If you missed the beginning of this tale read Part I

Solo sailing in the ocean is an exercise of patience. More high pressure brought days of calm and difficult progress. Meeting Sara again after months apart is the only commitment I have left. It is a sort of push, in a way making me a little anxious about the slow going progress. 

CALMS AHEAD

I try to climb North to get closer to steadier Westerlies, but this operation is slow with so little wind. The common strategy in an Eastbound crossing is to go North to find wind or descend South if wind is too strong. East going low pressure systems tend run at around 40N latitude and above. At that latitude there is potential for strong and dangerous winds associated with the lows. Keeping a more southern course is a safer option but the risk is to get stuck in wide patches of calm.

The wind pattern in this July has been quite chaotic. I get comforted by thinking that sailing is about the journey not destination. It’s one of those cliche sentences dropped here and there in online forums as a balm on the wounds of discomfort and plans that keep falling apart, me think.

Day 14 – 48Nm last 24hrs – Log 1151nm

Despite my best efforts this crossing seems to be infinite, the preparation and the execution as well. Sailing a slow boat like this Columbia 29 (and also with an electric motor) leave not much to do when weather does not cooperate.

Part of me of course enjoys this slow going pace. Especially the part of me that takes this crossing as a sort of meditation retreat. I wake up to the same day every day, on and on, and the way I deal with the day has a profound impact with the next one.

It’s a loop and it very much happens to every person I know. There is no need to be by yourself in the middle of the ocean on a slow boat to experience it. It is just that here it becomes very evident. I am exposed to my own choices and decisions, living a life so much undressed of formalities, agendas and needs.

I try very much not to get annoyed by little happenings: Annoyance can easily escalate to frustration. At the same time I try not too indulge too much in a specific pleasure. The main activities are listening to music, watching a movie or reading. If I overdo any of them then they will loose entertaining qualities, they become a need, no longer enjoyable.

I fall naturally onto a rhythm that takes advantage of the best times of the day, mornings and evenings. When the sun is not too strong, I lay naked in the cockpit watching the waves come and go. It is the time to equalize my brain and synchronize with the environment. At times I spot something interesting on the surface of the ocean, or right under it.

AFLOAT IN THE SARGASSO SEA

Since the beginning of the trip frequent patches of sargassum is all I have around me. Trolling a lure behind a boat is impossible as it constantly gets fouled by the yellow weed.

When too many yellow islands float by Tranquility I don’t even bother to lower the lure. I keep eating lentils, canned tomatoes, and what’s left of my vegetables collection.

My mind starts to suffer the lack of fresh ingredients, I imagine myself cooking rich vegetable dishes… But I can’t really complain, my pantry is still full of options. The leak from the water tank is stabilized now that the level fell considerably. I have enough fresh water to reach the Azores and this is a very comforting thought. I would consider going straight to Tenerife if I had not lost so much water.

I realize how little I really need out here. Even clothes are optional!

Day 18 – 112nm last 24hrs- Log 1527nm

Midway to the Azores and some steady SW winds show up. It has been weeks since the last time I felt the boat was really sailing.

I was expecting this. My late departure puts me in the way of the Azores High. Unfortunately that is not a psychedelic experience. I did not expect my progress would be so slow and difficult. Wind patterns have been quite unpredictable and ever changing. Abundant areas of calm are constantly created by high pressure popping up and falling apart all around me. I am still trying to climb North to look for more wind.

I have no scarcity of time on the other hand so I indulge it in a wasteful manner. I read, sleep, dream, write very little and don’t practice enough celestial navigation. With no deadline and without a way to predict my landfall everything becomes aleatory and weird. A bunch of self imposed daily routines stitched together by empty time.

SEA COMPANIONS

Throughout the journey I keep seeing countless Portuguese man o’war sailing past my boat.

The purple and blue gas filled bladders of this curious animal extend in every direction on the ocean’s surface. Every moment of day and night, week after week the ocean is full of them. My mind can’t even conceive the number, I just keep seeing them. Judging by the size they must be juveniles, making their way to the US East Coast and Caribbean. They are more likely floating undisturbed in their own environment.

