4,000 kilometers of raw exertion. A million and a half strokes of the oar. Exhaustion so deep it leaves you faint, waves the size of houses and the full force of the elements. Multiply all that by at least 40 days and you get a sense of what four men from Tartu will face as the first Estonians to take part in The World's Toughest Row: a 4,000-kilometer Atlantic crossing.

"Pealtnägija" joined the rowers one weekday evening at Noblessner Harbor in Tallinn. With about 100 days to go before the official start, they were carrying out their last serious training session before their boat is shipped to the Canary Islands.

"Honestly, the first reaction everyone has is a bit of shock, because to head out onto the ocean in a tiny nutshell of a boat, where help might be days away, sounds extremely dangerous," said Rowtalia's helmsman, Karl Jürgenstein, describing how people have reacted to news of their attempt.

If the vessel making the Atlantic crossing is world-class, the crew steering it could politely be called a band of amateurs. The team consists of four young men from Tartu, linked by friendship, academic fraternities and careers in science.

Jürgenstein is a geneticist by training. Kait Kaarel Puss is a wood chemist. Arnold Rein Tatunts is known to television audiences as a science popularizer. And Andres Käosaar is a behavioral psychologist conducting research in the United States, specializing in extreme environments and survival situations. He has studied these both in Utah's desert, in experiments simulating the hardships of a Mars mission and in Antarctica with polar researchers — an expedition previously covered by "Pealtnägija."

Just three years ago, ocean rowing was entirely unknown to all four. "After taking part in the Võhandu Marathon, I was talking with a friend about how to do it again, whether and how. Then I happened to see a video on YouTube where this amazing British women's four crossed the Atlantic in this very race. I watched it and thought, wow, that's insane, unbelievable that people do such a thing. Super cool," Tatunts recalled of how he discovered ocean rowing. He soon pitched the idea to the others.

"It was the evening before the Tartu Ski Marathon. I was just at home, planning to ski it the next day, and Arnold called and asked what I was doing. I said I was just lounging on the couch, getting ready for the marathon. He immediately latched onto that: oh, a marathon, huh? Sixty-three kilometers? OK, would you like to do something a bit longer and harder in terms of sports? That's how the offer came up," Jürgenstein remembered.

Tatunts admitted that the closer someone is to him, the harder it is to explain why he took on such a plan.

"It's understandable that the people closest to you are maybe even a little confused about why this is necessary. And if I'm honest, it isn't necessary. But what in life really is? What do you actually need to do to feel that you've achieved the things you want? That you're living a happy, if at times challenging, life? That you've accomplished what you set out to?" he said.

With approval secured both from their partners and the race organizers, the men began serious preparations a year and a half ago. That meant building both physical and mental strength. In the months since, they have spent countless hours grinding away on rowing machines, honing teamwork and pushing themselves through all kinds of extreme challenges.

On the route from the Canary Islands to the Caribbean, they must be ready to face waves up to 10 meters high and marlins weighing hundreds of kilos. But the men predict the biggest challenge will come from within the boat.

"We've got a very safe boat — it has crossed the ocean six times. But none of us has crossed it before. We don't know what will happen to us when we're placed in the middle of the ocean for just 20 days straight. I think our group dynamics and our individual psychological processes will be the real test. We'll see. One thing's for sure: we'll argue. That's not even a question — we already have during this project and we'll argue again," said captain Käosaar.

For the race, the four have devised a strict schedule.

"During the competition, we'll live on a cycle where we row for two hours, then have two hours to eat, wash up and rest. The maximum rest time we'll ever get is two hours, and that will be the case for the whole race, which we expect will take around 40 days. That's it — never more than two hours at a stretch. I'm worried about whether I'll be able to get any real rest at all, since I'll never be more than two hours away from the alarm clock," admitted Jürgenstein.

Braving Baltic Sea storms

For their final serious training session before departure, the four rowers took "Pealtnägija" along on a test run toward Aegna Island. The trip was expected to take 12 to 13 hours, with winds of 10–15 meters per second promising a proper Baltic Sea storm.

As they left the harbor, the boat picked up a speed of four to five knots, or around seven to eight kilometers per hour, meaning the agreed-upon destination of Aegna would be reached around midnight. If all went smoothly, they would be back at Noblessner Harbor by morning. The first kilometers passed so easily it was tempting to push harder.

"The start was very calm — almost disappointingly calm, I don't want to say boring, but I worried that if it stayed that way, you wouldn't get an exciting experience," Tatunts admitted.

The plan was simple: each man rows three two-hour shifts, with exactly two hours in between for food, a breather and a short nap. Around 9 p.m., Captain Käosaar gave the signal that I could retreat to the bow cabin for a well-earned rest. Getting inside, however, was no easy task — the boat rocked heavily. Whether it was the autumn Baltic wind or sudden fatigue, I felt seasickness starting to take over.

Meanwhile, lightning flashed across the sky.

By the second shift, soaking wet in my clothes, finding motivation was much harder — especially with nothing but darkness all around, the city lights now far behind. My legs, hips and back started to ache and it was nearly impossible to keep rhythm. To be honest, I began to understand what these men were really up against. This is grueling work. I honestly couldn't see why they'd want to do it — row 4,500 kilometers for a month and a half straight. I'd had enough after just 12 hours.

By around 1 a.m., we finally reached Aegna, but as we turned the boat back toward Tallinn, the captain arrived with bad news.

"We're rowing almost straight into the wind. We added a third rower to see if we could push through, but it's touch and go. We're hoping the wind shifts within the hour, but that's uncertain. So that means either the three of us tear ourselves apart for an hour or we drop anchor. But we're on a shipping lane, which is a questionable spot to anchor. We don't know how we'll drift. So it's a bit shaky. The other option is to head for Pirita. That'll take two or three hours, but at least it gets us into a safe harbor without much fuss," Käosaar explained. The decision was made to head for Pirita.

The captain admitted that this final serious training run in Estonia turned into a full-on weather test. At one point, the risk of running aground at Aegna's southern tip became real and he called me in as a third rower. That's when plan C was put into action: steering toward the nearest port at Miiduranna. For the first time, I could sense that even the crew members themselves were on edge and I seriously wondered — what if this nutshell of a boat really does sink?

"We realized the waves were big and strong enough that if we'd been even slightly sideways to them, the stern started swinging and there was a real chance we could have capsized," Käosaar admitted. "There was definitely a moment of unease that it could happen."

At last, more than 12 hours after setting out to sea, the long-awaited moment came — finally back on dry land.

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