Following The Thread Into Exciting Waters!

  “Such is the passage of time
    Too fast to fold
    And suddenly swallowed by signs
    Low and behold
   Gonna rise up
   Find my direction magnetically
   Gonna rise up
   Throw down my ace in the hole”

  -Eddie Vedder

The familiar itch and call of the horizon is pulling at me fiercely right now. As I try to navigate the waters of my daily life, the sea is calling to me loudly and reminding me of the answers that lie in her vastness. When things become at all jumbled or overloaded in my mind and heart as they are now, that pull feels stronger than ever.

As I wrote that, the image of a huge sieve popped into my mind….so much pouring through, and then the relief of finding the nuggets of truth safely guarded in its web as all that is extraneous falls away. This is exactly why I love to sail alone….being out in the sacred cathedral of the ocean is like an energetic sieve that hands me my truth if I just allow everything to flow through. For me it’s allowing the flow that is challenging sometimes though. The grandest illusion of my life has been thinking that I can control what is channeled through my “sieve”. All I can do is be vigilant in mining the nuggets and tend to the sieve itself, which of course consists of my mind, soul and heart.

Right now the greatest morsel of truth I am finding over and over again is that I need be true to my own compass and follow the call that is bringing forth a whole new direction in my life. The direction feels foreign, but familiar as well because it is woven together with all of the lessons and experiences on my path so far. Every skill and every bit of knowledge of my life has prepared me for this new journey, no matter how unrelated they may seem. It’s the thread again. If I trust and flow with that thread, I am reminded that all is revealed as it is meant to be and when it is meant to be. Sometimes this flow is a gentle brook but lately it has felt like a rushing river that is taking on a life of its own. It is a wild ride but no matter how intense the river, there is a vein of truth in it that shines through and keeps me hanging on. So I am not fighting it and am paying attention at every turn, even to things that might seem innocuous and meaningless. They are all clues and each one is urging me to ask some questions.

For example, I was sailing out of Marina Del Rey the other day aboard my lovely Cassiopeia. I was alone. I was just off the Venice pier, and I was furling out my genoa, and setting my course for a practice sail on the bay. I was doing what I, and many other people do all the time. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a zodiac flanking me. They were obviously following me, and eventually it became clear that they were trying to tell me something. My immediate thought was that they were coming to tell me I was getting too close to a race course that was nearby. When they got close enough for me to hear them however, the man driving the rib was yelling to me that he thought it was “amazing” that I was single handing my boat. My first reaction was one of gratitude and appreciation for someone reaching out to me like that, but when he sped away, I felt awkward. I was left once again with the burning question: WHY? Why is it considered so “amazing” that I am single handing my boat, when no one would probably single out a man out there doing the same? I ask this question not out of defensiveness, but out of genuine curiosity. Getting this kind of reaction most of my life, and especially now, has spurred me to dig deeper into the questions, and to create a project that will hopefully give us some answers. I don’t think it is amazing that a woman can single hand her vessel across bays and oceans because she is a woman, I think it is amazing because she is a brave human being following her call and doing what brings her joy. What is curious to me is that there are not more women who want to push themselves in this way (in comparison to men in the same arena). The questions keep flooding my mind, and my response is to follow the thread and create a documentary that will hopefully scratch the surface of answers.

I will start in the place where I am familiar: sailing. I will start with a documentary on the history of women in the Singlehanded Transpac, jumping off with the real time experience of all of us who race in 2018, and dive back into history from there. I have already contacted numerous past racers as well as some of my solo offshore sailing heroines (Isabelle Autissier, Donna Lange, Kass Schmitt, Susie Goodall and Lisa Blair to name a few) to be a part of this project. I have been met with nothing but excitement and cooperation, which to me is the greatest confirmation that I am on the right track. I hope to meet many of these accomplished women in the next couple of years to shed light on my questions. I am asking these questions from a place of deep curiosity, but also out of a desire to inspire balance in these arenas and hopefully to inspire more women to get out on the water and seek adventure.

