My Aborted Qualifier

As I’ve mentioned, I have been trying to do my 125-mile qualifier for a couple of weeks now. It turns out the effort was in vain, since our Guadalupe Island for which I needed to qualify, has since been canceled, but I wanted to share about my latest journey anyhow. The journey is what really matters to me, and though I said it was in vain, I truly don’t believe any of these efforts are in vain. I have been able to give Cassiopeia a good shakedown, and I feel ready for Begg Rock now, which is the race that is replacing Guadalupe Island. I have included some videos of my day, interspersed with the story to give a sense of the ups and downs of my day.

 I finally found a few days that I could get away, and then I had to wait for the right weather. I was vacillating between compulsively checking all of the wind prediction sites and obsessively staring at the sea of masthead flies out my window. I would look at the wind direction and will the wind instrument cups to spin faster. All of this in hopes of grabbing the perfect weather recipe to head offshore. Did I mention it was raining? It was a dreary day in Marina Del Rey, but there is something about the moodiness of it all that was calling me out there anyhow. I’m not afraid of a little rain, but truth be told, I fear the fog, and on top of that, I really didn’t want to head out for this trip in anything under 10 knots.

 I ended up departing on a Sunday morning. The wind looked good and the weather was clear. I started my track right outside the breakwater because the wind was actually up, which wasn’t expected for a bit. I was planning on motoring up towards Malibu for a while to ensure a nice tack out past the West End of Catalina, and ended up being able to sail instead. The conditions were dreamy, and Cassiopeia was moving well.

My happiness couldn’t win over the sea sickness I started to feel about 3 hours into our trip. It is fairly usual for me to feel a little quease, but this came on fast, and got pretty yucky. I stayed my course though and was determined to persevere. As sunset was approaching, I was nearing the West end. I decided to tack away for while, because not only was I closer to the island than I wanted to be, but there was a huge black squall just beyond, which didn’t look too fun.

With my new inner stay, I have to furl my Genoa in order to tack, and I am not used to this yet, so it admittedly throws me off my routine (I actually forgot on my 1st tack of the day and learned 1st hand why this is mandatory). I started to tack, and thankfully remembered at the last minute, got the sail in, and the tack was fine. We headed out for a while in the pre-sunset light, and though I was happy to be going away from the black skies, I realized I was not being very efficient in getting offshore. The wind direction made it such that I was essentially heading more towards home than out to sea, so I decided to tack back and brave the squall. I remembered on this tack to furl my sail, but this time it wouldn’t budge. I tried a few tricks, but the furler was jammed. I went up forward to check it out and I had the world’s most annoying and severe override of the furling line. There was nothing I could do to fix it in the drum, so I had to remove all of the line. All of this while the bow is heaving and I am getting sicker by the moment. I got the line out, and started to see if there was an efficient way to re-run it without dropping my sail (so I could wind it easily on the drum). There really wasn’t, and I felt like crap. I hemmed and hawed for a moment as I hung on to the wet foredeck, but the thought of heading offshore towards a squall in the night without a way to reef my big Genoa was not prudent (and I didn’t want to deal with dropping it and lashing it on deck in the dark feeling the way I was). Sure I could have lashed the genoa to my foredeck then and there, and continued with my staysail until morning, but sickness trumped everything, and I decided to call it a day. I dropped the sail, and turned Cassiopeia towards the Isthmus, which was about nine miles away. I was kicking myself because the override was totally my fault. I didn’t tend the furling line on one of my tacks as I let the sail out. This is something I always ride my crew about, and I did it in a moment of thoughtlessness. I was very annoyed with myself, to say the least!

As I motor sailed towards the familiar harbor, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I was sad to quit, but also glad to be heading in for a respite from this queasiness. As we approached the entrance to the harbor, darkness fell heavily, and there was no moon to guide us. Thankfully the wind subsided as I dropped my sails and headed in. I called harbor patrol a few times and there was no answer. Oh right…its winter. They go home early this time of year, so I was on my own. I usually ask for assistance when Im alone in picking up a mooring. The guys are so happy to help, and I have found that doing it alone in my big boat is just not that fun. It was all up to me that night, though, and I managed to get it done in three tries…mostly because I could hardly see a thing, let alone a skinny stick in that darkness. If anyone had seen or heard me, it would have provided some serious comic relief. I had a running conversation going with myself and Cassiopeia, as I tried to shine my headlamp just so to be able to see the stick, and then to get her at just the perfect glide to make it all happen.

 Once I was on the mooring, I was able to let down, and I realized I was still very queasy. Usually the quease subsides once I stop moving, but not this time. It continued into the next day, and most of the way home. I was able to easily fix my furler the next morning, but once I stopped focusing on that, I felt so sick that I had to go to land for a few hours before heading home. Thankfully the island did not disappoint with her emerald green hills and impressive serenity. A long walk helped me to re-calibrate a bit. I was more saddened by my sea sickness than by retiring from my qualifier. It feels like such a cruel joke to get sick doing the thing I love the most. I love it too much to stop though, and am now determined to find the perfect sea sickness remedy for these shorter offshore trips.

