Pacific Ocean rowing record: Scottish brothers smash 139-day Peru-to-Australia crossing

A 9,000-mile first: from Peru to Australia in 139 days

Three brothers from Edinburgh just did something no one else has: rowed from South America to Australia and did it faster than anyone has crossed the Pacific under human power. Jamie (31), Ewan (33), and Lachlan (27) Maclean covered roughly 9,000 miles from Peru to Cairns in 139 days, five hours, and 52 minutes. They shaved more than 20 days off the benchmark set in 2014 by Russian adventurer Fedor Konyukhov, who rowed from Chile to Australia in 159 days, 16 hours, and 58 minutes. That older route was shorter—about 7,393 miles—making the Scottish team’s speed over a much longer track stand out even more.

The record matters for two reasons. First, it’s a clear upgrade on time for a human-powered crossing. Second, it’s a first-of-its-kind route for a team: no recorded crew had previously pushed a rowing boat from the Pacific edge of South America all the way to Australia. In a sport where the ocean is the judge, that combination—a longer line on the map and a faster clock—turns heads.

The Macleans arrived in Cairns on a quiet Saturday morning, their carbon fiber boat gliding into port after months of relentless effort. The vessel, named Rose Emily in honor of their sister who was lost during pregnancy, carried them through heat, cold, monotony, fear, and the kind of fatigue that grinds down even the best-prepared athletes. They rowed up to 14 hours a day, day after day, rotating the burden in a routine that few outside the sport can truly grasp.

They called it the toughest thing they have ever done. Ewan, who left his engineering role at Dyson to take on the Pacific, didn’t dress it up: “This has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I couldn’t have even contemplated it without my brothers.” Jamie, stepping onto dry land with a wry grin, said he just wanted pizza and described the months at sea as incredible, relentless, and often surreal.

Numbers tell part of the story. The brothers’ time of 139 days undercuts a decade-old mark by more than three weeks, with a longer, more exposed route. That places their crossing among the standout feats in modern adventure sport—where ocean rowing records are meticulously tracked, the vessels are purpose-built, and the risks remain very real. In simple terms: a longer course, a harsher test, a faster time.

Pacific Ocean rowing record attempts aren’t just about brute strength. They’re about patience, navigation, and managing the unpredictable. Boats of this kind are designed to be light and strong, with cabins to shelter in heavy weather and hulls that can self-right after a capsize. Crews juggle calories, water, sleep, and morale. The margin for error is small: when your engine is two oars and your fuel is whatever you can eat, the ocean has the edge.

Storms, strain, and a bigger mission

The rawest moment came in a brutal 36-hour July storm. Winds hit around 40 mph, and waves climbed to six meters—high enough to swallow the boat from sight. In the dark of a night shift, Lachlan was thrown overboard. What happened next was as much instinct as plan: Ewan hauled him back in, a move that turned a near-disaster into a “carry on” moment. It’s the kind of scene ocean rowers train for but hope they never face.

The first two weeks at sea were rough in another way. Ewan and Jamie were hammered by seasickness, the kind that empties both energy and confidence. When your stomach won’t cooperate, rowing for hours becomes a grinding, dizzying slog. Seasickness doesn’t care how fit you are. You ride it out or you quit. They didn’t quit.

Food was another stress point as the days added up. Ocean rowers plan obsessively—freeze-dried meals, high-fat rations, and emergency stores—but long expeditions test even the best spreadsheets. As supplies thinned, the pressure increased: row hard enough to get there quickly, ration enough to not run dry. It’s a tough balance when the wind shifts and progress stalls.

Their landing in Cairns was the total opposite of life at sea: faces, noise, color. More than 50 family members and friends flew out from the UK to welcome them, including their mother Sheila. There were hugs and photos, and the slightly stunned smiles people wear when the thing they’ve dreamt about for months finally happens.

The Pacific isn’t their first ocean. In 2020, the Macleans crossed the Atlantic from the Canary Islands to Antigua in 35 days, a 3,000-mile run that brought them three world records: the first trio of brothers to row any ocean together, the youngest trio to do it, and the fastest trio on that route. That experience gave them a system—how to share the load, how to handle the long, silent stretches, how to stay friends when the boat feels too small.

They’ve also turned these voyages into a platform for something bigger: clean water. Through the Maclean Foundation, which they launched with their father Charles after the Atlantic crossing, the brothers have raised more than £800,000 for projects in Madagascar and across East Africa. The goal is simple: help communities gain reliable access to safe water. The need is huge. UNICEF and WHO estimate that around two billion people lack safely managed drinking water. The brothers’ message is just as blunt: the rowing stops, the mission doesn’t.

Lachlan put it plainly as they stepped ashore in Australia: “We’ve completed the row but the journey isn’t over. We have a charity target of £1 million.” They know attention fades quickly after a headline. Their plan is to use the record—and the story behind it—to push the fundraising over the line.

