Where in the world is Ellen rowing next, and when?

            After considering several different route options, I’ve settled on an “Occam’s Razor”-esque solution: simply onward, from where I left off.

            I was hesitant to settle on that plan initially, for two reasons. The first being the blaring issue of the contrary winds and currents soon to plague me even more than they did last year from Texas to Florida. The second: my dread of returning to the scene of the crime - the place where I got the news that my fiancé was missing on the river in Missouri, where I locked myself in my cabin and screamed and screamed that night and every night for two months.

            I have to be brave though, and return to Sarasota on the west coast of Florida, to the same dock almost exactly one year later. I must continue onward like I simply had an extended resupply stop. Except now Aaron won’t be back in Missouri or missing on the river – he’ll be on the boat with me, where he wanted to be all along. And as much as that thought hurts, it also gives me the courage to continue. He wanted to see the world from my boat, and to show him – to show us - I must keep rowing.

            Headwinds will slap my face as soon as I round the southern tip of Florida. That wind, coming from Africa and gaining intensity across the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, will be my constant competitor all year as I fight my way every hard-earned mile through…the Caribbean.

            I’ve got to get to Panama, and I had to leave from my home in Texas. Texas to Panama has been my mantra for three years now. I am aware there are logistical problems with this route. There are people who have let me know – some nicely, some quite rudely – that rowing from Texas to Panama is a stupid idea, an impossible route in a rowboat, and I’m a dumb silly woman for even considering it. These people however, have not tried this route in a rowboat. In fact, nobody has.

            I do not think it is impossible. I think it is very, very difficult. But very, very difficult does not mean impossible. It means it will take me a long time. It means I’ll have to utilize careful route planning and intense weather forecasting. It means I’ll need good ground tackle. It means I’ll have to be extremely patient and spend a lot of time in my boat not rowing, waiting for the weather to change or the tides to turn. It means when I am rowing, it will be rough. And it means I might fail.

            But to not do something based only on speculation that it is impossible is unacceptable to me. When I attempt this route, I’ll either prove that it is possible - or I’ll prove that it isn’t. But I’ll have proved something. And I’ll have a damn good story to tell either way.

            My dad tells me the most regretful people he meets in life are not those who tried and failed, but those who never tried at all. If I don’t attempt this route, I’ll always be wondering: what if I could have done it? I’ll regret not trying more than I would regret failing. Dad also said, “If you ain’t getting caught in the trees, you ain’t fishing for the big bass!” I rather like that one, too.

            My thanks goes out to those I call my route advisors - highly experienced ocean rowers whose opinions I respect – for believing in me and this crazy endeavor, more obsession now than dream. Some believe wholeheartedly it is possible. Some still think the route is insane, but cheer me on anyway. But they are all nice people and fellow dreamers, and even when we disagree we do so with mutual kindness and respect for a dream – not with degrading insults and abusive language. Thank you, and everyone else in the ocean rowing community who have received me with kindness even if you think this whole thing is crazy. You know who you are, and I am honored to call you my friends, my ocean family, and in a way, coworkers. I’ve met so many rowers since I started scheming this in 2020 and just being on this journey of planning with you has been inspiring – thank you.

            So after rowing from Texas to Florida Sept-Dec in 2022 and then spending all of 2023 on land, I’m planning a relaunch in early January 2024. My planned route is from Florida, southeasterly through the Caribbean islands, then westerly along the Venezuelan and Colombian coastlines to Panama. This might take me two years. I’ll see how far I can get before next year’s hurricanes. Some have asked me if I’m throwing another grand party like last launch. I’m sorry but I just don’t have the heart for it. Aaron went missing Dec 27th, so instead of a launch party we will be holding a vigil on the one-year anniversary at the place where he last touched land.

I remember the next morning walking with the police officer following Aaron’s bootprints in the sand down to the river. Sand footprints are easy to track, and I looked for an indication that he might have stopped, looked around, considered not going. But the footprints went straight to the water without hesitation. They didn’t slow down when he got to the bank and appeared to just keep walking straight onto the river, like Jesus walking on water.

            In the maritime community when someone dies at sea, we don’t say they’ve died at sea. We say they are still at sea. So I like to think that Aaron didn’t die on the river; he’s still on the river. If you’re ever wondering where he is, he’s on the river.

All rivers end in the sea, so that’s where I’ll be.

-Ellen