The beauty always wins, and as I write this, I am reminded that sailing is my solace, and something I do to feed my soul. It is so easy to get sucked into proving and pushing as I get more into solo offshore racing, but this trip reminded me to slow down and connect to my why. For me it is all about connecting to myself more deeply. Sailing gives me that, and when I slow down enough to listen to my gut and remember the pleasure that I am seeking, I can be kinder to myself when snafus happen and I need to turn around. Of course if I were in my way to Hawaii, I would have continued and would have had to fix the furler underway…or perhaps I would have waited to daylight. The point is though, that I was doing this for myself, and I was close to land with a safe and easy way to take care of myself. I’m proud to have chosen that.

even feeling sick, this view brings me so much peace

Almost to the West End, moving out!

Before I fixed the furler. Green island bidding me good morning!

My sweet friend Robin arriving to keep me company on the sail home!

my track….note the gaggle of dots as I tried to fix that pesky furler!

The trip was 9 hours and 18 minutes, traveling 50.2 miles. Still a solid trip!

A Filmmaking Adventure to Catalina

I had the incredible honor of hosting two amazing young women on my boat this month. Erica Mellon and Elle O’Brien are college students, and aspiring filmmakers. They approached me for advice a few months back, wondering about tips on making a film about a sailing adventure they are planning (It seemed that they thought I knew what I was doing when I made my film). I promptly gave my disclaimer and shared my self proclaimed title of accidental filmmaker, but that I would, of course do whatever I could to support them. Their project is very exciting, and as they share more, I will too!

We had a Skype call to get to know one another, and I have to tell you, that it was love at first sight. The light and enthusiasm that shone through the cyber waves from these young women inspired me on the spot and filled me with deep joy. Within about 10 minutes I had invited them to California to have an adventure to Catalina so that they could get the feel for life on a boat, and also make a practice film in the process.

My gut feeling was right, because having them with me on the boat for 4 days was a delight. We sailed to Catalina and even ventured around the backside for another perspective. Our conversations were profound and connected, and these 20-something women had me reeling from their depth and awareness.

Being with them was inspiring and deeply healing for me. Their presence and connected ways reminded me of something I lost track of in my life, which added a beautiful missing puzzle piece to my healing journey. I am so grateful to them for reminding me.

I am so excited to see their short film on our trip, and for a lifetime of friendship and collaboration. Love you guys!

The Shaka Challenge :: PSSA's inaugural singlehanded transpacific sailing race

Right now, I have 8 friends sailing alone across the Pacific Ocean!! If you count all of the new friends I made at the start of the Singlehanded Transpac, the count goes up to 22! Four of these sailors are my dear compadres from The Pacific Singlehanded Sailing Association's inaugural Singlehanded Transpacific race, The Shaka Challenge. Bill, Matt, Patrice and Larry all left Marina Del Rey one week ago. They are about half way across now, and I am dying to know how they are doing! 

The sendoff was a wonderful affair! It was a beautiful Southern California morning when we all gathered at Cal Yacht Club to bid them bon voyage. In attendance were PSSA club members (a few of whom are singlehanded transpacific veterans) and throngs of families and friends there to support our guys. Cassiopeia and I were lucky enough to be the race committee boat, so I had an amazing perspective as the racers sailed by us and headed off to sea. They are sailing for the island of Oahu and will arrive in a week or so (give or take depending on the boat).

I am tracking them obsessively (heres the link), and wondering all the while how they are doing. What are they feeling? How are the sea conditions? Do they find it as magical as I did? What is their favorite thing about being out there? I cannot wait to ask them all of these questions and more when they get back to LA. Meanwhile I am sending all my love, energy and support their way! 

A little heartbreak........and a lot of excitement!

I have been absent from this blog, and even my precious boat for some time now. Life events and responsibilities have been pulling me away. There is not a moment that goes by, however, that I don’t miss the open sea or the blessing of writing about my adventures out there, and my heart is always pulled towards the horizon of both things.

Making the decision to abort my plans to race in the Singlehanded Transpac again in 2018, was one that wrenched my heart in a huge way. I felt so called to do it, and to recruit more women to do the same, as well as to document all of our experiences as a vehicle to inspire more women to embark upon amazing adventures such as this. My personal prayer and goal was to have a record number of women race in 2018 (a meager 4 would have done the trick) to make a start at bringing more parity to the race roster and the finish line in Hanalei.

I just found out tonight that there are now three women registered for the race this year. I knew about my friend Carliane (through whom I have been living vicariously in all of her race preparations), but learning of two other women was a happy surprise to me. If I am honest though, my heart broke a little when I heard, because I want to be there so badly. Also, if I (or any other woman) were registered, we would have our record year.

As I have written about a lot in this and my art blog, this has been a year of letting go for me. It has been a year of redefining so many things. Part of letting go has been about releasing what is not meant for me, to make space for what I need. The only thing I can do now as I nurse my aching heart, is to trust that my original decision is the right one, and that this is not my time. I am called to once again let go and allow what is meant to be to unfold gracefully.

I bow down to and celebrate each of the women and men who have registered in this year’s race, for that act alone is brave and powerful. I am grateful that the number of women on the roster of this historic race is increasing, and I hope to be able to interview each one before they cross the start line in June. No matter what, I am with you each in spirit, and will do my best to be there to cheer you all on at the start, and hopefully hug you in Hanalei at the finish of one of the most amazing things you will ever do!

Haunani, The Brave Catalina 34 That Could

As much as I am comfortable with my own feelings and vulnerability, my knee jerk reaction when I am hurting is to play it tough and put on a brave face, to the point of ridiculously minimizing my own experience. I share just enough to demonstrate appropriate sadness, and stuff the rest out of deep fear of being deemed “too much”. The more deeply I feel something, the more I do this…..usually until I cannot hold it all in anymore and the only thing left for me to do is crumple into a heap and feel it all.

