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.
