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Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 4

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 4

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This is the part 4 of crossing the Atlantic on a Columbia 29. Click to read Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 .

The departure for the last leg of my solo sailing across the Atlantic Ocean was set for Sunday. I was expecting headwinds for the first miles out of Horta. 900 nautical miles of ocean waters separated me from an unknown yet exciting future.

Sara became increasingly insistent and concerned about my departure. That sounded a bit strange, as until that moment she had been very patient with my slow pace. Why suddenly all this fuss?

I was a bit nervous to start again, both adamant to be underway but also strangely scared.

Like all liminal spaces transitions are perhaps the most difficult part of sailing. Landfalls and departures require a transformation, a change in routines that always exerts a toll. I am a slow guy and a slow sailor. Moving from rock solid land to fluid water it’s never a immediate passage for me.

FIRST MISTAKES

The Island of Pico in the Azores

I decided to pass the Island of Pico on the North side. This way I thought I would avoid the headwinds and waves for the beginning of the trip. As I left the harbor and turned North for few miles I realized it was poor planning. The high rise volcano of Pico soon enough blocked the southern winds. I found myself in a windless zone.

I changed my mind again. I backtracked and started fighting the headwinds going South. This time I had more miles to cover and grew a bit frustrated of my poor foresight. I ended up spending the good part of the day outside, trying to make the boat go South, tack after tack. The wind decreased and the ride got smoother but it was increasingly more difficult to make a good angle to clear Pico to the South.

As I said transitions are often difficult, settling in any rhythm requires patience and time.

Even if the full moon was shining like a projector making it a very bright night, I started in my nap routines as soon as it got darker. As usual I would wake up every 20 minutes to check my position and to see if it was time to turn the boat on the next tack.

I was down in my bunk when a noise, a knock on the side of the hull, wakes me up.

It alerted me 100% as any suspicious noise would do in the middle of the ocean. It was a sound I shouldn’t be hearing.

I ran out in the cockpit with no clue of what I would find. Then I saw vertical cliffs and half submerged rocks in front of me, visible in moonlight

The boat is knocking gently on a submerged rock, invisible yet so evident and present, stopping her motion forward.

I couldn’t believe my eyes and I switched the motor on and put it in reverse in sheer panic. The boat started to get away from the hard spot.

It felt like a dream and I couldn’t really believe what I was witnessing.

I crashed into the island of Pico because I overslept on the alarm clock.

The wind conditions were light and the boat on autopilot sailed placidly. As the wind decreased near shore Tranquility drifted slower and slower until she hit a solid spot.

I couldn’t even hear waves crashing on the shore, I just saw the gentle surge around the cliffs so clear in the bright moonlight.

As soon as I reached deeper waters I steered away from danger. I ran down below to pull up the floor boards and check every inch of the bilge in search of water rushing in. The bilge was as dry as ever and the internal part of the hull showed no damage.

I continued to frantically check the bilge. In the following minutes a dilemma started to a surface to my consciousness: Do I need to go back to port to check the hull or should I continue the trip?

Nothing seemed to change and the bilge stayed dry. I realized that the boat was in good shape and that the impact was very mild, even though against a very hard rock. I imagined that the boat only got few scratches on her thick hull.

It was a huge scare. Not being able to better assess the damage made me feel uneasy, for the better part of the night.

Despite this lack of information somehow it was clear to me what I needed to do.

I decided to continue. I had this gut feeling that everything was ok despite the potentially fatal mistake I just did.

Many times I have been spared from catastrophic outcomes in my sailing adventures. It is hard to understand why some people get through countless mistakes unscathed while others pay the highest price for the first, minimum error. I can say there is no fairness on the Ocean.

It’s impossible be estimate how much luck and time on earth we are given. I could only be grateful for the near miss as I am for other situations I lived through. One time during the hardest storm I ever faced the wrong wave could have spelled disaster. Another time I almost drown during a spearfishing session before friendly hands from indigenous people picked me up and dropped me in their canoes.

I was given another gift, a second chance: That half submerged rock gently stopped Tranquility from total wreckage. I committed the classical sin of the solo sailor and I had been spared.

STEADY SAILING

Steady Sailing in the North Atlantic

Sailing away from land had a relaxing effect on my worries. The route to Tenerife had no fixed obstacles in front of me for more than 800 miles. For many miles I kept full jib and staysail sheeted to port and one reef in the main. Tranquility sailed on a steady groove at about 5 knots.

I was enjoying again the day to day routine of taking a sailboat to an unknown point beyond the horizon. Sailing has a stern discipline, what’s relevant is the task at hand. We could regret what just happened and worry for what’s coming next, but it’s the immediate circumstances that require most of the focus. Despite the scary encounter with the island of Pico, I was having a good time.

I spotted few vessels near the Portuguese archipelago and monitored the local radio frequencies. I was also able to receive weather forecast on the VHF channel from the maritime authorities. It was fun to try to understand the Portuguese message before the English version would come up. My performance was however rather poor despite the similarity between Portuguese and Italian.

After 34 days of ever changing weather conditions I enjoyed steady sailing conditions. Those moments make you appreciate what an incredible piece of art is a well prepared sailboat.

I had a good winds forecast all the way to Tenerife. It blew at first from the SW and later from the NNW. Only near Madeira the winds drop considerably. Even if I transited an abundant 100 miles to South the effect of its high rise were noticeable.

I’ve enjoyed taking sights with the sextant during the passage. I thought I had a good hang of the process, but I had to keep going back to the books and double check my steps. The most important thing I realized is that I almost never pay attention to the position of the sun. Very few of us do. I certainly didn’t need to, as the GPS system was telling my position instantly on a chart any time I felt like checking.

There is almost always something more important going on in my mind that makes it irrelevant to notice the whereabouts of the sun. After all, it tends to come back everyday, and the seasons seem to keep repeating on and on and on. And when in doubt about what time it is I look at my watch first.

Jib and staysail fully working on a beam reach

However those observations slowly matured into the realization that I was going with everything else. It was somehow mind blowing that by observing and measuring myself goingwith the universe I could find my position on this planet.

We always go with everything else, in a synchronous choreography.

Teilhard de Chardin said in the most eloquent way: “The whole universe is the only true atom; the only truly indivisible whole.”

Mile after mile sailing in the ocean I was learning that moving around on a vessel powered by winds and currents was giving me a profound sense of belonging. In a way, it is not incorrect to say that I was using the movement of the whole universe to go meet Sara in Tenerife.

APPROACHING TENERIFE

Anaga, the mountainous area in the North of Tenerife

When I finally rounded the northern tip of Tenerife after 8 days at sea I enjoyed the fresh wind sending me at full speed toward my target. I admired the rugged mountainous coast of the island and I kept a respectful distance, especially after the scary encounter at the beginning of the trip.

Funny enough I experienced the strongest winds of the entire crossing right at the arrival. I was sailing close to shore in the channel between Tenerife and Gran Canaria to get to my final destination in Puertito de Güímar. There the trade winds accelerate due to the “funnel effect”. Locals call this the Wind Acceleration Zones (WAZ). In this area wind speeds climb to 30 knots and gusts approach 40.

I had to jibe my way south as the wind blew parallel to shore. Soon my sails were reduced almost to the size of handkerchiefs.

Three miles from the entrance to Puertito de Guimar the fresh winds turned into a stronger gusty breeze. Elliott on my satellite messenger warned me about strong gusty conditions. My reaction was abit cocky: “well, I will deal with it”. I wasn’t expecting such and exciting arrival.

It was a beautiful sunny day and after a journey of more than 3500 miles across the North Atlantic I was approaching the most difficult part of all: Landfall in an unknown port. Obviously Puertito de Güímar was right in the middle of one of those infamous acceleration zones.

LANDFALL

As I was sailing solo I grew a bit nervous while getting mooring lines and fenders ready. I also needed to get my anchor back on deck and ready. I remove and store the anchor down below during each longer ocean passage. It was no different for this stroll from Horta. I wasn’t planning to use the anchor as I was headed to a pier, but it was still my emergency brake so it was good to have the option.

My Columbia 29  “Tranquility” was sailing with a fraction of jib out, the staysail and a deep reefed mainsail. The wind speed further increased while approaching landfall forcing me to furl the jib away and douse the mainsail while constantly keeping an eye on my windvane autopilot that was subjected to rounding up to weather during violent gusts. Walking on deck while the boat danced over the lively white caps of the confused seas carrying a 20lbs anchor was exciting to say the least.

When I finally got the deck ready the staysail alone was pushing the boat toward the narrow entrance in the breakwater of the marina. I had a few minutes before I reached the entrance, when I would disconnect the autopilot and steer manually, and I decided to use them to worry about analyzing the situation. 

After dropping the staysail I had to make my way upwind into the basin. The entrance opened between two seawalls surrounded by sharp rocks and artificial boulders. On my lee side laid a rocky and shallow beach. 

I depended fully on my electric inboard propulsion to reach the dock and I was nervous.

I saved an aerial snapshot of the marina from Google Earth on my phone which I thoroughly analyzed. Sara on shore was coordinating a welcoming committee and she sent me precise instructions to where to head once I cleared the breakwater.

The aerial snapshot I used to navigate the Club Nautico de Puertito de Güímar

Even if I did my homework I was still nervous.

I had little doubt my electric motor would work. It never failed before. The main switch was on and I could read a voltage of 52.3v on the display. The batteries were more charged than when I left the USA. The wind generator and the regeneration from the propeller charged them for the whole 42 days it took me to cross the Atlantic Ocean. 

You study the landfall. You run many movies in your head with all the scenarios. You know you have done this countless time. You know how the boat responds in different conditions. Still there is no way not to be nervous, which is good, in a way it keeps the energy and focus up.

