I pitched my tent under the shelter of the sailing club and slept fitfully, dreaming of my boat floating off the beach and out to sea.

The morning slipped away and it was 1 pm by the time I left. I was apprehensive about getting back out through the dumpy surf but by low tide, it was perfectly manageable.

I paddled 10km out to what I thought was an oil rig. Looking it up, it’s actually a subsea drill being used for the first time to construct a wind farm. The swell grew over the shallow ground, rising up to block my view of land before breaking on a reef, marked by a lighthouse. Five container ships were anchored nearby, and I paddled up to one, Orion from Gibraltor. I wondered who was on board and how close I could go before I would be told off.

Noirmoutier-en-l’île came in to view and I had some brilliant downwind to finish the day. Part of me wanted to keep going but it looked like a nice place to stop.

The reality of this adventure is different to how I imagined it. Only the best scenarios feature in my dreams and reality can never live up to that. I romanticize the past also. Memorable moments spring to mind from past adventures, the time in-between forgotten. I knew this would be the case because I remember feeling this when cycling around New Zealand. At times today, my adventure felt meaningless. Is there any point to this I wondered? 

However, as I lay on the sand dunes and watched the sunset, I had such an amazing feeling of euphoria and I felt certain that I’m doing what’s right for me. I’m sure I’ll look back on this adventure and the struggle will be a great memory too.