I feel my initial questions are just the tip of a very deep iceberg, and I am so excited for what will revealed as my documentary project takes on a life of its own. I am grateful to be a channel for this project, and grateful to all of the women who have already agreed to be a part of it all!

Sailing Portraits

As much as I am a sailor and obsessed with all related things, I am also a creative being. I am a mixed media artist as well as a portrait photographer. I am blessed to do what I love for a living, and recently I have been finding a way to marry (almost) all of my passions to be a part of that. I have been fortunate to have the opportunity to interview some of my sailing mentors, as well as some other sailors whom I greatly admire for my series of interviews on this blog. Part of these interviews is documenting the sacred relationship between the sailor and their vessel through a series of portraits. Thomas once mentioned to me that I should offer this as a part of my photography services, and I am finally taking his advice, and making it happen.

If you or anyone you know might be interested in exploring this option, I would be honored to capture your unique relationship with your vessel and life at sea. This can be anything from action shots to a peek into a simple life living aboard a boat. Please mention this blog post and receive 25% off your first session! Please visit my photography website to find out more about how I work!

New Adventures Await! 2018 Singlehanded Transpac, Here We Come!

I am sitting here at dawn, watching the sun slowly illuminate the Golden Gate Bridge. In the gentle light, I can see a tanker swiftly making its way under the bridge and heading out to sea. I still cannot believe that Haunani and I crossed that same threshold and into the great unknown just 8 months ago. My journey feels so far away and surreal, and most times I have to remind myself that it really happened. Thankfully this week I have gotten to connect with some of my fellow racers to finally be able to share bits of our experiences, which has helped with that reminder. Though I do not know any of them well, just being in their presence, and knowing that we all shared (albeit separately) such a profound experience is grounding for me.

Our little gaggle of sailors in Tiburon

As I drove into the Bay Area for my first visit since I departed the dock in Tiburon with all of those brave souls, I was reminded of so many milestones and moments. Memories flooded my being as I saw the little marina that housed Haunani and me for 2 weeks before the race, and the yacht club where I met everyone for the first time, and the dock from where we all cast off, and finally the Golden Gate Bridge, which will always be a symbol for me of the beginning of my great journey home to myself.  As I experience all of these remembrances throughout my visit, I have consistently had a feeling of disbelief, like I need to pinch myself to remind myself that all of it really happened. I wonder when this sensation of incredulity will dissolve and (hopefully) morph into a deep knowing that lives in my bones.

I find myself wishing I were able to more vividly recall sensations and daily memories of my voyage. My video footage helps, but the actual memories seem to morph into one another. It leaves me craving more, and wanting to feel it all over again. I want to be surrounded by the magic of the watery disk again, I want to feel the expanse of the huge and powerful sea surrounding me and urging me on, I want to witness the private showing of weeks of magical sunrises and sunsets.

Every time I see the horizon over the Pacific, she calls to me. Her allure is irresistible, so much so that I have surrendered and have decided to enter the 2018 Singlehanded Transpac with my new love, Cassiopeia, and do it all over again. Please stay tuned. I am working on a very exciting project as a way to honor and feature the women of the Singlehanded Transpac, and the race itself. I am so excited and inspired…..and yes, just a little bit INSANE!

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds... where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you beyond the next turning of the canyon walls."

- Benediction: Edward Abbey

Saying Goodbye to My Haunani

Until today, I hadn’t worked on my Haunani in over a month. Life and other obligations have gotten in the way, but time is ticking down and we need to get the horrible job of dissembling her completed for once and for all. Even though the sting of her loss gets a little easier with time, I have never gotten used to seeing her in such a state of destruction and disarray. I was pretty “together” for most of the day today, but when it came time to leave, I had a moment. I was looking around at her trusty bones, and a wave of emotion came over me stopped me in my tracks. Everyone else was outside, so I allowed myself the moment. I allowed the sadness to well up and the tears to flow. I closed my eyes and remembered the feeling of her strength as she and I barreled across the Pacific together. As I sat there  in her companionway (my favorite spot on my trip) in an urban boat yard, I could almost feel the motion of her strong back as she spirited us through the crazy seas and wind that spiced up our journey to Hawaii. I wandered around to each little space that holds so many memories and let myself take them all in. I even caught myself hugging the bulkhead at one point as I said a long and tearful thank you to my beautiful girl.