I turned toward the opening in the breakwater with the residual speed from the wind once the staysail dropped on deck. The familiar low humming of the motor started as soon as I pulled the lever forward.

The wind shoved against the mast slowing me down as I rounded up toward the entrance. I measured my progress watching the boulders on my beam. Tranquility was not moving and the bow threatened to fall off. I asked more amperes from the batteries, from 25 to 35. Now the bow was steady dead upwind but there was not much progress forward. I increased to 40 amperes, then 45 amperes.

With this extra push from the motor the boat got momentum and I slowly saw the horizon progress behind the breakwater. As soon as the boats gained speed I adjusted back the throttle to 35 amperes. 

Then something unexpected happened. On my port side I saw a guy in an orange safety vest waving towards me and pointing to an empty slip. I was going so slow that it would have been impossible to pretend I did not see him. I realized he was the dock master and he was telling me where to dock. 

Sara and Miguel Angel, a veteran member of the yacht club, were waiting for me on a slip in the opposite corner. They sent me the precise instructions to head toward a vacant slip that would require less maneuvering. Miguel Angel is a sailing authority in Tenerife and he thought that was a better option for a solo sailor arriving after crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

At first I tried to comply with authority and head toward the dock master. It wasn’t a difficult maneuver but the strong wind made it much more challenging. I  gave up when I realized it would be so much easier to go where I was originally expected. Despite the strong winds pushing tranquility toward a 60ft steel sailboat, I was able to turn on a dime and proceed towards the welcome party in the far corner.

As I was approaching the slip I gradually decreased speed until my fenders touched the pontoon and friendly hands grabbed my dock lines. I had safely landed and finished my long voyage.

Landfall in Tenerife

SURPRISE WELCOME PARTY

Sara came toward me leaving behind a group of people I have never met before but that I knew very well after hearing so many of her stories. The first kiss and hug was for her. It was brief and strange, as there were so many things happening around. Neither of us was sufficiently relaxed to finally meet heart to heart.

As I secured the lines and organized a bit the mess of the boat two familiar figures came towards me from the sea wall down to the pier. My mom and dad!

All of the sudden I realized why Sara was so adamant that I got underway from Faial. She had already arranged for my parents to get on the island and she was concerned it would take me ages to make it to Tenerife. It was a great emotion and it was also the first time they saw me arriving anywhere on Tranquility, and for one time I felt proud of it.

A Happy Welcome

The rest of that day is confused in my memory, but the excitement of being with Sara, surrounded by family and new friends in a welcoming place was the best I could ask for when I set sail from Georgia 47 days earlier. I made it in one piece, and lived one of the most vivid and beautiful experiences of my life. It took a total of 42 days of sailing to complete the journey and, incidentally, 42 is also the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. I take it as a good omen.

Marina-da-horta
Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 3

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 3

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Continues from Part 1 and Part 2

When I notified the Marina da Horta of my arrival I learned that I wasn’t allowed ashore until I took a Covid-19 test the next day and waited 24hrs for the result. This was hardly unexpected. Sara thoroughly researched the matter and kept me informed through our texting device.

The worst case scenario I was prepared for consisted in receiving a resupply of water and food from a launch service and continuing without even putting a foot on land. After watching the green and fertile south shore of Faial passing on Tranquility’s port side the desire to visit the island grew very strong and the idea of waiting 24hrs to go ashore became intriguing.

The free Wi-Fi signal made it at times to the anchorage. I started to notify friends and family of my arrival, sending selfies and making video calls to the closest people. After 34 days of no internet I was back to day 0. It was definitely refreshing not to have to deal with the internet for more than a month. Even if I was communicating with people through the InReach device, it only allowed the pre-smartphone SMS type of communication.

The first night at anchor was uneventful. I woke up many times to check the holding of my anchor. The wind whistled in the rig as strong SW gusts were finding their way into Horta‘s basin. Feeling the pressure of the wind on the rig while at anchor was unfamiliar after more than a month using the same force to move forward. But my preoccupation were light and I fully enjoyed the pleasure of a long night of sleep.

The next morning I asked the harbor master for a pick up at the boat to go for the Covid test. I assumed they had a launch and I was trying to avoid deploying my own dinghy for….well… for being lazy. They told me there was a space for me to move to the quarantine dock, on the inner side of the quay.This was very fortunate because it was protected from the swell of the basi, and I could wait there for the result of my test.

I droned the electric powered Tranquility to the mooring assigned in the quarantine dock. I was then met by a Policia Maritima who was tasked to escort me and another Dutch solo sailor coming from Aruba to a public Gym where a line of people was waiting for their test.

THE FIRST EVER COVID TEST

Talking with the policeman I learned that he spent time in Italy serving in the Portuguese army during the war in the Balcans. He had then moved to Faial to work in the police force with the plan to retire and possibly remain to live in the island. Few signals here and there where suggesting that his decision could be a very good one.

Even if I can’t really picture the financial reality of my own retirement I could still use my powerful imagination and see myself retired in the green and quiet Azores. But maybe this was too early of an assessment. This sleepy, not so socially entertaining place looked brimming with life after 34 days by myself in the ocean, but that can become a bit bleak over time. It was also probably unfair to base my impressions on the summer months, the time of the year when tourists come to the Azores.

A public gym was the location of the massive Covid-19 testing. Tourists and locals alike where required to take the test at intervals of 7days. After the second negative test there was no requirement for further testing, unless there were symptoms.

The line was long but the test was surprisingly quick and after being stabbed in the nose and the throat with an earbud I was escorted back to the boat. I had to spend another day onboard attending to few cleaning tasks but mostly chatting with friends and family as I could connect to free WiFi reaching anywhere in the bay.

When I came in the anchorage and doused my mainsail I noticed a small tear on the leech. It was a concerning discovery as there were at least 1000 miles still to sail. My first reaction was to deploy my sewing machine and attempt a repair to the damaged portion of the sail. However, while in line for the Covid test another sailor praised the sail repair service on the island for being quick and inexpensive.

Tranquility’s mainsail, getting ready for pickup

Sara was putting an extraordinary pressure trying to convince me to keep my stay in the Azores as short as possible. That request was very uncommon as she is usually very patient and compassionate. What a couple of days more would change in an Atlantic crossing? My birthday was also coming up in a couple of days, I had the VHF antenna to replace, grocery to do and propane to refill. Giving the mainsail repair to the sailmaker would help keeping the stop in Faial, quick and efficient so I called and agreed for them to pick up the main sail.

Things looked well, and I was excited to have put together a plan for the next days, despite the uncertainty of this all pandemic. The philosophy of What If everything was going to be OK? is a mental discipline that I try to practice despite the dire times we are in. Imagination can really take you places and help build a meaningful life. And maybe a bubble of OKEITY could burst and infect other people or areas. Maybe.

The Covid-19 result came as expected: negative. The opposite result would be utterly incredible as I had just spent 34 days alone on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean. Solo sailors are one of the most uncommon typology of human beings and for this such an insignificant part of the world population no special treatment or rules are to be expected.

BEM-VINDO AO FAIAL

After docking Tranquility to the floating pontoons of the marina I got finally access to all the facilities and to the entire island. I went to check the bathroom showers and laundry, which were at the opposite side of the marina and discovered they had very bizarre opening hours. They opened at 10, closed for lunch time and closed terminally at 4pm each summer day. This strange hours coupled with an active scheduled made me miss many showers, and I ended up using taking cold shower from the hose on the dock. The last thing I was expecting from this stop was this inability to enjoy hot showers…

I found a replacement for the VHF antenna I lost during the crossing at the local chandlery. The problem was fixed with a quick travel up my mast to put the new antenna in place. I also brought my propane tank to get filled, just in case.

The trip to the first fully assorted European supermarket in the last 6 months was mind blowing. I was glad to find all the delicious products I wasn’t able to get at WalMart or WinnDixie in St.Marys. The rule ”don’t go grocery shopping while hungry” should have the addendum: “particularly after a long ocean crossing”. Two big full size grocery bags filled to the brim with fresh vegetables, shelf stable goods for the rest of the trip, and a bottle of red Portuguese wine, bread, cheese and jamon serrano that became my dream dinner came in result of disregarding the rule.

I also stopped at Peter’s Cafe for lunch on my way back. Peter’s Cafe is an institution for sailors coming to Horta. They have very good advertisement campaign and offer different services. They also claimed that the first beer after reaching port is on them, but the waiter who served me at the table didn’t seem to agree with this information. I did’t want to argue. After all the food was nothing special and quite pricey too. I think Peter Cafe’s won’t hold the institution tag in my memory of this visit, and not only for the missed free beer.

Lunch with NO FREE BEER

Horta is sailors oriented as it is the main port of call for people crossing the Atlantic during the summer months. The reason is the good harbor, the ample marina and the services available. But if I come in the archipelago again I would love to see other places, as each island seem to have its own character: They all share look green, wild and beautiful.

I enjoyed being able to solve the few problem I had in little time. Even having to cope with the Southern European concept of time was not a too big of a deal. It is interesting how soon we get used to the type of service from the place we live. I feel naturally inclined to island time even if I grew up in a big city in the part of the Italy which is obsessed with time, punctuality and long hours of service.

The Azores gently reminded me that problems can wait and that not everything is an emergency all the time. In my traveling and sailing career I kept moving into different time-space continuums, learning to appreciate the cultural differences in regards to the concept of time. After Honk Kong and the USA I was reminded I needed to re-adapt yet to another conception of time. The showers of the marina were the first reminder that I was entering a strange territory in the space-time continuum.

MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Saturday 1st of August was my birthday. I rented a scooter to Be able to roam the roads of the island and celebrate my 39th year on this planet. Completing my errands helped me enjoy a time that was only for myself. I headed up toward the Caldeira (cauldron), the crater of a spent volcano that harbor a very peculiar ecosystem of plants, and perhaps small insects and other animals. The mere ride towards the top was an experience in itself as during the 1000meters climb I passed many differente ecosystems: From cactuses, to cow pastures, to beautiful forests. For the first time in a while my nose was stimulated by several pleasant smells coming from plants and flowers, a symphony of olfactory stimulation that made me appreciate this underrated (art least for me) sense.

A skinny trail runs on the edge of the volcano’s cone

I hiked the rim of the volcano about 7km on a narrow track that passes through reeds, flowers, shrubs, and oleanders. My body memory of walking in mountainous landscapes brought me back to my youth. The excitement and gratitude were so strong that my muscles didn’t protest for this extra effort after long days on the ocean where they were underutilized.

The inner part of the Caldera

If my daemon took me to live a life of work and pleasure on the ocean, my brightest moments and memories are when I walk in the mountains. Growing up in the outskirts of Milan put me in close reach to the Italian Alps, with their incredibly beautiful and steep valleys and peaks. This paradox is at the very core of my soul. Is this why I am heading towards an island with a 3700m high peak like Tenerife?

The hike around the volcano took time. I realized I would not be able to complete the ambitious tour of the small island I was set out to accomplish in one day. Sometimes I am still possessed by the desire to see as much as possible and to check all the landmarks and attractions. This picture-snapping tourist mentality is the heritage of a culture that I learned to leave behind. It is still active but it easily surrender to the mindless stroll of the saunterer who navigates by random cues.

This attitude guided me while buzzing around the beautiful landscape. The Azores are nice, green and fertile specks of volcanic land that creates ideal ground for cow grazing. The blue Atlantic is always on sight and the juxtaposition of the green and blue is a balm for the mind.

On the way back to the marina I stopped in the cafeteria of a supermarket for my birthday lunch. The place looked like a regular and clean European restaurant, nothing fancy at all.

I didin’t see many alternatives on my route, so I gave it a try. I ordered a plate of local goat cheese with pepper sauce and honey, a mixed salad and a generous grilled tuna steak served with sautéed onions and roasted potatoes, all washed by a pint of Super Bock and capped by dessert and coffee. The bill was 18 euros. The picturesque supermarket cafeteria was an experience in itself after months of grabbing lunch in strip mall America.

I returned to the boat just in time to receive the mainsail with a couple of extra fixes and reinforcement. I was feeling alright despite not having seen much of the Azores. I would have to go back for another pass. I quickly hoisted the mainsail back on its mast tracks and prepared Tranquility for sailing before my last night at the docks.

BACK IN THE MINDSET

A little wind forecasted for Sunday, the insistence of Sara that I would resume my trip, and a promising full moon conjured to set departure to the next day. After just 4 days in the island I was ready to face the last 1000miles of the trip. This quick stop barely affected the sailing rhythm of the past weeks, and Tranquility was still in sailing configuration.

Tranquility ready to bite the waves

It was nothing compared to what I had just passed, especially with the possibility to have a more consistent wind forecast, but still it was no joke, another portion of the North Atlantic Ocean to cover for me and Tranquility. A good dose of fear and expectations was resting on my chest as it often happens when I prepare to set sail.

Departure was set in the afternoon, when the winds would pick up more consistently, and I could point Tranquility’s bow toward the final destination of this ocean crossing.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Solo ocean sailing
Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 2

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 2

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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.

Calm evening on the Atlantic Ocean

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.

Deadly tiny animal

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.

Faial from afar

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.

Approaching Horta

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.

Yellow Flag

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.

Happy Guy

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3

Tenerife Sailing
Long time no write

Long time no write

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I have been a bit absent on this channel. My last post was a farewell to the continent that gave me so much for almost 10 years and then silence.

I want to confirm that I am alive and well, I just have been adapting to a new environment and a new life, and sailing got sidetracked.

I worked a lot on my other website Psychology of Sailing (any feedback on the work done is more than welcome) and left this blog unattended.

Changing worlds and life has become a familiar feeling. Coming and going, living in new territories, cultures, climates, languages. It’s now part of my DNA. It is however not simple.

It was Venezuela, Curaçao, Panama, USA, Hong Kong.

Now it’s Tenerife. 

It took 42 days, more than 3800 nautical miles, 20 books and several movies to get here. The route took me from St.Marys in Georgia where Tranquility got awaken from her peaceful slumber to Faial in the Azores, where I spent my birthday and rested a couple more days, and then Tenerife.

Of those 42 days I have vague memories already. I can say that I miss those days very much. I missed being down below and coming out on deck at regular intervals, during the day and at night, and see just the ocean, adapting to rhythms that very rarely were in accord with my desires, to the point that what I desired was irrelevant.

Being by myself on a 55 years old sailboat in the middle of the Atlantic was something I have never envision for myself in my youth. Yet probably the most pure of sensations I felt since I am alive.

Now that I am landlubbing again the sensation is receding back into my memory with just few glimpses taking me back to that time.

I can say that it all ended when I spotted the high rise island from afar.

It was early morning, timing could not have been more favorable. When you sail a slow boat for multiple day passage it is basically impossible to know at what time you are going to make landfall.

A clear, sunny and windy day welcomed me to the island.

The arrival at Club Nautico Puertito de Guimar was a little concerning.

I had turned around the NE tip of the Island giving enough room for currents and wind effect. After gybing a fresh breeze was pushing me towards my destination, so I was cheerful yet worried about docking in strong breeze by myself.

As I was getting closer the wind increased and soon the fresh breeze  became strong with gusts well above 30kts I  put the third reef in and furled the jib.

Elliott, who guided me via text messages throughout the crossing, had warned me of strong wind conditions at my arrival but I was caught by surprise as winds had always been mild throughout the crossing. I forgot how strong winds looked like.

Docking the boat solo after 8 days from Faial went well despite the tough conditions. My girlfriend organized a surprise inviting my parents over for the welcome back to land. I spent the firsts days on the island as the perfect tourist, driving around the gorgeous island, enjoying the perfect climate and a breathtaking landscape. 

Now that I am seriously tied back to land I look back at the pages that I wrote during the crossing as a soothing reading. The desire for many more days in the ocean never left me, it has just been put on pause.

I though to share here those lines that I collected on a rocking boat in the long hours spent down below in the cabin.

Among the many beautiful and unexpected gifts of 2020, this solo crossing what what is giving the courage to tackle many other daring ideas and projects.

I hope you are going to enjoy the report from this experience which I am going to publish in digestible bites in the following days.

I also hope you don’t mind reading a brief poem I wrote not long ago, thinking about this nomadic life, made of so many farewells and welcome parties (and I also hope you don’t mind a couple of swear words )

Dream stitching

  A soft crash on an alien planet
 I repeat the experience
 Foreigner, newcomer, beginner
 Looking for a warm embrace
 

 Scattered around the globe
 My soul leaves crumbles 
 They become flowers
 That are calling me back 
 

 Longing
 You bastard feeling
 Wherever I lay
 You chase me
 

 Nostalgia
 You cunt
 I love you so much
 My good old friend
 

 Afloat in darkness
 My breath moves on
 Touching pale light
 With nowhere to go
Farewell to Americas

Farewell to Americas

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Way overtime, overbudget and over any attempt in predicting, controlling and scheduling boatwork Tranquility and I finally hit the water.

We dance with the natural change of the tides and the winds in a quasi stationary equilibrium tethered to the muddy bottom of the North River. Here we are merging again, as she is back doing what she was designed for and I reunite with the familiar feeling that I had not experienced since Hong Kong: The sensation of resting on the surface of water supported by the Archimede’s principle is engraved in my vestibular system as for the most part of the last 11 years I lived on floating objects.

Tranquility is not just my home, my mean of transportation and my survival pod, she is an extension of myself through which I explore the cosmos, and now that we are back in our element the senses are enhanced.

Since floating in the river dreaming activity surged together with levels of relaxation that I have not felt for months. Tranquility rig are the strings that capture atmospheric variations, the hull a sound box that amplifies the waves of the liquid environment. Her shell enhances my connection with the environment: enough to be dry and comfortable but inadequate to mask environmental changes around me.

The preparation to voyage has officially ended. As other times before I pushed the bar a little over my actual capacities, tried some weird experiments and dealt with the consequences. I take all this as a game. It is serious playing because financial risks and potential danger are part of it, but my inner child would not let me play safe or lower the bar. I like to keep learning so I push a bit over the comfort zone.

Andy, a very generous solo sailor and pizza tinkerer here at the boatyard, allowed me to use his dinghy to move back and forth to the shipyard for the last showers, laundry, errands and farewells. Rowing to get ashore is a degree of separation that helps detach from land life.

In few hours I will bring onboard the line that ties me to the muddy bottom, brave few shoals and turns for roughly three miles before I enter the St Marys river. There the outgoing tide and the favorable SW winds should push me effortless East through the inlet and out in the Atlantic Ocean en route to the Azores lying some 2700 nautical miles away.

From the Azores I will point to the island of Tenerife, where a special person has been waiting for too long for me to reunite in that wonderful place. This is the main aim of this voyage, the energy that kept me motivated to overcome the endogenous and exogenous variables I encountered, and for which I am extremely grateful.

There are however other reasons behind this voyage. One is that I am moving my home from America back to Europe. I spent more than a decade in the New World an exploration that put me in touch with new experiences.

I had the fortune to be welcomed wherever I went and be brought into homes regarded as a family member. The level of generosity I experienced is overwhelming and when I tried the exercise of bringing to mind all the people that helped me on this side of the world I felt overwhelmed and tears came up.

In the Americas I encountered the most friendly and generous people, people who never hesitated in making me feel welcomed and at home. For seven wonderful years I also had in Kate a generous, loving and brilliant companion and wife who shepherded me through this unknown continent. Adoptive parents and family, mentors, friends and comrades, they all allowed me to see life through their eyes and opened up their hearts to my presence.