Yesterday I was in a heap. I received an email from a lovely person who said “ I am sorry to hear about the loss of Haunani, the brave C34 that could”…..well that did it, and I am so grateful, because I needed to stop and honor how I was truly feeling. I felt the reality of my loss come crashing down when I read those words. From the heap that was me (a puddle of tears, smudged mascara and snot really), the floodgates opened in earnest, and everything poured out. It all shook through me. I felt everything I had been pushing aside for the last 3 months and not fully allowing myself to embody: The emotional and financial stress of my dear dog being sick, my deep sadness over the loss of a very significant love in my life, and of course the grief of losing my beloved Haunani. Then there was the anger…the anger that someone did something so stupid and careless which in turn created a dark cloud over the most amazing experience of my life, is vibrating through my being as I write this.  As I allow all of these feelings, I can hear the familiar voice in my head trying to minimize it or talk myself out of the validity of my experience. Well, I am not going to do that anymore, because this is all very real for me, and would I advise something so callous to a beloved friend? No. Never.

I have never seen a dead human body, but I imagine when one does, that you can tell that the soul is no longer in residence. I have certainly seen that in animals that have passed. The other day, when I went to see my Haunani on the hard, I had that sensation. I know that this sounds dramatic, and that many people will not understand, but I felt like her soul was no longer there. Now, I KNOW she is just a boat, and supposedly an inanimate object…..but let me tell you, that girl had soul. My friends tell me that it is because of me that she had soul, but I am more inclined to believe that it was a mutual creation.

These few weeks since her sad return have been very challenging for me. I have had to be very “official” in my dealings with the shipping company as well as with the boat yard and other professionals on the scene. I have had to have conversations with people about her state that have been so matter of fact that I felt like I was betraying her very essence...not to mention my own heart. And all the while, I have been fighting off waves of soul shaking grief that can bring me to my knees. When I think of how I felt as Haunani intrepidly carried me across the wild Pacific, it is hard to believe that she will never sail again. My heart is truly broken.

As I navigate the challenging waters of her deconstruction, I am choosing to focus on her greatness, and the grace and strength with which she carried me and all that I am through so much. She came into my life three years ago, and not only provided deep solace for me as I healed a broken heart, but she turned me into an offshore sailor. She consistently reminded me of who I really am. The only way I can make this loss make any sense is to honor the meaning that our relationship brought to my life. To honor that there is a time and a season for all loves, and perhaps ours was only meant to last for three years. Maybe she sacrificed herself to deliver me. Whatever the deep meaning behind our bond, I will be forever grateful for Haunani, the brave Catalina 34 that could. 

all photos by Chris Woods

I Miss My Trusty Protector

Six weeks later, I am still processing my feelings about my journey across the Pacific. There are so many emotions, memories and feelings that surface as I reflect on my experience. Sometimes it is so visceral, and others it feels as though none of it really happened, and I literally have to look back at blog posts, videos and photos to remind myself that we actually did this thing! Haunani and I were such a solid team, and my relationship with her grew deeper than anything I could have anticipated before I left. We went through the trenches together and came out the other side a bit tattered, but more solid than ever before. She is pure heart and soul to me.

Receiving these photos of her broken on the ground took my actual breath away for a minute. She was my breath and support for so many days at sea, and to see her wounded on her side with her trusty rudder snapped off where she hit was painful. It took me a few days to even really share these photos with anyone. They feel so intimate and raw. I know she will be ok again, so I put one foot in front of the other as I (not so) patiently wait for her return. It has been too long already, and I cannot wait to lay hands and eyes on my faithful protector again. Now it is my turn to protect her and that I will, as she gets restored to all her glory!

Re-entry And a Shout Out To My Fellow Racers

I have been home for almost 2 weeks. To be honest, without my boat here, or a huge adventure to plan, I am feeling a bit disoriented. My life revolved around Haunani and the marina for 10 months, and all else took a back seat. So now with my girl gone for another 3 weeks, I am taking the opportunity to get my feet beneath me and embrace the other facets of my life that have been neglected and sorely in need of tending. It’s a bit of a disaster around here to be honest, but I am plugging away and untangling it all bit by bit. There are piles of boat stuff that were dumped willy nilly in my art studio (to streamline Haunani for my trip)…jerry cans, anchor chain, anchors, food, a dinghy, dishes, bedding, lines, gear….you name it. I basically walk by those piles with a smile and a nod and head back into denial…I am not ready for that yet. There was a pile of mail the size of Everest that I have finally tackled which feels great, but has not inspired the same motivation for the 600+ emails in my inbox (most of which are annoying spam). There is an office to move (moving back into my studio office), a business to re-boot, phone calls to make, duffels to unpack (yep, they are still sitting there), catching up with friends and family to enjoy, dogs to walk among many other things both pleasant and not.

As I wander around and slowly tackle my re-entry and all of my responsibilities, I think often about the other sailors in the race. How are they all doing with re-entry? How are they feeling about what they just accomplished now that it is 2 weeks in our wake? It seems so strange to share such a transformational experience with 23 other humans and then only have a few days to really get to know them (although I thankfully got to spend quality time with some of them). In those few days, everyone (well I can only really speak for myself but am assuming their experience was similar) was so tired, catching up with family, sleeping and trying to process the magnitude of what we just accomplished., that “tree time”(sunset gatherings every evening on the beach in Hanalei) and the banquet were the only times we really got to be with each other. I cannot tell you how much I loved those times.

