I read quite a lot. Never fiction though because it takes me so long to read a book that it seems such an awful waste of time to get to the end without learning from somebody else’s mistakes.

Joe Simpson’s classic Touching the Void was the book that started me off I think. I was climbing a lot at the time and a friends dad was reading it. He said it was fantastic and I should give it a go. Me, reading a book? With my reputation?

Thankfully I grew out of my books-are-for-stupid-people-without-a-telly stage and bought a copy. From the first few pages I was hooked. This guy was doing exactly what I’d been dreaming about aspiring to as I was clambering around the Wilton quarries near Bolton. The infamous accident was the least important part of the book to me, the shear flame of adventure had me hooked. By the way, there’s another cracking read, “The flame of adventure” By Simon Yates (the unjustly deserved ‘rope cutter’ from the former book). Nothing really happens, it’s a wonderful documentation of exactly what the title says.

Soon I was reading more and more, until finally one day I picked up a copy of Ice Bird (David Lewis) from the local library. It’s essentially the story of a guy that goes completely mad and decides to sail, on his own, to the antarctic.

Single handed sailing was now firmly in my mind as the ultimate test of one’s mettle. It doesn’t matter where you go, as long as you don’t know you can do it. Hell, taking a trip down the Leeds-Liverpool single handed is no small feat if it means you leave your own personal safety net of near guaranteed success. I think that’s the key to a personal challenge, and unless it’s solo you still don’t know if you alone could have pulled it off. As I read all these books curiosity was beginning to take root somewhere in the great big play area that is my mind.

Joshua Slocum, Robin Knox-Johnston, Ellen McArther, Dee Cafari, Roger Taylor; all these people seemed to be living my own dream. They were all scaring the crap out of themselves to see where it would take them, heck, some of them scared themselves so much they started to enjoy it!

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if I were like them. What a dream. Just the thought of it sends a chill down my spine. Solo, in an ocean. They must be super human!

It’s Roger Taylor’s fault. This ridiculous blog post I mean. It was while I was reading his book that it clicked. The thought that could well be the start of my demise is that the one and only difference between him and me, is that he has gone and done it. The only difference between me and Ellen MacArthur is that she has been and done it… and she’s a girl… and I don’t cry that much.

That’s it though isn’t it. The only thing stopping you is you. You need a great deal of experience to do what these people do, sure, but that’s a crap excuse if you’re trying to convince yourself that you can’t do it. Every single thing required to live the dream, I posses. I have intent.

Cold, harsh, brutal intent, and I intend to cross the Atlantic ocean in my 21ft Corribee. I must be dreaming, right? No. I know that it could well be a living nightmare, I know that I am going to have to spend a small fortune on the boat to make it ocean worthy, and I know that I am going to have to gain a huge amount of experience to do it, but I will. I have to.

So, my statement of intent. Posted here in public, because even the best of intentions sometimes need a kick up the arse.

I am going to cross the start line for the Jester Challenge 2010.

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