I am not painting an idealized picture of my recent years. There has been incidents, suffering, discomfort and cultural shocks. Positive experiences though outweighed negative ones by far. This continent is still vast and rich and mysterious, full of magical energy, both good and bad, and I bathed in it.

Welcomed by the bald eagle, I am ushered to the door by the vulture. This magnificent bird, so ugly and clumsy on land and so graceful when it glides, is a rare sight in the Old World where I come from. In North and South America different species of vulture are instead very common. I grew accustomed to see them on the side of roads taking care of the business of life, dismembering corpses, removing harmful bacteria and diseases from the environment, and complying with the rules of transformation we all obey to.

I will leave part of my soul to the spirit of this bird for it to be digested into the ethereal connections of my legacy, so the last remaining ties will be severed.

After more than ten years it is time to move on. My rootlessness is taking over supported by the desire for more solo sailing, this uncommon human experience full of discomfort and awe. It will take few days of laziness and uneasiness for my vestibular system to incorporate the sudden changes of direction and acceleration experienced on a vessel that sails offshore and to fall into the routine of the watch system.

The southernmost outpost of Europe is waiting for me. It will be a long journey during which I will be removed from the usual flux of information that connects us all, suspended in the parallel reality of this planet without the chatter of society, to exercise my right and responsibility to awe in this incredibly beautiful universe.

Follow my dot….

Going Solo, Sailing Solo, sailing
Going Solo

Going Solo

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I don’t feel I am alone in life, but I am definitely alone on my boat, planning and working for long distance sailing.

For many people and culture facing challenges alone is regarded as a horror story experience, the Robinson Crusoe’s tale of isolation from his fellows. American individualist heroes like Emerson and Thoreau, whose experience with solitude and self-reliance inspired generations, were still fully engaged in public life and very hardly removed from society. Going alone in daring endeavors is exclusive business for heroes and fools. Heroes usually face solitude for necessity, while fools choose it as a free individual choice.

Following this narratives, it is not surprising that my parents are concerned about my wellbeing and my friends struggle to understand why on Earth I would want to spend days at sea by myself (even without Internet!). Despite the ever growing tendency toward individualism, almost every society regards the common good and community life as morally superior to people doing things on their own. Many of the problems in society are attributed to the collapse of family and community life, health problems, school failures, depression among those (check out Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam)

Ask Italian people that are forced not to interact during this lockdown, or the Chinese who experienced it in Wuhan how they like being isolated. All my friends and family in Italy are struggling to cope with this forced removal from others. However there is a big difference between choosing to be alone and be forced to do so. In this sense I am totally free in making this decision, it is something that I really look forward to.

After all at the present moment my solitude is relative. My friend Bill is my next boat neighbor and accomplished solo sailor. He also lives alone on his boat. We visited in Rome while he was spending the winter time with his girlfriend who lives there. We speak Italian and English while we talk boats, politics and other interesting topics as we tinker around our floating homes. So does Andy, another neighbor on a Wharram catamaran who sponsors the Monday Pizza Night where we share the love for pizza making and sharing meals with fellow boaters in the yard.

In Brunswick, not far from here, there are good friends and former neighbors I get to visit now and then. James and Mei who I had the privilege to work with, Susan who was my roommate while I was living on land with Kate and all the people of my former neighborhood, Chip who is a living institution as dockmaster at the Frederica Yacht Club (where Tranquility spent considerable time) Anne and Elliott friends and fellow boaters. The list is very long. The network of relationship that spread from the cabin of an old boat dry docked in rural coastal Georgia is very impressive. It is the web of Life I am grateful for everyday.

Going Places

After months in Hong Kong working mostly on motor yachts and sailing around coastal waters, the desire to sail in blue waters far from land finally creeped up. Tranquility sat for long time in the yard, growing mold and becoming a condominium for insects, slowing rotting away. It would be a shame to waste such a fine vessel.

The desire for sailing and pity for an aging vessel was not enough to break the momentum. After all in Hong Kong I was making money and having an interesting life in a very special place, and I was still messing around with boats. It was when suddenly a destination emerged that things started to roll very quickly. Isla de Tenerife is now where I am going to point Tranquility’s bow. Technically I cannot sail directly there, I will have to draw a wide arch, but you get the point.

There is a very special person waiting for me there I will be happy to reunite with and enjoy time together. The highest island of the Atlantic (mount Teide’s peak is 3718m/12,198ft high) itself has a series of attractions that make it a worthwhile landing spot for some time. A diverse set of environments and microclimates,  relative vicinity with my family in Italy (4h30min flight), presence of sailing yachts and constant wind, also the scary and exciting perspective that the next downwind destination would be the American coast again (Brazil?), all concur to make Tenerife a very interesting place to be.

En route to Tenerife obligatory stops will be the Azores and Madeira. Those Portuguese islands are a fascinating mixture of nature and culture, that I really look forward to experience, and that has been on my chart since the first moment on Tranquility in Fairhaven, MA. In that region of New England  many families immigrated from those Portuguese islands, bringing with them their traditions and food.

Getting there

For the first time in my sailing life I gave myself a precise deadline for departure. I chose it trying to accomodate a good weather window with the time necessary for preparation of the boat and her skipper. The best time to leave for an Eastbound Atlantic crossing is mid April to mid May. During this time of the year the cold fronts and the associated northerlies become less frequent, and S – SW winds are predominant. Also the likelihood of hurricanes is still very low, even though early tropical storm are still possible.

May 2nd is a reasonable date in my opinion. It is challenging because I have a lot to do to prepare, but it is not unreasonable. For sure if I have too much left undone approaching the date I should seriously reconsider my plan. However if just few important things will be still needed, it allows me a cushion of few days to stretch the departure.

What’s missing

Tranquility’s passage from Panama to Georgia proved that the vessel itself is ready for a long journey in open waters. However during that passage I found few problems that require modifications and tune ups, and also upgrades that would make the boat more fun to sail and easier on the crew.

One problem to address are minor leaks that damaged some equipment. Some of them came from the deck grab rails, others from deck hardware. I will take the opportunity of the much needed re-painting of the deck nonskid surface to re-bed all deck hardware. The teak grab rails are already a distant memory while I wait to install new stainless steel ones.

I am going to purchase and install a brand new roller furler, retiring the continuous -line furler that served me well but that is showing signs of age and malfunctioning. With that I am replacing head stay and backstay, that came under high stress during the mishaps I experienced with the furling system during a squall in the Atlantic Ocean.

I also now have the opportunity to keep shaping this boat, fulfilling the dream of making her a badass bluewater boat. I am planning to build a hard dodger out of fiberglass and foam composite as previously envisioned after building the nesting dinghy in Panama.

Showing the Work

The list is long and goes in great details. I will try to keep this blog as much up to date as possible on the constant projects happening on Tranquility. This is probably a way to overcome isolation and bridge communication gaps. If I want other people to understand what moves me and what does it mean to take a boat alone across the Atlantic the only chance is to show how this is made. I am trying to spread this effort through diverse media. For example, If you want to have a quicker view of what’s going on check out my Instagram @sailwithfabio where I post pictures of my work on a daily basis.

I overcame my writer’s block and got to write this blog post thanks to the support of fellow writer and friends in Hong Kong. There I used to attend the weekly meeting of this group where people gathers to write and then read their work. Despite 12hours and 13,913kms difference between us I decided to synchronize with their meeting and spend two hours writing. Thanks Bernard, Holly, Kathrina and Toni to be awesome writers and great people!

The title and some of the ideas on this post are from an interesting book I am reading:

GOING SOLO, The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, by Eric Klinenberg, The Penguin Press, 2012

Singlehanded sailor in St.Simons
Reaching the goal (part two)

Reaching the goal (part two)

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To read Part One click here

As I only read in sailing narrative before, I brought the jib all the way down into the main cabin to fix it. I pulled out the emergency repair kit and the Sailmaker’s Apprentice book that I put aside after reading few paragraphs. Instead I cut a couple of patches of dacron I carried for repairs and started to improvise a hand stitch.

It was a slow operation that took all my poor sewing skills. For two hours Tranquility continued diligently on course all the way to Cabo San Antonio. Beta, entertained by the novel configuration of the cabin, hung out on the jib spread out on the bed.

Stitching the damaged jib
Stitching the damaged jib

Eventually I concocted an ugly repair that made me feel like a hero. Unfortunately the worst had yet to begin.

It turned to be impossible to hoist the jib onto the furler alone, in the dark and with fifteen knots on the nose. I tried a couple of tacks, to see if I could get a little more shelter from the mainland. I tried again and again.

I managed to pull the sail two thirds of the way up after many attempts, cursing aloud and pulling hard on the halyard while feeding the bolt rope through the groove of the furler. Nothing more.

Exhausted I decided to wait for the daylight and milder conditions. I put Tranquility again on a NNE Course with only the staysail and the mainsail to propel us, drifting a little away from my intended course.

The following day I gathered my energy, oriented the boat downwind and eased the mainsail all the way out to shade the foredeck. With daylight and more clement seas the operation was a success. I enjoyed the fruit of my hard work for a little while before going back to my napping routine.

During the trip my sleep cycle varied depending on how safe my mind would feel. I can usually judge in advance where marine traffic concentrate: straits, approaches to busy ports, capes and other obstructions.

Sailing way offshore scares most people but it is in fact the safer option for a singlehanded sailor. While offshore the risk of hitting an object while sailing is minimum but it cannot be reduced to zero. It is something I learned to accept or I will be terrorized to go anywhere.

It is closer to land where I get the least sleep, a maximum of 20 minutes intervals between trips on deck to check for potential danger. A minutes or two is sufficient to scan the horizon and check the chartplotter.