I felt a mix of awe and relief when in their presence. I was in awe of all of these brave souls that put themselves out there in a way that few people even dream of. I was in awe of their collective experience and courage. I was in awe of the various ways they coped with the stresses of their respective journeys. I truly felt as though I was in the presence of greatness. What I was most in awe of was the collective humility of this group of strong men.  Being with them was so beautiful, because each was so truly humble and kind. I felt that there was a lovely sweetness and gentleness that pulsed through this group of guys, and I will be forever imprinted by that energy! The relief I felt came in the moment I let down and realized I was actually a PART of this group. I am not sure if it was nerves, being the only woman, or my own annoying habit of thinking everyone else is always “better” at things than I am, but either way, at the skipper’s meeting in SF, I felt a bit like an outsider. When I first walked up to “tree time” and into their midst, I sadly carried that nervous feeling with me. It was swiftly blown to smithereens though, as all of those kind, lovely people and their families embraced me and welcomed me into my place in their midst. Between the other racers, their families and the race committee, I felt I was surrounded by some of the coolest and most real people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. The camaraderie was wonderful, but what struck me the most was the sense that all of a sudden we were a tribe, and that we would do anything to help and support each other. I certainly felt supported. For example, I had a team of new friends who helped me re-anchor my boat (no small feat by the way) and was so happy to do the same for them. There was always someone (or many people) who was more than willing to help me do whatever needed to be done from dinghy rides to fixing stuff. I am especially grateful to Bill Meanley, John Woodworth, Barry Bristol and Mike Jefferson for taking this greenhorn under their respective wings at various times to offer advice, support and buckets of kindness. Then there are my PSSA buddies Yves Vergnolle and Joe Barry, who have a very special place in my heart. When I saw them each for the first time after our journey (and strangled them with giant hugs), I felt like our friendships deepened in that moment. Seeing them was like coming home from being homesick at summer camp and seeing your family for the first time. I felt like I was coming into to a familiar safe anchorage just by seeing their faces. For the entire week in Kauai, I felt so buoyed by their presence and am so grateful for their kindness and friendship. It makes me emotional just writing about it. Thank you guys…..I am truly so grateful for you both (and JOE!!…good luck on your return journey, my hat is off to you)! I also want to shout out to Kristen, Susan, Carliane and Brian, who all went above and beyond for all of us. I can still feel Kristen’s seemingly bottomless joyful energy as she zipped around. Her enthusiasm, energy, smile and willingness to help without hardly a break blew my mind. Susan with her calm and grounding presence always made me feel like everything was under control! And Carliane......though we had only just met, that hug you gave me when I first saw you made my day....not to mention our kick ass framed photos! And then there is Brian….always there with his steadfast calm energy and mad skills. I don’t think he slept at all, and was always present for anyone who needed anything large or small. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

I miss everyone, and hope that our paths will cross again! My door is always open to any of you (and your families). My boat is always available for a sail for anyone who happens to be visiting Marina Del Rey! I mean it!!! Please don’t be a stranger guys!

Coming Home To Myself

As the weeks fly by since my return from sea, the details of my voyage are sadly starting to blend together. It’s a bit disconcerting how fast the memories are fading into a snapshot. Granted, it is a larger than life, and oh-so vivid snapshot that is forever emblazoned on my brain, but from where I sit now in my comfy backyard sipping on a glass of red, it is easy to start romanticizing and encapsulating the whole experience. My voyage is surely deserving of some romanticization, but it is more so deserving of being memorialized with radical honesty. Even though my sail across the Pacific transcends most things in my life, I feel the same about it as I do all of my life’s experiences: it would be nothing without all of its peaks and valleys. In my opinion, the valleys of any experience seem to produce the most gems and it is in those challenging and dark moments that I find my deepest transformation. Life is alchemy if I allow it to be so. This trip was certainly no exception and I am finding out more each day just to what extent I have been and continue to be transformed.

I cannot tell you how many people told me before I left things like “you will be different when you get back”, and “this trip is going to change you”. Because I agreed, (I mean, how could I not return a changed woman after over 2 weeks alone at sea?), I kept searching for the sure to be monumental change in myself as the days ticked away out there. I have continued searching for it after landfall…partially in order to be able to answer all of the eager questions to that effect. Was I changed? Am I somehow more evolved or confident as a result of this epic trip? Well, although I certainly feel something major has shifted, and continues to shift in me, to be honest I don’t feel that different. What I do feel, after much soul searching however, is a deeper sense of who I already knew myself to be. Maybe that IS what they meant by different, either way, it certainly is a powerful revelation for me.