I thanked her for being a catalyst for change and healing in my life. I thanked her for giving me the confidence and courage to put one foot in front of the other from the day I bought her to the moment we made it all the way to Hanalei Bay. I thanked her for being so stout and steadfast and for making me feel so safe in the middle of a vast and stormy ocean. I thanked her for all the good times, all the Catalina trips, all the times she provided sacred space for healing and introspection. I thanked her for the hard lessons as well as the smooth ones. I know it’s crazy but I feel like I am talking to a person when I talk to her. I love her so much and I am going to miss her so much when she is really gone. I wish we could sail together one last time, but I know now that our time together ended as it was meant to, and our last epic sail together will forever be emblazoned upon my heart and soul. There will never be another Haunani, that is for sure. 

Cassiopeia's First Race

Saturday was my 1st race on Cassiopeia! It was also my 1st race period on my own boat, outside of PSSA races (and of course the SHTP). It was the first of the Berger/Stein Series races and it was from Marina Del Rey to Malibu and return. Being near the start line as everyone was tacking around waiting to begin, was such a wonderful experience. I knew most of the boats, and was now seeing them all from the vantage point of my own as I sailed by them waiving hellos and shouting good lucks! I missed being aboard dear Eggemogin, as I had in the two years prior, but this was a new beginning for me, and I was excited to try something new. We didn’t have much wind, but it was a lovely day to be on the water! I was lucky enough to be double handing with my dear friend Whitall, who taught me so much in one day about light air sail trim, and despite the super light conditions, we were able to keep moving all day. We, like almost everyone else, aborted the race just before sunset (about 2nm from our mark in Malibu). It was futile to try to finish in those conditions, and I was just happy we got as far as we did. The sunset was reason enough to be out there anyhow, and we heartily drank in the beauty and solace that unfolded before our eyes as we made our way home. I was literally moved to tears by the majesty of it all.

It’s hard to accurately convey why every sunset on the water can drop me to my knees. No matter how many I have witnessed or how frequently I witness them. It always feels new, and it invokes a sense of reverence in me like nothing else I have ever felt. Nature in general, and the sea in particular is truly my “church”. I feel the closest connection to spirit when I am out there, and the sunset hour seems to be the most sacred of those times. As the sun splashes its light along the horizon, the veil between worlds seems to be almost non-existent, and I can viscerally experience being one with God, nature, the universe (whatever you want to call it....to me it is all the same). Being on the sea is where I can most easily connect with the indescribable magic of that realm. I always try to capture the magic in images and video, and this time I think I came pretty close, although nothing is like being there in person drinking in in with every fiber of my being.

Sacred Horizons

January 3, 2017

Six months ago today, I witnessed the first of seventeen majestic sunrises over the Pacific as I made my way to Kauai on my beloved sailboat, Haunani. The day before, I sailed out under the Golden Gate Bridge past anything familiar and into a 360’sphere that would change me forever. I have said before that my journey didn’t really change me, but rather reminded me of who I really was. I was indeed reminded of what was inside me all along, but I am realizing now, that that very fact has changed me. I feel I am on the precipice of something profound, and watching San Francisco disappear in my wake and then arriving in Hanalei Bay seventeen days later was just the beginning of my transformation.

When I reflect on my journey, the most stirring memories I have are of the stunning sunrises I was blessed to witness. The glow of the sun slowly illuminating the dramatic horizon was an elixir for my heart and soul and motivation for my weary body. The sun would come up again, no matter how treacherous or stormy the night, and would evoke a sense of wonder and promise in me no matter my mood. She would shine a light across the sacred horizon to illuminate the mysteries of the night and transform them into possibility and motivation. It was like being born again every day. No matter what the disposition of the sea, the sunrise was a shot of grace into my soul that would without fail remind me of all that is right in the world, and renew my determination.