Portuguese man’o wars are among the most deadly creatures of the ocean. They are capable of a paralyzing sting that can hurt even a human being. The long submersing tentacles can scour for prey up to 10 mt. (30ft) deep.

They are considered jellyfish, but biology tells us that they are something different. They constitute an animal colony (siphonophore) formed by different multicellular animals (zooids) aggregate for different functions. It is basically a small group of animals cooperating for feeding, reproduction, propulsion and defense. We have a lot to learn from them.

This beautiful animals are not my only company. White-tailed tropicbirds and pilot fishes also escort my little ship for weeks. This apparently endless and desolate place is full of life and animals keep surprising me for their endurance and adaptability.

I keep moving, sometimes at a good pace, sometimes slower. This hiccup sailing takes a toll on me. 

I often look up at my wind indicator expecting to see it pointing steadily in any useful direction. While doing so I notice the loss the VHF antenna from the top of the mast. I see the connector wire dangling, but no antenna. The nut that held it in place on the stainless steel plate must have let go and the antenna probably fell to the Atlantic depths.

The list of problems and malfunctioning is already growing. The stop in Azores would not be dedicated to mere rest and tourism.

SUDDEN FRENZY

Suddenly, in a moment of relative fast sailing the fishing excitement turns on. I notice a group of shearwaters flying around Tanquility and gorging on the surface of the ocean. Brown silhouettes appear following Tranquility’s wake afar. Tunas? Yes they look very much like big tunas riding the following seas.

Very eager I drop my lure to see if I am lucky. I hope to catch maybe a small one, they didn’t appear too big after all. In rapid succession I lose three lures. When I retrieved the line I noticed they were cut at the steel leader. Something big and with sharp teeth cut through the metal wire. After losing two lures I rig one with double leader, but I retrieve the line cut at nylon this time. My equipment was tested around 50 lbs. I desperately look in my lure inventory but I can’t find anything useful.

I notice a big thing swimming right behind the windvane while I working with lines and lures from the stern. I recognize the shape of a marlin. The beautiful animal has blue fins and an azure back and it’s placidly following my slow boat inches from the selfsteering gear. I have never seen a marlin this close. Its body is fully visible through the clear water, floating above a deep blue background.

I don’t want anything to do with trying to catch a 6 foot marlin and haul it by myself onto the tiny cockpit of my tiny boat. At a quick glance the marlin looks as long as the cockpit itself (1.8m). It is probably longer. I would just hurt the beautiful creature and myself in the process if I tried to catch it.

Instead I run for my GoPro and my boat hook, quickly attempting an assembly never tried before. I want to try and get the animal on video. By the time the rig is ready the beautiful fish was gone.

One of the things left undone by my rushing preparation was newer fishing gear. I used the old equipment I kept aboard since Panama but with no time on the clock I though it was superfluous to update the inventory. It’s either annoying sargassum or fishes too big to haul, so I keep opening cans of sardines. I feel a bit ashamed of myself.

In a way I am ok with losing those fishes. They must have been too big to haul on my small cockpit, and dangerous indeed. I could fall overboard or get injured while retrieving a fish of my weight or more. Also It would have been a waste as I could not eat all that meat by myself. If there was only a selective lure…

THE SLOWEST DAY

When I’ve looked for myself I have never found anybody at home.

Davi Hume (cited by Jorge Luis Borges in an interview)

Day 24 – 31nm last 24hrs – log 1967nm

Yesterday it was frustrating. I spent long hours going nowhere. An adverse current and weak winds were keeping me in place at 0 knots. When I put effort in moving some miles toward a certain direction I feel a sense of agency. But when I am at the mercy of currents and total lack of wind I feel powerless.

The moments of discomfort and frustration make me questions my decisions even more.

This autotelic journey is an activity for which no external rewards are offered. It is definitely a symbolic experience in which I take the distance from a part of the world responsible for creating and maintaining my sense of self.

This microcosmos of activity is an universe on itself where my action is unbounded and free to flow. Here I am in control even only of my own mess. A good or a bad day depends on my own doing. Sometimes it depends just on my own mind.

