Horizons

I have been thinking a lot about horizons lately. I think looking out at the mid-pacific horizon every day for the last 10 days (since I have been on my home island of Hawaii for the holidays) has accelerated that. Not only is it a familiar and soothing sight from my childhood, but also a new awareness about it has emerged in me. As I look out each day at that immense delineation between the tropical sea and sky, I am viscerally reminded that in 6 short months I will be literally surrounded by nothing but this sight for many days on end.

There is so much possibility that lies in the horizon. It represents literal possibility as well as a metaphoric one, which is so cool, because this entire journey for me from day one has been (and continues to be) both of those things.

The literal is obvious: developing new skills, overcoming technical challenges, increasing my physical fitness, performing new kinds of mental gymnastics, preparing my boat, and so on. The metaphoric is more mysterious, because so much of it is unknown, or invisible, like what lies over the horizon. I know that the nuggets that will come from the soul searching of this endeavor are things that I cannot even imagine or fully grasp now. I have unearthed some gems already as I prepare, but I know that nothing will compare to the moment I set sail alone and lose sight of land for the first time in my life.

It is perfect that a new year is starting as I reflect on the magnitude of all of this. I felt it fitting therefore, to officially register for the SHTP yesterday as a symbol of my commitment and intention. I am very excited for what the horizon of my next 7 months holds. The vision and intention that I am personally holding very sacredly in my minds eye is one of my beautiful Haunani carrying me safely into Hanalei bay sometime in mid July 2016!

Happy New Year to you all!

the horizon from the northwest shore of the Big Island of Hawaii

Learning. Learning. Learning

I have always been an avid learner and seeker. People who know me well know that when I decide to take something on, I dive in head first and will stop at nothing (and maybe even become a tad obsessive :-)) to learn as much as I possibly can on the topic. I have certainly been a life long student of sailing, but since deciding to do the SHTP, I have taken that drive to a new level. I wrote a bit about that in a previous post, but that was mainly focusing on book learning. I recently decided to take a hands on class to bone up on my knowledge of navigation, weather and night sailing. I did this by taking the ASA (American Sailing Association) Advanced Coastal Cruising (ASA 106) through Bluewater Sailing in Marina Del Rey. Fifteen years ago I completed the comparable certifications up through this point with US Sailing, and though I opted not to go for the certifications this time, it was a valuable experience. I definitely learned some new and important information in this course, mainly about navigation, effective use of radar, and how to better keep the boat balanced in big winds and seas for the most effective performance (as well as minimal pressure on the rudder). Another important thing I was reminded of, is how much I actually do know, and how trusting that is just as important as seeking support and new knowledge.

The class was comprised of 2.5 classroom days, and 3 nights on the water with 3 other students and an instructor. The goal was to plan a voyage from start to finish, and undertake all of the tasks to make that happen. I was lucky to have great crew-mates and a great instructor. Sadly, however, I started off the trip fighting a bug of some kind, which I am convinced contributed greatly to my 2 days of seasickness.

Tim plotting our first leg

Intermittent seasickness aside, the trip went well, and despite not feeling at all like myself, I enjoyed a lot of the beautiful moments that only being at sea can provide. We headed out of Marina Del Rey on a Wednesday afternoon around 4. We got to put our radar to the test, as we were blanketed in thick fog for the first hour of our journey. The fog lifted just in time for sunset, and from that point on we enjoyed a beautiful cruise (under power) up to Paradise Cove, where we anchored for the night.

Carl on foghorn duty coming out of the marina

staying warm in my awesome new Gill gear (thank you Jerome!) before all the sickness set in

We all stood an anchor watch, and being the last one (lucky me), I woke everyone at 6 the next morning for an early departure. Our original plan was to go to Santa Barbara Island, and then to Cat Harbor, but given the intense weather that was developing to the northwest, we decided to abort that plan and head straight for Catalina in case we needed to seek shelter from the storm. Seeking shelter was indeed what was called for, and we ended up on a mooring at the Isthmus for 36 hours or so. It was the roughest ride on a mooring I have ever had, but I was glad to be there in safe harbor because the winds ended up building to 30-40 knots, and there was a substantial swell to contend with. We were one of only 3 (non-company) boats in the harbor, and the dinghy docks and gangways from the main dock were removed to prepare for the weather, so there was no going ashore for us. Bobbing violently around on a mooring with 4 (albeit very cool) other people on a 41-foot Hunter was NOT my idea of fun, and only exacerbated my looming motion sickness. Finally after 2 nights in Two Harbors, the weather improved and we set sail for Marina Del Rey at 4am Saturday morning (to get our requisite night sailing time in). I was overjoyed to wake up and feel semi-normal, so I greeted the chilly early morning with enthusiasm! Once we got out past the lee of the island, we realized that despite the improvement in the weather, we still had some serious conditions to contend with. The gusty 25 knot wind was basically on our bow, and the swells were about 10 feet. This did not make for a comfortable ride at all, and forced us to motor sail (with a very reefed mainsail) for quite awhile. After about 45 minutes of this, the seasickness took hold of me again, and it was way worse this time. It did not let up for 8 more of the 10 hours that we were out there. It was total torture for me on so many levels. I have been queasy here and there, but have not thrown up or been debilitated from seasickness in 30 years (when crossing the Alenuihaha channel from Maui to Hawaii Island with my Dad). It was a very humbling experience to feel that way again, and caused my mind to spin off in many negative spirals, questioning my entire sailing career as well as all of my current goals. I even wandered into a debate with myself about whether or not I should even keep my boat. I was feeling pretty bleak despite the beauty that surrounded me, but that's how badly I felt, and how much the seasickness was skewing my sense of reality.

here we are on the way to Catalina, round one of queasiness behind me

Our trusty instructor, Eliott

stormy Isthmus Harbor

About an hour out from Marina Del Rey I started to feel better, and was able to take the helm as we returned home. It helped to focus my mind and feel the breeze in my face. The weather was sunny and beautiful, and we were under full sail by then. The closer we got to home, the more my queasiness lifted, and I was once again in love with sailing and all of the dark and ridiculous thoughts had passed.