It is in the spirit of that renewed determination, and also the necessary release of my beloved Haunani, that I rename this blog “Sacred Horizons”. I am as ever, gazing out into the mysterious promise of luring horizons with hope and determination as I navigate this next phase of my life’s adventure.

Meet Cassiopeia!

I will always mourn the loss of my beloved Haunani, but as time goes on I am healing, and the sadness is lifting. Now that my insurance claim is settled, I feel it timely to introduce my new love, Cassiopeia. She is a 2005  Hanse 37. As I deconstruct Haunani, I am upgrading Cassiopeia and preparing her to be my companion in the next frontier of my sailing adventures. She is a lovely lady, a bit more sophisticated and "fancy" than my rugged Haunani, but she is comfy fun and FAST! I look forward to learning from her as I tackle my next set of sailing goals. We have entered the 1st of The Del Rey Yacht Club Berger race series, and plan on doing all of the Pacific Singlehanded Sailing Association races this winter as well! Little by little I will replace her electronics with all of Haunani's, (VHF, AIS, digital radar Chartplotter, stereo,etc) as well as some other choice items (windlass and NKE autopilot to name a couple). I am still learning her ways, and figuring out to navigate her layout efficiently.  I could move around Haunani blindfolded, but now I find myself tripping all over Cassiopeia as I get used to her set up. Its actually comical sometimes. I am sure this will all shift soon, but I would be lying if I said it has been a seamless transition. Haunani and I were one, and I still pine for the old girl, and the familiarity of her bones. 

From Behind the Veil

“You're doing this for YOU! No one else. Everything else is noise. External feedback has no power. YOU know what you need to do. This is your journey. Your legacy. Your walk about. Stand in your power and find your answers. I love you and believe in you”.

This little gem was sent to me on the eve of my departure for Hawaii by my baby sister. She is a wise one, who drops truth bombs like no one else I know. Sometimes I marvel that I even have to be reminded of such things at the ripe old age of 49 (and by a sister 8 years my junior no less), but I admit that I do.

Though my physical walk about is over, I am reluctantly realizing that the inner vision quest that it sparked is only just beginning. I don’t think I realized until this week, that what I have been experiencing lately is not so much a depression or a funk, but a rebirth, or a coming of age…well shit, isn’t that exactly what a vision quest IS? There has been a heavy veil upon and around me since I returned from my voyage, some of it is made up of tangible reasons, and the rest is made up of sheer mystery (otherwise known as sheer torture). It makes me think of one of my favorite books, The Mists of Avalon (based on the legend of King Arthur). The mists are a magical veil shrouding a land full of mystery and wisdom, that can only be parted when one is in full connection with oneself and spirit (at least that is my interpretation). As I do the work needed to part the mists, the veil is lifting and things are slowly becoming clear once again. I have been here before, so many times, but never like this. This work is not easy, I tell you. I don’t think I have ever before gone farther into the abyss of transformative darkness. I can see light peeking through the heavy veil, but I am still in here swimming around, looking for buried treasure and hoping that soon, very soon, I will be able to surface and breathe the fresh clean air on the other side of the mists.

As I navigate the depths of this challenging time, I am trying to live by my sister’s wise words. I am trying to move through it with my own truth at the center, rather than pull of the opinions, judgements, criticisms and even praise of those around me. As my brother lovingly told me last month while watching me take in (into my actual body) the energy and moods of a group of people, “wow, you are such a sponge”. I am indeed, and I feel it now more than ever as I finally realize how badly it needs to change. I am slowly learning to create an energetic boundary around myself, but until now, I have not had that ability.