Who am I without being seen by others? Who is this bag of skin naked in the cockpit watching the waves passing under the boat and getting mad at the lack of wind and at the boom and sails banging under the perpetual motion of the ocean swell?

The fact that I am breathing, I have water to drink and food to consume and that basically I am alive and well becomes very comforting. I have no one to blame for being here with no winds. It is my own doing and this paradoxical thought is somehow a relief..

The blessing and the curse of the experience lies in the inability to photograph it, film it, recount it in words or drawings.

In this nutshell adorned with wires and synthetic cloth life is simple, self contained and manageable. Silence is my silence, so full of thoughts to become at times deafening.

There are also parts I don’t want to share. There are parts too personal and intimate, too banal in a way, like mechanism of a machine hidden under the hood, obscene for the public. They are a vital part of the experience but uninteresting to the attention, bound to be lost in the incessant churning of consciousness.

Some researchers think the word ob-scene means ”off-scene”. When actors go in the green room and take off their mask, they reveal their real face and this is considered obscene. In public we need to have a mask, today more than ever.

Even in this journal, edited for my website, I try very much to keep on the mask. Here I am the sailing psychologist crossing the Atlantic Ocean as a way to prove himself. A man on a journey to leave behind the New World, so generous to him, to re-join with Old-Europe. A pin ball darting through half the world that decided to give love one more chance.

“As a result of the fascination with “nuts, sluts and perverts”,their identities and subcultures, little attention has been paid to unethical, illegal and destructive actions of our powerful individuals, groups and institutions in our society.”

The Poverty of the Sociology of Deviance: Nuts, Sluts, and Preverts, Alexandre Liazos, 1972

Long term cruisers are seen as deviant from the normal course of sedentary life. They spend considerable efforts to carve out resources and time from the fabric of society to engage in something that is mostly hedonistic and aimless. There is often a destination and a plan, but the long term picture lacks recognizable forms, especially under the lens of social utility.

LIVING THE DREAM

Children of the future age,

Reading this indignant page,

Know that in a former time,

Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.

A Little Girl Lost, in Songs of Experience by William Blake

There is a curious expression I keep hearing about cruising lifestyle: “living the dream”. It is as if everybody would like to be doing the same thing, as if we all had the same dream of sailing towards an endless sunset (or a perpetual dawn like in my case).

This was never my dream. Sailing was something that fortituously happened to me. There is not very much point in asking why I am here by myself in a windless ocean. I might as well just enjoy it.

But living the dream has also its cost and drawbacks. As my friend Max likes to say: “if it was easy everybody would be doing it.” This somehow tedious and slightly pointless crossing provokes some reactions in people who hear about this solo crossing. The reactions/objections fall into two main categories.

The first one is fear. I keep hearing people’s fears when they try to get in my shoes. Fear of death by drowning, heart attack, appendicitis, whales and shark attack or by aliens and sea monsters. There are any kind of fears out there.

The second is how in hell I would endure being with myself for so many days in a row. And this one actually, I understand more.

The first reaction is not really fear, it is more anxiety. We rely much on emergency care and on the institutions of society for saving our life from impending death. Being in the wilderness means being on your own even when it comes to emergency. And it’s ok. The first rule is try not to do something stupid, be careful and relaxed. But even this may not be enough.

Before leaving I had come to a pact with myself that I would be very likely facing death if, for how remote the option, something would go terribly wrong in the passage. That I accepted as an essential quality of life. It is an option I don’t see as more or less probable because I am crossing an ocean by myself. It is actually a statistically safe option. I don’t want to sound fatalist, but knowing that this is an ever present possibility in a way takes a lot of anxiety out of it.

But the second question really gets to the point. It really takes sloth to get through such long days. This is an accurate hit to the center of your ego, knowing that the best skill, your best friend in this endeavor is to be accustomed to not doing so much, and to be ok with that.

The reality is also that every action performed cost double the effort on a ever moving small sailboat. While my tendency is to drop to a state of inaction and laziness, I am summoned from my bunk to perform some kind of action, to re-establish comfort, safety and continuity towards the goal.

For as much as I despise in my mind those actions that interrupt my comfort, I end up being grateful for the change in pace and the sensation of agency I acquire from them. This seems to explain why it took so much work in preparing this journey, in spite of its questionable return or utility. The peace of mind to have a good functioning and safe boat it’s a great consolation.