The journey continued with a steady beating against NE winds. I was focused on gaining miles to the North before the wind would shift allowing me to sail East. Another cold front was forecasted to reach me while approaching the Florida Keys, and I could use that to get East again.

Kate on the shore team arranged a stop on Stock Island, right beside Key West. I was trying not stop if possible, but the northerlies were forecasted to blow for three days more before a shift to the E and the S.

With some time to kill it would be a perfect opportunity to clear in the country, and possibly have a sailmaker check on my homemade repair. And of course to enjoy a night of rest while docked and a meat based meal in a restaurant. Stopping appeared to be the right choice.

Passing the Florida Keys

Tranquility approached Stock Island on a close reach, while the cold front was blowing from the NNW. I let the wind take me to the front of the channel before packing the headsails and leave the electric motor and mainsail complete the approach to the basin.

Kate’s formidable skills as a researcher helped in finding just the right spot for the job, 3D Boatyard. Tranquility ended tied up to a sea wall alongside an unoccupied powerboat after a three point turn aided by line handlers. In order to get ashore I had to climb onto the neighboring vessel and jump a good three feet from its stern onto the concrete bulkhead.

As I stepped from a rocking boat to the solid ground of the dusty boatyard I immediately felt the mighty presence of Florida Men around me. Harleys and street bikes and giant trucks and beards and sunglasses provided the Southern Florida flavor. It was good to be back.

The inexpensive and busy boatyard allowed me get enough internet to video call the Custom and Border Protection Officer. I downloaded the CBP official app for my Android phone in Panama and I was ready for the operation. To my surprise the officer waived me in without further need for inspections after I showed my green card to the phone camera and answered few questions.

With that resolved I quickly walked a few hundred yards to see if the sailmaker was available to fix my ugly hand stitch. Interrupting his nap was a clear signal of availability and he accepted to pick up my sail and delivered it fixed at the end of the day. The only thing left to do was to grab a substantial lunch at the nearby Cuban restaurant. After 12 days at sea on a mostly vegetarian diet I selected the beef stew special from the menu and enjoyed my gigantic meal.

I was eager to make progress to the East while it was still blowing from the North so the very next day I was already underway . I was hoping to get past the Keys and snug the Gulf Stream in time with a wind switch to the SE and S to get a slingshot effect up the East Coast.

Out of Stock Island the gusty cold front was still active, but the protection from land made for some exciting close hauled sailing in flat waters. I sailed till the night came, and I was determined to keep moving.

The constant presence of crab traps, buoys and markers and a marine traffic altough made me realize that I would not spend a very restful night. It was getting a little cold too, as the National Weather Service on the VHF informed that the temperature will drop to the lower 50s.

I opted to spend the night at anchor without risking collisions or sleep deprivation. After finding a suitable point on the chart I approached the anchorage under sail, with a little help from the electric drive. Few feet from where I was heading to drop the hook the propeller came to a sudden stop,

The line of one of the crab traps had fouled the prop and I hurried to quickly deploy the anchor. The 22lbs Bruce anchor set as usual bringing the boat to a stop. I played a bit with the throttle but the prop would not turn. It was too dark to dive and deal with it. I decided to prepare a meal and to sleep till daylight.

After a comfortable night snug in my sleeping bag I went out to felt the morning air in the cockpit. It was chilly and still breezy. I reluctantly undressed, donned my mask and snorkel and brought a knife with me. The water was warmer than the air and I quickly freed the propeller from the line, without the need for cutting it. It took few minutes to recover from the chilly swim and got underway.

I spent the following day and night tacking my way East close to shore. At night I slept very little because of heavy traffic and the need to tack every half hour or so. Slowly clearing Key Largo Tranquility finally got a good position inside the Gulf Stream, right when the winds started to help.

In this area of the Gulf Stream current can attain speeds of 3.5 / 4 knots. When the wind blows strongly from the North the Gulf Stream becomes a hell made of steep waves climbing one on top of the other. I had the luck to get wind and current in favor and so Tranquility started to travel fast northbound.

It was exciting. With 20 knots on my back, Miami first, then all the other landmarks on the coast passed by quickly. I recorded a progress of a 145nm on day 14 and the next day an incredible 201nm. It felt like a sort of reward after many days of slow and laborious progress upwind.

In front of Cape Canaveral at night I had to be vigilant and consult the AIS receiver quite a bit. I counted 5 cruise ships going in and out of the inlet.

singlehanded sailor

The night of my 16th day at sea, I came to an abrupt stop in front of St.Augustine. A band of thunderstorms from the West chased out the Southerlies and brought confused winds, sudden gusts and periods of calm. I had to reduce sail, let the squalls pass an then let more sail out again. Then the wind will drop to almost nothing.

One of those thunderstorms hit while I was napping down below. The boat jerked and started running pushed by the sudden strong winds. I was quickly in the cockpit to bring in the jib. I could not furl it, it was once again jammed.

As a final desperate measure I put the furling lie on the winch and applied the extra mechanical force. I felt the halyard snap at the top of the mast and the sail furling in quickly. The problem was fixed, but once again I was left without my main headsail. If I tried to open the jib it would just fall on the deck as no halyard would keep it hoisted.

At day break I put as much sail area out as I could, including my reaching Gennaker. It was still possible to fix the halyard situation if I could send up another line to the sheave. I had a mouse line running through the mast and a suitable line to use.

Once the line was all the way in I noticed it was just few feet too short. I had used part of the same line to make the mainsheet of my sailing dinghy, so if I connected the two parts I could have a brand new halyard and use the jib again.

The Ditty Bag Book had a good illustration on how to join temporarily two ropes through a double whip. With needle and thread I attached the two ends of line. For the third time in this trip the jib was down on the foredeck. This time it was quickly up again after the new halyard was attached to the swivel. By then I knew how to run the operation alone and smoothly.

Day 16 was the slowest of the trip but nonetheless we were getting there . The tide tables gave 9 am as the beginning of the incoming tide in St.Simons Inlet so I felt right on time on my approach. The last thing I expected was to feel the effect of the outgoing tide 15 miles from the entrance of the Sound.

The boat was pushed toward Fernandina Beach and with light wind there was little I could do but try to motorsail until the change of the tide. Progress was slow and the generator that I hooked up to the battery charger to support my electric motor started to act wildly, despite my pre-departure maintenance.

The battery charge was getting lower and lower and still the destination was out of reach. I started to worry that we could not make it before the tide will turn again against us. I started to contemplate calling a tow, even if the simple thought made me feel a bit ashamed. I was curious about their rates and wondering how much money I was willing to trade to end the trip.

The answer came from a council of guardian angels on the Delorme. They called the Tow services asking for an estimate. 900-1200 dollars was the answer, a steep enough price to make me go all the way and devise an alternative plan. If I could not clear the inlet before the turn of the tide I would anchor by one shoal and rest. Waiting for the next tide change.

Then I gave up motor sailing and started to fully tack. At the same time the wind started to increase. It was coming right from the inlet, straight on the nose. I kept tacking, the wind kept blowing stronger.

The channel that leads to St. Simons Sound is wide enough to allow big ships in an out, but it shoals right off the markers. Thanks to Tranquility’s shallow draft and the raising tide, I had a little extra room for my tacks. Still it was hard work as I would tack every four to ten minutes.

The tacks leading to St.Simons Sound

I had full sails ups. In a regular situation I would have reefed the mainsail. This time I could not leave the tiller while tacking s hand between shoals. I could only dunk the bulwarks and all the leeward deck in the waves, while everything inside the boat fell and crashed at every tack. I was racing high tide at 3 pm to get to the anchorage.

At a certain moment, on a port tack, I had the certainty that I was going to make it. I knew the inlet and St.Simons Sound very well . I was close and the energetic sailing was paying off.

The entrance to Frederica river was waiting for me, and of course I would sail all the way to the anchorage. It only got easier as I was finally pointing N to the end of my journey.

The boat enter Frederica river on the last tack, still heeled under the pressure of the wind. I was confident that anchoring under sail in the familiar anchorage would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

At that realization, relieved from the tension of the arrival, tears started falling on my cheeks. Tears of joy, tears of completion. All the fears, all the excitement and expectations became a liquid film that filled my eyes and dripped on my face. The familiar landscape moved me, like a long forgotten song, attached to a strong memory.

The long day spent at the tiller, exposed to the sun and the wind without eating, had not crushed me even after 17 days spent at sea since Puerto Lindo. I felt energized and alert.

Once the hook sunk in the soft Georgia mud, I took extra time to carefully flake the mainsail, put on the sail cover, organize the lines at the mast, and clear the deck, savoring the afternoon turning into sunset. I cooked a big pot of pasta, gave a extra can of food to Beta, and opened a bottle of white wine that my friends Simonetta and Piero gave me in Panama to celebrate my arrival.

My journey had ended, where it started long ago. The famed marshes of Glynn took us in their protective embrace without asking questions. I was glad because I had no answers for them.

Sailing-singlehanded-Panama-to-US
Singlehanding my way back: from Panama to the US

Singlehanding my way back: from Panama to the US

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As usual departing was laborious. Breaking the inertia was necessary to abandon Panama, a place that ended up feeling like a trap. Maybe I am just not that good with change anymore, and everything seem like a struggle. Or maybe I hit a dark spot while drifting about on the Atlantic coast of Panama and dealing with its fascinating cultures.

Sort of Heart of Darkness feeling, if you know what I mean.

Eventually, I found myself alone with Beta on Tranquility pointing North under full sail. I left Linton Bay in the early afternoon of the 28th of November. Hurricane season seemed to had finally cooled off, and the strong trade winds had not arrived yet.

It was the first time I sailed singlehanded in a long passage. I felt both excited and worried. My mind was more concerned about discomfort than personal safety. I trusted my boat. I couldn’t say the same about myself.