How this relates to my sailing journey (finally, Margie, jeez!), is that I am realizing as I look back that I often allowed the energy and opinions of people around me to shroud my experience of preparing for and completing the Singlehanded Transpac. As single-minded and confident as I was, I allowed myself to be emotionally and energetically pulled into the realm of other people’s emotional realities. I allowed the criticism that I heard and experienced get under my skin and affect my attitude. I allowed myself to feel people’s fears (even when I did not have them for myself). And finally, as comforting as it was most of the time, I realize now that I communicated WAY too much on my actual journey (via satellite tracking device) with the people in my life to the point where their worries, fears and feelings started to infiltrate and affect my daily experience on the boat. I am thankful for modern methods of communication, and for the love and concern of those close to me, but if I had it to do over again, I would seriously limit my communication.

All of that being said, I wouldn't trade a moment of it for anything. There are so many gems that I could never put into words that I experienced on this journey. I am in no way trying to downplay the magnitude of it all. I simply know that I am still mining the depths of the experience as I come out the other side. So I come full circle in this post, and I stand here, open and humbled… ...raw and receptive… waiting for ‘my answers’. 

The Signs of My Undoing

“I caught sight of my reflection

I caught it in the window

I saw the darkness in my heart

I saw the signs of my undoing

They had been there from the start

And the darkness still has work to do

The knotted chord's untying…”

-Peter Gabriel (from The Blood of Eden)

When I gaze into my art studio and see the remnants of my beloved Haunani surrounding the remnants of my once thriving creative practice, I could fall onto my knees in a pile of “my undoing”. I have been fighting hard to stay emotionally afloat and positive amidst the stresses of the world and my life of late, and I see now that that fight is doing nothing but creating more stress. When I heard “Blood of Eden”, one of my favorite songs of all time, this morning on the way to a challenging appointment with the vet, I crumbled. In that teary moment, it became very clear to me that surrender is my only option…surrender to the “knotted chord’s untying”. I am being called to allow myself to unravel and melt into the hard places. I can see (at least for right now, in this lucid and raw moment) that this is my only path to deliverance and healing; that this is the only way to rebuild and reboot so that my offering will be even stronger and clearer. So today I surrendered to the chaos of my studio and my heart and jumped into the river of my feelings. I started to create, and within 5 minutes I could feel the strong arms of my creative lifeline wrapping snuggly around me and keeping me just safe enough, as the rush and flow of my grief and despair swept me away. It is a new beginning…a rekindling of a timeless love. It is in this dive into spirit and into my creative practice that I know I will find what I need.

As I surrender, I am reminded of this passage by Matt Licata……

“It’s okay to be sad, and to allow your heart to break. To fall to the ground and bear witness to the dissolution of a vision of the way things were going to turn out.

Rather than spin away from the death as if it were a defeat, the invitation is to travel inside it. Within the core of the heartbreak there are jewels, and a golden bridge which connects you with others. Now is the time to recommit to what is most important and to remember why you have come.

It’s okay to fall apart, and in this to see if you were ever “together” to begin with. What you are is the vast, majestic field in which “together” and “apart” dance as lovers, revealing to you that the path of the heart is endless. And needs you now more than ever”.

Here is to falling apart in order to come together, because the “darkness still has work to 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!

Heartbreak Hotel

I am wide awake. it's 3am.  Thankfully  I am surrounded by a moonlit seascape in one of my favorite places on earth...Santa Catalina island. I am on a friend's boat and as grateful as I am for that opportunity, I miss mine like crazy. This missing was going on long before I got the news tonight (accompanied by the startling images) of her laying on her belly on the cement on the loading dock in Honolulu. I am heartbroken. I know she will be ok and that it's all handle-able, but right now in my middle of the night sleeplessness I am feeling so sad and helpless. I know she is "just a boat" but seeing her like that after all that we have been through really gets me in my deepest places.  So I am writing to try to shake it off and I am visualizing her in all of her steadfast glory spiriting me along on her strong back across the wild Pacific. You will get back there again my beautiful girl!!