SAILING AGAIN

Day 28-106nm last 24hrs-Log 2285nm

We Make the Path by Walking”

Chuang Tzu 

It’s been two days since I move steadily at a good pace on a reasonably flat North Atlantic ocean. The wind picked up gradually from a total calm so I got to zip at six knots, which is fantastic. A current may be helping as well. I don’t need get any more N than this, I am in line with the Azores and making a due East course. Steady NNW winds are of great help.

It feels like the last stretch, the first leg to Azores may be coming to an end very soon. There are still miles to cover though which I am enjoying by reading and writing as usual. They both feel more precious moments because I know they will end soon. I have been reading a big deal and I have not wrote as much as I thought because I find it more tiring on a moving vessel compared to reading.

Tomorrow strong winds will arrive. It is funny that I consider 20kts of wind from astern like strong winds, but after weeks of weak winds I am surprised and strangely worried. I took advantage to organize the boat a little better I clear up some mess, take a bath, eat and drink abundantly. This last push should get me to destination. There are some 400 miles to cover till reaching Faial, the island of landfall in the Azores. It should take less than 4 days at this pace.

LAND AHOY ON PORT SIDE!

Day 33 – 130nm last 24hrs – Log 2795nm – 114nm to Faial, Horta

I am approaching the South of Faial with fresh winds on the beam. Thanks to that Tranquility logs the fastest day of the crossing.

I can see we are getting close on the chart plotter but I am unable see land yet. While I look for signs of land I spot another patch of bird activity. This time I recognize gulls, a signs that I am close to land. With my great surprise and excitement I also see white mist emerging from the ocean, blowholes!

A group of whales is busy feeding. In my life I sailed for more than 30.000 nautical miles and I had almost no encounters with whales. I would die to see them from close by but I fear and respect those animals so I stay on course, both disappointed and happy we are not in close proximity.

Approaching landfall is always a delicate moment. I will sail into an unknown harbor and I have to rely only on myself for all the operations like dousing sails and preparing the ground tackle.

I could not expect better conditions, According to calculations I should arrive by late afternoon with plenty of daylight and enough wind to sail straight to the anchorage.

I am a bit preoccupied with some tidal streams I see on the chart in the channel between the islands of Faial and Pico. So I asked the weather council to feed me some tidal informations. Luckily the wind will only increase so I shouldn’t be at the mercy of currents, and I will use very little of my battery capacity for motoring. The battery monitor is telling me that I have 100% capacity. 34 days of sailing generate enough power to keep my batteries fully charged.

It’s the early morning of my 34th day at sea when I spot Faial. I am sailing at 6 knots on a beam reach and a brown and green line of cliff and pastures appear under a blanket of white clouds.

I devour the details of the south shoreline with my eyes, the tall cliffs overhanging the ocean and green hills spotted with buildings. The transition from blue to green is a welcomed change after more than a month at sea, and bring forth a strong desire to explore land, walking and smelling something new and different.

As I clear the South East corner and head toward Horta’s basin I am met by gusty winds. I douse the staysail first which is not necessary anymore. Awkwardly I get the anchor (which I stowed for the crossing) on the fore deck and connect it to the chain before putting it on the anchor roller. Dropping it to the bottom of the ocean in this moment would be very bad. Luckily I manage not too lose anything and in minutes it is ready to be deployed.

I replace the Quarantine flag (Yellow Flag aka Q) with a Terrible Towel. The ship’s official Q flag fell apart for lack of use and previous UV damage. I can’t help but notice that that what became a nautical lore has now a heavy and profound meaning. I can’t leave my boat and go ashore until the authorities (health authority in this case) give me the authorization. It’s Covid sailing times.

I furl the jib as I make my way into the basin. I motorsail upwind to a group of sailboats anchored. It is quite deep so I try to get closer without being in the way of other vessels. Finally I drop the hook and douse the mainsail. A piece of steel and a chain are connecting me to land. I am a bit incredule, but fundamentally happy about it.

I did it. The longest part of this journey is over.

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