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TwitThisNo Whining
Now, Sarah and Emily watched as Butler looked the boat over with a critical eye.
Butler thought American Fire was too round-bottomed for rough seas, its keel too shallow to prevent rollovers. But the race organizer had approved the vessel, and two escort yachts accompanying the racers would provide an additional measure of safety.
Though he was skeptical about the boat, Butler felt immediate affection for the two young women, the ages of his granddaughters. He liked their daring and enthusiasm; it reminded him of himself at that age.
"Okay, girls, I'll help you," he told them. His unspoken objective was to be sure they came back alive.
For the next three months, Butler relentlessly drilled them on safety issues as they trained along the Florida coast. He taught them how to secure a sea anchor and tie on a lifeboat so it wouldn't break loose, and he made sure they could read a barometer.
Guard the Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB) with your life, he told them. If they cap- sized or were in danger, that instrument would signal their boat's position to the Coast Guard. And Butler warned them to keep a 100-foot lifeline off the stern in case one of them washed overboard. It amused Sarah and Emily to see him fuss over them.
On November 30, 2005, Sarah and Emily rowed out of La Gomera harbor in the Canary Islands with 25 other competing boats. Seas were calm and the two Midwesterners found the open ocean magical. By day, they marveled at loggerhead turtles, flying fish and pilot whales. At night, their oars stirred phosphorescent plankton, making the water glow.
To pass the time, they listened to the 4,000 songs on their iPods and The Da Vinci Code along with more books on tape. Soon, though, they settled into a dull, rigorous routine, rowing round the clock in two-hour shifts -- one sleeping or eating while the other worked the oars. It was hard, backbreaking work, and sometimes they got on each other's nerves. At times tempers flared. But they had an unspoken pact: No whining. Ever.
Every day at noon Greenwich Mean Time, Bill Butler connected with the girls by satellite phone. Surrounded by nautical charts, he gave them the weather forecast, plotted their course for the day and answered questions: Should they swim under the boat and scrape off barnacles? Don't, he warned. They did anyway. Do they always have to wear cumbersome safety harnesses? You do. They didn't -- until the day Sarah was washed out of the boat in rough seas and just managed to grab an oar and hook her toes over the gunwale. It was hardly gratifying to him that Emily confessed, "We shoulda listened to Bill."
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