Me having a wash is such a significant event that Elana marked it by playing God Save the Queen as I walked out of the shower. An enormous breakfast followed, Elana feeding me more and more delicious food. An espresso and cappuccino got me buzzing, and I learnt that it’s against Italian culinary law to drink a cappuccino after midday.

At about 10 am we wheeled my boat down to the beach and I set off feeling recharged in every sense, a food parcel from Pasquale and Elana carefully stowed away. Thank you so much guys, it was fantastic to meet you.

I followed the craggy cliffs, the land beyond now rolling farmland, olive groves studded with wind turbines and sprinkler fed fields of maize looking unnaturally green. Arriving at Capo Colonna, I scrambled up some rocks and walked up to the lighthouse. Sailors have been stopping here for centuries, and they used to eat and drink in the temple of Era Lacinia, of which only one column still remains. Built in 6 BC, the temple served as a border point, Romans ships not permitted to pass after the signing of a treaty in 303 BC. It was the failure to observe this treaty that led to the Pyrrhic Wars. The history of this coastline is amazing.

Something that I’d been thinking about all morning was crossing the Gulf of Taranto. 140kms long and wide, it’s the notch that gives Italy its heel shape, and crossing it would save me paddling about 350kms around the not particularly interesting bay. This was a factor, but really it was the challenge of crossing that appealed.

The furthest I’d paddled was 75km from Gaeta to Naples, so although 100km would be a step up, I was confident the crossing was physically possible. Mentally it would be tough, because I’d be in the middle of the ocean on a small piece of carbon fibre, exposed and vulnerable, land out of sight. In a kayak, I’d never been more than 20kms from land, and didn’t know how I’d react to being more than double this distance from terra firma. Then there were the dangers of my diabetes, heatstroke, getting run down by a ship, getting lost at sea or pushed out by wind and currents. The dangers of equipment failing, wildlife encounters, heart problems, lightning storms.

I considered each of these, and how I could mitigate the risk. While being 50kms out to sea would make anything going wrong of greater consequence, it doesn’t increase the likelihood of anything going wrong. If you can stand on one leg in your kitchen, you can do it on a cliff edge, so long as you’re confident in your ability to balance. The rest is just psychological. The likelihood of each risk seemed low, so I focused on preparing myself mentally.

I was most worried about the heat. It was forecast to be 36 degrees the next day and there’s nowhere to hide when you’re out at sea. The crossing would take 12 hours minimum, so unless I paddled through the night, I was going to be in the sun for a long time. Out of my comfort zone enough being 50kms out to sea by myself, being in that position in the dark was a step too far. So I decided I’d have to leave before sunrise and deal with the midday sun. That way I’d have a buffer of time before the next night if something went wrong.

Looking at the weather forecast, it was tonight or never, but first I had to get to Punta Alice, the point from which I would set off. It was a long, hot paddle across a couple of bays, and still not sure about the crossing, I considered it as I paddled.

After nearly 60kms, at 8.30pm I arrived at Ciro Marina, a town 4kms from the point. It was very important I had plenty of carbs for the crossing in case my sugars went low, but every shop was closed, so my only option was a couple of calzone, a load of coke, and some cereal bars. Carbs are carbs at the end of the day, and I had plenty of them.

By the time I’d eaten some pizza and got my boat prepped, it was 11pm, and my alarm set for 01:30 am didn’t feel very far away. I got an hours sleep outside a beach club, despite the booming music, before some drunken revellers came down to deckchairs nearby, waking me up.

So less than 5 hours after a 60km day, and with just 1 hours sleep, I set off. Not ideal preparation, but while that made things harder, I was motivated enough that it wasn’t going to stop me.

Before I left the beach I wrote ‘you’ve got this’ on my compass and 50° – the bearing I’d be following to reach the other side, in case I became delirious and my mind started playing tricks on me.

The red and green lights of little fishing boats blinked from just offshore, but from my ship tracking app I could see the gulf was reassuringly deserted further out. Sure enough, when I reached Punta Alice the only light was my head-torch on my compass, the star filled sky and the sliver of moon lighting up a strip of sea to my right. On the whole crossing I only saw 6 boats – 2 tankers, 2 speedboats and 2 yachts.

As I paddled offshore into the night, part of me was thinking ‘are you crazy’, but I had faith that I was just out of my comfort zone, and everything would be fine. The wind was blowing from my left side, and I could see the waves in the strip of moon light. I visualised the wind fading and the sun rising, and focused on this, knowing it would happen eventually if I just kept paddling.

A bright star lined up with my bearing, and I aimed for it, occasionally checking my compass. The first few hours flew by, and around 5am the sky began to brighten. A big dark blob appeared on the horizon, which could’ve been a whale, but I think it was probably dolphins, because they were all around me as the sun rose. I didn’t stop to take any photos on the crossing – I was in the zone, not wanting to faff about.

I lost sight of land after around 35kms, but that didn’t bother me, because I hadn’t been turning around to look anyway. Checking my phone, I could see the wind had been blowing me south, so I adjusted my course. With no landmarks it was very disorienting, without my compass I’d have had no chance – it kept feeling like I was changing direction.

My sugar levels were very high, but the thought of injecting and then running out of food was too scary, so I was very cautious with how much I injected. After all, I had no idea what my body would do after 10 hours of paddling – I could become very insulin sensitive and drop like a stone.

The wind swung around to blow on my back and half way came around pretty quickly. I made the mistake of thinking the next half would be easy too. It started to become a grind, and by 30 Kms to go the wind had died and sun has risen, my fears of the heat becoming true. 30 Kms felt so close, but at the speed I was going, it meant at least another 4 hours on the water, in the hottest part of the day now.

I still couldn’t see land and began to feel lightheaded and stifled, my body overheating. I counted down the kilometres, getting in the water after each one, but the warm water gave little respite. Was this the start of heatstroke, or just sleep deprivation and the exertion of paddling for hours? I didn’t know, but I felt scared and vulnerable.

Land appeared with 25kms to go, and the kilometres kept crawling by. Mercifully, a breeze then picked up, and I started feeling much better. So yes, it probably was the heat. Puglia is a rocky coastline, and getting to the only town with a harbour meant adding an extra few painful kilometres. After 14 hours 36 minutes at sea, I finally reached land – I’d done it.

At the beginning of this adventure, the 30km crossing from Elba was at my limit. Since then I’ve been pushing the boundaries of my mental strength, and I think that’s what this crossing was all about. It’s a battle between fear and faith, and the feeling of accomplishment and control from staying faithful is so rewarding. Looking back, I almost can’t believe I made this crossing, because the mental state I put myself in was so far removed from how I am now. This achievement will never go away, and it’s awesome to have paddled a route of a scale that I can see on the map!

Thanks to everyone who backed me on this, especially mum and dad, Jim and Annabel from Epic UK and Ben from Geotracks. I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who trust my judgement and appreciate the rewards you get from taking measured risks.