Selfie of a singlehanded sailor

Final destination was Brunswick in Georgia and, another first time for me, I had a schedule. I had booked a flight to Italy leaving from Jacksonville on Christmas Eve. There was enough time to make it… if everything went well.

Set on a close reach, I let the boat going more or less the direction I wanted. I forgot how easy is to pull the anchor and sail. The complicated stuff has always to do with land based activities.

I kept an eye on my new AIS as well as doing frequent scan of the horizons. For a hundred miles or so all the inbound and outbound traffic of the Panama Canal funnels in this stretch of water.

Thanks to the little dAISy 2+, the inexpensive dual channel AIS receiver I had just installed, I could see traffic around me. With the name of the vessel coming up in the information I even dared to establish radio contact with the ships that had a close CPA with Tranquility.

CPA stands for Closest Point of Approach and refers to the minimum value between two dynamically moving objects. Surprisingly the officers on watch picked up my calls, assuring that they were aware of my presence.

Soon the wind increased to 15-20 knots, still blowing from the NE. I kept the bow of the boat as close to it as possible. Soon the impacts with bigger waves started to shake the hull. Every loud hit shook me until I realized that this was what the boat is designed for. The adaptation to open waters took some time, after months spent in a protected basin.

At first it felt bad. Lack of appetite, boredom, struggle in reasoning were all the symptoms of too much time spent attached to land. I did the bare minimum, enough to keep Tranquility as close to the intended course as possible.

Sailing-Panama-to-USA

I wanted to sail straight to the Cayman Islands, almost due North from Puerto Lindo. Winds blew from the NE, perhaps NNE. The combinations of the 5 ft waves and the breeze made us drift towards the West, but we were still able to make northerly progress.

I avoided to sail too close to the Nicaraguan/Honduran coasts, as piracy was reported along those shoals. The crew of fishing boats were often looking for a way to make something on the side of their miserable incomes.

I am always comforted by the modest appearance of my boat, but I can’t always factor the level of desperation some people live with. Unfortunately even my small and old 30 footer can look like a luxurious target in certain situations.

The first problem arose soon in the trip. I tried to unfurl the jib after rolling it away for an incoming squall that ended up being not a big deal. The sail won’t unfurl, no matter how hard I pulled the furling line on the drum. I immediately suspected the swivel and the halyard up on the mast were misbehaving.

Two hundred miles or so in a seventeen hundred nautical miles passage and I could not use the jib. It was no bueno.

Determined to solve the problem, I donned my harness and my tethers and started climbing the mast steps installed on Tranquility’s rig. One third of my way up a bigger wave shook the boat and I found myself hugging the aluminum profile like a baby koala on mother’s back.

That scared the living crap out of me. Up higher the oscillation of the mast in such seas would be even greater, something I would not dare to try.

I immediately computed that my best option was to find a protected bay in the San Andrés archipelago, a group of islands off the Nicaraguan coast that belong to Colombia. It would be a deviation from my intended route and a delay I hoped not to incur in.

Kate, checking on me on the Delorme, put me in touch with Mike and Laura, friendly cruisers I met in Turtle Cay that were frequent visitors of the archipelago. They spoke with the immigration agent they use to clear in, who suggested I anchored for 48hrs in plain sight claiming the need for rest or even better illness.

Then I had the idea to try and release the halyard to see if that helped. Once I got some slack on the line the furler started to work again. I was elated! No need to stop, no delay and no dealing with authorities!

When I put the sail up in Turtle Cay after keeping it stowed for months, I must have put too much tension on the halyard, making the furling difficult. At least this was my quick diagnosis.

With the jib now back in service the boat continued as if she had a mind of her own. Tranquility quickly moved away from the San Andrés islands, tracking steadily as she usually does on a close reach. On my side, I was still trying to find my own rhythm.

The second scare came right after. I was cooking a meal when I went out on deck to deal with the autopilot that needed adjustments. After a little I noticed black smoke coming out of the companionway.

Fire on a boat is possibly the worst situation a sailor could face. If a fire gets out of control the only option is abandoning ship, with very limited time to act and collect gear.

The source of the fire was a plastic lighter I used to light the stove with. I found it on fire and jammed between the burner and the pot after falling on the stove from the shelf right behind in a strong wave. Still a small fire, I immediately realized that using water was the best way to put it out.

Had it been an electrical or liquid fuel fire I would have used a fire extinguisher. A splash of water I collected from the nearby sink put an end to the threat.

Once the danger was over I realized how lucky I was. For just a second I got very scared, probably the most scared I had been in my life. It could have been the end of me, Beta and Tranquility.

Now black sooth from the burnt plastic was all over the boat, hard to clean. I felt like a stupid, and decided that now on I would not go on deck if the stove was on down below. Safety rule for singlehanded sailors!

Chatting on the Delorme, I asked Kate to check if she had any information about Thunder Knoll, which I intended to sail by. She came back to me with a story from a cruising blog that reported an attempted act of piracy by local fishermen.

Immediately I became worried that a similar fate was awaiting for me on the shoals. Too late to set another course, and with really no other options, I started to watch frantically with my binoculars, while keeping my navigation lights off, a trick used years back when sailing in Venezuela. That night I did not dare to sleep or nap.

Nothing happened, as I did not spot anybody fishing around Thunder Knoll. Instead, I broke Tranquility’s personal record, aided by favorable current and by a wind angle that finally shifted a little more to her beam. The fear of piracy contributed to record, making me sail a little harder than I would in normal conditions.

153 nautical miles was not a bad 24hrs log for a 53 year old boat with 22,5 feet at the waterline!

Being by yourself makes you realize how vulnerable you are. At the same time it awakes awareness and sharpness in the senses. Walking on deck my steps were conscious, my hands holding tight to the boat, my vision and my hearing focused on the surrounding ocean. I did use my harness and my tether at discretion, knowing that I was vulnerable when I wasn’t attached to the boat.

Sometimes dark thoughts came up in unison. I felt very vulnerable to fire, a fall overboard, a debilitating injury, all the way to fear of bankruptcy, and other existential worries. The dark thoughts came and go. I felt surprisingly comfortable being hundreds of miles away from any land, especially when I focused on the boat, on her secure and steady progress. I was finally feeling used to being at sea.

No marine traffic came my way since the approaches to the Panama Canal, the AIS receiver remained silent. Every night I clocked good hours of sleep, broken up in smaller chunks to allow a quick scan of the horizon in every direction. During the day I also kept napping.

Finally I understood Beta’s behavior, the feline necessity of long rests in case something happens and immediate action is required. It resonated with my naps and lying down, interrupted by burst of activity.

I had windy conditions for most of the trip, manna from heaven when you sail a boat with limited auxiliary propulsion like Tranquility. The noises on the boat, at every wave, roll or pitch became familiar. I could judge the intensity of the wind by the speed of the wind generator and by the pressure on the rig. For the first time I noticed how the boat is more silent in dry weather. Sheets and lines squeak louder under load when it’s humid and rainy.

I finally felt myself entering the middle zone, accustomed to the pure chaos happening on the ocean’s surface. The swell followed a regular pattern, disturbed by waves coming from different directions, separating or building up one on top of the other. The boat just tried to dance on this mysterious rhythm, sliding on an invisible track, sustained by forces that I can’t understand completely.

This middle zone of the passage had no specific duration in my memory, and time ceased to be a factor. It was too far to think about the arrival. A lot could still happen, and the decisions taken in the present may not count in the end. I focused on making steady progress, and I relaxed. I was finally far from the abundant lush of Panama. It was time to move over, even if the next move had not yet a clear path.

In the middle zone I accepted this and accepted the waves’ gentle lulls and ferocious spanks. It’s the temple of nothing, built nowhere. I breath calmly. I am breath.

This ephemeral mental state could vanish unexpectedly. I could suddenly find myself fretting about the arrival or feeling that again that the trip was just started. Then worry faded again.

Cayman-Islands-to-Cuba

Following this spell I decided that stopping in Cayman Islands was not necessary. Weather was good and winds finally moved onto Tranquility’s beam. The boat stopped pitching and started rolling. Neither one is comfortable as the trade winds raised waves up to seven feet, but the progress was encouraging.

A warning from afar awoke me from my meditations. Elliott, who kindly fed me weather forecast through the Delorme, alerted me of a cold front moving from the US and reaching as far down as Honduras. Right were I was.

Even if this added extra miles to my trip, I decided to shoot for the Cayman Islands for two reasons. It could be a port of call for problems on board. It was also putting me more on the lee of Cuba in case of a cold front. As the feared cold front was bound to show up, I kept my course North trying to hug the Coast of Cuba

As expected the wind calmed down, and veered around the boat. Finally the fair winds and following seas visited me, after many people tried to send them my way. I prepared the whisker pole to keep the jib open and catch the following breeze. The operation took me a good half an hour. It was the first time I did it singlehanded on a rolling deck.

That night I was completely becalmed, on a flat ocean. I rolled the jib in, reefed the mainsail, and set up to sleep while the boat moved at less than a knot. At dawn light NErlies started to blow, destined to intensify. I hurried to get as close to the southern coast of Cuba as possible.

With sunset the squalls came, bringing rain and gusty winds. A little after they dissipated the wall of the cold front hit us, with 25 to 30 knots from the NNE. Getting the jib back in as fast as I could, the furler was giving me problems again, and the operation lasted more than necessary with the jib flogging badly.

I eventually packed the sail away, and kept the minimum sail area. Only a deep reefed mainsail and the staysail drove the boat. The night became quickly dark and a little chilly, and I tried to spend as much time as I could down below.

Cuba’s landmass was acting as a wall that protected from big waves. Only fifteen miles separated us from Isla Juventud, offering little fetch to the wind. The rig turned into a whistling symphony I listen to in the breaks of my slumber.