As I have mentioned many times, my whole trip except for a few days was very rough. I think there was a part of me that was minimizing or doubting that fact based on my lack of experience with such things. I would hear my Dad’s and brother’s tales of their crossings…. relaxing book reading sessions on the foredeck, or peaceful sunset happy hours in the cockpit… echoing in my brain as I clung on to various handholds on my heaving vessel under stormy skies. No one said anything about being tossed about violently while barreling along in 25-30 knot winds, where trying to imbibe a sip of water let alone wine in the cockpit would be a challenge. Still, I rolled with it thinking that maybe I had heard wrong….or more accurately, maybe this really wasn’t so rough after all. Thankfully I didn’t have to rely on my videos to validate anything, because they make my trip look like a walk in the park (I still don’t get why). Upon my arrival to Hanalei, the magnitude of the atypical conditions was promptly corroborated by two 5-time veterans of this race. One said, “you sure picked the worst year ever to do this race”, and they each said to me separately that it was the roughest trip they have ever had. Bittersweet, but the good news to me was the confirmation that I was not losing my marbles or exaggerating the intensity of what I just went through in my mind….PHEW! When I look back on it, I am not sure how I ever questioned myself, because there really was no respite from Haunani’s violent movement for most of my trip. We rarely saw wind under 20 knots, and it was more like 27-35 most of the time.

When I decided to join this race, I was acutely aware of the fact that I was a greenhorn. I had no offshore experience, not even on a crewed trip. At that point, my longest and roughest trip had been a sail with my dad from Maui to Hawaii Island in 1985. In fact until I arrived in the SF bay, I had only sailed in wind over 20 knots a handful of times, most of which were in the last year. To be honest, I was probably more tuned into what I lacked in experience than I should have been, to the point of being really tough on myself and feeling like I had to justify my choice to pursue this goal to the more experienced sailors in my life. At the same time, however, I also had a deep sense of the fact that I would be able to handle it. I had my fears of course, but as I have said before, I knew that “it was in me”. This deep knowing is what I believe has been deeply strengthened and elevated as a result of my journey, because what I found out out there in the “watery disk”, is that exactly what I needed is indeed in me…and then some.

What I am about to share is hard for me to talk about, because of my aversion to sounding cocky, aka: playing big, but I think it is important. I think that so many of us, especially women, downplay our innate strengths as a result of societal conditioning and consequential bad habits. I am certainly guilty of this. I can say now that the (at first unknown) underlying reason for setting out on this journey was to unravel this habit. I have been called out many times for playing small, as well as for being critical of myself and downplaying my strengths. One of the last things one of my mentors said to me before I left was “ your capabilities are far beyond what you think they are Margie”. I heard various versions of the same thing from people close to me as I prepared to leave. I didn’t fully take it in because it was more comfortable to be invested in some deep-rooted negative belief (that could oddly co-exist with my innate confidence). So here is the nugget that I have come away with and I believe I finally truly understand. Tears actually come to my eyes as I write this. My investment in playing small and the fact that it can co-exist with my innate confidence is all because of a deep fear of how people might react if I rise into the biggest version of myself. I have craved the ability to step into my power and confidence and have strived dilligently for it over the years, all the while undermining it with aforementioned stupid habit.  Well, maybe it’s not totally stupid because I am sure it served to protect me on some level as a kid or adolescent, but as I approach the mid century mark, I see it for what it is: complete and utter bullshit! It serves no one, least of all me. My time at sea has pulled this into sharp focus and has made me realize something huge: The reason I like to sail alone is that I do not have to play small. I knew I could not accomplish this feat of sailing to Hawaii by doing so, even though I clung fiercely to it until the moment I pulled away from the dock. And when I am around others, especially those I perceive to know more than me or have more experience than me, I all too easily step away from my own power and into that small place. When I am alone, however, I do no such thing. My wish for myself is to be able to integrate these two things and live my daily life the way I lived at sea, where I felt safe and entitled to be the full version of myself. No apologies, no explanations, no rationalizations, no tiptoeing.....just full-on unadulterated me.

What I saw clearly out there was a strong and capable woman, who despite some moaning and groaning didn’t get rattled by much. People keep asking me if I was scared out there, and my honest answer is no. I wasn’t, and it wasn’t because there did not exist scary things, it was because I knew in my guts that I had it in me to handle what came my way. There are people who have questioned my abilities and expertise, but at the end of the day, I knew, and then just to be sure, proved it to myself, that I could take care of business out there. Of course I needed support and encouragement, but it is like life….just because I allow myself to be vulnerable and ask for help or support, does not mean I am weak or incapable. In fact I think asking for help is one of the bravest things we can do. Admitting our human-ness and embracing vulnerability is a huge strength. My tendency to do so is often mistaken for weakness, but as I sailed alone out there in the great blue, I felt no weakness….only wholeness.

I realize that I need to now embody that wholeness in my daily life. I think that the reason people might mistake my vulnerability for weakness at times is because I allow it, and even play into it. My commitment to myself from now on is to STOP IT (seriously, click that link and watch the video...its hilarious!). I hope anyone else who struggles with this will join me. We are doing a disservice to the world by not living from and sharing the full version of who we are. I believe that as a result of this voyage, this is finally starting to shift in me. If by sharing my struggles and successes with this huge change, I can offer even a morsel of inspiration for even one other person to step into the glory of themselves, I will be so happy. We can all keep reminding each other!!  Deal?

**If you want to read more about the power of vulnerability, please do yourself a favor and check out any and all work by one of my heroes, Brene’ Brown. Here are a few links:

Her TED talk on the topic that went viral

She has written many books on the topic, but my favorite is Daring Greatly

Home Sweet Home :: 33°57.8'N - 118°27.5'W

Hello from Venice, CA! I can currently be found wandering around my world bouncing off of various walls and items wondering what just hit me. I am staggering around my house in circles, feeling dizzy and as if I am still on my boat in huge swells. Lord knows why this is happening now, a week later, but it is. I was curious as to why I didn’t feel wobbly when I first arrived on land, maybe it is the fact that I never stopped moving from the moment of my arrival in Hanalei until now. All I know for sure is that I have never felt so exhausted or off kilter in my life.

