43 Days Alone at Sea: A Journal (Week 1)

Day #1

I’ve felt quite sad since leaving yesterday. I miss Laerke’s company and presence.

I’m wondering if I go sailing like this to run away from people. It especially feels that way now. I’ve been craving solitude so much that I committed myself to this long, crazy trip. But Hans said to enjoy it because it’s as good as it gets. I miss him too.

I feel like I love people more now than I used to, and maybe that’s why this trip feels a little more lonely. In my sadness today I have also noticed just how big my ego was this year, and how it distanced me from so many people.

I think about Elliott a lot… I will have so much to learn from him. And it helps to know that he’s out here too…

Besides no wind at dawn, it has been nice, quick sailing so far. 13 knots on the beam.

Mara Noka feels solid but I’m still dreading the southeasterlies… I feel sick to my stomach.

But it’s only day one…

Tonight’s sunset is extremely beautiful. There is dust in the air, so the redness of the sun intensifies as it sets, from golden to grapefruit, and finally settling into a deep ruby before it drops below the horizon. To the east a glowing moon is already rising higher and taking over the sun’s job, lighting up the sky and reflecting on the water.

Day #2

I slept so well last night. I set my alarm for once every hour because I didn’t see any ships yesterday and I needed the rest. We made good progress last night but the wind backed and slowed a bit this morning.

I oil pulled, stretched, ate an apple and drank tea this morning in hopes of starting my new routine. I will need it, as I’ve still got some 40 days to go. But I’m writing two days in a row, so that must be a good sign.

A falcon being chased by a seagull tried to land on my gaff. 150 miles from nearest land, they must come from this approaching ship.

Day #3

Yesterday a freighter, Ying Hao Shipping, passed so close to my port that the deckies and I waved at each other. I could make out their hair color, and that one of them was wearing a triangular straw hat. This morning I passed what looked like a weather buoy. Quite an extraordinary little structure. I’m just relieved to not have struck it.

Today I have finished reading Nausea. I sure do hope I never go through an existential crisis to the magnitude depicted in this book, but so much of Sartre’s writing was so relatable that I fear that by the end of this voyage, this journal sounding like that novel might be inevitable.

Yesterday I shelled the beans we collected in Tarrafal, and today I cooked them. They are so much more delicious than expected.

It’s so nice sailing into the wind on a calm sea.

Day #4

I started bleeding when I woke up this morning. I ate some oatmeal and took one 200mg Ibuprofen, two turmeric pills, and three beef organ supplements.

I spent the next two hours in pain, cramping, trying to find the most soothing position and reminding myself to breathe. What a glorious feeling when that sweet, sweet medicine kicks in.

My mind has been wandering all day, wanting to write but avoiding it for some reason. If I fall into the trap of that procrastination, this journal may as well end here. But writing something, anything, once a day is an easy rough task to handle, especially not having much else to do, so I must commit to it. This is a very minor,  relaxed attempt at practicing self-discipline, and I should at least be able to handle that.

While I am now, not so privately, contemplating my ability to commit, Mara Noka sails on gently. Slowly.

If I had nowhere to go, it’s this kind of sea I wouldn’t mind being in “forever.”

I organized the doghouse and port-side cabin today in preparation for the rain which should arrive in a couple of hundred miles. For now it is warm day and night, not so dewey at dawn as it was further north, and the sun is something mighty.

Day #5

Today I’m hardly moving. But I’m also not sitting still. Making under two knots right now, but at least it’s something.

Wow, is it hot out. November near the equator is no joke. I put some pumpkin in the solar oven and made some bread dough to put in later. For now, though, I will lay in bed, read Tom Robbins, and wait for the sun to pass to the west of the sail.

The doldrums are really beautiful, if this is it. I’m not sure if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I feel as if for the past couple of days I have noticed two swells. One coming from the north and another from the southeast. I wonder if it’s coming from the trades. Or maybe I’m only imagining it.

I brought the engine on deck this afternoon. I have felt apprehensive towards this job, and I wonder if it had to do with the commitment to this voyage. To beat against the wind, I need to secure the engine; and if I’m going to Brasil, I will beat against the wind. Or maybe the hesitation came simply from the fact that a 2-stroke 25 horsepower Johnson is a damn heavy engine. I tried lifting the engine off the bracket a few times and it seemed too heavy. I said “I can’t do this” out loud and even contemplated leaving it on and heading downwind instead. Then I started visualizing having to put it back on… As I was mid-thought, I barely noticed my arms pulling and before I realized, I had the engine against my chest. I had enough time to chuckle, but funny enough, the next sound that came out of my mouth was the word “commit.” With a last bit of effort I got the leg/prop up on deck as well.

It’s a strange thing to catch yourself by surprise… There are greater forces at play here. I’m just along for the ride.

Day #6

I made really nice progress last night, but there has been barely a whisper of wind all day… The poor, rotten mainsail is not faring so well with this windless flogging.

I have yet to be rained on.

Oh, and early this morning I had a very nice visit from a pod of dolphins, the first on this trip so far. There was a breeze out of the south, so I wondered if they might be welcoming me into the southeast trades. Subsequently the wind died, and I know I’m still a ways off… a couple of hundred more miles, if my wind forecast proves accurate. But I will hold on to that sentiment anyhow.

Day #7

It was two years ago when I was last on a solo voyage, and I must say, I can feel the effects of time. It was two weeks at sea, at the end of hurricane season, from the Caribbean to the north of Florida. I don’t remember much, except that I felt different than I do now. The sense of being on a mission was more prominent, even if I am  on the same mission now — then I needed to get to the U.S. so that I could fly to Brazil to renew my residency, and now I sail there for the same reason — but the sense of solitude was not as grand as I feel in this moment.

I had a SPOT tracking device on that voyage, but it was not reliable and there was no two-way communication, it would only transmit my location. Now I have a newer generation SPOT which allows me to send and receive messages. Along with my location which I send every two days, yesterday I tried requesting a weather forecast. I usually receive a reply fairly quickly, but none came. I resent the message a few hours later, and sent a second to someone else, to be sure, but still no response. So for some reason it appears I can’t receive messages. I still think they are receiving mine though, so that is some consolation.

I used to think that two-way communication could spoil a voyage like this — and now I know it does. Especially when it doesn’t work.

I think of Elliot to bring me out of self-pity, and this afternoon I started reading Slocum’s Sailing Alone Around the World for the first time. I’ve had the book for years. Two copies actually. One I found in a wreck, and one was gifted to be by my mother, but I hadn’t so much as peeked until now. I always felt there needed to be some special occasion, or pull towards reading the book, and now I feel there is no better one. So I will leave you for tonight with a passage that very much describes how I’ve been feeling lately:

“During these days a feeling of awe crept over me. My memory worked with startling power. The ominous, the insignificant, the great, the small, the wonderful, the commonplace — all appeared before my mental vision in magical succession. Pages of my history were recalled which had been so long forgotten that they seemed to belong to a different existence.”