Sleeping Schedules And Alarm PTSD

I was sitting peacefully on my couch this morning flanked by sleepy dogs and enjoying the musical stylings of Ben Webster as they sublimely graced the airwaves of my home. A perfect cup of coffee was within arm’s reach as I settled in to do my morning writing. I said a little prayer thanking every deity and angel I could think of for the blessing of this moment, this space and this peace. That’s when it happened….THE DREADED ALARM!! It was loud and it was shocking and quickly shook me out of my blissful haze. In that moment on my couch, I was viscerally teleported to any one of my 17 nights in the middle of the Pacific aboard Haunani. It was a surreal auditory memory that in all seriousness still had my heart beating out of my chest several minutes later. The alarm is called “crystals”, and as peaceful as that sounds, trust me, it is not! Crystals has become my official sailing through the night wake up alarm. I originally chose it for its shocking quality and surefire guarantee to roust me from a deep sleep (granted, it would probably not work for everyone but I am a very sensitive and light sleeper). On land I steer clear of the use of it, because the sound of it sends me immediately into high alert, and in my daily life, that is of course, totally unnecessary. High alert so that I can remember to give my dog his heart medications would surely end up giving ME the heart attack! Anyway, I have no idea how that particular alarm ended up as my daily dog med alarm today, but it did, and once I settled down from the shock of it, I started reminiscing about what my nights were like out there trying to sleep as we plummeted through the inky blackness.

My usual bedtime, or more accurately, the beginning of a series of naps, was usually around 8pm. One last check to make sure Haunani could hold her own, then I would set my alarm for an hour or a little more, and try to sleep until my alarm would wake me. My first thought when the dreaded crystals would mockingly commence its shrill tune was often, “where am I?”, then “ok OK OK ……..JEEEEEEZUS!!!!!” (sorry if this offends anyone, but I do say this a fair amount despite my mad love for the sage prophet). Anyway, you get the idea. Its wet, its rocky, I’m tired beyond any kind of tired I have ever experienced, its dark, its surreal, eyes don’t work right, displays are blurry, nothing is where I put it, my written log has fallen into a puddle of water (aka: my cabin sole), and that’s blurry too (“where are my EFFING glasses NOW”??). I could go on and on, but I’m sure you get the idea. Waking up this way is jarring to say the least, but I must say that the heart pounding serves a purpose. It provides just enough juice to do the rounds….chart plotter, am I going the right way? Yes, thank GOD! Check. Any ships in view via AIS? No. Check. Wind: how much, from where, and does that work with how I left my sails? Yep. Check. Companionway horizon scan: any lights, or anything at ALL? No? Check. Sails: are they still trimmed well and doing their thing without under, or mostly in our case, over powering the boat? Yes. Check. Deck and rigging: is all well up there? Anything out of the ordinary? Nope. Phew! Check! Battery monitor. Are my batteries holding enough of a charge in the night? Thanks to my amazing hydro-generator and even though I lost a bank early on, yes! Check. Bilge. Is the disconcerting sloshing of water low enough not to slosh out or do I need to haul my ass on deck to manually pump it out? (Had lots of water coming in and the automatic pump went out early on). Nope, thank GOD! Check. Last but not least, the log. By the red glow of my headlamp I would diligently and exhaustedly scratch the following: lat/long, heading, speed, wind information (true wind speed and angle), barometer reading, and finally, my favorite box: miles to go. Unless something was amiss and needed tending, that was it, then, permission granted to (often literally) fall back into my bunk for another hour or so of precious sleep. Then, repeat......like 8 MORE TIMES!