The following day I kept the boat on a slower pace while approached Cabo San Antonio and the Yucatan Channel. During the cold fronts the passage between Cuba and Mexico funnels big waves originating in the Gulf of Mexico. I figured that spending extra time in the lee of Cuba could be beneficial to have the seas calm down a bit.

Before sunset, as the winds decreased further I took courage and opened the jib. The speed immediately got up. Happy about my schedule and the successful trip so far I started to take a closer look to the charts to see where it was convenient to cross the Traffic Separation Scheme that runs along the North coast of Cuba. All the efforts to avoid dealing with shipping are rewarded by more rest on passage.

While touring the foredeck for the last check before darkness, I noticed a small vertical slit in the the dacron of the jib, close to the reinforced area of the clew. My heart sank in my chest. It must have happened with the flogging of the sail while furling the jib in the squall. What was maybe a four inch tear could easily spread and render my headsail useless. My satisfaction for how I dealt with the cold front turned into a sour feeling.

The damaged jib

Continuing the trip without the jib, meant slow progress and less windward ability. Florida was still more than 300 miles to the NE and the forecast anticipated the most difficult upwind leg of the trip. No bueno, again

[TO READ PART 2 CLICK HERE]
Embracing the ocean again

Embracing the ocean again

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The sky is cloudy and the temperature quite cool while I get ready to depart the Linton Bay anchorage in Panama to sail back to the US. Last minute issues got me a little delayed but now everything seems quite ready.

Kate is in NYC and I waited for hurricane season to cool off before sailing back with Tranquility and Beta. We are going to meet for Christmas which we will spend seeing my family in Italy.

Yesterday I did the clearance papers that grant me 48hrs to leave and I am at anchor tending to final preparations, setting up the dAISy 2+ (AIS receiver) with my navigation app, cleaning and organizing stowage, but mostly resting.

Emotions go all over the places, from abysmal fear to sheer joy, from dull apathy to total fret. Luckily this turmoil balances itself as I do a constant effort to find a middle point while I complete the last tasks and catch brief naps.

Hopefully I will depart tomorrow. I plotted a straight course to Cayman Islands and the Yucatan Channel then around Florida and up the East Coast.

If weather cooperates, and the humane/feline crew can handle it, I will attempt a non stop passage, at least to the US. Other convenient points of refuge could be Cayman Islands and Isla Mujeres Mexico depending on the decisions I will make about weather routing with the data that my friend Elliott will kindly provide through the satellite messenger.
I will keep the InReach on throughout the trip. Here is the address:
https://share.garmin.com/sytranquility

On the website you can see my position in real time and you are welcome to send me a message anytime of the day. Hopefully I will have plenty of free time and hands during the passage. Just make sure you write your name so I know who I am talking to.

Now I go back to clean some coffee spilled by the wakes of a passing speedboat. <<beeeeep>>
See you on the other side.
The Castle Franz Kafka
The importance of foolish acts, a Kafkian explanation

The importance of foolish acts, a Kafkian explanation

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On Tranquility I often indulge in the luxury of early morning reading and scribbling over coffee and the quiet sound of wavelets lapping over the sides, with Beta running and jumping around for his morning workout and Kate beside me laying still in her slumber.This morning it was windier than usual and I was reading The Castle by Franz Kafka with the soundtrack of the rig whistling.

There are books that I constantly re-read because they are like labyrinths, offering every time a fresh point of view and a chance for meditative inquiry. The Castle, an incomplete novel published postumous by Kafka’s friend Alex Brod, is one of those.

The twisted snow-covered roads of this imaginary place and the grotesque behavior of the community that inhabits it make this book a literary puzzle, that sits in my memory as a real place that I like to go back to and visit, and the trip is never the same.

The following passage of the book, never really struck me as particularly poignant before, but this morning, during the umpteenth visit to the castle, I could not help but transcribe it in my notepad, amazed by what I found in it for the first time:

“And they indeed were walking on, but K. didn’t know where they were going he could make out nothing, and did not even know whether they had passed the church yet. The difficulty he had in simply walking meant that he could not command his thoughts. Instead of remaining fixed on his goal, they became confused. Images of his home kept coming back to him, and memory of it filled his mind.There was a church in the main square there too, partly surrounded by an old graveyard, which in turn was surrounded by a high wall. Only a few boys had ever climbed that wall, and K. had so far failed to do so. It was no curiosity that made them want to climb it, the graveyard had no secrets for them, and they had often gone into it through the little wrought-iron gates it was just that they wanted to conquer that smooth, high wall. Then one morning -the quiet, empty square was flooded with light when had K. ever seen it like that before or since?- he succeeded surprisingly easily. He climbed the wall at the first attempt, at a place where he had often failed to get any further before, with a small flag clenched between his teeth. Little stones crumbled and rolled away below him as he reached the top. He rammed the flag into the wall, it flapped in the wind, he looked down and all around him, glancing back over his shoulder at the crosses sunk in the ground. Here and now he was greater than anyone. Then, by chance, the schoolteacher came by and, with an angry look, made K. get down from the wall. As he jumped he hurt his knee, and it was only with some difficulty that he got home, but still he had been on top of the wall, and the sense of victory seemed to him, at the time, something to cling to all his life. It had not been entirely a foolish idea, for now, on this snowy night many years later, it came to his aid as he walked on, holding Barnabas arm.”

The foolish goal that K. achieved it was not only a mere itch that needed a scratch, but a pillar of his life, something he finds himself going back to in a moment of difficulty, following his confused thoughts during the hard walk in the snow. It was a small insignificant victory, but it was important to him, and the teacher’s blame and the hurtful consequence of K.’s act did not cancel the emotion of feeling greater than anyone in the present moment, the sense of victory over an ordinary desire, that proves to be useful many years later.

This passage reminded me of the importance of such foolish events in life, and that what we consider lacking good sense or judgement, may be exactly what we need. Similarly, I often ask myself about the sense of what I am doing afloat on the ocean in this small boat, if what I am doing is anything but a foolish act.

I try to rationalize and find excuses, motivations, sometimes to answer other people’s curiosity, sometimes for my own dead reckoning. The easiest, maybe the only true answer is that this is what I want to do, and I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to do it. Why not?

Keeping up on an unscripted path is a difficult thing, as goals and specific objectives may fade into the background and the everyday happenings are hard to put in perspective. I look around me to find outside affirmations that I am on the right path, to shake off doubts and fears.

Don’t we all struggle, one way or the other, to find a way in life? How can we understand if our inner voice is telling us the truth? How do we learn to trust ourselves when it’s so reassuring to listen and follow other people’s opinion?

Maybe foolish, sometimes unimportant acts can be what we truly need to walk on.

An example of this intrinsically human condition came from a tall, white-bearded guy that we once met over soft drinks in front of a gas station.

Kris Larsen struck me as an absolutely eccentric and resourceful voyager, and only after he was long gone, sailing his way back to Australia, I found out that he was not just an old sailor with rather interesting stories, but also a terrific writer, fine artist and craftsman.

Serendipity introduced me to Kris for the second time during a recent Vietnamese dinner with sailing voyager, author and friend James Baldwin. He had also met him long ago in Madagascar during one of his circumnavigations, and shared more interesting stories about this unique human being.

Later, reading James’ article, I found this beautiful passage of his book Bicycle Dreaming, a tale of his trip across the Australian outback on Kracken, a recumbent bike he assembled out of scrap parts:

This whole ride from Darwin had no meaning for anyone besides myself. I achieved nothing worthy, yet it filled me with pride. It’s a shame that these days you can’t just put on your shoes and go on an expedition any more. It has to have a socially relevant goal, it has to be in support of some charity, dedicated to some noble cause, well connected, word has to spread out, blog, website and school curriculum informed regularly by satellite phone, sponsors roped in. Why can’t you just stand up and say: ‘I am going because I feel like it. Because I’ve been dreaming of it for years?

I smile when I read this passage, as I also am trying to do my thing, run my own race, and even if sometimes it does not make any sense, I am confident that maybe one day, some of its foolish episodes, its unique lessons will come to aid in the moment of need or give unexpected inspiration. Or not.

In any case, I am pretty sure I will remember it as a sweet ride.

make money while sailing
7 ways to finance your sailing adventure

7 ways to finance your sailing adventure

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After the exciting beginnings, long term cruising can become a fight for financial survival. During the time spent cruising I observed specific behaviors and strategies that people adopt to make money while sailing.

I decided to classify the economical behaviors that fund the cruising lifestyle by drawing 7 prototypes. Any attempt to classify individuals in typologies always carry the risk of oversimplification and generalization.

In real life cruisers often adopt a cross-pollination approach, suitable case by case.

I originally found 5 categories that I think are classic ones, but then I felt the need to add 2 more, because times are changing, and, believe it or not, we are evolving.

Here are 7 types of cruisers divided into different economical behavior.

1. Harbor rats

A group of very dedicated and skilled cruisers, with budget limitations that enhances creative thinking. I saw some of them floating the hull above the waterline using truck tyre tubes and performing other crazy low cost, low-tech solutions.

Their boats are put together with a collection of mad max type dumpster dived items. They soon get skilled enough to perform sketchy boat work for clueless and/or broken sailors that pay in boat parts, favors like car rides, boat sitting or food and shelter.

Countries with expensive cruising fees are a no go, and they get to the point of deceiving officials by forging clearance papers themselves if that helps them save some bucks.

2. Comfy retired or semi retired folks

Easy spotted by their complex and heavy as hell stern arches and bimini structures that costed not only money but human lives during the fabrication.

They usually live off their savings and or investments with different degrees of luxury depending on the case, but generally speaking on the lower end which translates in a very good ability to keep track of expenses.

They try to save money nitpicking on contractors’ work and equipment, on food vendors and taxis and they may never leave the comfort of the harbor without a spare alternator but they don’t buy an available one because it’s more expensive than “back home”.