I am grateful for the patience and compassion of my crew-mates, as well as the inevitability that seasickness passes. It is truly one of the worst feelings of all time.  I know I am prone to feeling this way, but sailing alone helps keep it at bay due to the intense focus and responsibility that comes along with that endeavor.....so there is another reason on my list of why sailing solo works so well for me!

sunrise over the big swells. So beautiful! I am glad I was able to grab this shot despite my nasty queasiness

Inspiration Abounds

Since I officially decided to prepare for my big adventure, (sailing in the Singlehanded Transpac next year), I have been reading everything I can get my hands on about sailing, single-handing, navigation, weather and ocean crossings. I have found so many inspiring blogs (see links below) and books that I am currently devouring. I am reading everything from the most technical instructional books to the most personal accounts of life at sea. I am currently on a tear with solo circumnavigation stories. I have taken to waking up at 5 or 6 in the morning and tucking back into my bed with my little dogs and a cup of coffee to lose myself in these amazing tales of self-inquiry, courage and adventure. I am so incredibly inspired by these brave souls who not only put themselves out there to have these experiences, but also to share their personal stories. I already knew this in my guts, but the common thread that I am finding is that these solo voyages are transformational on a very deep level, and not solely from the standpoint of technical accomplishment. I am certainly not discounting the magnitude of the technical part, but what interests me the most is the deeper, emotional part of the journey, so I am happy to glimpse others’ expressions of this. I am sure people who know me well are laughing that I just explained that (hello, obvious), knowing that I don’t do much in my life if not from that place. I certainly wouldn’t be undertaking all of this solo off-shore sailing unless it promised to reveal a deeper knowledge of and intimacy with myself.

One of my favorite documents out of all of the things I have read so far, is my Father’s log from his first pacific crossing in 1975 aboard Scottish Fantasy, a Westsail 32.  I love that my Dad still has his log. It is perfectly typed out (I imagine transcribed from his beautifully handwritten log) and bound. I feel like it has been waiting there in his files all of these years, for me to discover and read at the exact right time. I was thrilled when he sent it to me last month, and immediately read it cover to cover in one morning coffee sitting.

My morning with Dad's log

His log is a perfect blend of technical data and emotional reflections. The scariest thing (it seems) that happened on the voyage was hitting an unknown submerged hazard. Thankfully the boat was fine, but the sound of it gave everyone a huge fright. To this day they have no idea what it was, but the unanimous guess was that it was a log. Thankfully it was not a shipping container or something that could have caused real damage. On one of Dad's crossings, they had a near miss as they sailed past a mostly submerged shipping container (now I know why hitting a floating container is my Dad’s largest worry for me on my trip). I loved reading his descriptions of everything from the constellations, to the weather, the serenity, the loneliness, the physical challenges, the technical boat stuff and of course, the blissful rewards. My Dad is a beautiful writer, and even in this “official” format of a ships log, his poetic style shines through. The most touching moment for me was when he was reflecting on how much he missed us (I was 8 at the time), and our Mom who was pregnant with my baby sister. I actually got all teary (shocking, I know!).

I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree when it comes to the desire to document and reflect upon my life’s adventures. The format has changed, but I think of this blog as much the same as Dad’s journals about his voyages. I am grateful that I have a platform like this to reflect upon and document my journey!

an early morning reading session. finishing Jessica Watson's book, True Spirit

Whats currently on my nightstand:

Here are the links to some blogs I have found inspiring and informational: 

http://www.donnalange.com

http://whitespotpirates.com

http://theboatgalley.com

http://www.sailing-women-on-yachts.com/sailing-offshore.html

http://www.jessicawatson.com.au

http://yachtswoman.blogspot.com

http://indefinitelywild.gizmodo.com

http://www.rebeccaburg.com

The Exciting Journey of Removing My Mast Partner (just a tad of sarcasm here)!

I have always loved manual labor and getting my hands dirty, and when it involves a sailboat, I am seriously happier then a pig in sh*t!  My Dad took sailboat maintenance to an art form (and perhaps even a form of meditation), and thankfully I was steeped in that mindset from a young age. I don’t think I will ever be as meticulous as he was with his boats, but I do my best and have fun along the way!

Thankfully I get to work with my dear old friend Thomas, who doesn’t mind me hovering while watching him work (anxiously waiting for something to help with). He is so generous and gracious about it all. His knowledge and skill level are unparalleled, and. I have learned so much in the past two months of pulling Haunani apart to build her back up again. It has been an incredible journey! The project yesterday was remove the mast partner (the collar of metal that holds the mast where it passes through the deck) in order to re-seal and re-seat it to prevent leaks. It had been leaking pretty badly, and after my last wild sail, and a small waterfall down the mast inside the cabin, I knew that it was time to address it.

The first phase of this project took about half a day, and was fairly tedious and frustrating. Thank God for the ridiculous banter between Thomas and me, which kept the mood light (and masked the annoying fact that it took hours to pull out only a small amount of old sealant). Raising the partner only ¾ inch took many tools, a ton of elbow grease and a fair amount of cussing (and it was NOT from Thomas).

Today we will go back and clean out the remnants of the old dried goop, re-seal the area between the mast, deck and partner, then re-seat it with some nice new fasteners that will be much easier to remove if there is ever a next time.