I dreaded the sleep deprivation thing for months and months leading up to my trip. I had heard and read harrowing tales of everything from being rendered weak and useless to having hallucinations as a result. It terrified me because I am possessively attached to my eight hours! I often joke that if you want to get any secrets out of me, mess with my sleep. People close to me know that despite my gentle disposition, sleep deprivation can unearth a beast that is rivaled only by my L.O.P. (Loss Of Personality), a serious disorder (mostly affecting those around me) that comes from being hungry. Despite my trepidation about it, I must admit, that I was very pleasantly surprised by the ease with which I managed my sleeping schedule and the resulting exhaustion. (A caveat here: except for the last three nights, I was able to take my “naps” all night long every night, so I am well aware that I had that part easy!). As much as I did not like waking up all night, I got oddly used to the schedule, and learned to capitalize on those precious sips of sleep! That being said, I don’t think I need to put myself in that situation again anytime soon. I am cherishing my bed and the luxury of full night sleeps like never before. Now if I could just eradicate that pesky crystals from my phone!

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

A Letter To Myself

This is my way of processing some recent disappointing rumblings of negativity surrounding my voyage. This is a letter to myself and anyone else who needs it…a reminder…a manifesto. I wrote it as if I had written it to a loved one in my shoes and it is heavily inspired by all of the beautiful and supportive words that have been shared with me by so many lovely souls in my life throughout this journey. Thank you lovely souls (yes, YOU)!

Dear Margie,

First of all, YOU  F**KING  DID  IT !!!!!!!!!! You set your sights on a lofty ass goal and 10 months later sailed across the finish line. You allowed all of the love and support in your life to buoy you through the triumphs, trials and tribulations along the path that led you to the moment you pulled away from the dock in San Francisco and sailed 2500 miles alone across the sea to Hanalei. It may not have been perfectly executed (yes, I saw the zig zag of (how many?) unnecessary jibes as you clung to the imaginary security blanket of that rhumb line, and I also watched you get mistakenly lured up into the becalming Pacific high for 2 days (ouch!). Oh, and that time you tacked 6 times in 2 hours in your last 2 days because you couldn’t figure out which line to the island was best and kept doubting your choice …..I saw that too). You may not have had as much technical experience as others, and I know that your fear of touching anything electrical probably was NOT your best asset on the trip.

What I also know though is that despite all of that, you never got scared out there, and the deep well of courage and strength cultivated over your twisty turny 48 years served you well as you barreled through breaking pacific swells larger than your boat with a smile on your face. All of that therapy and writing you have done since you were 20….well thank God for THAT! A hard earned foundation from which to draw in the midst of situations that could potentially have sent you, or anyone, reeling into self doubt and panic. The calm with which you handled so many nightmarish occurrences (from inundations of gallons of sea water, to battery failure, to your auto pilot malfunctioning and doing a donut while you were precariously perched on the foredeck (in the midst of huge swells and 25 knots of wind), to the loss of your drinking water, to food going bad, to never receiving position reports or any communications from the race committee, to sea sickness, to not being able to download grib files… to name a few) is a testament to your grit and also to your badass parents who modeled this your whole life as two of the most capable and calm people ever. The humor with which you handled all of the aforementioned things is astounding, if not a little embarrassing (yes, I have seen the videos!). I am proud of you, and honestly, not for all of the things I just listed, but because you left that dock in Tiburon and sailed out to sea without looking back once until you arrived at your destination. What you just did is a true metaphor for life. Head in the direction you intend to go and deal with whatever comes your way as you go along with all the strength, grace and humor you can muster. That, my friend is a huge accomplishment and one that no one can take from you, hater or otherwise. It is YOURS, so own it! Own every little piece of it from the glorious to the horrid. That is what living and growing is all about, but then again you already knew that!

With the biggest deepest love,

Margie

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!

Day 14

Day 14 25’22.123N / 150’07.059W 548 miles to go!

It is hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I have been out here for 2 weeks! It is surreal to say the least! There is a certain comfort in the daily routine we have established, even though it is so simple. One of my favorite parts of this routine is morning coffee in the companionway (that is if I turn a blind eye to the fact that I ran out out of my favorite creamer and am now having to have grody almond milk in my cuppa). That little spot has become my favorite perch snuggled in behind the dodger (I am SO glad I did not remove my dodger, by the way. That would have been the worst decision ever).

