My alarm sounded at 4 am and I was immediately wide awake. In truth, I’d never really fallen asleep. It was day one of my around Britain Kayak Challenge, and the plan was to cross the Thames estuary.

Mum and Dad were somewhat tense. So was I. Later that day, I’d be 30 kilometres from land, dodging sandbanks and ships. I didn’t know what would happen out there. 20 knots of Easterly winds should blow me to my destination, but that wind was cold and the kit I’d packed suddenly felt inadequate, although I could barely lift my boat.

A surprise message came through from my DW partner and friend Billy Butler. “Where are you?”. Still in the campsite faffing around of course. The mood lightened as my farewell party became three, of dogs and humans each. Teasle, Luna and Walty chased each other around the beach, oblivious to the sincerity of the situation. Why can’t us humans just be content with being? Why do we put ourselves through such things?

We stood on the pebble beach, looking out to the grey churning sea. “What is that?”. I grabbed the binoculars and scanned the horizon to see a streak of angry breaking waves. We traced it on the chart to be the Aldburgh ridge. A mass of sandbanks are dotted across the Thames estuary, this one just a speck. Waves break in the shallow water and I was going to have to navigate this maze from sea level.

Goodbyes said, I staggered with the boat down to the sea, waded in up to my hips, lifted the boat over a dumpy wave, waited for a gap in the swell, and jumped aboard. In some ways it was just like any other day. Then it was a 5km paddle due East to avoid the Aldeburgh ridge, which, for some reason, I couldn’t see anymore. It took some discipline not to turn early, but for 50 minutes, I paddled across the swell. The trip had finally begun, and I shouted out to sea with excitement.

Turning due south, I was surprised by my speed. If the tide was already running this hard, I realised I may not make it across the estuary before it turned. Time would tell. The conditions were ideal, and I flew downwind, clocking a few sub 4 minute kilometres while keeping an eye on the half dozen ships I could see from the tops of waves.

In the distance, bright white flashes caught my eye. This was the Washway sandbank, where waves were breaking, occasionally colliding together to spray 50 feet up into the air. Knowing that ships won’t go near this shallow, I followed the port buoys along its edge, thinking no further ahead than the next one.

My blood glucose levels started to drop, and I suspended insulin delivery on my pump. Land was out of sight, and with the rolling swell, I was on the edge of sea sickness. All I ate was honey and a little malt loaf.

I was worried about shipping, but it wasn’t a problem. There’s plenty of room for us all to play. A rusty grey ship did cross paths with me, and I decided to pass behind it, but then it veered starboard, and I put in an effort to pass in front.

Eventually, the London Array wind farm appeared ahead of me. Apparently, the biggest in the world when it was built. The turbines took forever to get to, and the sea became messy, putting me in for my first swim. I attached a second leash, I don’t want to lose my boat out here. It’s basically a life raft, that’s what I think when worry comes. I’m paddling a liferaft and just going with the flow. The sea is passive. How I react to it defines what it is. If I tell myself the sea is scary, then it is. But the truth is that the sea is just passive.

As my splits fell off a cliff, I realised the tide was turning. The waves had lined up well, and I was on course for Margate, but I still had 30kms to go. Oh shit, this was going to be tough.

I pulled hard for the next few hours and crawled towards land. I was stiff and crampy and vomiting a little. Evasive action was taken for one ferry and my mood lifted with the wonderful surprise of a dolphin surfacing just in front of my boat.

With no idea of the best place to land, I headed for a beach where the waves weren’t breaking. I lay on the beach groaning in pain, and a guy came out of the waterski and jetski club and asked if i was okay. Would i like a cup of cofee?. “Yes, just tired. Two sugars please”. Was I ok? Yes, I was bloody delighted with completing the crossing. The satisfaction was immense. Things had gone to plan, but more than that, I’d made good decisions and adapted to the challenges as I went. The headspace I had to enter took enormous concentration and energy. If it had faltered, I could have panicked and made bad decisions. Safely back on land, I felt drained now.

Kevin, that was him name, came back with the coffee and shivering now, I asked if I could have a shower in the club. What luck! Then mum and dad appeared, having decided to check on me before they made the long journey home. We sat in the water-skiing club chatting to Kevin, Bob and Lucy whilst I tried to coax some food into my delicate stomach. Thanks guys, I couldn’t have hoped for a better start to the trip!