The reality of what I just accomplished hits me in waves, and my emotions are on high. I find myself in tears (of joy, relief, exhaustion) at various moments. Once such moment was on Monday morning when I saw my Haunani in a sling dangled by an enormous crane (did I mention we had to have our OWN crane...typical!) above the pavement at Nawiliwili Harbor. For some reason the magnitude of my journey hit me in that moment. It was a symbolic snapshot wrapping up the last year. She looked so vulnerable up there that it brought me to tears. She looked haggard and beat up…I suppose we both are, and understandably so, after our epic journey across the wild Pacific.

Let me back up for a moment…….Thomas arrived in Kaua’i on Friday evening to help me prepare Haunani for her journey home. Out of everyone in my life, he is the one the most closely entwined with Haunani and me in this adventure, so it only seemed right that he be there to celebrate the culmination of this journey (although he may dispute the use of word celebrate since most of our time was spent working). Our plan was to take Haunani to Nawiliwili early the next morning so that we could dissemble her in preparation for her haul out. Our plans were aborted after about 30 minutes heading out to sea. It was rough and we were moving at about 2 knots against huge swells and wind on our bow. The usual 6 hour trip at this rate would have taken us most likely double that. So we grabbed the blessing in disguise and settled back onto our anchor. Spending a few unplanned relaxing hours in majestic Hanalei Bay aboard Haunani before being shuttled by my parents to Nawiliwili for the banquet was just what the doctor ordered!

The banquet was a wonderful affair, graciously hosted by the Nawiliwili Yacht Club. I loved being amidst my fellow sailors and their families. My favorite part of the evening was hearing each skipper talk about their experience and express their feelings about this amazing feat. I was so honored to be in the company of such brave and wonderful souls!

The next morning we got out to Haunani and were quickly on our way to Nawiliwili. Within about 10 minutes, the engine overheated (for still unknown reasons), and we were committed to a long sail. It was wet, wet, wet, but we finally made it in about 7.5 hours. I was an exhausted wreck the whole time, to say the very least, but did my best to be a good little sailor on the way over. At one point though, I remember seeing the look on Thomas’ face as he watched me with a mix of curiosity and disbelief as I cranked a winch at about 1/20th my normal speed. Between that, my apparent narcolepsy and the turtle pace with which I was doing everything else on the boat, I am sure he wondered how I ever made it across the Pacific! We arrived in Nawiliwili that afternoon, and due to Thomas’ mad docking expertise, we were able to quickly drop sails and use the engine for 4 minutes before it had a chance to overheat to get Haunani settled. That’s when the fun began….

Did I mention it was WET? I hadn’t experienced this kind of sogginess since my childhood growing up in Pa’auilo Mauka. We started the grueling process of preparing Haunani for haul out in a hearty rain shower. I was operating at about half capacity and Thomas at his usual x10 (he can seriously do the work of 10 people at any given time). I mustered every last bit of energy I had, and between the two of us and some much appreciated help from Yves, we got her mostly ready by dinnertime. We were drenched and delirious by the end of it, but shook it off with a nice meal and a couple of beverages with Yves before his departure to LA. The next morning was even more of a whirlwind, this time with some gross, muggy and hot weather to make it even more interesting. We started at 6am, and by 11:30, Haunani was nestled and secured on her trailer for her journey home. Everything that had to be stowed in her cabin was wet, and the smell I am sure will only ripen with her weeks en route to LA. As Thomas said, “we did 2 days work in about 10 hours”, and man did we both feel it. To be fair, Thomas did most of it, and as always, blew my mind with his efficiency, determination and skill. Just to give you and idea of my contribution in comparison…it took me about 10 minutes to pull out one cotter pin. OK, well maybe it wasn’t QUITE that bad, but it sure felt like it. And I know I looked the part….stinky and disheveled was the look du jour, my hands looked like peeling prunes, and my body felt like a mack truck had run over me a few times.

Haunani was finally delivered to Matson, and until she arrives back here in LA, in that moment, the circle was closed. It was an ecstatic and emotional moment when I walked away, entrusting my valiant steed to the shipping Gods. I have to shout out to a lovely man I met at Matson. His name is Ke’au and the minute I met him I felt like I somehow knew him…probably because he immediately made me feel so comfortable with the way that he embodied the Aloha spirit of my childhood. He was somehow all of the lovely gentle men of my island upbringing. As we got to talking, and he became aware what I had just done, he was visibly taken aback and moved, and in the most sweet and authentic way. He gave me a huge hug and bid me “aloha”….his parting words in his sing song-y island intonations were: “that is such an amazing accomplishment… I don’t even know you, but I am so proud of you” I think I even saw a tear in his eye, and I walked away from him feeling so grateful, not to mention, wrapped in true aloha.