I jibed back towards rhumb line and the finish this morning. It felt like the right time, especially given that tropical storm Celia is looming to the southeast of me. I get a report every morning about where the storm is and how fast it is moving, and I plot it on my chart. I can’t tell if it gives me solace or diarrhea, but either way, its good to know where she is! Ok, I’m exaggerating again (I have to entertain myself somehow), but seriously, I feel ok about the storm at this point. If I end up having to tangle with it, it will just mean high winds, which I know I can handle. Today we have made some very good headway and the wind continues to spirit us along at a great clip! Haunani continues to be the most solid vessel and companion!

I am feeling much more upbeat today, I think because I can actually see myself getting closer to the finish. My progress is very notable on my chart plotter and that is feeding me now! I am still so happy and at peace out here despite my previously expressed annoyances. I fall more and more in love with the many moods of the Pacific as I navigate across her waters. Its funny, because even though I have not ever crossed this ocean (or any other for that matter), it feels so familiar and safe. I think it is because I grew up surrounded by her beauty and power. I suppose looking out at the sea from my Hawaii Island is not much different than looking out from my lovely Haunani. I really feel at home out here. The colors, shapes and smells are all so familiar. Last night the moon about took my breath away. She illuminated the night in the most subtle and soft way. There is something so comforting about her presence and the way she is lighting my way and beckoning me home now. I am counting the hours until I catch a first glimpse of beautiful Kauai! It will also be very nice to see other humans! I still have not seen a soul except for one fairly close pass by a few nights ago with Saraband, a fellow racer.

I cannot express enough how much the support and cheerleading from land is buoying me out here. Thanks to everyone and their kind and heart felt messages of love, encouragement and support. My family blows my mind everyday with the way they tune into my mental state and say exactly what I need to hear. I feel so grateful….now more than ever. And of course thanks to my dear Thomas who is always checking on me and giving the worlds best pep talks! And to all of my sweet and lovely friends who are rooting for me…..I feel it and I am one lucky woman!

Day 13

Day 13 (I had miscounted until now) 27’26.500N / 147’23.436W

I don’t know how I got my days at sea messed up, but I did. Today is day 13 and I have 730 miles left to go…..and they couldn’t seem longer. I am still loving being at sea, but the desire for stable footing and the company of my loved ones is starting to creep up on me. The seas are very sloppy and unpredictable right now. I have to be very careful moving around the boat because periodically a huge swell from an unexpected direction will knock us on our ear. And when I say on our ear, I really mean it! The boat goes sideways and everything inside slams hard in its respective spot. Thankfully I have had no projectiles yet! My body is extremely sore and tired from balancing and hanging on, not to mention from sleeping on a less than desirable surface for all this time. My hands feel like sandpaper, and I have already mentioned the insane bruises that I am sporting. I think I am just arriving to the end of my rope with life in this bobbing capsule! Haunani is trucking along like a champion, but is showing her battle wounds too. This trip has taken its toll on us both.

As weary as I am from all of that, I never tire of the beauty out here. Every shift of light, color and texture inspires such awe! The nights are magical, especially now that the moon is waxing. I wish I could somehow capture the sublime beauty of a tropical night sky at sea, but it will just have to be a memory in my mind’s eye. The air is warmer now, and the sun hotter. The cold weather clothes are being exchanged for bikinis and shorts (and sometimes no clothes at all) as we draw nearer to Hanalei, and I can almost smell the tropical smells of my childhood home. OK, well maybe I am hallucinating (or whatever the smell version of that is), but it sure feels real! All I know is that I am dying for my 1st sight of land!

Meanwhile, in other news…..my close up vision has completely left the building, and I cannot do anything without readers now. I kept thinking I was there before, but now it is official. Good thing I bought about 6 new pairs before I left, as I have already lost one pair overboard. It has been interesting to experience that shift out here when I have to be constantly monitoring displays, logs, gauges etc. I suppose its all part of this vision quest (no pun intended) to accept and embrace the changes, and especially the growth that comes with my ripe old 48 years.