Shaun Quincey: Crossing was a struggle against nature

Shaun Quincey celebrates after swimming the last few hundred metres of his epic rowing journey across the Tasman. Photo / Greg Bowker

At night, my world is a collection of violent twists, rolls and thuds combined with the noise of howling wind and waves crashing into, on to and over you.

I lie there braced with my feet against the walls of the cabin and back against another wall, sweating and trying to eat some cold porridge, trying hard to stay positive and believing it will all be worth it when I hit the shore in New Zealand.

I have food and water, but do I have a strong enough mind? I have to keep remembering the sea doesn't have a personal agenda to kill me or ruin my day and it's just a matter of time. I can beat it if I hold on. Fighting will do nothing. I am officially redundant until the invincible bully drops its guard and I can row again.

The Tasman never gave in which is what I found hard, never was there an opportunity to just relax and observe the scenery. I guess it was similar to being at war with the constant sense of urgency and pressure to ensure all jobs were done and equipment was locked away, but I was always scared of being attacked by the sea in one way or another.

The worst part was the loneliness - and having no one to blame for the situations I ended up in.

Like rowing into a sperm whale and flipping the boat - there was me and only me to blame.

Every four days there was a storm which would last for three days. The worst part about this was once you've had a storm, the effect of it lasts around three days which allows about one day every two weeks to let your guard down for a moment and possibly get a small amount of sleep while the sea rests and another storm slowly creeps in.

I would wake each day around 7am, very early, by the alarm clock on my Timex watch and more frequently I would be lying awake hunting for the enthusiasm to get out the front door and try to start the day early.

My goal was to be rowing by 8.30am and spend a minimum eight hours rowing each day.

Breakfast was porridge mixed with nuts and dried fruit and this was always hot until I worked out that it tasted the same cold and not cooking would save rowing time.

The worst part about breakfast would be sitting outside with my feet in water which had filled the boat footwell overnight. I hated stepping into that water each day.

That was followed by the application of creams, sunblock and zinc - a little makeup regime to ensure hygiene and comfort for the day - and then straight on to the oars to see what damage I could do.

The rowing day would start with a 25-minute test to check what sort of progress I could make but this method changed as I learned the Tasman would change every hour, as would the ability to make progress.

The only way to win each day was to row for as long as possible and as much as possible. Lunch was a BackCountry freeze-dried meal and dinner was a similar freeze-dried meal. In between meals I would snack on Mars bars, dried fruit and a collection of assorted nuts, berries and small pieces of chocolate.

I believe the Tasman was kind to me and the key was to work relentlessly when the conditions were good and to relax and rest well when the conditions were bad.

I could always go faster forward then I would go backwards so I knew I would eventually get there.

Dad said, "Hold on and never ever give in", a simple philosophy which I believe got me across the Ditch.