The rest of the day was lovely and very sleepy culminating in a red eye flight home. We arrived in LA at 5am the next day not knowing what hit us. As I said, since then I have been wandering around in a haze. I am allowing myself this time to regroup, re-coop and re-enter. My normal tendency to push and be intolerant of such “laziness” in myself has necessarily been let go. I honestly don’t have a choice, and am grateful that I have the time and space to do so. Back to work on Sunday, but until then chances are good that you might catch a glimpse of my aimless wanderings around my neighborhood and life.

love these two so much!! Yves Vergnolle and Joe Barry, my PSSA buddies who were also on this big adventure!

all of the skippers of the 2016 singlehanded transpac.I was honored to be in such good company!

almost to the harbor

Good Morning From The Garden Isle

I woke up early this morning in the comfort of a lovely hotel bed. I threw my windows open to welcome in the smells and sounds of my childhood. Even though this is not my home island, her arms, smells and essence feel familiar and soothing to me, like a beloved relative’s would. That first breath this morning of her heavy tropical air reminded me of the moment I got close enough to the shore after over 2000 miles at sea to smell the earth. It was almost more emotional than my first sight of land. I threw my arms in the air and shouted a loud and hearty “YES!” into the sky. It was the smell of my birthplace, the smell of rich sweet earth that one can only experience here in Hawaii; A smell that grounds me and reminds me of my deep roots in these magical islands.

Before I write about the last days of my journey, which were by far the hardest and most grueling for me, let me share about the moment I saw this majestic island rising out of the clouds and sea. It was a gloomy rainy morning that was an extension of a wet and harrowing night. I had given up trying to stay dry, and as a result decided clothes were absolutely unnecessary. The pile of wet clothes was growing and at one point I decided not to bother because it was warm enough to not need them despite the rain and wind, and who could even see me anyway? If one could have seen me however, the sight was laughable. I chuckled often to myself at what I would have looked like from a birds eye view as I crawled around (the pitch and heave of my boat as well as her slippery surfaces required actual crawling) less than scantily clad adjusting sails or dealing with my temperamental backup autopilot (remember, my primary one had broken 2 days prior). At one point in the night the autopilot (his name is Ray) just decided he was over it and turned the boat around. Needless to say, I was not happy about this turn of events (no pun intended), and yelled various obscenities, my favorite of this particular leg of the trip being: “are you f*cking KIDDING me”, into the rain and incessant salt-water face shots that Mother Nature was doling out. The morning was so damp, dank and uncomfortable that I could not even make myself a cup of coffee. I was so exhausted that even the smallest task seemed beyond daunting. I worked hard to shake off the misery and exhaustion and to instead focus on the fact that I was so close to achieving my goal.

As the sun started to shine through the grey, my spirits lifted with it. That mixed with the reality of my impending arrival to Hanalei Bay buoyed me and rebooted my tattered and waterlogged self. I was sailing along at a good clip, and was watching the miles tick down on my chart plotter. My hands shook as I grabbed my radio to check in with the race committee and report that I was 25 miles out. The first voice I had heard in days came back to acknowledge my call. It was all happening. The rest seems like someone was fast forwarding this movie that had become my reality. I would stop it here and there to pinch myself and breathe in the wonder of the fact that after 17 intense days, I could actually taste my arrival!

I pulled out my phone to do my daily video check in. I was fumbling with the phone and getting into a good position and that’s when I glanced up and saw Kauai Island emerging out of the sea and low hanging clouds. At first I thought I was imagining it, but it soon became clear that I was most certainly not. Tears overcame me as I tried to share my moment on video. After all this time, I had finally (almost) made it!

The morning shaped up to be a quintessential island day reminiscent of my childhood days sailing with my Dad, complete with beautiful trade winds, sunshine and blue skies. Squalls peppered the horizon, and one even blessed us gently for a moment, but otherwise it was crystalline! I took the helm for most of this stretch, and enjoyed my last couple of hours aboard my beloved vessel. She had done me so right the past two weeks, and I was so honored to be sharing these moments with her. I would get lost in thought and wonder as we barreled closer and closer to our destination. I really was in awe. I closed my eyes at one point and said a long and deep prayer of gratitude for a safe journey and for the blessing of experiencing such beauty. I opened my eyes and in front of Haunani and me was a sight I will never forget. The already surreal vision of Kauai Island was framed with a full rainbow that seemed to be creating a magical gate for us. We were being welcomed home and reminded of the support that has been with us all along. Never once in my journey did I take for granted the all encompassing support I felt from the beginning.

The wind stayed consistent until I reached the Kilauea Lighthouse, and then became a little flukey due to the land formations. I felt a bit frustrated, but stayed the course, and as I passed Anini Beach and rounded the point at Princeville it filled in and scooted me along towards the finish line. As I passed that imaginary line, and heard “congratulations Haunani on finishing the 2016 Singlehanded Transpacific Yacht Race”, I could barely feel my feet below me. My two PSSA compadres Yves and Joe happened to be sailing out of the bay at that exact time, and seeing them in that moment was somehow like a bow wrapping up a perfect gift. The rest was a blur as people arrived to bring me a lei and a cold beer and to help me anchor. My brother Chris and Nephew Cooper were my first family hugs as they stepped aboard Haunani to greet me. Once we got Haunani settled in the bay, I was shuttled to land aboard a little skiff. My first steps on land were more solid than I imagined they would be, but shaky nonetheless. As I steadied myself, my beautiful family rushed me with gorgeous leis and much-anticipated hugs and kisses. The last person in the line was my Dad. My breath left my lungs as I saw his face and rushed over to hug him. This was the moment that had been in my minds eye for 10 months, and it was finally here. I was and remain humbled and in awe of this, one of the greatest moments of my 48 years!