They say they will pick up one next time they fly back, which is entirely dependent on the house or financial market returns. Due to all the crap on deck and above, their boats sail poorly and with great effort until they settle for good in a part of the world which is cheap. Internet, Chinese restaurants and booze are the expenses they struggle to keep in check.

3. World charter businessmen/women

They buy a big boat thinking that it will pay itself doing off-the-beaten-track charters and in general having paying guests.

They settle in a country with loose regulations and tropical features but with good enough infrastructure for the guests to easily reach the boat and for them to enjoy vices with a lower price tag.

As there are not many places like this around anymore they compete with other boats over customers. This drives the price down and so the returns.

Costs keep raising as they have to keep the boat in good shape because otherwise guests are going to leave bad reviews on the internet.

Being in places where locals paddle dugout canoes and can only sell you fish and coconuts, where shipping is either unknown or crazy slow and expensive, and if you need a mechanic you need yo fly one in, does not help with boat upkeep.

Logistic hassles, booking fever and, sometimes terrible guests totally undermine the healthy lifestyle they were longing for, while their boats fall apart.

4. Technomads

These are the pioneers of the internet revolution, people with a real job they could do anywhere they can be connected, even on a boat. I’ve met editors, skype english teachers, cruising consultants (I know this should not be a “real job”) coders and other tech people, that enjoy few hours of work per day on a computer inside a boat in exchange of money.

Their focus is to keep the infrastructure going, making sure the machines stay out of salt water or anchoring closer to the cell tower even if there the swell is good enough for surfing. Marinas and cruising destinations are chosen and rated by internet speed or vicinity with internet cafes and libraries.

They sail to nicer areas only during weekends or holidays. Usually before any long passage there is a deadline panic that obstuct the passage planning routine. Finally, after the second day on passage they dream about quitting their job and find a different source of income.

5. Part-time cruisers

This group technically does not make money while sailing, however they organize their work around sailing. Experts in packing/ unpacking the boat for long term storage, they are a tough cookie for any yard manager. Haul out fees and collaterals are the main expense on their books, together with airfare and unnecessary compulsive shopping items, boat parts and souvenirs that fill the extra check-in bags each way.

They are usually able to ratch up quite a sum during their work period that they then spend almost instantly in the first weeks of cruising. By the end of the sailing period they look a lot like the Harbor Rat type, sometimes having to borrow money to get back to work.

6. Girls and dudes with patreon accounts

These new group started to emerge when people decided that Youtube was the perfect place to quench their sailing thirst. This stalking platform is the new stage for the soap operas of the sea, with the most succesful ones that even provide income for the creators.

The basic idea here is that a group of “angels” (or patrons) pay upfront for a product that involve a lot of work and investment and that once released, anybody else can watch for free on youtube. The ones I met sailing were not among the famous ones, and because the videos were not paying off they were also resorting to other forms of hustle to keep the finance in check.

The internet makes it a bigger phenomenon than it is in real life and yet, because homo sapiens is mainly here to mimic other homo sapiens, the number of people who attempt this way is increasing. They say commercial fishermen destroy the oceans, but I think people buying and eating fish are the real culprits. Same with the vlogging: blaming the hardworking bluecollars of the camera for our inevitable loss of intelligence and taste is a form of hypocrisy.

The odds for financial solvency using this approach seem pretty slim, as at the moment it pays off only to the few who can gather enough views and convince donors to pay for their videos. This challenge sometimes requires a cost in hours of work and focus on their public image that hinders a little bit the idea of traveling for fun, and to take themselves not too seriously.

7. Grifters and visionaries

It takes guts to be in this group. We are looking at a very small number of individuals that are willing to sail no matter what. To conquer donors and enablers they need a higher purpose or challenge. Also looking like clueless trainwrecks doomed to fail seems to help in gathering donations.

Stubborn faces and willingness to go down to the lowest possible points of human dignity seem to work as well. This is only for the very motivated ones, like Rimas and very few others. The good thing is that you don’t have to put any money in it.

 

Do you recognize other types of economical behavior in the cruising community? Do you have a special way to make money while sailing?

If so, please let me know in the comments.
The first time I fell in love with sailing

The first time I fell in love with sailing

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Sailing happened to me. It was never something I was inclined to, not even interested. My first love has always been the mountains.

In Italy sailing is thought to be an activity for rich people. It is of course a prejudice, as there are ways to make it more affordable, but on average the costs are pretty high. I too fell into the power of generalization and thought that sailing was an activity exclusive to a group of snobby rich obnoxious people. Of course I was not part of this group and I preferred the cheap and harsh alpine terrain, where I hiked and sometimes skied.

The first time I step on a sailing boat it was ten years ago, aboard Bicho, a Beneteau 51 designed by German Frers, that a friend of mine recently purchased to run charters in Venezuela. Bicho was big, comfortable, elegant, and she was waiting for us on a dock in Higuerote, to take us on a cruise of Los Roques. The owner invited me and other friends to celebrate the recent purchase and the beginning of the charter activities.

Aerial view of Archipielago de Los Roques, in Venezuela

We had an overnight sail offshore in the Caribbean Sea, which during peak season of the trade winds has some serious waves, and you feel them all when they hit you on your beam.

I slept in the forward cabin, rolling left and right and sometimes finding myself in midair. Because I was not sick as other of the passengers, I had to keep the helm for  a little bit, after receiving vague instructions on how to steer a course following the compass.

Once in the protection of the islands we enjoyed a week of island hopping, sailing through flat and crystal clear waters powered by a steady breeze, and surrounded by a wonderful scenario. Sitting on the rail on the windward side of the boat I let my legs dangle off the side while keeping my sight on the liquid horizon, enjoying a sensation of peace that I grew accustomed to during these years, and yet still so hard to describe.

Sailing time aboard Bicho

Back to Good Old Europe, in the gray and busy Pianura Padana, I resumed my job of building and delivering courses for employees and manager of various companies, helping them navigate through the treacherous waters of corporate life.

A year passed by, and I enjoyed the mountains more than the ocean. I realized my dream to take a solo trip to India and explore the Himalayan regions of Kashmir and Ladakh. I also decided to move from Milan to Turin and that put me even closer to the Alps.

A fertile valley in the arid Ladakhi Mountains, in India

Until one day, serendipitously, I left it all behind and moved to sea level, again in Los Roques, where I started a new professional path that I had never thought could be suited for me.

It was only after months there that I realized how those islands were nothing but a series of very high submarine mountains, with their peaks piercing the surface of the ocean, providing beautiful beaches and habitat for marine life and humans engaged in tourism. Once again I could feel that my attraction to mountain peaks

And yet in my mind I was no sailor. I still thought of myself as a manager running a business, until one day during a period of shipyard refit for Bicho in Curaçao, I met a person that challenged this view and planted a seed that would change my life.

I was living on a gutted charter boat in the Tropical heat. Only one cabin, where I slept and kept my belongings, was left untouched. Everything else was dismantled and under reconstruction, covered in dust and grease, and littered with tools and building materials. The project was very ambitious and I was doing my best to keep it underway while the chaos was unraveling around me.

My workplace in Curaçao

In that shipyard I met a young guy who was doing the same thing, only on a smaller boat. He was fit, fun to be around and hard working, and he was outfitting his own boat to sail across the pacific to Polynesia, where he had a seasonal job as crew of a luxury Motor Yacht.

We were the two youngest people living in the yard and we quickly bonded. He had a temper and was very energetic, I am low key and relaxed, so we found a natural way to coexist. For me he was an encyclopedia of boat work and I couldn’t restrain myself from asking him about anything sailing related and observing his work.

He would also share his sea stories with me, on how he sailed that old leaky wooden racing boat, bought sight unseen, straight from Nova Scotia to Saint Martin during the winter, with a couple of backpackers that had never sailed before, or how once he got dismasted in the Caribbean Sea and decided to decline rescue and instead drifted back from where he started to fix his mast and sail again.

His stories were eye opening for a rookie like me that thought boats only meant business and plummeting bills. He also debunked some myths about sailing that I had taken as axioms, first and more important that you need a big boat to sail across oceans.

Sailing lessons underway

I immediately identified with him. He was a young guy enjoying life on a boat on the cheap, and this was a revolutionary idea for me. Beside his long sailing experience, we were not so different.

After few months of hard work in the yard and long night talks he set off solo from Curaçao, to his destiny across the ocean, but before leaving, he gave me a suggestion. He told me that Back in Los Roques there was a good old boat, perfect for me. It was a Rival 32 that his friend was selling for 10.000$. When I got back to Los Roques I quickly found the boat. It was in need of a bit of TLC but that was not so important as visions of a new life afloat were flooding my daydreaming.

There was another option, which I also took from his personal example, that had a similar price tag: to take a professional license and make sailing my new career.

I chose the second option, because I knew that eventually another boat would show up at the right time and in the right place, and I would be better prepared to take on the challenge.

At least this is how I prefer to tell the story.

Transatlantic crossing aborted

Transatlantic crossing aborted

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It’s always hard to renounce, especially when you worked hard for it. But you have to be really honest with yourself and your crew to decide if things are possible or not. Crossing the Atlantic  could have been possible anyway, man does really hard things when motivated but accepting a risk is a matter of responsibility towards yourself, the others and the boat.

Eclipse is not enough reliable to leave now and there’s no time left for more fixing as hurricane season is almost upon us. Each of us has other ways to go and our paths separate here.  Eclipse will stay here in the Caribbean for one year more.

I am grateful for the experience of preparing the crossing, we tried our best to make it and I can say we almost did it. Next time I will be more conscious and practical with the duties of a transatlantic crossing, or maybe I only will choose an easier challenge. Experience also gives you a different look on reality and modifies your ability to choose which project are possible and which aren’t.

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