Why does this record carry weight in the ocean rowing world? Because speed over distance is hard to argue with. Konyukhov’s 2014 solo run was a landmark—one man, a long crossing, and a time that stood for a decade. Beating that mark by more than 20 days on a longer route sets a new bar for what a crew can do with grit, planning, and a bit of luck with the weather.

Route choice matters as much as muscle. Pacific rowers deal with shifting winds, contrary currents, and long stretches where the only thing to do is keep the oars moving. From a Pacific coast launch in South America, you have to find the winds that will carry you west, manage the confusion around the equator, and then angle toward Australia before fatigue or supplies catch up. A longer track means more chances for something to go wrong.

Preparation is where you load the dice in your favor. Training for a months-long row isn’t just miles on a rowing machine. It’s injury prevention, mental conditioning, navigation drills, nutrition planning, and small-team decision-making. Ocean rowing punishes weak links—sloppy technique invites blisters and tendon issues, bad sleep creates foggy thinking, and poor calorie management sets up a slow fade. The Macleans’ ability to share strain, spot each other’s limits, and reset after bad hours appears to be the difference between merely finishing and finishing fast.

There’s also the simple physics of their boat. Carbon fiber cuts weight without losing strength, which helps with acceleration on the oars and resilience in rough water. A narrow hull tracks straighter and moves cleaner but can feel twitchy in cross seas. The trade-offs shape every day on board. Rose Emily wasn’t a yacht with an engine; she was a stripped-down, purpose-built tool designed for one job: convert human effort into steady miles.

Rowers talk a lot about routine because routine is what keeps the mental gears from grinding down. Between the peaks—sprinting on following seas, skimming under big skies—and the valleys—storms, doldrums, breakages—there’s the grind. Eat. Row. Check gear. Row. Sleep. Repeat. Laughter helps, especially in threes. Brothers can fight and forget faster than most teams. That’s not a small advantage when you’re sharing a space smaller than a studio flat for four and a half months.

Safety is the quiet partner to every success like this. Man-overboard drills, storm protocols, and constant gear checks are the background music of ocean rowing. The July blow that tossed Lachlan into the water will live with the family for years. It also underscores why crewed crossings carry their own demands: you’re not just managing yourself, you’re responsible for the person across the deck, at 3 a.m., when the boat yaws and the moon disappears behind black water.

The brothers’ story is also a reminder that modern adventure doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It runs through communities and causes. Clean water is a practical, measurable outcome to link with a record like this. It turns a personal achievement into public benefit: wells dug, pipelines run, filters installed, women and children walking shorter distances for water, schools with taps that work. The Macleans have been deliberate about that link, channeling the attention their records generate toward something concrete.

When you strip the romance away, rowing an ocean is logistics. Permits and shipping a boat to a launch point. Weather routing support and contingency plans. Insurance. Medical kits. Media updates for supporters back home. Then the unglamorous, essential tasks at sea: checking oarlocks, taping hot spots before they turn into blisters, inspecting the rudder, logging positions, rationing snacks so you don’t hit zero with a week left to row.

And yet the romance is still there. It’s in the first night when the continent fades and the stars feel close enough to touch. It’s in the dawns when the ocean goes from black to silver. It’s in the shock of quiet after landfall, when the boat stops creaking, and you realize the soundtrack you’ve lived with for months has switched off.

The Macleans will now move from survival mode to recovery. That means sleep, food, and a careful rebuild of sore joints and tendons. Most rowers drop weight on long crossings. Most also return with a sharper sense of what they can endure. Expect some public talks, a few wry stories about things breaking at the worst time, and probably another round of questions they’ve heard a hundred times: Were you scared? How did you sleep? What did you miss most? (Pizza is already on the record.)

As for the wider sport, a faster Pacific mark sets the next challenge. Could another team cut the time again with a different season, a tighter line, or lighter gear? Maybe. But records like this don’t fall often because the variables are so many and the stakes so high. For now, the number to beat is 139 days, five hours, and 52 minutes on a route that stretches the definition of what’s possible in a rowboat.

One more point worth underlining: this was a family project in every sense. Their father, Charles, helped seed the foundation that gives the brothers’ feats a purpose beyond the headline. Their mother, Sheila, cheered from a distance and then made the trip to Cairns. Friends and relatives caught flights and booked hotels to meet them at the dock. That kind of backing doesn’t row a mile for you, but it can be the difference between believing you can and believing you must.

From the Pacific edge of Peru to the tropical coast of Australia, three brothers shared a small boat and an even smaller margin for error—and came away with a record, a first-of-its-kind route, and a growing impact on communities far from the ocean they crossed. The row is finished. The work they care about goes on.

• New Pacific benchmark: 9,000-mile Peru-to-Australia crossing in 139 days, 5 hours, 52 minutes.
• First recorded team to row from South America to Australia.
• Surpassed Fedor Konyukhov’s 2014 time by more than 20 days, over a longer route.
• Prior achievement: 2020 Atlantic crossing (Canary Islands to Antigua) in 35 days with three world records for a trio.
• Charity impact so far: over £800,000 raised for clean water projects; target £1 million.