Leaving San Francisco Bay :: July 2, 2016

Just some pics and videos of my departure from San Francisco. What an amazing day! I have no words for all of the love and support I felt...FYI, my brothers are AMAZING. Love is not a big enough word to contain how I feel about them!

thank you crescent moon

I have been lying awake since 330am full of nerves. I finally got out of my bunk at 445 and put on some coffee. when I glanced out of the companionway I saw the beautiful moon hanging in the sky. a crescent new moon reminding me in her steadfast way of the opportunity for growth, new beginnings and mainly that all is well. while I was lying here in my bunk half awake, I was drawing on the strength that everyone's cards, texts, emails and calls have given. I have been distracted and not always able to respond, but each expression of love and support has helped to keep me grounded and focused on my goal.

despite all the love and support around me, I have had to pull into myself and feel what is real for me and me only.  as my departure has drawn near I have been faced with some loved ones' fears, worries and well meaning warnings. I definitely understand where they are coming from and feel the love behind them but now is not the time to listen to anything but my own counsel. I do not mean to be rude or dismissive in not taking on their concerns but i have had to draw a firm line. this line I believe, is the beginning of my actual journey. a journey to myself and my truth. One of my go to habits in life has been to allow others opinions to sway me or out of fear of upsetting another not being true to my own inner compass. I can feel that those days are over and this journey has been leading me to the point where I can truly see that and integrate it into my own growth. this feels huge this morning as I sit in the dark of my beloved Haunani with the wink of the crescent moon beckoning me to follow her to deeper waters and a deeper knowing of myself.

I will be sailing away tomorrow holding the intention of sailing one mile at a time the best way I know how. I have what I need inside me to face anything that comes my way from the physical to he emotional and I welcome all of the  transformation I know that will bring. I am truly humbled by his experience so far and I know it is only the beginning.  

this was written on my phone at 5 am. pleas forgive any typos or weird formatting :-)) 

San Francisco!!

I am writing this post from my brother’s home in Tiburon, CA.  I have been here many times, but until now had only ever arrived by plane or car. My arrival to the bay area this time will never be forgotten. Haunani, my trusty crew (Thomas Lehtonen and Piño Moreau), and I passed under the breathtaking Golden Gate Bridge on Monday morning after traveling 400 miles up the coast in 2.5 days.

I had been gearing up to make this journey for days (well, months really), and preparations were coming along well, if not getting a little down to the wire. Our projected departure date was the following Wednesday evening. We were watching the weather carefully, as this trip is renowned for its treacherous and uncomfortable conditions. On Friday morning, Thomas got a call from one of his friends who is an experienced captain, who was watching the weather for us. He reported that a perfect weather window had developed and that we should leave that day. Thomas and I looked at the weather together and saw the changes of which his friend spoke. The next 3 days were beyond perfect for this trip….almost too good to be true. Not only that, if we waited, and left when planned, we would be faced with huge winds and rough conditions. We (along with my friends Cecile and Whitall on Cecile’s boat, Aeriagnie) decided in about 5 minutes to leave that night. The mayhem that ensued is now a blur, but it was indeed mayhem. We finished a few things on the boat, provisioned, filled fuel cans, packed (me for 1.5 months), and cast off from my slip at 10pm. I could not have made this happen without my amazing friends Gabi and Silvia who rallied (as they always do) beyond the call of duty to help me on my way.

We left Marina Del Rey on a beautiful Friday night after one of the most spectacular sunsets I have seen in a long time. The trip that ensued could not have been more wonderful. Under the guidance of Thomas who has done this trip many times, we made our way safely and efficiently up the coast with only one stop in Santa Barbara for fuel. We had beautifully calm conditions, and encountered different types of whales, dolphins, and glowing jelly fish along the way. Rounding the potentially treacherous Point Conception was a breeze, and for that I was very grateful! The sunsets were spectacular as was the company. Piño and Thomas kept me in stitches the whole way, and were perfect crew-mates!

We motored for the entire trip except for a couple ambitious attempts to sail (one with an almost catastrophic spinnaker hoist in which Thomas saved the day with his mad skills). Haunani sang along the whole time with her newly tuned motor running like a charm. We arrived at the entrance to the bay around 10am on Monday under chilly overcast skies. Approaching and then crossing under The Golden Gate Bridge took my breath away. I could not believe that I was there crossing under that beautiful landmark on my own boat!

My sweet brother called me as we passed Tiburon town and was on the beach waiving at us and taking photos! He later greeted us at our marina, which will be Haunani’s home for the next 2 weeks as I prepare for the final push to the start of The Singlehanded Transpac!

I bid goodbye to Thomas and Piño on Tuesday afternoon, after a half day of hard work on my boat, and to be honest, I was a bit of a wreck. Saying goodbye to Thomas after working almost every day by his side for the past 9 months was emotional to say the least. His expertise and support in this endeavor have been my lifeline. I guess the reality of letting go of that tether was a bit overwhelming. I know it is necessary for me to be on my own with this now, and I embrace it, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a challenge.

Being here has made the reality of what I am about to do hit home like never before. Over the past few days, I have vacilated between excitement and nervousness on a regular basis. I find that I have to take a lot of deep breaths as I look ahead to July 2. I am feeling strong and positive, and as always am feeling so grateful for my amazing support team, friends and family! I would not be here with out each of you by my side!