own thoughts.

During these silent shifts, I thought a lot about my heroes and what they mean to me. Our heroes define us. They are the ones that we look up to, the people we aspire to be. I have had dozens of heroes throughout the years, but these change the more I learn what it truly means to be a hero. When I started the trip, Rob Hamill was one of my heroes. Rob was an Olympic rower for New Zealand and one-half of the Kiwi team to win the first ever Atlantic Rowing Race in 1997. I had read his book, talked with him regarding various aspects of ocean rowing, and raced him to the top of the hills in Gomera in 2005. As an athlete and adventurer, I had a lot of respect for what he had accomplished in his life. But… I only knew half of the story. Some athletes can be selfish due to their pride and the individual nature of their work, but while I was on the ocean, I learned how Rob was more so than the rest. In addition to his own adventures, Rob also “helped” and “coached” several additional Kiwi ocean rowing campaigns including Tara’s Sun Latte. Without regard to humility or others’ needs or even the truth, Rob made himself look like a hero to the outside world while burning bridges all over his island home and stealing thousands of dollars from the teams and communities he had claimed to assist. Hearing stories from Tara made my stomach turn, thinking of how much I had admired what I thought were Rob’s hero-like qualities. Those traits turned out to be only a weak facade covering up his own selfish flaws. Where I lost a hero in Rob, though, I gained even more respect for another hero of mine. Even with the limited access to the outside world, our friends and families did send us the most important morsels of news to keep us up to date with current events. It was a sad day for us, New Zealand, and the rest of the world when Tara’s partner, Rachael, informed us that Sir Edmund Hilary had passed away. His quotes adorned our cabin walls, inspiring us to press on even when we were thousands of miles from our goal. Two years before on Christmas day, Hilary had called his fellow Kiwis on Sun Latte to wish them the best in their endeavor. His spirit of adventure was with us throughout our quest. The night after we heard the news of his death was a quiet one for me, a silent, moonless sky filled with 360 degrees of stars. Hilary was an adventurer in the truest sense of the word. From humble beginnings as a shy beekeeper, he learned to love the pure, unadulterated wilderness that the mountains offered and went on to climb dozens of peaks around the world, including numerous first ascents of several over 20,000 feet, and his famous, unprecedented climb of the world’s tallest mountain with Tenzing Norgay in 1953. He was a leader and pioneer in his field, climbing mountains all over the world, exploring the Antarctic, and leading expeditions through some of the wildest places on earth, but yet he did not see these as his greatest accomplishments. After summiting Everest, Hilary went on to help the people of Nepal by building schools, hospitals, and a more stable economy in the struggling country. After all of the unparalleled adventures and incredible feats that he was a part of, he still considered his humanitarian work his most important contributions to the world. He taught us about the importance of humility, courage, perseverance, and the true spirit of adventure. In so many ways, he is a true hero of mine: one that will truly be missed and one that I aspire to emulate in my own life. Twelve days after Hilary’ death, we rowed into English Harbour to complete our own dream, but I hope that twelve years down the road I, too will be remembered not necessarily for my accomplishments, but for my character, humility, and the positive difference that I make in people’s lives.